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BRITISH THEATRE
COMPRISING
Tragedies, Comedies, Operas,
and Farces,
FROM THE MOST CLASSIC WRITERS;
WITH
BIOGRAPHY, CRITICAL ACCOUNT
AND
EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
Owen Williams Esq.
SECOND EDITION.
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.
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PRINTED FOR FREDERICK FLEISCHER.
1831.
LIBRARY

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PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
goled gravel
minnie dous ban
sted anilang cidi obilnos toque
In presenting this volume to the German nation we will not claim their approbation
from the partiality they have shown to British Literature; - we will not point out
to them the great utility of having the most elegant tone of English conversation for
their instruction in the language; wherefore should we paint the delighting image
of their identifying themselves with a sphere of individuals, whose manners and
customs are so deeply tinged with originality and peculiarty of character; and in-
vite them to consider John Bull entering their society in his own dress, touched off
with his own high humour, and even with all his faults, calling upon the good-
natured smile of all around him? The shades of Addison, Garrick, Steele would arise
in offended pride, to hear their names once more invoked to serve the office of
commendation to works which have already stood the test of nations, and out-lived
the hand of time: no, their worth needs no interpreter, it speaks itself too plainly.
Yet with all the riches of the British Drama before us, we have found our-
selves embarrassed to present our readers with a full specimen of its treasures;
and, how plentiful soever this harvest may be, there still remains great a store
behind; we wait only the fiat of the public to recommence our labours.
We refrain from entering into a detail of the many inglorious causes of the de-
cline of the stage these last two centuries, and will content ourselves with merely pointing
it out, as a reason for our work's containing very few pieces written since that time.
It is but natural for us to have a desire to become more familiary acquainted
with the man whose writings have tended to amuse or instruct us; and hence our
wish, not only to have free admission to his study, but also to follow him into the
circle of his acquaintance, and sit with him at his fire-side surrounded by his family.
It is here we can judge the human heart, and observe, if the precepts, inculcated on
his readers, have been the guide of his own actions; and whatever be the result of
our examination, it must interest our feelings and be a good exercise for ourselves.
We have, therefore, endeavoured to give a faithful account of the public and pri-
vate life of the authors whose writings are to be found in this volume.
The opinions of the English with respect to their own authors, how much so-
ever they may differ from those of another nation, will answer as a point of opposition,
and may assist the reader in his own critique. Each piece is, therefore, preceded by
reasons, more or less cogent, to add to or diminish its lustre; and these have been
carefully selected from the writings of the greatest British critics, who may have
noticed them, tempered by a few observations of our own.
The English nation has, of late years, become an object of curiosity to foreign-
ers; and numerous has been the intelligent class of inquiring travellers, who have
published their more or less true accounts of this people. How favourable soever
may have been their opportunities for examining into the true spirit of the people,
163145

VI
PREFACE.
though the most prominent and general points of character may have been fully re-
presented in their narration, yet, from the particular circumstance of their being for-
eigners, they could not penetrate fairly into the minutiae. A series of writings,
which brand the vicious with the mark of shame and punishment, and level the
shaft of irony and laughter at folly, while they encourage and support real virtue and
good sense, explained and put in their true light, with as mush impartiality as human
nature will allow in speaking of one's own country, must open a good field for the
display of character. Hence the whole is accompanied with notes, explanatory of
the localities and such circumstances as are liable to a double interpretation.
We cannot conclude this preface better than by laying before our readers a
passage from the "lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," by that excellent critic Dr.
Blair. In the third volume, when comparing the French and English comedy, he
says, "from the English there we are naturally led to expect a greater variety of ori-
ginal characters in comedy and bolder strokes of wit and humour than are to be
found on any other modern stage. Humour is in a great measure the peculiar pro-
vince of the English nation. The nature of such a free government as ours, and
that unrestrained liberty which our manners allow to every man of living entirely
after his own taste, afford full scope to the display of singularity of character and to
the indulgence of humour in all its forms. Whereas in France the influence of the
court, the more established subordinations of ranks, and the universal observance of
the forms of politeness and decorum, spread a much greater uniformity over the
outward behaviour and characters of men. Hence comedy has a more ample field
and can flow with a much freer vein in Britain, than in France."
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The success which has attended the attempt to bring a well chosen selection from
the classical English dramatic writers, into the hands of the continental public, has
been so flattering, that we have been induced to prepare a second edition.
Although it was our intention to have made some alterations in the arrange-
ment, yet as the work has met with such approbation in its original form, it will
be but an act of justice to the purchasers of the first edition, to reprint it, re-
serving the augmentations for a separate volume, which we may perhaps venture
to present to the public on a future day.
ملہب

Sullo
querid
ebber
ÍNDEX.
TRAGEDIES.
✓Cato by J. Addison
✓
The Mourning Bride by WV. Congreve
Zara by A. Hill
•
Douglas by J. Home
George Barnwell by G. Lillo
The Duke of Milan by P. Massinger
The Gamester by E. Moore
Venice Preserved by Th. Otway
The Orphan of China by Th. Otway.
The Distrest Mother by A. Philips
The Fair Penitent by N. Rowe
The Siege of Damascus by Hughes.
COMEDIES.
VThe Hypocrite by J. Bickerstaff
A Bold Stroke for a Wife by S. Centlivre
The Busy-body by S. Centlivre...
The Provoked Husband by C. Cibber
She Would and She Would not
The Jealous Wife by G. Colman
The Double Dealer by W. Congreve
The Way of the World by W. Congreve
The Fashionable Lover by M. Cumber-
land
•
The West-Indian by R. Cumberland
The Recruiting Officer by G, Farquhar
.
PAGE The Clandestine Marriage by Garrick
1 The Good-natured Man by O. Gold-
17
smith
PAGE
440
467
33 She Stoops to Conquer by O. Goldsmith 488
48 Every Man in his Humour by Ben
62
Jonson
76 The Chapter of Accidents by S. Lee
93 The Man of the World by Ch. Macklin
111 A New Way to Pay Old Debts by P.
128
Massinger
144 A Cure for the Heart-ache by Th. Mor-
158
ton
172 A School for Grown-Children
Three Weeks after Marriage by A. Mur-
phy
189 The Rivals by R. B. Sheridan
227
509
1532
1554
576
597
619
1641
650
209 The School for Scandal by R. B. Sheri-
dan
678
249 The Conscious Lovers by R. Steele
275 Pride shall have a Fall
713
•
728
299
324
OPERA'S.
346 Rosina by F. Brooke
Love in a Village by J. Bickerstaff.
753
761
372 The Maid of the Mill by J. Bickerstaff 777
394 Inkle and Yarico by G. Colman
419 Beggars Opera by J. Gay
796
815

VII
INDEX.
The Duenna by R. B. Sheridan
FARCES.
.
High Life Below Stairs by J. Townley
Bon Ton, or High Life Above Stairs by
D. Garrick.
PAGE
PAGE
1867
•
874
881
830 The Mayor of Garrat by S. Foote
The Apprentice by A. Murphy
848 The Lying Valet by D. Garrick
Fortune's Frolic by J. T. Allingham
857 Who's the Dupe by Cowley
890
898

TRAGEDY.
MOURNING BRIDE.
CATO.
ZARA.
DOUGLAS.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
DUKE OF MILAN.
GAMESTER.
VENICE PRESERVED.
ORPHAN OF CHINA.
DISTREST MOTHER.
FAIR PENITENT.
SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
ADDISON.
JOSEPH ADDISON was born May 21, 1672, at Milston, of which his father was then Rector, near Ambrosebury in
Wiltshire. He was early sent to school, there, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Naish; from whence he was re-
moved to Salisbury school, and then to the Charterhouse, under the tuition of the learned Dr. Ellis. Here he first
contracted an intimacy with Mr. Steele, which continued almost to his death. At fifteen he was entered of Queen's
College, Oxford, and in about two years admitted to the degrees of bachelor and master of arts in that college; at
which time he was celebrated for his latin poems, to be found in a second volume of the Musae Britanicae, collected
by Addison. Being at the university, he was upon the point of ceding to the desires of his father and several of his friends,
to enter into holy orders; but having, through Mr. Congreve's means, become a favourite of Lord Halifax, he was prevailed
upon by that nobleman, to give up the design. He successively filled the public stations, in 1702, of Commissioner of the
Appeals in the Excise; 1707, Under-Secretary of State; 1709, Secretary of Ireland, and Keeper of the Records in
Ireland; 1713 (the grand climacteric of Addison's reputation, Cato appeared) Secretary to the Lords' Justices; 1714 one
of the Lords Commissioners of Trade; and at last, 1717, one of the first Secretaries of State. Dr. Johnson says, "For
this employment he might justly be supposed qualified by long practice of business, and by his regular ascent through
other offices; but expectation is often disappointed; it is universally confessed, that he was unequal to the duties of
his place. In the House of Commons he could not speak, and therefore was useless to the defence of the Government.
In the office, says Pope, he could not issue an order without losing his time in quest of fine expressions." He so-
licited his dismissal with a pension of 1500 pounds a year. He married the Countess Dowager of Warwick, 1716;
and is said to have first known her by becoming tutor to her son. Johnson says, "The Lady was at last prevailed
to whom the sultan is re-
upon to marry him, on terms much like those, on which a Turkish princess is espoused, addition to his happi-
ported to pronounce, Daughter, I give thee this man for thy slave. The marriage made
ness; it neither made them nor found them equal." In 1718-19, he had a severe dispute on The Peerage Bill
with Steele, who, inveterate in his political opinions, supported them in a pamphlet called The Plebeian, which Addi-
son answered by another, under the title of The Old Whig. Some epithets, let drop by Addison, answered by a cul-
ting quotation from Calo, by Steele, were the cause of their friendship's being dissolved; and every person acquainted
with the friendly terms on which these two great men had lived so long, must regret, that they should finally part in
acrimonious opposition. Addison died of an asthma and dropsy, on the 17th June, 1719, aged 48, leaving only one
daughter behind him. The general esteem ia which his productions, both serious and humorous in The Spectator, The
Tatler, and The Guardian are held, "pleads (as Spakspeare says), like engels, trumpet-tongued, in their behalf" As
a poet, his Cato, in the dramatic, and his Campaign, in the heroic way, will ever maintain a place among the first-rate
works of either kind.-And a good man's death displays the character of his life. At his last hour, he sent for a re-
lation of his, young Lord Warwick, whose youth he supposed might be influenced by an awful lesson, when, taking
hold of the young man's hand, he said "See in what peace a Christian can die!" and immediately expired.
zurom Jed bat
CATO,
ACTED at Drury Lane, 1715. It is one of the first of our dramatic poems, and was performed 18 nights succes-
sively; this very successful run for a tragedy, is attributed by Dennis, who wrote a very bitter critique upon Cato, to
proceed from Addison's having raised prejudices in his own favour, by false positions of preparatory criticism; and
with his having poisoned the town by contradicting, in The Spectator, the established rule of poetical justice, because
his own hero, with all his virtues, was to fall before a tyrant. Johnson says, "he fact is certain; the motives we
must guess. Steele packed an audience. The danger was soon over. The whole nation was, at that time, on fire
with faction. The Whigs applauded every line, in which liberty was mentioned, as a satire on the Tories; and the
Tories echoed every clap, to shew, that the satire was unfelt." It was ushered into notice by eight complimentary co-
pies of verses to the author, among which, one by Steele, leads the van; besides a prologue by Pope, and an epilo-
gue by Dr. Garth: Dr. Johnson, with the abovementioned persons, nay, even Dennis's gall, has marked this tragedy
as a British classic, and a succession of audiences for above a century has proved, that it has deserved "Golden opin-
ions from all sorts of people." Johnson observes, "Of a work so much read, it is difficult to say any thing new.
About things on which the public thinks long, it commonly attains to think right; and of Cato it has been not unjustly
determined, that it is rather a poem in dialogue than a drama; rather a suceession of just sentiments in elegant lan-
it i
guage, than a representation of natural affections, or of any state probable or possible in human life. Nothing here ex-
cites or assuages emotion; here is no magical power of raising phantastic terror or exciting wild anxiety. The events
are expected without solicitude, and remembered without joy or sorrow. Of the agents we have no care. Cato is a
being above our solicitude, a man of whom "the gods take care," and whom we leave to their care with heedless
confidence. To the rest, neither gods nor men can have much attention; for there is not one amongst them, that
strongly attracts either affection or esteem. But they are made the vehicles of such sentiments and such expressions
that there is scarcely a scene in the play, which the reader does not wish to impress upon his memory.
CATO.
PORTIUS.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SEMPRONIUS.
LUCIUS.
LUCIA.
JUBA.
DECIUS.
MARCIA.
SYPHAX.
JUNIUS.
MARCUS.
MUTINEERS. GUARDS. etc.
SCENE. The Governor's Palace in Utica.
ACT 1.
SCENE I-A Hall.
Enter PORTIUS and MARCUS.
Por. THE dawn is overcast, the morning
low'rs,
And heavily in clouds brings on the day,
The great, th' important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome-our father's death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,
And close the scene of blood. Already Caesar
1

2
[ACT I.
CATO.
Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword: In high ambition and a thirst of greatness;
Should he go further, numbers would be wanting "Tis second life, that grows into the soul,
To form new battles, and support his crimes. Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse:
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make I feel it here: my resolution melts-
Among your works!
Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy;
I'm tortur'd, e'en to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd
Pharsalia rises to my view!-I see
Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field,
Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd
in slaughter;
Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian
prince,
him:
With how much care he forms himself to glory,
And breaks the fierceness of his native temper,
To copy out our father's bright example.
He loves our sister Marcia, greatly loves her;
His eyes, his looks, his actions, all betray it;
But still the smother'd fondness burns within
When most it swells, and labours for a vent,
His horses hoofs wet with patrician blood! The sense of honour, and desire of fame,
Oh, Portius! is not there some chosen curse, Drive the big passion back into his heart.
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heav'n, What, shall an African, shall Juba's heir
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world
Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin? A virtue wanting in a Roman soul?
Por. Believe me, Marcus, 'tis an impious Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave
greatness,
And mix'd with too much horror to be envied:
How does the lustre of our father's actions,
Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him,
Break out, and burn with more triumphant
brightness!
His sufferings shine, and spread a glory round
him;
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the cause
Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
Marc. Who knows not this? But what can
Cato do
Against a world, a base, degen'rate world,
That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to
Caesar?
Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms
A poor epitome of Roman greatness,
And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs
A feeble army, and an empty senate,
Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain.
By heav'n, such virtues, join'd with such success,
Distracts my very soul! our father's fortune
Would almost tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Por. Remember what our father oft has
told us:
The ways of heav'n are dark and intricate;
Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors,
Our understanding traces them in vain,
Lost and bewilder'd in the fruitless search;
Nor sees with how much art the windings run,
Nor where the regular confusion ends.
Marc. These are suggestions of a mind at
ease:-
Oh, Portius, didst thou taste but half the griefs
That wring my soul, thou couldst not talk
thus coldly.
stings behind them.
Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius, show
A virtue that has cast me at a distance,
And thrown me out in the pursuits of honour?
Por. Oh, Marcus! did I know the way to
ease
Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains,
Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.
Marc. Thou best of brothers, and thou best
of friends!
Pardon a weak, distemper'd soul, that swells
With sudden gusts, and sinks as soon in calms,
The sport of passions. But Sempronius comes:
He must not find this softness hanging on me.
Sem.
[Exit.
Enter SEMPRONIUS.
Conspiracies no sooner should be
form'd
Than executed. What means Portius here?
I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble,
And speak a language foreign to my heart.
Aside.
Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace,
Once more embrace, while yet we both are free.
To-morrow, should we thus express our
friendship,
Each might receive a slave into his arms.
This sun, perhaps, this morning sun's the last,
That e'er shall rise on Roman liberty.
Por. My father has this morning call'd to-
gether
To this poor hall, his little Roman senate
(The leavings of Pharsalia), to consult
If he can yet oppose the mighty torrent
That bears down Rome and all her gods before it,
Or must at length give up the world to Caesar.
Sem. Not all the pomp and majesty of Rome
Can raise her senate more than Cato's presence.
Passion unpitied, and successless love,
Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate
My other griefs.-Were but my Lucia kind-His virtues render our assembly awful,
Por. Thou seest not that thy brother is thy
rival;
They strike with something like religious fear,
And make ev'n Caesar tremble at the head
But I must hide it, for I know thy temper. Of armies flush'd with conquest. Oh, my
[Aside.
Portius!
Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof, Could I but call that wondrous man my father,
Put forth thy utmost strength, work ev'ry nerve, Would but thy sister Marcia be propitious
And call up all thy father in thy soul:
To quell the tyrant love, and guard thy heart
On this weak side, where most our nature fails,
Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
To thy friend's vows, I might be blest indeed!
Por. Alas, Sempronius! wouldst thou talk
of love
To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger?
Marc. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Thou might'st as well court the pale, trem-
Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness.
bling vestal,
SCENE 1.]
CATO.
3

When she beholds the holy flame expiring.
Sem. The more I see the wonders of thy race,
The more I'm charm'd. Thou must take heed,
my Portius;
The world has all its eyes on Cato's son;
Thy father's merit sets thee up to view,
And shows thee in the fairest point of light,
To make thy virtues or thy faults conspicuous.
Por. Well dost thou seem to check my
ling'ring here
Syph. But is it true, Sempronius, that your
senate
Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious;
Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern
Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with art.
Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal
My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way);
I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country,
And mouth at Caesar, till I shake the senate.
Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device,
A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought
in earnest,
Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury!
Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct grey
hairs,
On this important hour-I'll straight away,
And while the fathers of the senate meet
In close debate, to weigh th' events of war,
I'll animate the soldiers' drooping courage
With love of freedom, and contempt of life;
I'll thunder in their ears their country's cause,
And try to rouse up all that's Roman in them.
'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve Meanwhile I'll hasten to my Roman soldiers,
[Exit. Inflame the mutiny, and, underhand,
it.
Sem. Curse on the stripling! how he apes
his sire!
Ambitiously sententious-But I wonder
Old Syphax comes not, his Numidian genius
Is well dispos'd to mischief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he must be spurr'd,
And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course.
Cato has us'd me ill; he has refus'd
His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows.
Besides, his baffled arms and ruin'd cause,
Are bars to my ambition. Caesar's favour,
That show'rs down greatness on his friends,
will raise me
And teach the wily African deceit.
Sem. Once more be sure to try thy skill
on Juba.
Blow up their discontents, till they break out
Unlook'd for, and discharge themselves on Cato.
Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste;
Oh, think what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods!
Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time,
Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death!
Destruction hangs on ev'ry word we speak,
On every thought, till the concluding stroke
Determines all, and closes our design. [Exit.
Syph. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reason
This headstrong youth, and make him spurn
at Cato.
To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato,The time is short; Caesar comes rushing on
I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter.
But Syphax comes-
Enter SYPHAX.
Syph. Sempronius, all is ready;
I've sounded my Numidians, man by man,
And find them ripe for a revolt: they all
Complain aloud of Cato's discipline,
And wait but the command to change their
master.
Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time
to waste:
Ev'n while we speak, our conqueror comes on,
And gathers ground upon us ev'ry moment.
Alas! thou know'st not Caesar's active soul,
With what a dreadful course he rushes on
From war to war. In vain has nature form'd
us-
But hold! young Juba sees me, and approaches!
Enter JUBA.
Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of lat thy looks are fall'n,
O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent;
Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in
frowns,
And turn thine eye thus c Idly on thy prince?
Syph. 'Tis not my talen to conceal my
thoughts,
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart;
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.
Juba. Why dost thou cast out such un-
gen'rous terms
Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world?
He bounds o'er all;
One day more
Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates.
But, tell me, hast thou yet drawn o'er young
Juba?
That still would recommend thee more to Caesar,
And challenge better terms.
Syph. Alas! he's lost!
He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues-But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry instant I expect him here),
If yet I can subdue those stubborn principles
Of faith and honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And struck th' infection into all his soul.
Sem. Be sure to press upon him ev'ry motive.
Juba's surrender, since his father's death,
Would give up Afric into Caesar's hands,
And make him lord of half the burning zone.
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before
them,
And own the force of their superior virtue?
Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets
these people up
Above your own Numidia's tawny sons?
Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow?
Or flies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand?
Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant
Laden with war? These, these are arts, my
prince,
In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.
Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank:
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves.
A Roman soul is bent on higher views.
To make man mild, and sociable to man;

4
[ACT I.
CATO.
To cultivate the wild, licentious savage,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
Turn up thy eyes to Cato;
There may'st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.
While good, and just, and anxious for his friends,
He's still severely bent against himself;
And when his fortune sets before him all
The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.
Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not an
African
That traverses our vast Numidian deserts
In quest of prey, and lives upon his bow,
But better practises those boasted virtues.
Coarse are his meals, the fortune of the chase;
Amidst the running stream he slakes his thirst;
Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night,
On the first friendly bank he throws him down,
Or rests his head upon a rock till morn;
Then rises fresh, pursues his wonted game;
And if the following day he chance to find
A new repast, or an untasted spring,
Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury.
Juba. Thy prejudices, Syphax, won't discern
What virtues grow from ignorance and choice,
Nor how the hero differs from the brute.
Where shall we find the man that bears af-
fliction,
Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato?
How does he rise against a load of woes,
And thank the gods that threw the weight
upon him!
Syph. "Tis pride, rank pride, and haughti-
ness of soul:
Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul!
That best of fathers! how shall I discharge
The gratitude and duty that I owe him?
Syph. By laying up his counsels in your
heart.
Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy
direction.
Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to
your safety.
Juba. I do believe thou wouldst; but tell
me how.
Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cae-
sar's foes.
Juba. My father scorn'd to do it.
Syph. And therefore died.
Juba. Better to die ten thousand thousand
deaths,
Than wound my honour.
Syph. Rather say your love.
Juba. Syphax, I've promis'd to preserve my
temper.
Why wilt thou urge me to confess a flame
I long have stifled, and would fain conceal?
Syph. Believe me, prince, though hard to
conquer love,
'Tis easy to divert and break its force.
Absence might cure it, or a second mistress
Light up another flame, and put out this.
The glowing dames of Zama's royal court
Have faces flush'd with more exalted charms;
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon
forget
The pale, unripen'd beauties of the north.
Juba. 'Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin, that I admire:
I think the Romans call it stoicism.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Had not your royal father thought so highly Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's cause, The virtuous Marcia tow'rs above her sex:
He had not fall'n by a slave's hand inglorious; True, she is fair, (oh, how divinely fair!)
Nor would his slaughter'd armies now have lain But still the lovely maid improves her charms
On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, With inward greatness, unaffected wisdom,
To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. And sanctity of manners; Cato's soul
Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up
afresh?
My father's name brings tears into my eyes.
Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's
ills!
Juba. What wouldst thou have me do?
Syph. Abandon Calo.
Juba. Syphax, I should be more than twice
an orphan,
By such a loss.
Syph. Ay, there's the tie that binds you!
You long to call him father. Marcia's charms
Work in your heart unseen, and plead for Cato.
No wonder you are deaf to all I say.
Shines out in ev'ry thing she acts or speaks,
While winning mildness and attractive smiles
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace,
Soften the rigour of her father's virtue.
Syph. How does your tongue grow wanton
in her praise!
But, on my knees, I beg you would consider-
Juba. Ha! Syphax, is't not she?-She moves
this way;
And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter.
My heart beats thick-I pr'ythee, Syphax, leave
me.
Syph. Ten thousand curses fasten on them
both!
Juba. Syphax, your zeal becomes impor-Now will the woman, with a single glance,
Undo what I've been lab'ring all this while.
tunate;
I've hitherto permitted it to rave,
And talk at large; but learn to keep it in,
Lest it should take more freedom than I'll give it.
Syph. Sir, your great father never us'd
me thus.
Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget
The tender sorrows,
And repeated blessings,
Which you drew from him in your last fare-
well?
[Exit.
Enter MARCIA and LUCIA.
Juba. Hail, charming maid! how does thy
beauty smooth
The face of war, and make ev'n horror smile!
At sight of thee my heart shakes off its sorrows;
I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me,
And for awhile forget th' approach of Caesar.
Marcia. I should be griev'd, young prince,
to think my presence
thoughts, and slacken'd them
Unbent your
to arms,
The good old king, at parting, wrung my hand
(His eyes brimful of tears), then, sighing, cry'd,
Pr'ythee be careful of my son!-His grief While, warm with slaughter, our victorious for
Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more. Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field.
SCENE 1.]
5
CATO.

Juba. Oh, Marcia, let me hope thy kind | As if he mourn'd his rival's ill success;
concerns
And gentle wishes follow me to battle!
The thought will give new vigour to my arm,
And strength and weight to my descending
sword,
And drive it in a tempest on the foe.
Marcia. My pray'rs and wishes always shall
attend
The friends of Rome, the glorious cause of virtue,
And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.
Juba. That Juba may deserve thy pious cares,
I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father,
Transplanting, one by one, into my life,
His bright perfections, till I shine like him.
Marcia. My father never, at a time like this,
Would lay out his great soul in words, and waste
Such precious moments.
Juba. Thy reproofs are just,
Then bids me hide the motions of my heart,
Nor show which way it turns. So much he fears
The sad effect that it will have on Marcus.
Was ever virgin love distress'd like mine.
Marcia. Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our
sorrows,
But to the gods submit th' event of things.
Our lives, discolour'd with our present woes,
May still grow bright, and smile with happier
hours.
So the pure, limpid stream, when foul with
stains
Of rushing torrents, and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and, as it runs, refines,
Reflects each flow'r that on the border grows,
Till, by degrees, the floating mirror shines,
And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The Senate-house.
Flourish. SEMPRONIUS, LUCIUS, and Sena-
tors discovered.
Thou virtuous maid; I'll hasten to my troops,
And fire their languid souls with Cato's virtue.
If e'er I lead them to the field, when all
The war shall stand rang'd in its just array,
And dreadful pomp, then will I think on thee.
Oh, lovely maid! then will I think on thee;
And in the shock of charging hosts, remember
What glorious deeds should grace the man, Let us remember we are Cato's friends,
And act like men who claim that glorious
title.
[Trumpets.
Luc. Hark! he comes..
For Marcia's love.
who hopes
[Exit.
Lucia. Marcia, you're too severe :
How could you chide the young, good-natur'd
prince,
And drive him from you with so stern an air;
A prince that loves, and dotes on you to death?
Marcia. How, Lucia! wouldst thou have me
sink away
In pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love,
When ev'ry moment Cato's life's at stake?
Lucia. Why have I not this constancy of
mind,
Who have so many griefs to try its force?
Sure, nature form'd me of her softest mould,
Enfeebled all my soul with tender passions,
And sunk me ev'n below my own weak sex:
Pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart.
Marcia. Lucia, disburden all thy cares on me,
And let me share thy most retir'd distress.
Tell me, who raises up this conflict in thee?
Lucia. I need not blush to name them,
when I tell thee
They're Marcia's brothers, and the sons of Cato.
Marcia. But tell me whose address thou fa-
vour'st most?
I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
Lucia. Suppose 'twere Portius, could you
blame my choice?
Oh, Portius, thou hast stol'n away my soul!
Marcus is over warm; his fond complaints
Have so much earnestness and passion in them,
I hear him with a secret kind of horror,
And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Marcia. Alas, poor youth!
How will thy coldness raise
Sem. Rome still survives in this assembled
senate.
Trumpets. Enter CATO, PORTIUS, and MARCUS.
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in
council;
Caesar's approach has summon'd us together,
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves.
How shall we treat this bold, aspiring man?
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes;
Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since
Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cae-
sar's.
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands
Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should
decree
What course to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us ev'n Libya's sultry deserts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts: are they
still fix'd
To hold it out, and fight it to the last?
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, and
wrought,
By time and ill success, to a submission?
Sempronius, speak.
Sem. My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slav'ry or death?
No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home
upon him.
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest,
Tempests and storms in his afflicted bosom! May reach his heart, and free the world
I dread the consequence.
Lucia. You seem to plead
Against your brother Portius.
Marcia. Lucia, no;
Had Portius been the unsuccessful lover,
The same compassion would have fall'n on him.
Lucia. Portius himself oft falls in tears be-
fore me,
from bondage.
Rise, fathers, rise! 'tis Rome demands your help;
Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or share their fate;-
To battle!
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are
slow;
And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us.

6
[ACT II.
CATO.
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of
reason;
True fortitude is seen in great exploits,
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides;
All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction.
Lucius, we next would know what's your opin-
ion.
Luc. My thoughts, I must confess, are
turn'd on peace.
Already have we shown our love to Rome,
Now let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth; when this end fails,
Arms have no further use. Our country's
cause,
Disdains a life which he has power to offer.
Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Caesar;
Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more,
Who check'd his conquests, and deny'd his
triumphs.
Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend?
Cato. These very reasons thou hast urg'd
forbid it.
Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your
virtues,
And therefore sets this value on your life.
Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship,
And name your terms.
Cato. Bid him disband his legions,
Restore the commonwealth to liberty,
Submit his actions to the public censure,
That drew our swords, now wrests them And stand the judgment of a Roman senate.
from our hands,
And bids us not delight in Roman blood,
Unprofitably shed. What men could do,
Is done already: heav'n and earth will wit-
ness,
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.
Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident;
Immod'rate valour swells into a fault;
And fear, admitted into public councils,
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both.
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs
Are grown thus desp'rate: we have bulwarks
round us;
Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil
In Afric's heat, and season'd to the sun;
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us,
Ready to rise at its young prince's call.
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods;
But wait at least till Caesar's near approach
Force us to yield. Twill never be too late
To sue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her
time?
No, let us draw her term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin it to the last,
So shall we gain still one day's liberty:
Ant let me perish, but, in Cato's judgment,
A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Enter JUNIUS.
Jun. Fathers, e'en now a herald is arriv'd
From Caesar's camp, and with him comes
old Decius,
The Roman knight: he carries in his looks
Impatience, and demands to speak with Cato.
Cato. By your permission, fathers-bid him
[Exit Junius.
Decius was once my friend, but other prospects
Have loos'd those ties, and bound him fast to
enter.
Caesar.
His message may determine our resolves.
Enter DECIUS.
Dec. Caesar sends health to Cato-
Cato. Could he send it
To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be wel-
come.
Are not your orders to address the senate?
Dec. My business is with Cato; Caesar sees
The straits to which you're driv'n; and, as he
knows
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life.
Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome.
Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country.
Tell your dictator this; and tell him, Cato
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your
wisdom-
Cato. Nay, more; though Cato's voice was
ne'er employ'd
To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes,
Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour,
And strive to gain his pardon from the people.
Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror.
Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a
Roman.
Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe?
Cato. Greater than Caesar: he's a friend to
virtue.
Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica,
And at the head of your own little senate:
You don't now thunder in the capitol,
With all the mouths of Rome to second you.
Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us
hither.
'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's senate little,
And thinn'd its ranks. Alas! thy dazzled eye
Beholds this man in a false, glaring light,
Which conquest and success have thrown
upon him;
Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see
him black
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes,
That strike my soul with horror but to name
them.
I
Beset with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes;
know thou look'st on me as on a wretch
But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds
Should never buy me to be like that Caesar.
Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to
Caesar,
For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friend-
ship?
Presumptuous man! the gods take care of Cato.
Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul,
Bid him employ his care for these my friends,
And make good use of his ill-gotten pow'r,
By shelt'ring men much better than himself.
Dec. Your high, unconquer'd heart makes
you forget
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain :
You are a man. You rush on your destruction.
But I have done. When I relate hereafter
The tale of this unhappy embassy,
All Rome will be in tears. [Exit, attended.
Sem. Cato, we thank thee.
The mighty genius of immortal Rome
Speaks in thy voice; thy soul breathes liberty.
Caesar will shrink to hear the words thou utter'st,
And shudder in the midst of all his conquests.
SCENE 1.]
7
CATO.

Luc. The senate owns its gratitude to Cato, Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports
Who with so great a soul consults its safety, Behind the hidden sources of the Nile,
And guards our lives, while he neglects his own. In distant worlds, on t'other side the sun;
Sem. Sempronius gives no thanks on this Oft have their black ambassadors appear'd,
account.
Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life?
'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air
From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;
'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone,
Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish.
Oh, could my dying hand but lodge a sword
In Caesar's bosom, and revenge my country,
By heav'n, I could enjoy the pangs of death,
And smile in agony!
Luc. Others perhaps
May serve their country with as warm a zeal,
Though 'tis not kindled into so much rage.
Sem. This sober conduct is a mighty virtue
In lukewarm patriots.
Cato. Come, no more, Sempronius;
All here are friends to Rome, and to each other.
Let us not weaken still the weaker side
By our divisions.
Sem. Cato, my resentments
Are sacrific'd to Rome-I stand reprov'd.
Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a resolve.
Luc. Cato, we all go into your opinion:
Caesar's behaviour has convinc'd the senate,
We ought to hold it out till terms arrive.
Sem. We ought to hold it out till death;
but, Cato,
My private voice is drown'd amidst the senate's.
Cato. Then let us rise, my friends,
strive to fill
Loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama.
Cato. I am no stranger to thy father's great-
ness.
Juba. I do not mean to boast his power
and greatness,
But point out new alliances to Cato.
Had we not better leave this Utica,
To arm Numidia in our cause, and court
Th'assistance of my father's powerful friends?
Did they know Cato, our remotest kings
Would pour embattled multitudes about him;
Their swarthy hosts would darken all our plains,
Doubling the native horror of the war,
And making death more grim.
Cato. And canst thou think
Cato will fly before the sword of Caesar!
Reduc'd, like Hannibal, to seek relief
From court to court, and wander up and down
A vagabond in Afric?
Juba. Cato, perhaps
I'm too officious; but my forward cares
Would fain preserve a life of so much value.
My heart is wounded, when I see such virtue
Afflicted by the weight of such misfortunes.
Cato. Thy nobleness of soul obliges me.
But know, young prince, that valour soars above
What the world calls misfortune and affliction.
These are not ills; else would they never fall
and On heav'n's first fav'rites, and the best of men.
The gods, in bounty, work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into
practice
This little interval, this pause of life
(While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful)
With resolution, friendship, Roman bravery,
And all the virtues we can crowd into it;
That heav'n may say, it ought to be prolong'd.
Fathers, farewell-The young Numidian prince
Comes forward, and expects to know our coun-
sels.
[Exeunt Senators.
Enter JUBA.
Juba, the Roman senate has resolv'd,
Till time give better prospects, still to keep
The sword unsheath'd, and turn its edge on
Caesar.
Juba. The resolution fits a Roman senate.
But, Cato, lend me for awhile thy patience,
And condescend to hear a young man speak.
My father, when, some days before his death,
He order'd me to march for Utica,
(Alas! I thought not then his death so near!)
Wept o'er me, press'd me in his aged arms;
And, as his griefs gave way, My son, said he,
Whatever fortune shall befall thy father,
Be Cato's friend; he'll train thee up to great
And virtuous deeds; do but observe him well,
Thou'lt shun misfortunes, or thou'lt learn to
bear them.
Cato. Juba, thy father was a worthy prince,
And merited, alas! a better fate;
But heav'n thought otherwise.
Juba. My father's fate,
Virtues which shun the day, and lie conceal'd
In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
Juba. I'm charm'd whene'er thou talk'st; I
pant for virtue;
And all my soul endeavours at perfection.
Cato. Dost thou love watchings, abstinence,
and toil,
Laborious virtues all? Learn them from Cato:
Success and fortune must thou learn from
Caesar.
Juba. The best good fortune that can fall
on Juba,
The whole success at which my heart aspires,
Depends on Cato.
Cato. What does Juba say?
Thy words confound me.
Juba. I would fain retract them.
Give them me back again: they aim'd at nothing.
Cato. Tell me thy wish, young prince; make
not my ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.
Juba. Oh! they're extravagant;
Still let me hide them.
Cato. What can Juba ask,
That Cato will refuse?
Juba. I fear to name it.
Marcia-inherits all her father's virtues.
Cato. What wouldst thou say?
Juba. Cato, thou hast a daughter.
Cato. Adieu, young prince; I would not
hear a word
In spite of all the fortitude that shines
Before my face in Cato's great example,
Subdues my soul, and fills my eyes with tears.
Cato. It is an honest sorrow, and becomes thee. Should lessen thee in my esteem. Remember
Juba. His virtues drew respect from foreign The hand of fate is over us, and heav'n
Exacts severity from all our thoughts.
The kings of Afric sought him for their friend; It is not now a time to talk of aught
climes:

8
[ACT. II.
CATO.
But chains, or conquest; liberty, or death.
Enter SYPHAX.
[Exit.
Syph. How's this, my prince? What, cov-
er'd with confusion?
You look as if yon stern philosopher
Had just now chid you.
Juba. Syphax, I'm undone!
Syph. I know it well.
Juba. Cato thinks meanly of me.
Syph. And so will all mankind.
Juba. I've open'd to him
The weakness of my soul, my love for Marcia.
Syph. Cato's a proper person to intrust
A love tale with!
Juba. Oh, I could pierce my heart,
My foolish heart!
Syph. Alas, my prince, how are you chang'd
of late!
I've known young Juba rise before the sun,
To beat the thicket, where the tiger slept,
Or seek the lion in his dreadful haunts.
I've seen you,
Ev'n in the Libyan dog-days, hunt him down,
Then charge him close,
And, stooping from your horse,
Rivet the panting savage to the ground.
Juba. Pr'ythee, no more.
Syph. How would the old king smile,
To see you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with
gold,
And throw the shaggy spoils about your shoul-
ders!
Juba. Syphax, this old man's talk, though
honey flow'd
In ev'ry word, would now lose all its sweetness.
Cato's displeas'd, and Marcia lost for ever.
Syph. Young prince, I yet could give you
good advice;
Marcia might still be yours.
Juba. As how, dear Syphax?
Syph. Juba commands Numidia's hardy
troops,
Mounted on steeds unus'd to the restraint
Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds:
Give but the word, we snatch this damsel up,
And hear her off.
Juba. Can such dishonest thoughts
Rise up in man! Wouldst thou seduce my youth
To do an act that would destroy mine honour?
Syph. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear
you talk!
Honour's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and inexperienc'd men
To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow.
Juba. Wouldst thou degrade thy prince
into a ruffian?
Syph. The boasted ancestors of these great
men,
Whose virtues you admire, were all such ruf-
fians.
This dread of nations, this almighty Rome,
That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds
All under heav'n, was founded on a rape;
Your Scipios, Caesars, Pompeys, and your Catos
(The gods on earth), are all the spurious blood
Of violated maids, of ravish'd Sabines.
Juba. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine
Abounds too much in our Numidian wiles.
Syph. Indeed, my prince, you want to know
the world.
Juba. If knowledge of the world makes men
perfidious,
May Juba ever live in ignorance!
Syph. Go, go; you're young.
Juba. Gods, must I tamely bear
This arrogance unanswer'd! thour't a traitor,
A false old traitor.
Syph. I have gone too far.
[Aside.
Juba. Cato shall know the baseness of thy
soul.
Syph. I must appease this storm, or perish
in it.
[Aside.
Young prince, behold these locks, that are
grown white
Beneath a helmet in your father's battles.
Juba. Those locks shall ne'er protect thy
insolence.
Syph. Must one rash word, the infirmity of
age,
Throw down the merit of my better years?
This the reward of a whole life of service!
Curse on the boy! how steadily he hears me!
[Aside.
Juba. Is it because the throne of my fore-
fathers
Still stands unfill'd, and that Numidia's crown
Hangs doubtful yet whose head it shall enclose,
Thou thus presum'st to treat thy prince with
scorn?
Syph. Why will you rive my heart with
such expressions?
Does not old Syphax follow you to war!
What are his aims? to shed the slow remains,
His last poor ebb of blood in your defence?
Juba. Syphax, no more! I would not hear
you talk.
Syph. Not hear me talk! what, when my
faith to Juba,
My royal master's son, is call'd in question?
My prince may strike me dead, and I'll be dumb;
But whilst I live I must not hold my tongue,
And languish out old age in his displeasure.
Juba. Thou know'st the way too well into
my heart.
I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.
Syph. What greater instance can I give?
I've offer'd
To do an action which my soul abhors,
And gain you whom you love, at any price.
Juba. Was this thy motive? I have been
too hasty.
Syph. And 'tis for this my prince has call'd
me traitor.
Juba. Sure thou mistak'st; I did not call
thee so.
Syph. You did indeed, my prince, you call'd
me traitor.
Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato.
Of what, my prince, would you complain to
Cato?
That Syphax loves you, and would sacrifice
His life, nay more, his honour, in your service?
Juba. Syphax, I know thou lov'st me; but
indeed
Thy zeal for Juba carried thee too far.
Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings,
The noble mind's distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets
her,
And imitates her actions where she is not:
It ought not to be sported with.

SCENE 1.]
9
CATO.
Syph. Believe me, prince, you make old
phax weep
Sy-Unusual fastings, and will bear no more
This medley of philosophy and war.
Within an hour they'll storm the senate-house.
Syph. Meanwhile I'll draw up my Numi-
dian troops
To hear you talk-but 'tis with tears of joy.
If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows,
Numidia will be blest by Cato's lectures.
Juba. Syphax, thy hand; we'll mutually forget Within the square, to exercise their arms,
The warmth of youth, and frowardness of age: And, as I see occasion, favour thee.
Thy-prince esteems thy worth, and loves thy I laugh to see how your unshaken Cato
person.
If e'er the sceptre come into my hand,
Syphax shall stand the second in my kingdom.
Syph. VVhy will you o'erwhelm my age
with kindness?
Will look aghast, while unforeseen destruction
Pours in upon him thus from every side.
So, where our wide Numidian wastes extend,
Sudden th' impetuous hurricanes descend,
My joys grow burdensome, I shan't support it. Wheel through th' air, in circling eddies play,
Juba. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try Tear up the sands, and sweep whole plains
to find
away.
Some blest occasion, that may set me right The helpless traveller, with wild surprise,
In Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man Sees the dry desert all around him rise,
Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admir-And, smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies.
ers.
[Exil.
Syph. Young men soon give, and soon for-
get affronts;
Old age is slow in both-A false old traitor!--
These words, rash boy, may chance to cost
thee dear.
My heart had still some foolish fondness for
thee,
But hence, 'tis gone! I give it to the winds:
Caesar, I'm wholly thine.-
Enter SEMPRONIUS,
All hail, Sempronius!
Well, Cato's senate is resolv'd to wait
The fury of a siege, before it yields.
Sem. Syphax, we both were on the verge
of fate;
Lucius declar'd for peace, and terms were of
fer'd
To Cato, by a messenger from Caesar.
Syph. But how stands Cato?
Sem. Thou hast seen mount Atlas:
Whilst storms and tempets thunder on its brows,
And oceans break their billows at its feet,
It stands unmov'd, and glories in its height:
Such is that haughty man; his tow'ring soul,
'Midst all the shocks and injuries of fortune,
Rises superior, and looks down on Caesar.
Syph. But what's this messenger?
Sem. I've practis'd with him,
And found a means to let the victor know,
That Syphax and Sempronius are his friends.
But let me now examine in my turn;
Is Juba fix'd?
Syph. Yes-but it is to Cato.
I've tried the force of ev'ry reason on him,
Sooth'd and caress'd; been angry, sooth'd again;
Laid safety, life, and interest in his sight;
But all are vain, he scorns them all for Cato.
Sem. Well, 'tis no matter; we shall do
without him.
Syphax, I now may hope, thou hast forsook
Thy Juba's cause, and wishest Marcia mine.
Syph. May she be thine as fast as thou
wouldst have her.
But are thy troops prepar'd for a revolt?
Does the sedition catch from man to man,
And run among the ranks?
Sem. All, all is ready;
ACT III.
SCENE 1.-The Palace.
Enter MARCUS and PORTIUS.
[Exeunt.
Marc. Thanks to my stars, I have not rang'd
about
The wilds of life, ere I could find a friend;
Nature first pointed out my Portius to me,
And early taught me, by her secret force,
To love thy person, ere I knew thy merit,
Till what was instinct, grew up into friendship.
Por. Marcus, the friendships of the world
are oft
Ours has severest virtue for its basis,
Confed'racies in vice, or leagues of pleasure;
And such a friendship ends not but with life.
Marc. Portius, thou know'st my soul in all
its weakness;
Then, pr'ythee, spare me on its tender side;
Indulge me but in love, any other passions
Shall rise and fall by virtue's nicest rules.
Por. When love's well tim'd, 'tis not a fault
to love.
The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise
Sink in the soft captivity together.
Marc. Alas, thou 'talk'st like one that never
felt
Th' impatient throbs and longings of a soul,
That pants and reaches after distant good!
A lover does not live by vulgar time:
Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's absence
Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden;
And yet, when I behold the charming maid,
I'm ten times more undone; while hope, and
fear,
And grief, and rage, and love, rise up at once,
And with variety of pain distract me.
Por. What can thy Portius do to give thee
help?
Marc. Portius, thou oft enjoy'st the fair one's
presence;
Then undertake my cause, and plead it to her
With all the strength and heat of eloquence
Fraternal love and friendship can inspire.
Tell her thy brother languishes to death,
And fades away, and withers in his bloom;
That he forgets his sleep, and loathes his food,
That youth, and health, and war, are joyless
to him;
The factious leaders are our friends, that spread
Murmurs and discontents among the soldiers;
They count their toilsome marches, long fa- Describe his anxious days, and restless nights
And all the torments that thou see'st me suffer
tigues,
2

10
[ACT III.
CATO.
Por. Marcus, I beg thee give me not an
office
That suits with me so ill. Thou know'st my
temper.
Marc. Wilt thou behold me sinking in my
woes,
And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm,
To raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrows?
Por. Marcus, thou canst not ask what I'd
refuse:
Lucia. Has not the vow already pass'd my
lips?
The gods have heard it, and 'tis seal'd in heav'n.
May all the vengeance that was ever pour'd
On perjur'd heads o'erwhelm me if I break it!
Por. Fix'd in astonishment, I gaze upon thee,
Like one just blasted by a stroke from heav'n,
Who pants for breath, and stiffens, yet alive,
In dreadful looks; a monument of wrath!
Lucia. Think, Portius, think thou see'st thy
dying brother
But here, believe me, I've a thousand reasons-
Marc. I know thou'lt say my passion's out Stabb'd at his heart, and all besmear'd with
of season,
That Cato's great example and misfortunes
Should both conspire to drive it from my
thoughts.
But what's all this to one that loves like me?
O Portius, Portius, from my soul I wish
Thou didst but know thyself what 'tis to love!
Then wouldst thou pity and assist thy brother.
Por. What should I do? If I disclose my
passion,
brother.
blood,
Storming at heav'n and thee! Thy awful sire
Sternly demands the cause, th' accursed cause
That robs him of his son:-farewell, my Portius!
Farewell, though death is in the word-for ever!
Por. Thou must not go; my soul still hov-
ers o'er thee,
And can't get loose.
Lucia. If the firm Portius shake
To hear of parting, think what Lucia suffers!
Por. 'Tis true, unruffled and serene, I've met
Our friendship's at an end; if I conceal it,
The world will call me false to friend and The common accidents of life; but here
Such an unlook'd-for storm of ills falls on me,
Marc. But see, where Lucia, at her wonted It beats down all my strength, I cannot bear it.
We must not part.
hour,
[Aside.
Amid the cool of yon high marble arch,
Enjoys the noon-day breeze! Observe her,
Portius;
That face, that shape, those eyes, that heav'n
of beauty!
Observe her well, and blame me if thou canst.
Por. She sees us, and advances-
Marc. I'll withdraw,
And leave you for awhile. Remember, Portius,
Thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue.
[Exit.
Enter LUCIA.
Lucia. Did not I see your brother Marcus
here?
Why did he fly the place, and shun my presence?
Por. Oh, Lucia, language is too faint to show
His rage of love; it preys upon his life;
He pines, he sickens, he despairs, he dies!
Lucia. How wilt thou guard thy honour,
in the shock
Of love and friendship? Think betimes, my
Portius,
Think how the nuptial tie, that might ensure
Our mutual bliss, would raise to such a height
Thy brother's griefs, as might perhaps destroy
him.
Por. Alas, poor youth! What dost thou
think, my Lucia?
His gen'rous, open, undesigning heart
Has begg'd his rival to solicit for him!
Then do not strike him dead with a denial.
Lucia. No, Portius, no; I see thy sister's
tears,
Thy father's anguish, and thy brother's death,
In the pursuit of our ill-fated loves:
And, Portius, here I swear, to heav'n I swear,
To heav'n, and all the powers that judge
mankind,
Never to mix my plighted hands with thine,
While such a cloud of mischief hangs upon us;
But to forget our loves, and drive thee out
From all my thoughts-as far as I am able.
Por. What hast thou said?-I'm thunder-
struck-recall
Those hasty words, or I am lost for ever.
Lucia. What dost thou say? Not part!
Hast thou forgot the vow that I have made?
Are not there heavens, and gods, that thunder
o'er us?
But see, thy brother Marcus bends this way;
I sicken at the sight. Once more, farewell,
Farewell, and know thou wrong'st me, if thou
think'st,
Ever was love, or ever grief, like mine.
Enter MARCUS.
[Exit.
Marc. Portius, what hopes? How stands
she? am I doom'd
To life or death?
Por. What wouldst thou have me say?
Marc. Thy downcast looks, and thy disor-
der'd thoughts,
Tell me my fate. I ask not the success
My cause has found.
Por. I'm griev'd I undertook it.
Marc. What, does the barbarous maid in-
sult my heart,
My aching heart, and triumph in my pains?
Por. Away, you're too suspicious in your
griefs;
Lucia, though sworn never to think of love,
Compassionates your pains, and pities you.
Marc. Compassionates my pains, and pities
me!
What is compassion when 'tis void of love?
Fool that I was to choose so cold a friend
To urge my cause!-Compassionates my pains!
Pr'ythee what art, what rhet'ric didst thou use
To gain this mighty boon?-She pities me!
To one that asks the warm returns of love,
Compassion's cruelty, 'tis scorn, 'tis death-
Por. Marcus, no more; have I deserv'd this
treatment?
Marc. What have I said? Oh, Portius, oh
forgive me!
A soul, exasperate in ills, falls out
With every thing-its friend, itself-but, hah!
[Shouts and Trumpets.
What means that shout, big with the sounds
of war?

SCENE 2.]
11
CATO.
What new alarm?
Sem. Cato, commit these wretches to my care;
[Shouts and Trumpets repeated. First let them each be broken on the rack,
Por. A second, louder yet,
Then, with what life remains, impal'd, and left
To writhe at leisure, round the bloody stake;
There let them hang, and taint the southern
wind.
Swells in the wind, and comes more full upon
us.
Marc. Oh, for some glorious cause to fall
in battle!
Lucia, thou hast undone me: thy disdain
Has broke my heart: 'tis death must give
ease.
Por. Quick, let us hence.
Who knows
Cato's life
Stands sure? Oh, Marcus, I am warm'd;
heart
me
The partners of their crime will learn obedience.
Cato. Forbear, Sempronius!-see they suffer
death,
But in their deaths remember they are men;
if Lucius, the base, degen'rate age requires
Severity.
my When by just vengeance guilty mortals perish,
The gods behold the punishment with pleasure,
And lay th' uplifted thunderbolt aside.
for
Leaps at the trumpet's voice, and burns
glory.
[Exeunt. Trumpets and shouting.
SCENE II.-Before the Senate-house.
Enter SEMPRONIUS, with the Leaders of the
Mutiny.
Sem. At length the winds are rais'd, the
storm blows high!
Be it your care, my friends, to keep it up
In all its fury, and direct it, right,
Till it has spent itself on Cato's head.
Mean while, I'll herd among his friends, and
seem
One of the number, that, whate'er arrive,
My friends and fellow-soldiers may be safe.
[Exit.
1 Lead. We are all safe; Sempronius is
our friend.
[Trumpets.
But, hark, Cato enters. Bear up boldly to him;
Be sure you beat him down, and bind him fast;
This day will end our toils.
Fear nothing, for Sempronius is our friend.
Trumpets. Re-enter SEMPRONIUS, with CATO,
LUCIUS, PORTIUS, MARCUS, and Guards.
Cato. Where are those bold, intrepid sons
of war,
That greatly turn their backs upon the foe,
And to their general send a brave defiance?
Sem. Curse on their dastard souls, they
stand astonish'd! [Aside.
Cato. Perfidious men! And will you thus
dishonour
Your past exploits, and sully all your wars?
Why could not Cato fall
Without your guilt? Behold, ungrateful men,
Behold my bosom naked to your swords,
And let the man that's injur'd strike the blow.
Which of you all suspects that he is wrong'd,
Or thinks he suffers greater ills than Cato?
Am I distinguish'd from you but by toils,
Superior toils, and heavier weight of cares?
Painful pre-eminence!
Sem. Confusion to the villains! all is lost!
[Aside.
Sem. Cato, I execute thy will with pleasure.
Cato. Mean while, we'll sacrifice to liberty.
Remember, O my friends! the laws, the rights,
The gen'rous plan of power deliver'd down
From age to age by your renown'd forefathers
(So dearly bought, the price of so much blood):
Oh, let it never perish in your hands!
But piously transmit it to your children.
Do thou, great liberty, inspire our souls,
And make our lives in thy possession happy,
Or our deaths glorious in thy just defence.
[Exeunt Cato, etc.
1 Lead. Sempronius, you have acted like
yourself,
One would have thought you had been half
in earnest.
Sem. Villain, stand off; base, grov'ling,
worthless wretches,
Mongrels in faction, poor faint-hearted traitors!
2 Lead. Nay, now you carry it too far,
Sempronius!
Throw off the mask, there are none here but
friends.
Sem. Know, villains, when such paltry slaves
presume
To mix in treason, if the plot succeeds,
They're thrown neglected by; but, if it fails,
They're sure to die like dogs, as you shall do.
Here, take these factious monsters, drag them
forth
To sudden death.
1 Lead. Nay, since it comes to this-
Sem. Dispatch them quick, but first pluck
out their tongues,
Lest with their dying breath they sow sedition.
[Exeunt Guards, with the Lea-
ders of the Mutiny.
Enter SYPHAX.
Syph. Our first design, my friend, has prov'd
abortive;
Still there remains an after-game to play;
My troops are mounted;
Let but Sempronius head us in our flight,
We'll force the gate where Marcus keeps his
guard,
Cato. Hence, worthless men! hence! and And hew down all that would oppose our
complain to Caesar,
You could not undergo the toil of war,
Nor bear the hardships that your leader bore.
Luc. See, Cato, see the unhappy men! they
weep!
Fear and remorse, and sorrow for their crime,
Appear in ev'ry look, and plead for mercy.
Cato. Learn to be honest men, give up your
leaders,
And pardon shall descend on all the rest.
passage.
A day will bring us into Caesar's camp.
Sem. Confusion! I have fail'd of half my
purpose:
Marcia, the charming Marcia's left behind!
Syph. How! will Sempronius turn a woman's
slave?
Sem. Think not thy friend can ever feel the
soft
Unmanly warmth and tenderness of love.

12
[ACT IV.
CATO.
Syphax, I long to clasp that haughty maid, Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian.
And bend her stubborn virtue to my passion:-But hark! what noise! Death to my hopes!
When I have gone thus far, I'd cast her off.
'tis he,
Syph. What hinders, then, but that thou Tis Juba's self! there is but one way left-
He must be murder'd, and a passage cut
Through those his guards.
find her out,
And hurry her away by manly force?
Sem. But how to gain admission? For access
Is giv'n to none but Juba and her brothers.
Syph. Thou shalt have Juba's dress and Ju-
ba's guards;
Enter JUBA, with Guards.
Juba. What do I see? Who's this that dares
usurp
The doors will open, when Numidia's prince The guards and habits of Numidia's prince?
Seems to appear before the slaves that watch Sem. One that was born to scourge thy ar-
them.
Sem. Heav'ns, what a thought is there! Mar-
cia's my own!
How will my bosom swell with anxious joy,
When I behold her struggling in my arms,
With glowing beauty, and disorder'd charms,
While fear and anger, with alternate grace,
Pant in her breast, and vary in her face!
So Pluto seiz'd off Proserpine, convey'd
To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid;
There grimly smil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous
prize,
rogance,
Presumptuous youth!
Juba. What can this mean? Sempronius!
Sem. My sword shall answer thee. Have
at thy heart.
Juba. Nay, then, beware thy own, proud,
barbarous man.
[They fight; Sempronius falls.
Sem. Curse on my stars! Am I then doom'd
to fall
By a boy's hand, disfigur'd in a vile
Numidian dress, and for a worthless woman?
Nor envy'd Jove his sunshine and his skies. Gods, I'm distracted! this my close of life!
Oh, for a peal of thunder, that would make
Earth, sea, and air, and heav'n, and Cato tremble!
[Dies.
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I-A Chamber.
Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.
Lucia. Now tell me, Marcia, tell me from
thy soul,
If thou believ'st 'tis possible for woman
To suffer greater ills than Lucia suffers?
Marcia. Oh, Lucia, Lucia, might my big
swoln heart
Vent all its griefs, and give a loose to sorrow,
Marcia could answer thee in sighs, keep pace
With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear,
Lucia. I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be
belov'd
Juba. With what a spring his furious soul
broke loose,
And left the limbs still quiv'ring on the ground!
Hence let us carry off those slaves to Cato,
That we may there at length unravel all
This dark design, this mystery of fate.
[Exit Juba; his Guards taking
those of Sempronius as Pri-
soners.
Enter LUCIA and MARCIA.
Lucia. Sure 'twas the clash of swords; my
troubled heart
By Juba, and thy father's friend, Sempronius: Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows,
But which of these has pow'r to charm like It throbs with fear, and aches at ev'ry sound.
Oh, Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake-
Marcia. Still I must beg thee not to name I die away with horror at the thought!
Portius?
Sempronius.
Lucia, I like not that loud, boist'rous man.
Juba, to all the brav'ry of a hero,
Adds softest love and sweetness: he, I own,
Might make indeed the proudest woman happy.
Lucia. But should this father give you to
Sempronius?
Marcia. I dare not think he will: but if he
should-
Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer,
Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures?
I hear the sound of feet! They march this way!
Let us retire, and try if we can drown
Each softer thought in sense of present danger:
When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
In spite of all the virtues we can boast,
The woman that deliberates is lost. [Exeunt.
Enter SEMPRONIUS, dressed like JUBA, with
Numidian Guards.
Sem. The deer is lodg'd, I've track'd her to
her covert.
Be sure you mind the word, and, when I give it,
Rush in at once, and seize upon your prey
How will the young Numidian rave to see
Hiis mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond th' enjoyment of so bright a prize,
Marcia. See, Lucia, see! here's blood! here's
blood and murder!
Ha! a Numidian! Heav'n preserve the prince!
The face lies muffled
The face lies muffled up within the garment,
But, ah! death to my sight! a diadem,
And royal robes! O gods! 'tis he, 'tis he!
Juba lies dead before us!
Lucia. Now, Marcia, now call up to thy
assistance
Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind;
Thou canst not put it to a greater trial.
Marcia. Lucia, look there, and wonder at
my patience;
Have I not cause to rave, and beat my breast,
To rend my heart with grief, and run distracted?
Lucia. What can I think, or say, to give
thee comfort?
Marcia. Talk not of comfort; 'tis for lighter
ills:
Behold a sight that strikes all comfort dead.
Enter JUBA, unperceived.
I will indulge my sorrows, and give way
That man, that best of men deserv'd it from me.
To all the pangs and fury of despair;
Juba. What do I bear? and was the false
Sempronius
SCENE 2.]
13
CATO.

That best of men? Oh, had I fall'n like him, That still broke foremost through the crowd
And could have been thus mourn'd, I had
of patriots,
[Aside. As with a hurricane of zeal transported,
Marcia, 'Tis not in fate to ease my tortur'd And virtuous ev'n to madness-
been happy.
breast.
Cato. Trust me, Lucius,
Oh, he was all made up of love and charms! Our civil discords have produc'd such crimes,
Whatever maid could wish, or man admire: Such monstrous crimes, I am surpris'd at nothing.
Delight of ev'ry eye; when he appear'd, -Oh, Lucius, I am sick of this bad world!
A secret pleasure gladden'd all that saw him. The daylight and the sun grow painful to me.
Oh, Juba, Juba!
Juba. What means that voice? Did she not
call on Juba?
[Aside.
Enter PORTIUS.
Marcia. He's dead, and never knew how But see where Portius comes: what means
much I lov'd him;
this haste?
Lucia, who knows but his poor, bleeding heart, Why are thy looks thus chang'd?
I
Por. My heart is griev'd:
bring such news as will afflict my father.
Cato. Has Caesar shed more Roman blood?
Por. Not so.
Amidst its agonies, remember'd Marcia,
And the last words he utter'd call'd me cruel!
Alas! he knew not, hapless youth, he knew not
Marcia's whole soul was full of love and Juba!
The traitor Syphax, as within the square
Juba. Where am I? Do I live? or am indeed He exercis'd his troops, the signal giv'n,
What Marcia thinks? All is Elysium round me! Flew off at once with his Numidian horse
[Aside. To the south gate, where Marcus holds the
Marcia. Ye dear remains of the most lov'd
of men,
Nor modesty nor virtue here forbid
A last embrace, while thus-
Juba. See, Marcia, see,
[Throwing himself before her.
The happy Juba lives! he lives to catch
That dear embrace, and to return it too
With mutual warmth and eagerness of love.
Marcia. With pleasure and amaze I stand
transported!
If thou art Juba, who lies there?
Juba. A wretch,
Disguis'd like Juba on a curs'd design.
I could not bear
To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death,
But flew, in all the haste of love, to find thee;
I found thee weeping, and confess this once,
Am rapt with joy, to see my Marcia's tears.
Marcia. I've been surpris'd in an unguarded
hour,
But must not now go back; the love, that lay
Half-smother'd in my breast, has broke through all
Its weak restraints, and burns in its full lustre.
I cannot, if I would,, conceal it from thee.
Juba. My joy, my best belov'd, my only wish!
How shall I speak the transport of my soul?
Marcia. Lucia, thy arm. Lead to my apart-
ment.
Oh, prince! I blush to think what I have said,
But fate has wrested the confession from me;
Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour.
Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee,
And make the gods propitious to our love.
[Exeunt Marcia and Lucia.
Juba. I am so blest, I fear 'tis all a dream.
Fortune, thou now hast made amends for all
Thy past unkindness: I absolve my stars.
What though Numidia add her conquer'd towns
And provinces to swell the victor's triumph,
Juba will never at his fate repine:
Let Caesar have the world, if Marcia's mine.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-Before the Palace. A March
at a Distance.
Enter CATO and LUCIUS.
watch;
I saw, and call'd to stop him, but in vain:
He toss'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me,
He would not stay and perish like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious man! But haste, my son,
and see
Thy brother Marcus acts a Roman's part.
[Exit Portius.
Lucius, the torrent bears too hard upon me:
Justice gives way to force: the conquer'd world
Is Caesar's! Cato has no business in it.
Luc. While pride, oppression, and injustice
reign,
The world will still demand her Cato's presence.
In pity to mankind submit to Caesar,
And reconcile thy mighty soul to life.
Cato. Would Lucius have me live to swell
the number
Of Caesar's slaves, or by a base submission
Give up the cause of Rome, and own a tyrant?
Luc. The victor never will impose on Cato
Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confess
The virtues of humanity are Caesar's.
Cato. Curse on his virtues! they've undone
his country.
Such popular humanity is treason-
But see young Juba; the good youth appears,
Full of the guilt of his perfidious subjects!
Luc. Alas, poor prince! his fate deserves
compassion.
Enter JUBA.
Juba. I blush, and am confounded to appear
Before thy presence, Cato.
Cato. What's thy crime?
Juba. I'm a Numidian.
Cato. And a brave one too. Thou hast a
Roman soul.
Juba. Hast thou not heard of my false
countrymen?
Cato. Alas, young prince!
Falsehood and fraud shoot up in ev'ry soil,
The product of all climes-Rome has its Caesars,
Juba. 'Tis gen'rous thus to comfort the dis-
tress'd.
Cato. 'Tis just to give applause where 'tis
deserv'd:
Luc. I stand astonish'd! What, the bold Thy virtue, prince, has stood the test of fortune,
Like purest gold, that, tortur'd in the furnace,
Sempronius,

14
[ACT V.
CATO.
Comes out more bright, and brings forth all
its weight.
Enter PORTIUS.
Por. Misfortune on misfortune! grief on
grief!
My brother Marcus-
Cato. Ha! what has he done?
Has he forsook his post? Has he giv'n way?
Did he look tamely on, and let them pass?
Por. Scarce had I left my father, but I met
him
Borne on the shields of his surviving soldiers,
Breathless and pale, and cover'd o'er with
wounds.
Long, at the head of his few faithful friends,
He stood the shock of a whole host of foes,
Till, obstinately brave, and bent on death,
Oppress'd with multitudes, he greatly fell.
Cato. I'm satisfy'd.
Por. Nor did he fall, before
His sword had pierc'd through the false heart
of Syphax.
Yonder he lies. I saw the hoary traitor
Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.
Cato. Thanks to the gods, my boy has done
his duty.
-Portius, when I am dead, be sure you place
His urn near mine.
Por. Long may they keep asunder!
Luc. Oh, Cato, arm thy soul with all its
patience;
See where the corpse ofthy dead son approaches!
The citizens and senators, alarm'd,
Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.
Dead March. CATO meets the Corpse. Lu-
CIUS, Senators, Guards, etc. attending.
Cato. Welcome, my son! Here lay him
down, my friends,
Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure
The bloody corse, and count those glorious
wounds.
-How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue!
Who would not be that youth? What pity is it
That we can die but once to serve our country!
-VVhy sits this sadness on your brows, my
friends?
I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood
Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war.
Portius, behold thy brother, and remember
Thy life is not thy own when Rome demands it.
When Rome demands; but Rome is now no
more.
Cato. Caesar asham'd! Has he not seen
Pharsalia!
Luc. 'Tis time thou save thyself and us.
Cato. Lose not a thought on me; I'm out
of danger:
Heav'n will not leave me in the victor's hand.
Caesar shall never say, he conquer'd Cato.
But oh, my friends! your safety fills my heart
With anxious thoughts; a thousand secret
terrors
Rise in my soul. How shall I save my friends?
'Tis now, O Caesar, I begin to fear thee!
Luc. Caesar has mercy, if we ask it of him.
Cato. Then ask it, I conjure you; let him
know
Whate'er was done against him, Cato did it.
Add, if you please, that I request it of him-
That I myself, with tears, request it of him-
The virtue of my friends may pass unpunish'd.
Juba, my heart is troubled for thy sake.
Should I advise thee to regain Numidia,
Or seek the conqueror?-
Juba. If I forsake thee
Whilst I have life, may heav'n abandon Juba!
Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I foresee aright,
Will one day make thee great; at Rome,
hereafter,
Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend.
Portius, draw near: my son, thou oft hast seen
Thy sire engag'd in a corrupted state,
Wrestling with vice and faction: now thou
seest me
Spent, overpower'd, despairing of success;
Let me advise thee to retreat betimes
To thy paternal seat, the Sabine field;
Where the great Censor toil'd with his own
hands,
And all our frugal ancestors were bless'd
In humble virtues, and a rural life;
There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome;
Content thyself to be obscurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear
sway,
The post of honour is a private station.
Por. I hope my father does not recommend
A life to Portius that he scorns himself.
Cato. Farewell, my friends! If there be any
of you,
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency,
Know there are ships prepar'd, by my command,
Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you?
That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port.
The conqueror draws near. Once more, farewell!
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet
Oh, liberty! oh, virtue! oh, my country!
Juba. Behold that upright man! Rome fills Where Caesar never shall approach us more.
In happier climes, and on a safer shore,
With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dear There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd,
[Pointing to his dead Son.
[Aside. Who greatly in his country's cause expir'd,
Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdu'd, Shall know he conquer'd. The firm patriot
The sun's whole course, the day and year, are
Caesar's:
his eyes
son.
For him the self-devoted Decii died,
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd:
Ev'n Pompey fought for Caesar. Oh, my friends,
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages,
The Roman empire, fall'n! Oh, curs'd ambition!
Fall'n into Caesar's hands! Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Juba. While Cato lives, Caesar will blush
Mankind enslav'd, and be asham'd of empire.
to see
there,
Who made the welfare of mankind his care,
Shall find the gen'rous labour was not lost.
Though still by faction, vice, and fortune crost,
[Dead March. Exeunt in fu-
neral Procession.
ACT V.
SCENE I-A Chamber.
CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful Posture;
in his Hand, Plato's Book on the Immor-
SCENE 1.]
15
CATO.

tality of the Soul. A drawn Sword on And bar each avenue; thy gath'ring fleets
the Table, by him.
Cato. It must be so-Plato thou reason'st
well-
O'erspread the sea, and stop up ev'ry port;
Cato shall open to himself a passage,
And mock thy hopes.-
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, Whose grief hangs heavy on him. Oh, my
Por. [Kneeling] Oh, sir! forgive your son,
This longing after immortality?
father!
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul How am I sure it is not the last time
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis heav'n itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must
we pass?
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies be-
fore me:
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud
Through all her works), he must delight in
virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when, or where?-this world was made
for Caesar:
I e'er shall call you so? Be not displeas'd,
Oh, be not angry with me whilst I weep,
And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you
To quit the dreadful purpose of your soul!
Cato. Thou hast been ever good and duti-
ful. [Embracing him.
Weep not, my son, all will be well again;
The righteous gods, whom I have sought to
please,
Will succour Cato, and preserve his children.
Por. Your words give comfort to my droop-
ing heart.
Cato. Portius, thou may'st rely upon my
conduct:
Thy father will not act what misbecomes him.
But go, my son, and see if aught be wanting
Among thy father's friends; see them embark'd,
And tell me if the winds and seas befriend them.
I'm weary of conjectures - this must end them. My soul is quite weigh'd down with care,
[Laying his Hand on his Sword.
and asks
Thus am I doubly arm'd: my death and life, The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep.
Por. My thoughts are more at ease, my
heart revives [Exit Cato.
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
Enter MARCIA.
Oh, Marcia! Oh, my sister, still there's hope
Our father will not cast away a life
So needful to us all, and to his country.
He is retir'd to rest, and seems to cherish
Thoughts full of peace.-He has dispatch'd
me hence
bers.
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? With orders that bespeak a mind compos'd,
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses? And studious for the safety of his friends.
Nature, oppress'd and harrass'd out with care, Marcia, take care that none disturb his slum-
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awaken'd soul may take her flight,
Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An off'ring fit for heav'n. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of them,
Indiff'rent in his choice to sleep or die.
Enter PORTIUS.
But, ha! who's this? my son! Why this in-
trusion?
Were not my orders that I would be private?
Why am I disobey'd?
Por. Alas, my father!
[Exit.
Marcia. Oh, ye immortal powers, that guard
Watch round his couch and soften his repose,
the just,
With easy dreams; remember all his virtues,
Banish his sorrows, and becalm his soul
And show mankind that goodness is your care!
Enter LUCIA.
Lucia. Where is your father, Marcia, where
is Cato?
Marcia. Lucia, speak low, he is retir'd
to rest.
What means this sword, this instrument of Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope
death?
Let me convey it hence.
Cato. Rash youth, forbear!
Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' entreaties of
your friends,
Their tears, their common danger, wrest it
from you!
Cato. Wouldst thou betray me? Wouldst
thou give me up
A slave, a captive, into Caesar's hands?
Retire, and learn obedience to a father,
Or know, young man-
Por. Look not thus sternly on me;
You know, I'd rather die than disobey you.
Cato. 'Tis well! again I'm master of myself.
Now, Caesar, let thy troops beset our gates,
Rise in my soul-We shall be happy still.
Lucia. Alas, I tremble when I think on Cato!
In every view, in every thought I tremble!
Cato is stern and awful as a god;
He knows not how to wink at human frailty,
Or pardon weakness, that he never felt.
Marcia. Though stern and awful to the foes
of Rome,
He is all goodness, Lucia, always mild;
Compassionate and gentle to his friends;
Fill'd with domestic tenderness, the best,
The kindest father; I have ever found him
Easy and good, and bounteous to my wishes.
Lucia. "Tis his consent alone can make us
blest.
But who knows Cato's thoughts?

16
[ACT V.
CATO.
Who knows how yet he may dispose
Portius,
Or how he has determin'd of thyself?
of Oh, Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pass!
Cato has fall'n upon his sword-
Luc. Oh, Portius,
Marcia. Let him but live, commit the rest Hide all the horrors of the mournful tale,
to heav'n.
Enter LUCIUS.
Luc. Sweet are the slumbers of the vir-
tuous man!
And let us guess the rest.
Por. I've rais'd him up,
And plac'd him in his chair; where, pale and
faint,
He gasps for breath, and as his life flows
from him,
His servants,
Demands to see his friends.
weeping,
Oh, Marcia, I have seen thy godlike father;
Some power invisible supports his soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted greatness.
A kind, refreshing sleep is fall'n upon him:
I saw him stretch'd at ease; his fancy lost
In pleasing dreams; as I drew near his couch,
He smil'd, and cried, Caesar, thou canst not To pay the last sad duties to my father!
hurt me.
Marcia. His mind still labours with some
dreadful thought.
Enter JUBA.
Juba. Lucius, the horsemen are return'd
from viewing
Obsequious to his order, bear him hither!-
Mar. Oh, heav'n! assist me in this dreadful
hour,
CATO brought on in a Chair.
Juba. These are thy triumphs, thy exploits,
O Caesar!
Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed!
Cato. Here set me' down-
Portius, come near me-Are my friends em-
bark'd?
The number, strength, and posture of our foes,
Who now encamp within a short hour's march; Can any thing be thought of for their service?
On the high point of yon bright western tower Whilst I yet live, let me not live in vain-
We ken them from afar; the setting sun Oh, Lucius, art thou here?-Thou art too
Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd
helmets,
And covers all the field with gleams of fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we should awake thy
father.
Caesar is still dispos'd to give us terms,
And waits at distance till he hears from Cato.
Enter PORTIUS.
Portius, thy looks speak somewhat of impor-
tance.
What tidings dost thou bring? Methinks I see
Unusual gladness sparkle in thy eyes.
good-
dren-
Let this our friendship live between our chil-
Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia.
Marcia, my daughter-
Oh, bend me forward!-Juba loves thee, Marcia.
A senator of Rome, while Rome surviv'd,
Would not have match'd his daughter with
a king-
But Caesar's arms have thrown down all dis-
tinction-
I'm sick to death-Oh, when shall I get loose
From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and
sorrow!
And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in
On my departing soul. Alas, I fear
Por. As I was hasting to the port, where now
My father's friends, impatient for a passage,
Accuse the ling'ring winds, a sail arriv'd
From Pompey's son, who, through the realms I've been too hasty!-Oh, ye powers, that
of Spain,
search
Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, The heart of man, and weigh his inmost
And rouses the whole nation up to arms.
thoughts,
Were Cato at their head, once more might If I have done amiss, impute it not-
The best may err, but you are good, and-
Rome
Assert her rights, and claim her liberty.
[4 groan is heard.
But, hark! what means that groan?-Oh,
give me way,
And let me fly into my father's presence!
Luc. Cato, amidst his slumbers,
Oh!
[Dies.
Por. There fled the greatest soul that ever
warm'd
A Roman breast:-Oh, Cato! oh, my friend!
Thy will shall be religiously observ'd.
[Exit. But let us bear this awful corpse to Caesar,
thinks on And lay it in his sight, that it may stand,
A fence betwixt us and the victor's wrath:
Cato, though dead, shall still protect his friends.
Rome,
And, in the wild disorder of his soul,
Mourns o'er his country. - Ha! a
groan-
Heav'n guard us all!
Mar. Alas, 'tis not the voice
second
Of one who sleeps; 'tis agonizing pain-
"Tis death is in that sound-
Re-enter PORTIUS.
Por. Oh, sight of woe!
From hence, let fierce contending nations
know,
What dire effects from civil discord flow:
'Tis this that shakes our country with alarms,
And gives up Rome a prey to Roman arms;
Produces fraud, and cruelty, and strife,
And robs the guilty world of Cato's life.
[Exeunt.

ACTI. SCENE 1.]
17
CONGREVE.
WILLIAM CONGREVE, descended from the Congreves in Staffordshire, who trace their ancestry as far back as
before the conquest, first saw the light at Bardsa, near Leeds, Yorkshire, 1672. He was educated first at Kilkenny;
and afterwards sent to the university in Dublin, under the direction of Dr. Ashe. His father, who was only a younger
brother, and provided for in the army by a commission on the Irish establishment, had been compelled to undertake
a journey thither in consequence of his command, being desirous his study should be directed to profit as well as im-
provement, sent him over to England, and placed him at the age of 16 as student in the Temple. Here he lived
for several years, but with very little attention to statutes or reports. His disposition to become an author appeared
very early; Johnson says, "Among all the efforts of early genius, which literary history records, 1 doubt whether any
one can be produced that more surpasses the common limits of nature than the plays of Congreve." His first dramatic
labour was The Old Batchelor, acted in 1693. This piece introduced him to Lord Halifax, the Maecenas of the age,
who, desirous of raising so promising a genius above the necessity of too hasty productions, made him one of the com-
missioners for licencing hackney-coaches. He soon after hestowed upon him a place in the Pipe-office, with one in the
Customs of 600 pounds a year. 1694 Congreve produced The Double Dealer. The next year, when Betterton opened the
new Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, he gave him his comedy of Love for Love. The Biographia Dramatica says,
"This met with so much success, that they immediately offered the author a share in the profits of the house, on
condition of his furnishing them with one play yearly. This offer he accepted: but whether through indolence or that
correctness which he looked on as necessary to his works, his Mourning Bride did not come out till 1697, nor his
Way of the World till two years after that." He had been involved in a long contest with Jeremy Collier, a fu-
rious and implacable non-juror, who published A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage,
in which he had very severely attacked some of Congreve's pieces: this, added to the ill success his Way of the
World, though an exceeding good comedy, met with, completed his disgust; and he made a resolution of never more
writing for the stage. Johnson says, "At last comedy grew more modest, and Collier lived to see the reward of his labour in the
reformation of the theatre." In 1714, Congreve was appointed Commissioner of Wine Licences, and 17. Dec. same year was no-
minated Secretary of Jamaica, making altogether a yearly income of 1200 pounds. Johnson says, "His honours were yet far
greater than his profits. Every writer mentioned him with respect; and, among other testimonies to his merit, Steele made
him the patron of his Miscellany, and Pope inscribed to him his Translation of the Iliad. But he treated the Muses
with ingratitude; for, having long conversed familiarly with the great, he wished to be considered rather as a man of
fashion than of wit; and, when he received a visit from Voltaire, disgusted him by the despicable foppery of desiring
to be considered not as an author but a gentleman; to which the Frenchman replied, If he had been only a gentle-
man, he should not have come to visit him.'" He died at his house in Surrey Street, in the Strand, January 29,
1728. Our limits will not allow us to give Johnson's account of this author; but every one agrees in considering
him surprisingly eminent in his Theatrical pieces; at the same time, when he quitted this tract, he evidently failed;
and, although his Miscellaneous Poems will ever maintain a respectable place in British literature, his crown was ton
closely wreathed for these to add one leaf to his poetical fame.
THE MOURNING BRIDE,
ACTED at Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 1697. This is the only Tragedy our author ever wrote, and it met with more
success than any of his other pieces. Although Dr. Johnson accuses it of bombast and want of real nature; not-
withstanding Dibdin says, that it is overcharged with imagery, as his comedies are with point, and if we try to con-
ceive it, it is with an aching imagination, that may raise astonishment, but must destroy pleasure; it is to be con-
sidered that," the poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling," in embodying "airy nothing," raises his mind so high above
the things of this world in his look "from earth to heaven," that his conceptions appear too hold for a cool, criticis-
ing genius. It is certain, that the language of passion, in real life, is boisterous and elevated; and, in persons of a
certain cast, may go a step farther than what in cooler moments would appear simple nature; and Dr. Johnson's criti-
cism is evidently unprepared, for he says himself, he had not read Congreve's plays for many years. Could the great
critic have been raised by the same feelings that actuated Congreve in composing his tragedy, it is very sure, ba
would not have pronounced so severe a sentence. We have not the smallest pretension to call in question the opinions
of so great a man as Johnson on this play; knowing his attention was entirely directed to chasten the taste of the age:
but we do think (if we can judge by our own feelings), that he must have feit a secret delight himself in reading this
piece; and hope we do not overstep the bounds of modesty in declaring the story to be extremely pleasing, affecting,
and well told; the language, although extremely elevated, may be allowed to be this side of bombast, expressing the
ideas perhaps in an impassioned manner; but we believe not beyond the limits of poetical nature and will content
ourselves with sometimes being astonished for pleasure. Dr. Johnson declares, that, "If he were to select from the
whole mass of English poetry the most poetical paragraph, he knows not what he could prefer to an exclamation in
this tragedy ("No, all is hush'd, and still as death-'tis dreadful!" to: "Thy voice-my own affrights me with
its echoes!") Johnson continues, "He who reads these lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feels
what he remembers to have felt before; but he feels it with great increase of sensibility; he recognises a familiar
image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty, and enlarged with majesty".
MANUEL.
GONSALEZ.
GARCIA.
PEREZ.
ALONZO.
OSMYN.
ACT I
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
HELI.
SELIM.
ALMERIA.
SCENE-Granada.
ZARA.
LEONORA.
Attendants, Guards, etc.
Than trees or flint? O, force of constant woe!
'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs.
SCENE I-4 Room of State.
The Curtain rising slowly to soft Music, Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace; last night
discovers ALMERIA in Mourning, LEONO-The silent tomb receiv'd the good old king;
RA waiting. ALMERIA rises and comes He and his sorrows now are safely lodg'd
forward.
Within its cold, but hospitable bosom.
Alm. Music has charms to sooth a savage Why am not I at peace?
breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
I've read that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living souls, have been inform'd,
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
Leon. Dear madam, cease,
Or moderate your grief; there is no cause--
Alm. No cause! Peace, peace! there is eter
nal cause,
And misery eternal will succeed.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown Thou canst not tell-thou hast indeed no cause.
3

18
[ACT 1.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Leon. Believe me, madam, I lament Anselmo, | Who knew our flight, we closely were pursu'd,
And always did compassionate his fortune:
Have often wept, to see how cruelly
Your father kept in chains his fellow king:
And oft at night, when all have been retir'd,
Have stol'n from bed, and to his prison crept,
Where, while his gaolor slept, I through the
grate
And almost taken; when a sudden storm
Drove us, and those that follow'd, on the coast
Of Afric: There our vessel struck the shore,
And, bulging 'gainst a rock was dash'd in pieces,
But heav'n spar'd me for yet much more af-
fliction!
Conducting them who follow'd us, to shun
Have softly whisper'd, and inquir'd his health, The shoal, and save me floating on the waves,
Sent in my sighs and pray'rs for his deliv'rance; While the good queen and my Alphonso
For sighs and pray'rs were all that I could offer.
Alm. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle
nature,
That thus could melt to see a stranger's wrongs.
O, Leonora, hadst thou known Anselmo,
How would thy heart have bled to see his
suff'rings!
Thou hadst no cause but general compassion.
Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me
23:
cause,
My love of you begot my grief for him;
For I had heard that when the chance of war
Had bless'd Anselmo's arms with victory,
And the rich spoil of all the field, and you,
The glory of the whole, were made the prey
Of his success,
He did endear himself to your affection,
By all the worthy and indulgent ways
His most industrious goodness could invent;
Proposing, by a match between Alphonso,
His son, the brave Valencian prince, and you,
To end the long dissension, and unite
The jarring crowns.
Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court?
Or there, why was I us'd so tenderly?
Why not ill treated, like an enemy?
For so my father would have us'd his child.
O, Alphonso, Alphonso!
perish'd.
Leon. Alas! Were you then wedded to
Alphonso?
Alm. That day, that fatal day, our hands
were join'd.
For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing,
And saw her rate so far exceeding ours,
He came to me, and begg'd me by my love,
I would consent the priest should make us one;
That whether death or victory ensu'd,
I might be his, beyond the pow'r of fate:
The queen too did assist his suit-I granted;
And in one day was wedded, and a widow.
Leon. Indeed, 'twas mournful-
Alm. 'Twas-as I have told thee-
For which I mourn, and will for ever mourn;
Nor will I change these black and dismal robes,
Or ever dry these swoln and wat'ry eyes;
Or ever taste content, or peace of heart,
While I have life and thought of my Al-
phonso. [Loud shouts.
Leon. Hark!
The distant shouts proclaim your father's tri-
umph. [Shouts at a distance.
O cease for heav'n's sake, assuage a little
This torrent of your grief; for much I fear
"Twill urge his wrath, to see you drown'd in
tears,
When joy appears in ev'ry other face.
Alm. And joy he brings to ev'ry other heart,
But double, double weight of woe to mine;
For with him Garcia comes-Garcia, to whom
I must be sacrificed, and all the vows
I gave my dear Alphonso basely broken.
No, it shall never be; for I will die
First, die ten thousand deaths.-Look down,
look down,
[Kneels.
Devouring seas have wash'd thee from my sight,
No time shall rase thee from my memory;
No, I will live to be thy monument:
The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb;
But in my heart thou art interr'd; there, there,
Thy dear resemblance is for ever fix'd;
My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost!
Leon. Husband! O, heav'ns!
Alm. Alas! What have I said?
My grief has hurry'd me beyond all thought. Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make;
I would have kept that secret; though I know And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arriv'd
Thy love and faith to me deserve all confi- Through all impediments of purging fire,
To that bright heav'n where my Alphonso reigns,
Behold thou also, and attend my vow:
If ever I do yield, or give consent,
By any action, word, or thought, to wed
Another lord; may then just heav'n show'r down
Unheard-of curses on me, greater far
(If such there be in angry heav'n's vengeance)
I'll Than any I have yet endur'd.-And now
[Rising.
dence.
Leon. Witness these tears-
The memory of that brave prince stands fair
In all report-
And I have heard imperfectly his loss;
But fearful to renew your troubles past,
I never did presume to ask the story.
Alm. If for my swelling heart I can,
tell thee.
My heart has some relief: having so well
Discharg'd this debt, incumbent on my love.
Yet one thing more I would engage from thee.
Leon. My heart, my life, and will, are on-
ly yours.
Alm. I thank thee. "Tis but this: anon,
when all
I was a welcome captive in Valencia,
Ev'n on the day when Manuel, my father,
Led on his conqu'ring troops, high as the gates
Of king Anselmo's palace; which, in rage,
And heat of war, and dire revenge, he fir'd.
The good king flying to avoid the flames,
Started amidst his foes, and made captivity
His fatal refuge-Would that I had fall'n'
Amidst those flames-but 'twas not so decreed.
Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty,
Had borne the queen and me on board a ship Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution.
Ready to sail; and when this news was brought Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill,
We put to sea; but being betray'd by some Nor violence.- I feel myself more light,
Are wrapp'd aud busied in the general joy,
Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me
Steal forth to visit good Anselmo's tomb.

SCENE 1.]
19
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
And more at large since I have made this vow.
Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly.
'Tis that, or some such melancholy thought;
Upon my word, no more.
Leon. I will attend you.
Enter ALONZO.
What, tears! my good old friend-
Gon. But tears of joy.
Believe me, sir, to see you thus, has fill'd
Mine eyes with more delight than they can hold.
King. By heav'n thou lov'st me, and I am
pleas'd thou dost.
Take it for thanks, old man, that I rejoice
Alon. The lord Gonsalez comes to tell your To see thee weep on this occasion-some
highness
The king is just arrived.
Alm. Conduct him its
[Exit Alonzo.
That's his pretence: his errand is, I know,
To fill my ears with Garcia's valiant deeds;
And gild and magnify his son's exploits.
But I am arm'd with ice around my heart,
Not to be warm'd with words, or idle elo-
quence.
Enter GONSALEZ.
Here are, who seem to mourn at our success!
Why is't, Almeria, that you meet our eyes,
Upon this solemn day, in these sad weeds?
In opposition to my brightness, you
And yours are all like daughters of affliction.
Alm. Forgive me, sir, if I in this offend.
The year, which I have vow'd to pay to heav'n,
In mourning and strict life, for my deliv'rance
From wreck and death, wants yet to be expir'd,
King. Your zeal to heav'n is great, so is
your debt;
stow'd
Gon. Be ev'ry day of your long life like this.
The sun, bright conquest, and your brighter eyes, Yet something too is due to me, who gave
Have all conspir'd to blaze promiscuous light, That life which heav'n preserv'd. A day be-
And bless this day with most unequal lustre.
Your royal father, my victorious lord,
In filial duty, had aton'd and given
Laden with spoils, and ever-living laurel,
A dispensation to your vow-No more!
Is ent'ring now in martial pomp the palace. Twas weak and wilful-and a woman's error.
Five hundred mules precede his solemn march, Yet-upon thought, it doubly wounds my sight,
Which groan beneath the weight of Moor-To see that sable worn upon the day
Succeeding that in which our deadliest foe,
Chariots of war, adorn'd with glitt'ring gems, Hated Anselmo! was interr'd-By heav'n!
Succeed; and next, a hundred neighing steeds, It looks as thou didst mourn for him! just so
White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills; Thy senseless vow appear'd to bear its date,
That bound and foam, and champ the gol-Not from that hour wherein thou wert pre-
ish wealth.
den bit,
As they disdain'd the victory they grace.
Prisoners of war in shining fetters follow:
And captains of the noblest blood of Afric
Sweat by his chariot-wheels;
The swarming populace spread every wall,
While you alone retire, and shun this sight;
This sight, which is indeed not seen (though
twice
The multitude should gaze) in absence of your
eyes.
serv'd,
But that wherein the curs'd Alphonso perish'd.
Ha! What! thou dost not weep to think
of that?
Gon. Have patience, royal sir; the princess
weeps
To have offended you. If fate decreed,
One pointed hour should be Alphonso's loss,
And her deliverance, is she to blame?
King. I tell thee she's to blame, not to have
feasted
enmity,
Alm. My lord, mine eyes ungratefully behold When my first foe was laid in earth; such
The gilded trophies of exterior honours.
Nor will my ears be charm'd with sounding
words,
Or pompous phrase; the pageantry of souls.
But that my father is return'd in safety,
I bend to heav'n with thanks.
Gon. Excellent princess!
But 'tis a task unfit for my weak age
With dying words to offer at your praise.
Garcia, my son, your beauty's lowest slave,
Has better done, in proving with his sword
The force and influence of your matchless
charms.
Such detestation bears my blood to his:
My daughter should have revell'd at his death;
She should have made these palace walls to
shake,
And all this high and ample roof to ring
With her rejoicings. What, to mourn and
weep!
Then, then to weep, and pray, and grieve
By heav'n!
There's not a slave, a shackled slave of mine,
But should have smil'd that hour, through all
Alm. I doubt not of the worth of Garcia's And shook his
deeds,
Which had been brave, though I had ne'er
been born.
Leon. Madam, the king.
Symphony of warlike Music.
Enter the
his care,
chains in transport and rude
harmony!
Gon. What she has done was in excess of
goodness;
Betray'd by too much piety, to seem
As if she had offended.-Sure, no more.
King. To seem is to commit, at this con-
juncture.
KING, attended by GARCIA and several Of-
ficers; Files of Prisoners, in Chains, and I wo'not have a seeming sorrow seen
Guards. ALMERIA meets the KING, and To-day.-Retire, divest yourself with speed
kneels; afterwards GONSALEZ kneels and Of that offensive black; on me be all
kisses the KING'S Hand, while GARCIA The violation of your vow; for you,
does the same to the PRINCESS.
It shall be your excuse that I command it.
King. Almeria, rise- My best Gonsalez, Gar. [Kneeling] Your pardon, sir, if I
presume so far,
rise-

20
[ACT I.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
As to remind you of your gracious promise. That had our pomp been with your presence
King, Rise, Garcia-I forgot. Yet stay, Al-
meria.
Alm. My boding heart!-What is your
pleasure, sir?
King, Draw near, and give your hand: and
Garcia, yours:
Receive this lord, as one whom I have found
Worthy to be your husband and my son.
Gar. Thus let me kneel to take-O not to
take-
But to devote, and yield myself for ever
The slave and creature of my royal mistress.
Gon. O let me prostrate pay my worthless
thanks-
King. No more; my promise long since
pass'd, thy services,
And Garcia's well-try'd valour, all oblige me.
This day we triumph; but to-morrow's sun,
Garcia, shall shine to grace thy nuptials-
Alm. Oh!
[Faints.
Gar. She faints! help to support her.
Gon. She recovers.
King. A fit of bridal fear. How is't, Almeria?
Alm. A sudden chillness seizes on my spirits.
Your leave, sir, to retire.
King. Garcia, conduct her.
[Garcia leads Almeria to the Door,
and returns.
This idle vow hangs on her woman's. fears.
I'll have a priest shall preach her from her faith,
And make it sin not to renounce that vow
Which I'd have broken. Now, what would
Alonzo?
grac'd,
Th' expecting crowd had been deceiv'd; and seen
The monarch enter not triumphant, but
In pleasing triumph led; your beauty's slave.
Zara. If I on any terms could condescend
To like captivity, or think those honours,
Which conquerors in courtesy bestow,
Of equal value with unborrow'd rule,
And native right, to arbitrary sway,
I might be pleas'd, when I behold this train
With usual homage wait. But when I feel
These bonds, I look with loathing on myself;
And scorn vile slavery, though doubly hid
Beneath mock-praises, and dissembled state.
King. Those bonds! 'Twas my command
you should be free;
How durst you, Perez, disobey?
Per. Great sir,
Your order was she should not wait your
triumph;
But at some distance follow, thus attended.
King. 'Tis false! 'twas more! I bid she
should be free;
If not in words, I bid it by my eyes!
Her eyes did more than bid-Free her and hers
With speed; yet stay-my hands alone can
make
Fit restitution here. Thus I release you,
And by releasing you, enslave myself.
Zara. Such favours, so conferr'd, though
when unsought,
Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds.
Such thanks, as one hating to be oblig'd-
Yet hating more ingratitude, can pay,
I offer.
Enter ALONZO and Attendants.
Alon. Your beauteous captive, Zara, is arriv'd,
And with a train as if she still were wife
To Albucacim, and the moor had conquer'd.
King. It is our will she should be so at-To rule all hearts.
tended.
King. Born to excel, and to command!
As by transcendent beauty to attract
All eyes, so by pre-eminence of soul
Garcia, what's he, who with contracted brow,
Bear hence these prisoners. Garcia, which is he, [Beholding Osmyn, as they unbind him.
Of whose mute valour you relate such wonders? And sullen port, glooms downwards with
[Prisoners led off.
his eyes,
Gar. Osmyn, who led the Moorish horse; At once regardless of his chains, or liberty?
Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke;
that's Osmyn.
but he,
Great sir, at her request, attends on Zara.
King. He is your prisoner; as you please
dispose him.
Gar, I would oblige him, but he shuns my
kindness;
And with a haughty mien, and stern civility,
Dumbly declines all offers: if he speak,
'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born
Alone to do, and did disdain to talk;
At least to talk where he must not command.
King. Such sullenness, and in a man so brave,
Must have some other cause than his captivity.
Did Zara, then, request he might attend her?
Gar. My lord, she did.
King. That, join'd with his behaviour,
Begets a doubt. I'd have 'em watch'd; perhaps
Her chains hang heavier on him than his own,
Enter ZARA and OSMYN, in Chains; con-
ducted by PEREZ and a Guard, attended
by SELIM and several Mutes.
King. What welcome and what honours,
beauteous Zara,
A king and conqueror can give, are yours.
A conqueror indeed, where you are won;
Who with such lustre strike admiring eyes,
King. He answers well the character you
gave him.
Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man
So great in arms, as thou art said to be,
So hardly can endure captivity,
The common chance of war?
Osm. Because captivity
Has robb'd me of a dear and just revenge.
King. I understand not that.
Osm. I would not have you,
Zara. That gallant Moor in battle lost a
friend,
Whom more than life he lov'd; and the regret
Of not revenging on his foes that loss,
Has caus'd this melancholy and despair.
King. She does excuse him: 'tis as I sus-
pected. [To Gonsalez.
Gon. That friend may be herself: seem not
to heed
His arrogant reply: she looks concern'd.
King. I'll have inquiry made; perhaps his
friend
Yet lives, and is a prisoner. His name?
Zara. Heli.
King. Garcia, that search shall be your care:

SCENE 1.]
21
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
It shall be mine to pay devotion here;
At this fair shrine to lay my laurels down,
And raise love's altar on the spoils of war.
Conquest and triumph now, are mine no more;
Nor will I victory in camps adore:
Fickle in fields, unsteadily she flies,
But rules with settled sway in Zara's eyes.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. The Aisle of a Temple.
And that dumb mouth, significant in show
Invites me to the bed, where I alone
Shall rest; shows me the grave, where na-
ture, weary
And long oppress'd with woes and bending
cares,
May lay the burden down aud sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. My father then
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia too
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.
My soul, enlarg'd from its vile bonds, will
mount,
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.
Alm. It was a fancy'd noise, for all is hush'd. And range the starry orbs and milky ways
Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice. To my Alphonso's soul. joy too great!
Alm. It was thy fear, or else some tran-O ectasy of thought! Help me, Anselmo!
sient wind
Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle.
We'll listen-
Leon. Hark!
Alm. No, all is hush'd, and still as death-
'tis dreadful!
How rev'rend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and im-
moveable,
Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight: the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its
echoes.
Leon. Let us return: the horror of this place,
And silence, will increase your melancholy.
Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on; show me Anselmo's tomb;
Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and moulder-
ing earth
Of human bodies, for I'll mix with them;
Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corse
Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirit; and my present fears
Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then show me,
Lead me, for I'm bolder grown: Lead on
Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again
To him, to heav'n, and my Alphonso's soul.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. Opens and discovers a Place of
Tombs; one Monument fronting the View.
Enter HELI.
Help me, Alphonso! take me, reach thy hand;
To thee, to thee I call, to thee, Alphonso!
O Alphonso!
Enter OSMYN from the Tomb.
Osm. Who calls that wretched thing that
was Alphonso?
Alm. Angels,
and all the host of heaven,
support me!
Osm. Whence is that voice, whose shrillness
from the grave,
And growing to his father's shroud roots up
Alphonso?
Alm. Mercy! Providence! O speak,
Speak to it quickly, quickly; speak to me,
Comfort me, help me, hold me, hide me, hide me,
Leonora, in thy bosom from the light,
And from my eyes.
Osm. Amazement and illusion!
Rivet and nail me where I stand, ye pow'rs,
[Coming forward.
That motionless I may be still deceiv'd.
Let me not stir or breathe, lest I dissolve
That tender, lovely form of painted air,
So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls;
I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade.
'Tis life! 'tis warm! 'tis she! 'tis she herself!
Nor dead, nor shade, but breathing and alive!
It is Almeria, 'tis, it is my wife!
Re-enter HELI.
Leon. Alas, she stirs not yet, nor lifts her
eyes!
He too is fainting-Help me, help me, stranger,
Whoe'er thou art, and lend thy hand to raise
These bodies.
Heli. Ha! 'tis he! and with Almeria!
O miracle of happiness! O joy
Unhoped for! Does Almeria live?
Osm. Where is she?
Let me behold and touch her, and be sure
Heli. I wander through this maze of mo-
numents,
Yet cannot find him-bark! sure 'tis the voice 'Tis she.
Of one complaining-there it sounds-I'll fol-
low it.
Look up, Almeria, bless me with thy eyes;
[Exit. Look on thy love, thy lover, and thy husband.
Alm. I've sworn I'll not wed Garcia: why
d'ye force me?
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.
Leon. Behold the sacred vault, within whose Is this a father?
tomb
The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,
Yet fresh and unconsum'd by time or worms.
What do I see? O heav'n! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclos'd; the iron gates, that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide-stretch'd upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves.
Alm. Sure 'tis the friendly yawn of death
for me;
Osm. Look on thy Alphonso.
Thy father is not here, my love, nor Garcia:
Nor am I what I seem, but thy Alphonso.
Am I so alter'd, or art thou so chang'd,
That seeing my disguise, thou seest not me?
Alm. It is, it is Alphonso! 'tis his face,
His voice; I know him now, I know him all.
Oh! how hast thou return'd? how hast thou
charm'd
The wildness of the waves and rocks to this?

22
[ACT II.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Alm. What love? who is she? why are you
That thus relenting they have giv'n thee back | You must be quick, for love will lend her wings.
To earth, to light and life, to love and me.
Osm. O I'll not ask, nor answer how, or
why
We both have backward trod the paths of fate
To meet again in life; to know i have thee,
Is knowing more than any circumstance
Or means by which I have thee-
To fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips,
And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy,
I have no leisure to reflect, or know,
Or, trifle time in thinking.
Alm. Stay awhile-
Let me look on thee yet a little more.
Osm. And why? what dost thou mean? why
dost thou gaze so?
alarm'd?
Osm. She's the reverse of thee; she's my
unhappiness.
Harbour no thought that may disturb thy peace;
I'll think how we may meet
To part no more: my friend will tell thee all;
How I escap'd, how I am here, and thus;
How I'm not call'd Alphonso now, but Osmyn,
And he Heli. All, all he will unfold,
Ere next we meet-
Alm. Sure we shall meet again-
Osm. We shall; we part not but to meet
again.
Gladness and warmth of ever-kindling love
Alm. I know not, 'tis to see thy face, I think-[Dwell with thee, and revive thy heart in absence.
It is too much! too much to bear, and live!
To see him thus again is such profusion
Of joy, of bliss-I cannot bear-I must
Be mad-I cannot be transported thus!
Osm. Thou excellence, thou joy, thou heav'n
of love!
Alm. Where hast thou been? and how art
thou alive?
Sure from thy father's tomb thou didst arise!
Osm. I did; and thou, my love, didst call
me; thou.
Alm. True; but how cam'st thou there?
wert thou alone?
[Exeunt Almeria, Leonora, and Heli.
Yet I behold her-yet-and now no more.
Turn your lights inward, eyes, and view my
thought,
So shall you still hehold her.
Enter ZARA and SELIM.
Zara. See where he stands, folded and fix'd
to earth,
Stiff'ning in thought, a statue among statues!
Why, cruel Osmyn, dost thou fly me thus?
Am I more loathsome to thee than the grave,
That thou dost seek to shield thee there, and
shun
Osm. I was, and lying on my father's lead,
When broken echoes of a distant voice
Disturb'd the sacred silence of the vault,
In murmurs round my head. I rose and listen'd,
And thought I heard thy spirit call Alphonso; Am I neglected thus? am I despis'd?
I thought I saw thee too; but O, I thought not Not heard! ungrateful Osmyn!
That I indeed should be so blest to see thee- Osm. Ha! 'tis Zara!
Alm. But still how cam'st thou hither? how
My love? But to the grave I'll follow thee-
He looks not, minds not, hears not: barb'rous
man,
thus?-Ha!
What's he who, like thyself, is started here
Ere seen?
Osm. Where? Ha! what do I see? Antonio!
I'm fortunate indeed-my friend too, safe!
Heli. Most happily, in finding you thus
bless'd.
Heli. Most happilya.
Alm. More miracles! Antonio too escap'd!
Osm. And twice escap'd, both from the rage
of seas
Zara. Yes, traitor! Zara, lost, abandon'd Zara,
Is a regardless suppliant now to Osmyn.
The slave, the wretch that she redeem'd from
death,
Disdains to listen now, or look on Zara.
Osm. Far be the guilt of such reproaches
from me;
Lost in myself, and blinded by my thoughts,
I saw you not till now.
Zara. Now then you see me-
But with such dumb and thankless eyes you
look,
Osm. What would you from a wretch who
came to mourn,
And war; for in the fight I saw him fall.
Heli. But fell unhurt, a pris'ner as yourself, Better I was unseen than seen thus coldly.
And as yourself made free: hither I came
Impatiently to seek you, where I knew
Your grief would lead you to lament Anselmo.
Osm. What means the bounty of all-gra-
cious heav'n,
That persevering still, with open hand
It scatters good, as in a waste of mercy?
Where will this end? But heav'n is infinite
In all, and can continue to bestow,
When scanty number shall be spent in telling.
Leon. Or I'm deceiv'd, or I beheld the
glimpse
Of two in shining habits, cross the aisle;
Who, by their pointing, seem'd to mark this
place.
Alm. Sure I have dreamt, if we must part
so soon.
Osm. I wish at least our parting were a
dream,
Or we could sleep till we again were met.
And only for his sorrows chose this solitude?
Look round, joy is not here, nor cheerfulness.
You have pursu'd misfortune to its dwelling,
Yet look for gaiety and gladness there.
Zara. Inhuman! Why, why dost thou rack
me thus,
And with perverseness, from the purpose,
answer?
What is't to me, this house of misery?
What joy do I require? If thou dost mourn,
I come to mourn with thee; to share thy griefs,
And give thee for 'em, in exchange, my love.
Osm. O that's the greatest grief-I am so
poor,
I have not wherewithal to give again.
Zara. Thou hast a heart, though 'tis a sa-
vage one;
Give it me as it is; I ask no more
Heli. Zara with Selim, sir; I saw and For all I've done, and all I have endur'd:
know 'em:
For saving thee, when I beheld thee first,

SCENE 2.]
23
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Driven by the tide upon my country's coast,
Pale and expiring, drench'd in briny waves,
Thou and thy friend, till my compassion found
thee:
Compassion! scarce will own that name, so soon,
So quickly was it love, for thou wert godlike
Ev'n then. Kneeling on earth, I loos'd my hair,
And with it dried those wat'ry cheeks, then chaf'd
Thy temples, till reviving blood arose,
And like the morn vermilion'd o'er thy face.
O heav'n! how did my heart rejoice and ache,
When I beheld the day-break of thy eyes,
And felt the balm of thy respiring lips!
O, why do I relate what I have done?
What did I not? was't not for you this war
Commenc'd? Not knowing who you were, nor
why
Enter the KING, PEREZ, and Attendants.
King. Why does the fairest of her kind
withdraw
Her shining from the day, to gild this scene
Of death and night? Ha! what disorder's this?
Somewhat I heard of king and rival mention'd.
What's he that dares be rival to the king,
Or lift his eyes to like where I adore?
Zara. There, he, your pris'ner, and that was
my slave.
King. How! better than my hopes! does
she accuse him? [Aside.
Zara. Am I become so low by my captivity,
And do your arms so lessen what they conquer,
That Zara must be made the sport of slaves?
And shall the wretch, whom yester sun beheld
Waiting my nod, the creature of my pow'r,
Presume to-day to plead audacious love,
And build bold hopes on my dejected fate?
King. Better for him to tempt the rage of
heav'n,
You hated Manuel, I urg'd my husband
To this invasion, where he late was lost,
Where all is lost, and I am made a slave.
Look on me now, from empire fall'n to slavery;
Think on my suff'rings first, then look on me; And wrench the bolt, red-hissing from the hand
Think on the cause of all, then view thyself: Of him that thunders, than but think that in-
Reflect on Osmyn, and then look on Zara,
solence.
The fall'n, the lost, and now the captive Zara; Tis daring for a god. Hence to the wheel
And now abandon'd-say, what then is Osmyn! With that Ixion, who aspires to hold
Osm. A fatal wretch-a huge stupendous Divinity embrac'd; to whips and prisons
That, tumbling on its prop, crush'd all beneath, Drag him with speed, and rid me of his face.
[Guards seize Osmyn.
And bore contiguous palaces to earth.
Zara. Compassion led me to bemoan his
ruin,
Zara. Yet thus, thus fall'n, thus levell'd with
the vilest,
If I have gain'd thy love, 'tis glorious ruin;
Ruin! 'tis still to reign, and to be more
A queen; for what are riches, empire, pow'r,
But larger means to gratify the will?
The steps on which we tread, to rise and reach
Our wish; and that obtain'd, down with the
scaffolding
Of sceptres, crowns, and thrones; they have
serv'd their end,
And are, like lumber, to be left and scorn'd.
Osm. Why was I made the instrument, to
throw
In bonds the frame of this exalted mind?
Zara. We may be free, the conqueror is
mine!
In chains, unseen, I hold him by the heart,
And can unwind and strain him as I please.
Give me thy love, I'll give thee liberty.
Osm. In vain you offer, and in vain require
What neither can bestow. Set free yourself,
And leave a slave the wretch that would be so.
Zara. Thou canst not mean so poorly as
thou talk'st.
Osm. Alas you know me not.
Zara. Not who thou art:
But what this last ingratitude declares,
This grov'ling baseness-Thou say'st true, I
know
Thee not, for what thou art yet wants a name:
But something so unworthy and so vile,
That to have lov'd thee makes me yet more lost,
Than all the malice of my other fate.
Traitor, monster, cold and perfidious slave!
A slave, not daring to be free! nor dares
To love above him, for 'tis dangerous:
There, there's the dreadful sound, the king's
thy rival!
Sel. Madam, the king is here, and ent'ring now.
Zara. As I could wish; by heav'n I'll be
reveng'd.
state,
Whose former faith had merited much more:
And through my hopes in you, I undertook
He should be set at large: thence sprung his
insolence;
And what was charity he constru'd love.
King. Enough; his punishment be what you
please.
But let me lead you from this place of sorrow,
To one where young delights attend;
Where ev'ry hour shall roll in circling joys,
And love shall wing the tedious-wasting day.
Life without love is load, and time stands still:
What we refuse to him, to death we give,
And then, then only, when we love, we live.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I-A prison.
OSMYN discovered alone, with a Paper.
Osm. But now, and I was clos'd within the
tomb
That holds my father's ashes; and but now,
Where he was pris'ner, I am too imprison'd.
Sure 'tis the hand of heav'n that leads me thus,
And for some purpose points out these re-
membrances.
In a dark corner of my cell I found
This paper; what it is this light will show.
[Reads] If my Alphonso-Ha!
If my Alphonso live, restore him, heav'n!
Give me more weight, crush my declining
years
With bolts, with chains, imprisonment, and
want;
But bless my son! visit not him for me!
(It is his hand! this was his pray'r;-yet more):
Let ev'ry hair, which sorrow by the roots
Tears from my hoary and devoted head,
Be doubled in thy mercies to my son!
Not for myself, but him, hear me, all-gra-
cious-

24
[ACT III.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
should follow,
'Tis wanting what should follow!-Heav'n Off, slavery! O curse! that I alone
Can beat and flutter in my cage, when I
But 'tis torn off! Why should that word alone Would soar, and stoop at victory beneath!
Be torn from this petition? "Twas to heav'n,
But heav'n was deaf; heav'n heard him not:
but thus,
Thus as the name of heav'n from this is torn,
So did it tear the ears of mercy from
His voice, shutting the gates of pray'r against
him!
If piety be thus debarr'd access
On high, and of good men the very best
Is singled out to bleed, and bear the scourge,
What is reward? or what is punishment?
But who shall dare to tax eternal Justice?
Yet I may think-I may, ! must; for thought
Precedes the will to think, and error lives
Ere reason can be born.
What noise! Who's there? My friend! how
cam'st thou hither?
Enter HELI.
Heli. The time's too precious to be spent
in telling.
The captain, influenc'd by Almeria's pow'r,
Gave order to the guards for my admittance.
Osm. How does Almeria? But I know she is
As I am. Tell me, may I hope to see her?
Heli. You may: anon, at midnight, when
the king
Is gone to rest, and Garcia is retir'd
(Who takes the privilege to visit late,
Presuming on a bridegroom's right), she'll come.
Osm. She'll come! 'tis what I wish, yet
what I fear.
She'll come: but whither, and to whom? O,
heav'n!
To a vile prison, and a captive wretch;
To one, whom had she never known, she had
Been happy. Why, why was that heav'nly
creature
Heli. Zara, the cause of your restraint, may
be
The means of liberty restor'd. That gain'd,
Occasion will not fail to point out ways
For your escape: mean time, I've thought already
With speed and safety to convey myself,
Where not far off some malcontents hold council
Nightly, who hate this tyrant; some, who love
Anselmo's memory, and will, for certain,
When they shall know you live, assist your
cause.
Osm. My friend and counsellor, as thou
think'st fit,
So do. I will with patience wait my fortune.
Heli. When Zara comes, abate of your
aversion.
Osm. I hate her not, nor can dissemble love:
But as I may, I'll do. Farewell,
My friend, the good thou dost deserve attend
thee!
[Exit Heli.
I've been to blame, and question'd with impiety
The care of heav'n. Not so my father bore
More anxious grief. This should have better
taught me;
This his last legacy to me; which here
I'll treasure as more worth than diadems,
Or all extended rule of regal pow'r.
Enter ZARA, veiled.
What brightness breaks upon me thus through
shades,
And promises a day to this dark dwelling?
Is it my love?-
Zara. O that thy heart had taught
Thy tongue that saying!
[Lifting her Veil.
Ösm. Zara! I am betray'd by my surprise!
Abandon'd o'er to love what heav'n forsakes?
[Aside.
Zara. What, does my face displease thee?
Why does she follow, with unwearied steps. That having seen it thou dost turn thy eyes
One who has tir'd misfortune with pursuing? Away, as from deformity and horror!
Heli. Have hopes, and hear the voice of If so, this sable curtain shall again
better fate.
Be drawn, and I will stand before thee, seeing
I've learn'd there are disorders ripe for mutiny And unseen. Is it my love? Ask again
Among the troops, who thought to share the That question; speak again in that soft voice;
plunder,
And look again with wishes in thy eyes.
Which Manuel to his own use and avarice O, no, thou canst not; for thou seest me now,
Converts. The news has reach'd Valencia's As she whose savage breast hath been the cause
frontiers;
Of these thy wrongs; as she whose barb'rous
rage
Where many of your subjects, long oppress'd
With tyranny and grievous impositions,
Are ris'n in arms, and call for chiefs to head
And lead them to regain their rights and liberty.
Osm. By heav'n, thou'st rous'd me from my
lethargy.
The spirit, which was deaf to my own wrongs,
And the loud cries of my dead father's blood;
O, my Antonio, I am all on fire;
My soul is up in arms, ready to charge
And bear amidst the foe with conqu'ring troops.
I hear 'em call to lead 'em on to liberty,
To victory; their shouts and clamours rend
My ears, and reach the heav'ns! Where is
the king?
Where is Alphonso? Ha! where, where in-
deed?
Has loaded thee with chains and galling irons:
Osm. You wrong me, beauteous Zara, to
believe
I bear my fortunes with so low a mind.
But destiny and inauspicious stars
Have cast me down to this low being; or
Granting you had, from you I have deserv'd it.
Zara. Čanst thou forgive me then? wilt
thou believe
So kindly of my fault, to call it madness?
O, give that madness yet a milder name,
And call it passion; then be still more kind,
And call that passion love!
Osm. Give it a name,
Or being as you please, such I will think it.
Zara. O, thou dost wound me more with
this thy goodness,
O! I could tear and burst the strings of life,
To break these chains! Off! off! ye stains of Than e'er thou couldst with bitterest re-
royalty;
proaches;

SCENE 1.]
25
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Thy anger could not pierce thus to my heart.
Osm. Yet I could wish-
Zara. Haste me to know it: what?
Osm. And thy excessive love distracts my
sense.
O, wouldst thou be less killing, soft, or kind,
Osm. That at this time I had not been this Grief could not double thus his darts against me
thing.
Zara. What thing?
Osm. This slave.
Zara. O, heav'n; my fears interpret
This thy silence; somewhat of high concern,
Long fashioning within thy lab'ring mind,
And now just ripe for birth, my rage has ruin'd.
Have I done this? Tell me, am I so curs'd?
Osm. Time may have still one fated hour
to come,
Which, wing'd with liberty, might overtake
Occasion past.
Zora. Swift as occasion, I
Myself will fly; and earlier than the morn
Wake thee to freedom.
Osm. I have not merited this grace;
Nor, should my secret purpose take effect,
Can I repay, as you require, such benefits.
Zara. Thou canst not owe me more, nor
have I more
To give than I've already lost. But now,
So does the form of our engagements rest,
Thou hast the wrong till I redeem thee hence;
That done, I leave thy justice to return
My love. Adieu!
[Exit.
Osm. This woman has a soul
Of godlike mould, intrepid and commanding,
And challenges, in spite of me, my best
Esteem.
But she has passions which outstrip the wind,
And tear her virtues up, as tempests root
The sea. I fear, when she shall know the truth,
Some swift and dire event of her blind rage
Will make all fatal. But behold she comes,
For whom I fear, to shield me from my fears,
The cause and comfort of my boding heart.
Enter ALMERIA.
Alm. Thou dost me wrong, and grief too
robs my heart,
If there he shoot not ev'ry other shaft:
Thy second self should feel each other wound,
And woe should be in equal portions dealt.
I am thy wife-
Osm. O, thou hast search'd too deep!
There, there I bleed! there pull the cruel cords,
That strain my cracking nerves; engines and
wheels,
That piecemeal grind, are beds of down and
balm
To that soul-racking thought.
Alm. Then I am curs'd
Indeed, if that be so; if I'm thy torment,
Kill me, then kill me, dash me with thy chains,
Tread on me:
Am I, am I of all thy woes the worst?
Osm. My all of bliss, my everlasting life,
Soul of my soul, and end of all my wishes,
Why dost thou thus unman me with thy words,
And melt me down to mingle with thy weep-
ings?
Why dost thou ask? Why dost thou talk thus
piercingly?
Thy sorrows have disturb'd thy peace of mind,
And thou dost speak of miseries impossible.
Alm. Didst not thou say that racks and
wheels were balm
And beds of ease, to thinking me thy wife?
Osm. No, no; nor should the subtlest pains
that hell,
Or hell-born malice can invent, extort
A wish or thought from me to have thee other.
But wilt thou know what harrows up my heart?
Thou art my wife-nay, thou art yet my bride!
The sacred union of connubial love
Yet unaccomplish'd.
Is this dark cell a temple for that god?
My life, my health, my liberty, my all!
How shall I welcome thee to this sad place? Or this vile earth an altar for such off'rings?
How speak to thee the words of joy and This den for slaves, this dungeon damp'd with
transport?
woes;
How run into thy arms withheld by fetters? Is this to call thee mine? O hold, my heart!
Or take thee into mine, while I'm thus man-To call thee mine! Yes; thus, e'en thus to call
acled
And pinion'd like a thief or murderer?
Shall I not hurt or bruise thy tender body,
And stain thy bosom with the rust of these
Rude irons? Must I meet thee thus, Almeria?
Alm. Thus, thus; we parted, thus to meet
again.
Thou told'st me thou wouldst think how we
might meet
To part no more-Now we will part no more;
For these thy chains, or death, shall join us ever.
Osm. Oh! O-
Alm. Give me that sigh.
Why dost thou heave, and stifle in thy griefs?
Thy heart will burst, thy eyes look red and
start;
Thee mine, were comfort, joy, extremest ecstasy.
But, O, thou art not mine, not e'en in misery;
And 'tis deny'd to me to be so bless'd,
As to be wretched with thee.
Alm. No, not that
Th' extremest malice of our fate can hinder:
That still is left us, and on that we'll feed,
As on the leavings of calamity.
There we will feast and smile on past distress,
And hug, in scorn of it, our mutual ruin.
Osm. O, thou dost talk, my love, as one
resolv'd,
Because not knowing danger. Butlook forward;
Think of to-morrow, when thou shalt be torn
From these weak, struggling, unextended arms:
Think how my heart will heave, and eyes will
strain,
Give thy soul way, and tell me thy dark thought.
Osm. For this world's rule, I would not To grasp and reach what is deny'd my hands:
wound thy breast
Think how I am, when thou shalt wed with
Garcia!
With such a dagger as then struck my heart.
Alm. Why? why? To know it, cannot Then will I
wound me more,
smear these walls with blood,
disfigure
Than knowing thou hast felt it. Tell it me- And dash my face, and rive my clotted hair.
Thou giv'st me pain with too much tenderness. Break on this flinty floor my throbbing breast.
4

26
[ACT IV.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
And grovel with gash'd hands to scratch a grave, And will indulge it now. What miseries?
And bury me alive.
Alm. Heart-breaking horror!
Osm. Then Garcia shall lie panting on thy
bosom,
Luxurious, revelling amidst thy charms;
Hell! hell! have I not cause to rage and rave?
What are all racks, and wheels, and whips
to this?
O my Almeria!
What do the damn'd endure, but to despair,
But knowing heav'n, to know it lost for ever?
Alm. O I am struck, thy words are bolts
of ice,
Which shot into my breast now melt and
chill me.
Enter ZARA, PEREZ, and SELIM.
Zara. Somewhat of weight to me requires
his freedom.
Dare you dispute the king's command? Behold
The royal signet.
[Aside to Perez.
Per. I obey; yet beg
Your majesty one moment to defer
Your ent'ring, till the princess is return'd
From visiting the noble prisoner.
Zara. Ha!
What say'st thou?
[Aside to Zara.
[Aside to Perez.
Osm. We are lost! undone, discover'd!
Speak of compassion, let her hear you speak
Of interceding for me with the king;
Say something quickly to conceal our loves,
If possible-
[Aside to Almeria.
Alm. I cannot speak.
[Aside to Osmyn.
Osm. Let me
Conduct you forth, as not perceiving her,
But till she's gone; then bless me thus again.
Who would not be thus happily confin'd
To be the care of weeping majesty?
To have contending queens, at dead of night,
Forsake their down, to wake with wat'ry eyes,
And watch like tapers o'er your hour of rest.
O curse! I cannot hold-
Osm. Come, 'tis too much.
Zara. Villain!
Osm. How, madam?
Zara. Thou shalt die.
Osm. I thank you.
Zara. Thou liest, for now I know for whom
thou'dst live.
Osm. Then you may know for whom I'd die.
Zara. Hell! hell!
Yet I'll be calm-Dark and unknown betrayer!
But now the dawn begins, and the slow hand
Of fate is stretch'd to draw the veil, and leave
Thee bare, the naked mark of public view.
Osm. You may be still deceiv'd; 'tis in my
power,
Chain'd as I am, to fly from all my wrongs,
And free myself at once from misery,
And you of me.
Zara. Ha! say'st thou-But I'll prevent it.
Who waits there? As you will answer it,
look this slave
[To the Guard.
Attempt no means to make himself away.
I've been deceiv'd. The public safety now
Requires he should be more confin'd, and none,
No, not the princess, suffer'd or to see,
Or speak with him: I'll quit you to the king.
Vile and ingrate! too late thou shalt repent
The base injustice thou hast done my love;
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past distress,
And all those ills which thou so long hast
mourn'd,
[Aside to Almeria. Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Zara. Trembling and weeping as he leads Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn'd.
her forth!
Confusion in his face, and grief in hers!
'Tis plain I've been abus'd-
Perdition catch 'em both, and ruin part 'em.
[Aside.
Osm. This charity to one unknown, and thus
[Aloud to Almeria, as she is going.
Distress'd, heav'n will repay: all thanks are poor.
[Exit Almeria.
Zara. Damn'd, damn'd dissembler! Yet I
will be calm,
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I-A Room of State.
Enter ZARA and SELIM.
Zara. Thou hast already rack'd me with
thy stay;
Therefore require me not to ask thee twice:
Reply at once to all. What is concluded?
Sel. Your accusation highly has incens'd
The king, and were alone enough to urge
Choke in my rage, and know the utmost depth The fate of Osmyn; but to that, fresh news
Of this deceiver [Aside]-You seem much Has since arriv'd, of more revolted troops.
surpris'd.
'Tis certain Heli too is fled, and with him
(Which breeds amazement and distraction)
Osm. Atyour return so soon and unexpected!
Zara. And so unwish'd, unwanted too it
seems.
Confusion! Yet I will contain myself.
You're grown a favourite since last we parted:
Perhaps I'm saucy and intruding-
Osm. Madam!
Zara. I did not know the princess' favourite:
Your pardon, sir-mistake me not; you think
I'm angry; you're deceiv'd, I came to set
You free; but shall return much better pleas'd,
To find you have an interest superior.
Osm. You do not come to mock my miseries?
Zara. I do.
Osm. I could at this time spare your mirth.
Zara. I know thou couldst; but I'm not
often pleas'd,
some
Who bore high offices of weight and trust,
Both in the state and army. This confirms
The king in full belief of all you told him
Concerning Osmyn, and his correspondence
With them who first began the mutiny.
Wherefore a warrant for his death is sign'd;
And order given for public execution.
Zara. Ha! haste thee! fly, prevent his fate
and mine;
Find out the king, tell him I have of weight
More than his crown t' impart, ere Osmyn die.
Sel. It needs not, for the king will straight
be here,
And as to your revenge, not his own int'rest,
Pretend to sacrifice the life of Osmyn.

SCENE 1.]
27
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
advise
Zara. What shall I say? Invent, contrive, Have I? Yet 'twere the lowest baseness, now
To yield him up-No, I will still conceal him,
And try the force of yet more obligations.
Somewhat to blind the king, and save his life
In whom I live. Devise the means to shun it,
Quick; or, by heav'n, this dagger drinks thy
blood.
Sel. My life is yours, nor wish I to pre-
serve it,
But to serve you. I have already thought.
Zara. Forgive my rage; I know thy love
and truth.
But say, what's to be done? or when, or how,
Shall I prevent or stop the approaching danger?
Sel
Sel. You must still seem most resolute and
fix'd
On Osmyn's death; too quick a change of
mercy
Might breed suspicion of the cause. Advise
That execution may be done in private.
Zara. On what pretence?
Set. Your own request's enough.
However, for a colour, tell him you
Have cause to fear his guards may be cor-
rupted,
And some of them bought off to Osmyn's
interest,
Who, at the place of execution, will
Attempt to force his way for an escape;
The state of things will countenance all sus-
picions.
Then offer to the king to have him strangled
In secret by your mutes: and get an order,
That none but mutes may have admittance
to him.
I can no more, the king is here. Obtain
This grant-and I'll acquaint you with the
[Exit.
rest.
Enter KING, GONSALEZ, and PEREZ.
King. Bear to the dungeon those rebellious
slaves:
But for their leaders, Sancho and Ramirez,
Let 'em be led away to present death.
Perez, see it perform'd.
Gon. Might I presume,
Their execution better were deferr'd,
[Aside.
Gon. 'Tis not impossible. Yet it may be
That some impostor has usurp'd his name.
Your beauteous captive, Zara, can inform
If such a one, so 'scaping, was receiv'd
At any time in Albucacim's court.
King. Pardon, fair excellence, this long neg-
lect;
An unforeseen, unwelcome hour of business,
Has thrust between us and our while of love;
But wearing now apace with ebbing sand,
Will quickly waste and give again the day.
Zara. You're too secure: the danger is more
imminent
Than your high courage suffers you to see:
While Osmyn lives, you are not safe.
King. His doom
Is pass'd: if you revoke it not, he dies.
Zara. 'Tis well. By what I heard upon
your entrance,
I find I can unfold what yet concerns
You more. One who did call himself Alphonso
Was cast upon my coast, as is reported,
And oft had private conference with the king;
To what effect I knew not then: but he,
Alphonso, secretly departed, just
About the time our arms embark'd for Spain.
What I know more is, that a triple league
Of strictest friendship was profest between
Alphonso, Heli, and the traitor Osmyn.
King. Public report is ratified in this.
Zara, And Osmyn's death requir'd of strong
necessity.
King. Give order straight that all the pris'-
ners die,
Zara. Forbear a moment, somewhat more
I have
Worthy your private ear, and this your mi-
nister.
King. Let all, except Gonsalez, leave the
room. [Exeunt Perez, etc.
Zara. I am your captive, and you've us'd
me nobly;
Till Osmyn die. Mean time we may learn more And in return of that, though otherwise
Of this conspiracy.
King. Then be it so.
Stay, soldier; they shall suffer with the Moor.
Are none return'd of those that follow'd Heli?
Gon. None, sir. Some papers have been
since discover'd
In Roderigo's house, who fled with him,
Which seem to intimate, as if Alphonso
Were still alive, and arming in Valencia:
Which wears indeed this colour of a truth,
They who have fled have that way bent their
course.
Of the same nature divers notes have been
Dispers'd t' amuse the people; whereupon
Some ready of belief, have rais'd this rumour:
That being sav'd upon the coast of Afric,
He there disclos'd himself to Albucacim,
And by a secret compact made with him,
Open'd and urg'd the way to this invasion;
While he himself, returning to Valencia
In private, undertook to raise this tumult.
Zara. Ha! hear'st thou that? Is Osmyn then
Alphonso?
O certain death for him, as sure despair
For
me, if it be known-If not, what hope
Your enemy,
I think it fit to tell you, that your guards
Are tainted: some among 'em have resolv'd
To rescue Osmyn at the place of death.
King. Is treason then so near us as our
guards?
Zara. Most certain; though my knowledge
is not yet
So ripe, to point at the particular men.
King. What's to be done?
Zara. That too I will advise.
I have remaining in my train some mutes,
A present once from the sultana queen,
In the grand signior's court. These from their
infancy
Are practis'd in the trade of death; and shall
(As there the custom is) in private strangle
Osmyn.
Gon. My lord, the queen advises well.
King. What off'ring, or what recompense
remains
In me, that can be worthy so great services?
To cast beneath your feet the crown you've
sav'd,
Though on the head that wears it, were too little.

28
[ACT IV.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Zara. Of that hereafter; but, mean time, What if she had seen Osmyn? though 'twere
'tis fit
mitted
You give strict charge that none may be
To see the pris'ner, but such mutes as I
Shall send.
King. Who waits there?
Enter PEREZ.
On your life take heed,,
strange;
ad-But if she had, what was't to her? unless
She fear'd her stronger charms might cause
the Moor's
That only Zara's mutes, or such who bring
Her warrant, have admittance to the Moor.
Zara. They, and no other, not the princess'
self.
Per. Your majesty shall be obey'd.
King, Retire.
[Exit Perez.
Gon. That interdiction so particular,
Pronounc'd with vehemence against the princess,
Should have more meaning than appears bare-
fac'd.
The king is blinded by his love, and heeds
It not [Aside]-Your majesty sure might have
spar'd
The last restraint; you hardly can suspect
The princess is confed'rate with the Moor.
Zara. I've heard, her charity did once extend
So far, to visit him, at his request.
Gon. Ha!
King. How? She visit Osmyn! What, my
daughter?
Affection to revolt.
King. I thank thee, friend;
There's reason in thy doubt, and I am warn'd.
But think'st thou that my daughter saw this
Moor?
Gon. If Osmyn be, as Zara has related,
Alphonso's friend, 'tis not impossible
But she might wish on his account to see him.
King. Say'st thou? By heaven thou hast
rous'd a thought,
That like a sudden earthquake shakes my frame.
Confusion! then my daughter's an accomplice,
And plots in private with this hellish Moor.
Gon. That were too hard a thought-but
see she comes-
Twere not amiss to question her a little,
And try, howe'er, if I've divin'd aright.
If what I fear be true, she'll be concern'd
For Osmyn's death, as he's Alphonso's friend:
Urge that, to try if she'll solicit for him.
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.
King. Your coming has prevented me, Al-
meria;
I had determin'd to have sent for you.
Sel. Madam, take heed; or you have ruin'd Let your attendant be dismiss'd; I have
[Aside to Zara.
all.
[Leonora retires.
Zara. And after did solicit you on his To talk with you. Come near; why dost thou
Behalf-
King. Never. You have been misinform'd.
Zara. Indeed! Then 'twas a whisper spread
by some,
Who wish'd it so; a common art in courts.
I will retire, and instantly prepare
Instruction for my ministers of death.
[Exeunt Zara and Selim.
Gon. There's somewhat yet of mystery in
this:
Her words and actions are obscure and double,
Sometimes concur and sometimes disagree:
I like it not.
King. What dost thou think, Gonsalez;
Are we not much indebted to this fair one?
Gon. I am a little slow of credit, sir,
In the sincerity of women's actions.
Methinks this lady's hatred to the Moor
Disquiets her too much; which makes it seem
As if she'd rather that she did not hate him.
I wish her mutes are meant to be employ'd
As she pretends-I doubt it now-Your guards
Corrupted! how? by whom? who told her so?
I'th' evening Osmyn was to die; at midnight
She begg'd the royal signet to release him;
I'th' morning he must die again; ere noon
Her mutes alone must strangle him, or he'll
Escape. This put together suits not well.
King. Yet that there's truth in what she has
discover'd,
Is manifest from every circumstance.
This tumult, and the lords who fled with Heli,
Are confirmation-that Alphonso lives,
Agrees expressly too with her report.
shake?
What mean those swoln and red-fleck'd eyes,
that look
As they had wept in blood, and worn the night
In waking anguish? Why this, on the day
Which was design'd to celebrate thy nuptials;
But that the beams of light are to be stain'd
With reeking gore from traitors on the rack?
Wherefore I have deferr'd the marriage-rites,
Nor shall the guilty horrors of this day
Prophane that jubilee.
Alm. All days to me
Henceforth are equal: this the day of death,
To-morrow, and the next: and each that follows,
Will undistinguish'd roll, and but prolong
One hated line of more extended woe.
King. Whence is thy grief? Give me to
know the cause,
And look thou answer me with truth; for know
I am not unacquainted with thy falsehood.
Why art thou mute? base and degenerate maid!
Gon. Dear madam, speak, or you'll incense
the king.
Alm. What is't to speak? or wherefore
should I speak?
What mean these tears, but grief unutterable?
King. They are the dumb confessions of
thy mind:
guilt; and say thou wert con-
fed'rate
They mean thy
With damn'd conspirators to take my life.
O impious parricide! now can'st thou speak?
Alm. O earth, behold I kneel upon thy bosom,
And bend my flowing eyes, to stream upon
Gon. I grant it, sir; and doubt not, but in Thy face, imploring thee that thou wilt yield;
rage
Of jealousy, she has discover'd what
She now repents. It may be I'm deceiv'd:
Open thy bowels of compassion, take
Into thy womb the last and most forlorn
Of all thy race. Hear me, thou common parent!
But why that needless caution of the princess?--I have no parent else-be thou a mother,

SCENE 1.]
29
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
And step between me and the curse of him,
Who was who was-but is no more a father,
But brands my innocence with horrid crimes,
And for the tender names of child and daughter,
Now calls me murderer and parricide.
King. Rise, I command thee-and, if thou
wouldst
Acquit thyself of those detested names,
Swear thou hast never seen that foreign dog,
Now doom'd to die, that most accursed Osmyn.
Alm. Never, but as with innocence I might,
And free of all bad purposes: so heav'n's
My witness.
King, Vile equivocating wretch!
With innocence! O patience! hear-she owns
it!
Confesses it! By heav'n, I'll have him rack'd,
Torn, mangl'd, flay'd, impal'd-all pains and
tortures
That wit of man and dire revenge can think,
Shall he, accumulated, under-bear.
Alm. O, I am lost-there fate begins to
wound.
Alm. O that I did! Osmyn, he is my husband.
King. Osmyn!
Alm. Not Osmyn, but Alphonso is my dear
And wedded husband-Heav'n, and air, and seas,
Ye winds and waves, I call ye all to witness!
King. Wilder than winds or waves thyself
dost rave.
Should I hear more, I too should catch thy
madness.
Watch her returning sense, and bring me
word:
And look that she attempt not on her life.
[Exit King.
Alm. O stay, yet stay; hear me, I am not
mad.
I would to heaven I were-he's gone.
Gon. Have comfort.
Alm. Cursed be that rogue that bids me be
of comfort!
Cursed my own tongue, that could not move
his pity!
Cursed these weak hands, that could not hold
him here!
King. Hear me; then, if thou canst, reply: For he is gone to doom Alphonso's death.
know, traitress,
I'm not to learn that curs'd Alphonso lives:
Nor am I ignorant what Osmyn is-
Alm. Then all is ended, and we both must
die.
Gon. Your too excessive grief works on
your fancy,
And deludes your sense. Alphonso, if living,
Is far from hence, beyond your father's power.
Alm. Hence, thou detested ill-tim'd flatterer!
Source of my woes! thou and thy race be
curs'd!
Since thou'rt reveal'd, alone thou shalt not die:
And yet alone would I have died, heav'n knows,
Repeated deaths, rather than have reveal'd thee. But doubly thou, who couldst alone have po-
King. Hell! hell! do I hear this, and yet
endure!
What, dar'st thou to my face avow thy guilt?
Hence, ere I curse-fly my just rage with speed;
Lest I forget us both and spurn thee from me.
Alm. And yet a father! think I am your child.
Turn not your eyes away-look on me kneeling;
Now curse me if you can, now spurn me off.
Did ever father curse his kneeling child?
Never; for always blessings crown that posture.
O hear me then, thus crawling on the earth-
King. Be thou advis'd, and let me go, while
yet
The light impression thou hast made remains.
Alm. No, never will I rise, nor loose this
hold,
Till you are mov'd, and grant that he may live.
King. Ha! who may live? take heed, no
more of that;
For on my soul he dies, though thou and I,
And all should follow to partake his doom.
Away, off, let me go-Call her attendants.
Re-enter LEONORA and Women.
Alm. Drag me, harrow the earth with my
bare bosom,
I'll not let go till you have spar'd my husband.
King. Ha! husband! Which? who?
Alm. He, he is my husband.
King. Who?
Alm. 0-
[Faints.
Let me go, let me fall, sink deep-I'll dig,
I'll dig a grave, and tear up death; I will;
Yes, I will strip off life, and we will change:
I will be death; then, though you kill my
husband,
He shall be mine still, and for ever mine.
King. What husband? whom dost thou
mean?
Gon. She raves!
licy
And fraud, to find the fatal secret out,
And know that Osmyn was Alphonso!
Gon. Ha!
Alm. Why dost thou start? what dost thou
see or hear?
Is it the doleful bell, tolling for death?
Or dying groans from my Alphonso's breast?
See, see; look yonder, where a grizzled, pale,
And ghastly head glares by, all smear'd with
blood,
Gasping as it would speak; and after see!
Behold a damp dead hand has dropp'd a dagger:
I'll catch it-Hark! a voice cries murder! ah!
My father's voice! hollow it sounds, and calls
Me from the tomb-I'll follow it; for there
I shall again behold my dear Alphonso.
[Exeunt Almeria and Leonora.
Gon. She's greatly griev'd: nor am I less
surpris'd.
Osmyn Alphonso! no; she over-rates
My policy: I ne'er suspected it:
Nor now had known it, but from her mistake.
Her husband too! Ha! where is Garcia then?
And where the crown that should descend on
him,
To grace the line of my posterity?
Hold, let me think-if I should tell the king-
Things come to this extremity; his daughter
Wedded already-what if he should yield?
Knowing no remedy for what is past;
And urg'd by nature pleading for his child,
With which he seems to be already shaken.
And though I know he hates beyond the grave
Anselmo's race; yet if that if concludes me.
To doubt, when I may be assur'd, is folly.
But how prevent the captive queen, who means
To set him free? Ay, now 'tis plain: O, well
Invented tale! He was Alphonso's friend.
This subtle woman will amuse the king,

30
[ACT V.
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
If I delay-'twill do-or better so.
With rash and greedy haste at once to cram
One to my wish. Alonzo, thou art welcome. The morsel down his throat. I caught his arm,
Enter ALONZO.
Alon. The king expects your lordship.
Gon. Tis no matter;
I'm not i'th' way at present, good Alonzo.
Alon. If't please your lordship, I'll return
and say
I have not seen you.
Gon. Do, my best Alonzo.
Yet stay; I would-but go; anon will serve-
Yet I have that requires thy speedy help.
I think thou wouldst not stop to do me service.
Alon. I am your creature.
Gon. Say thou art my friend. of binate
I've seen thy sword do noble execution.
Alon. All that it can your lordship shall
command.
Gon. Thanks; and I take thee at thy word.
Thou'st seen,
Among the foll'wers of the captive queen,
Dumb men, who make their meaning known
by signs.
Alon. I have, my lord.
Gon. Couldst thou procure, with speed
And privacy, the wearing garb of one
And hardly wrench'd his hand to wring it
from him;
Which done, he drew a poniard from his side,
And on the instant plung'd it in his breast.
King. Remove the body thence, ere Zara
see it.
Alon. I'll be so bold to borrow his attire;
Twill quit me from my promise to Gonsalez.
[Aside. Exit.
King. How's this? my mortal foe beneath
my roof!
[Having read the Letter.
O, give me patience, all ye pow'rs! no, rather
Give me new rage, implacable revenge,
And trebled fury-Ha! who's there?
Per. My lord!
King. Hence, slave! how dar'st thou bide,
to watch and pry
Into how poor a thing a king descends;
How like thyself, when passion treads him down?
Ha! stir not, on thy life! for thou wert fix'd
And planted here to see me gorge this bait,
And lash against the hook-By heav'n, you're
all
Rank traitors; thou art with the rest combin'd:
Of those, though purchas'd by his death, I'd Thou knew'st that Osmyn was Alphonso,
give
Thee such reward as should exceed thy wish.
Alon. Conclude it done. Where shall I
wait your lordship?
Gon. At my apartment. Use thy utmost
diligence:
And say I've not been seen-haste, good Alonzo.
[Exit Alonzo.
So, this can hardly fail. Alphonso slain,
The greatest obstacle is then remov'd.
Almeria widow'd, yet again may wed;
And I yet fix the crown on Garcia's head.
ACT V.
[Exit.
SCENE I-4 Room of State.
Enter KING, PEREZ, and ALONZO.
King. Not to be found? In an ill hour he's
absent.
None, say you? none? what, not the fav'rite
eunuch?
Nor she herself, nor any of her mutes,
Have yet requir'd admittance?
Per. None, my lord.
King. Is Osmyn so dispos'd as I commanded?
Per. Fast bound in double chains, and at
full length
'He lies supine on earth: with as much ease
She might remove the centre of this earth,
As loose the rivets of his bonds.
King. 'Tis well.
[4 Mute appears, and seeing
the King retires.
Ha! stop and seize that mute; Alonzo, follow
him.
Ent'ring he met my eyes, and started back
knew'st
My daughter privately with him conferr'd,
And wert the spy and pander to their meeting.
Per. By all that's holy, I'm amaz'd-
King. Thou ly'st.
Thou art accomplice too with Zara: here,
Where she sets down-Still will I set thee
free-
[Reads.
That somewhere is repeated-I have pow'r
O'er them that are thy guards-Mark that,
thou traitor.
Per. It was your majesty's command I should
Obey her order.
King, [Reads]-And still will I set
Thee free, Alphonso- Hell! curs'd, curs'd
Alphonso!
False and perfidious Zara! Strumpet daughter!
Away, be gone, thou feeble boy, fond love,
All nature, softness, pity, and compassion;
This hour I throw ye off, and entertain
Fell hate within my breast, revenge, and gall.
By heav'n, I'll meet and counterwork this
treachery.
Hark thee, villain, traitor-answer me, slave!
Per. My service has not merited those titles.
King. Dar'st thou reply? Take that -Thy
service! thine! [Strikes him.
What's thy whole life, thy soul, thy all, to my
One moment's ease? Hear my command; and
look
That thou obey, or horror on thy head:
Drench me thy dagger in Alphonso's heart.
Why dost thou start? Resolve, or-
Per. Sir, I will.
King. "Tis well-that when she comes to
set him free,
Frighted, and fumbling one hand in his bosom, His teeth may grin and mock at her remorse.
As to conceal th' importance of his errand.
[Perez going.
[Alonzo follows him, and re--Stay thee-I've further thought-I'll add to
turns with a Paper.
Alon. A bloody proof of obstinate fidelity!
King. What dost thou mean?
Alon. Soon as I seiz'd the man,
this,
And give her eyes yet greater disappointment:
When thou hast ended him, bring me his robe;
And let the cell where she'll expect to see him
He snatch'd from out his bosom this-and strove Be darken'd, so as to amuse the sight.

SCENE 2.]
31
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
I'll be conducted thither-mark me well-
There with his turban, and his robe array'd,
And laid along, as he now lies, supine,
The king? Confusion! all is on the rout!
All's lost! all ruin'd by surprise and treachery!
Where, where is he? Why dost thou mis-
lead me?
Alon. My lord, he enter'd but a moment
I shall convict her, to her face, of falsehood.
When for Alphonso's she shall take my hand,
And breathe her sighs upon my lips for his;
Sudden I'll start, and dash her with her guilt. And could not pass me unperceiv'd-What,
But see, she comes! I'll shun th' encounter;
thou
Follow me, and give heed to my direction.
Enter ZARA and SELIM.
[Exeunt.
Zara. Ha! 'twas the king!
The king that passed hence! frowning he went:
Dost think he saw me?
Sel. Yes; but then, as if he thought
His eyes had err'd, he hastily recall'd
Th' imperfect look, and sternly turn'd away.
Zara. Shun me when seen! I fear thou
hast undone me.
Sel. Avert it, heav'n! that you should ever
suffer
For my defect; or that the means which I
Devis'd to serve, should ruin your design!
Prescience is heav'n's alone, not giv'n to man.
If I have fail'd in what, as being man
I needs must fail, impute not as a crime
My nature's want, but punish nature in me;
I plead not for a pardon and to live,
But to be punish'd and forgiv'n. Here, strike;
I bare my breast to meet your just revenge.
Zara. I have not leisure now to take so poor
A forfeit as thy life; somewhat of high
And more important fate requires my thought!
Regard me well, and dare not to reply
To what I give in charge; for I'm resolv'd.
Give order that the two remaining mutes
Attend me instantly, with each a bowl
Of such ingredients mix'd, as will with speed
Benumb the living faculties, and give
Most easy and inevitable death.
Yes, Osmyn, yes; be Osmyn or Alphonso,
I'll give thee freedom, if thou dar'st be free:
Such liberty, as I embrace myself,
Thou shalt partake. Since fates no more af-
ford,
I can but die with thee to keep my word.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-Opens and shows the Prison.
Enter GONSALEZ, disguised like a Mute, with
a Dagger.
Gon. Nor sentinel, nor guard! the doors
unbarr'd.
since,
hoa!
My lord, my lord, what, hoa! my lord Gon-
salez !
Re-enter GONSALEZ, bloody.
Gon. Perdition choke your clamours!-
whence this rudeness?
Garcia!
Gar. Perdition, slavery, and death
Are ent'ring now our doors! Where is the
king?
What means this blood? and why this face
of horror?
Gon. No matter: give me first to know the
cause
Of these your rash and ill-tim'd exclamations.
Gor. The eastern gate is to the foe betray'd,
Who, but for heaps of slain that choke the
passage,
Had enter'd long ere now, and borne down all
The king in person animate our men,
Before 'em, to the palace walls. Unless
Granada's lost; and to confirm this fear,
Are through a postern fled, and join the foe!
The traitor Perez, and the captive Moor,
Gon. Would all were false as that! for
whom you call
The Moor is dead. That Osmyn was Alphonso;
In whose heart's blood this poniard yet is warm.
Gar. Impossible! for Osmyn was, while
flying,
Pronounc'd aloud by Perez for Alphonso.
Gon. Enter that chamber, and convince
your eyes,
How much report has wrong'd your easy faith,
[Garcia goes in.
Alon, My lord, for certain truth Perez is
fled;
And has declar'd the cause of his revolt
Was to revenge a blow the king had giv'n
him.
Re-enter GARCIA.
Gar. Ruin and horror! O, heart-wounding
sight!
Gon. What says my son? what ruin? ha!
what horror?
Gar. Blasted my eyes, and speechless be
my tongue,
And all as still as at the noon of night!
Sure death already has been busy here.
There lies my way; that door too is unlock'd. Rather than or to see, or to relate
[Looks in. This deed!-0, dire mistake! O, fatal blow!
Gon. Alon. The king!
Ha! sure he sleeps-all's dark within, save what The king-
A lamp, that feebly lifts a sickly flame,
By fits reveals-his face seems turn'd to favour
Th' attempt; I'll steal and do it unperceiv'd.
What noise? somebody coming? 'st, Alonzo!
heart;
Gar. Dead, welt'ring, drown'd in blood!
See! see! attir'd like Osmyn, where he lies.
[They look in.
Nobody. Sure he'll wait without-I would O whence, or how, or wherefore was this done?
'Twere done - I'll crawl and sting him to the But what imports the manner of the cause?
Nothing remains to do, or to require,
Then cast my skin, and leave it there to an-But that we all should turn our swords against
Ourselves, and expiate, with our own, his blood.
Gon. O wretch! O, curs'd and rash deluded
fool!
swer it.
[Goes in.
Enter GARCIA and ALONZO.
Gar. Where? where, Alonzo, where's my On me, on me, turn your avenging swords!
I, who have spilt my royal master's blood,
father? where

32
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
[ACT V.
Should make atonement by a death as horrid,
And fall beneath the hand of my own son.
Gar. Ha! what? atone this murder with a
greater!
Re-enter Mutes.
What have you seen? Ha! wherefore stare
you thus
[Mutes return, and look affrighted.
across?
Your heavy and desponding heads hung down?
Why is't you more than speak in these sad
The horror of that thought has damp'd my rage. With haggard eyes? Why are your arms
Gon. O, my son! from the blind dotage
Of a father's fondness these ills arose:
For thee I've been ambitious, base, and bloody;
For thee I've plung'd into this sea of sin;
Stemming the tide with only one weak hand,
While t'other bore the crown (to wreathe thy
brow),
Whose weight has sunk me ere I reach'd the
shore.
signs?
Give me more ample knowledge of this mourn-
ing.
[They go to the Scene, which open-
ing, she perceives the Body.
Ha! prostrate! bloody! headless! O-I'm lost!
Gar. Fatal ambition! Hark! the foe is en-O Osmyn! O Alphonso! Cruel fate!
ter'd!
Cruel, cruel, O more than killing object!
The shrillness of that shout speaks 'em at hand. I came prepar'd to die, and see thee die-
[Shout. Nay, came prepar'd myself to give thee death-
Alon. My lord, I've thought how to con- But cannot bear to find thee thus, my Osmyn-
O, this accurs'd, this base, this treach'rous king.
ceal the body:
Require me not to tell the means, till done,
Lest you forbid what then you may approve.
[Goes in. Shout.
Gon. They shout again! Whate'er he means
to do,
'Twere fit the soldiers were amus'd with hopes;
And in the mean time fed with expectation
To see the king in person at their head.
Gar. Were it a truth, I fear 'tis now too
late:
But I'll omit no care nor haste; and try
Or to repel their force, or bravely die. [Exit.
Re-enter ALONZO.
Gon. What hast thou done, Alonzo?
Alon. Such a deed
As but an hour ago I'd not have done,
Though for the crown of universal empire.
But what are kings, reduc'd to common clay?
Or who can wound the dead?-I've from the
body
Sever'd the head, and in an obscure corner
Dispos'd it, muffled in the mute's attire,
Leaving to view of them who enter next,
Alone the undistinguishable trunk;
Which may be still mistaken by the guards
For Osmyn, if in seeking for the king
They chance to find it.
Gon. 'Twas an act of horror,
And of a piece with this day's dire misdeeds.
But 'tis no time to ponder or repent.
Haste thee, Alonzo, haste thee hence with
speed,
To aid my son. I'll follow with the last
Reserve, to reinforce his arms: at least,
I shall make good and shelter his retreat.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter ZARA, followed by SELIM, and two
Mutes bearing the Bowls.
Zara. Silence and solitude are every where!
Through all the gloomy ways and iron doors
That hither lead, nor human face nor voice
Is seen or heard.
Re-enter SELIM.
Sel. I've sought in vain; for no where can
the king
Be found-
Zara. Get thee to hell, and seek him there!
[Stabs him.
His hellish rage had wanted means to act,
But for thy fatal and pernicious counsel.
Sel. You thought it better then-but I'm
rewarded.
The mute you sent, by some mischance was
seen,
And forc'd to yield your letter with his life:
I found the dead and bloody body stripp'd-
My tongue faulters, and my voice fails-I
sink-
Drink not the poison-for Alphonso is-
[Dies.
Zara. As thou art now-and I shall quickly
be.
'Tis not that he is dead! for 'twas decreed
We both should die. Nor is't that I survive;
I have a certain remedy for that.
But oh! he died unknowing in my heart.
He knew I lov'd, but knew not to what height;
Nor that I meant to fall before his eyes,
A martyr and a victim to my vows;
Insensible of this last proof he's gone:
Then wherefore do I pause? give me the bowl.
[A Mute kneels and gives one
of the Bowls.
Hover a moment yet, thou gentle spirit,
Soul of my love, and I will wait thy flight.
This to our mutual bliss, when join'd above.
[Drinks.
O, friendly draught! already in my heart.
Cold, cold! my veins are icicles and frost.
I'll creep into his bosom, lay me there;
Cover us close-or I shall chill his breast,
And fright him from my arms-See! see! he
slides
Still further from me; look, he hides his face!
I cannot feel it-quite beyond my reach.
Let 'em set down the bowls, and warn Al-10, now he's gone, and all is dark-
phonso
That I am here-so. [Mutes go in] You re-
turn and find
The king; tell him what he requir'd I've done,
And wait his coming to approve the deed.
[Dies. Mutes kneel and mourn
over her.
Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.
Alm. O, let me seek him in this horrid cell;
[Exit Selim. For in the tomb, or prison, I alone

SCENE 2.]
33
THE MOURNING BRIDE.
Must hope to find him.
Leon. Heav'ns! what dismal scene
Of death is this?
Alm. Show me, for I am come in search
of death,
But want a guide, for tears have dimm'd my
sight.
Leon. Alas, a little further, and behold
Zara all pale and dead! two frightful men,
Who seem the murderers, kneel weeping by;
Feeling remorse too late for what they've done.
But O, forbear-lift up your eyes no more,
But haste away, fly from this fatal place,
Where miseries are multiply'd; return,
Return, and look not on, for there's a dagger
Ready to stab the sight, and make your eyes
Rain blood-
Alm. O, I foreknow, foresee that object.
Is it at last then so? Is he then dead?
-I do not weep! the springs of tears are dry'd,
And of a sudden I am calm, as if
All things were well; and yet my husband's
murder'd!
Yes, yes, I know to mourn! I'll sluice this
heart,
The source of woe, and let the torrent loose.
-Those men have left to weep! they look on
me!
I hope they murder all on whom they look.
Behold me well; your bloody hands have err'd,
And wrongfully have slain those innocents:
I am the sacrifice design'd to bleed;
And come prepar'd to yield my throat!-They
bow
the
Their heads, in sign of grief and innocence!
[They point at the Bowl on
Ground,
And point! what mean they? Ha! a cup!
well
I understand what med'cine has been here.
O noble thirst! yet greedy, to drink all-
Oh for another draught of death!-
O,
[They point at the other Cup.
Thanks to the lib'ral hand that fill'd thee thus;
I'll drink my glad acknowledgment-
Leon. O hold,
For mercy's sake; upon my knee I beg-
Alm. With thee the kneeling world should
beg in vain.
Seest thou not there? Behold who prostrate
lies,
And pleads against thee; who shall then pre-
vail?
Yet I will take a cold and parting leave
From his pale lips; I'll kiss him ere I drink,
Lest the rank juice should blister on my
mouth,
And stain the colour of my last adieu.
Horror! a headless trunk! nor lips nor face,
[Coming near the Body, starts
and lets fall the Cup.
But spouting veins and mangled flesh! Oh!
oh!
Enter ALPHONSO, HELI, PEREZ, Guards, and
Attendants; with GARCIA, Prisoner.
Alph. Away, stand off! where is she! let
me fly,
Save her from death, and snatch her to my
heart.
Alm. Oh!
Alph. Forbear; my arms alone shall hold
her up,
Warm her to life, and wake her into glad-
ness.
Give a new birth to thy long-shaded eyes,
Then double on the day reflected light.
Alm. Where am I? Heav'n! what does this
dream intend?
Alph. O mayst thou never dream of less
delight,
Nor ever wake to less substantial joys!
Alm. Giv'n me again from death! O, all
ye pow'rs,
Confirm this miracle! Can I believe
My sight?
This is my lord, my life, my only husband:
I have him now, and we no more will part.
My father too shall have compassion-
Alph. O, my heart's comfort! 'tis not giv'n
to this
Frail life, to be entirely bless'd. E'en now,
In this extremest joy my soul can taste,
Yet I am dash'd to think that thou must weep:
Thy father fell, where he design'd my death.
Gonsalez and Alonzo, both of wounds
Expiring, have with their last breath confess'd
The just decrees of heav'n, which on themselves
Has turn'd their own most bloody purposes.
Nay, I must grant, 'tis fit you should be thus-
[She weeps.
Ill-fated Zara! Ha! a cup! alas!
Thy error then is plain; but I were flint
Not to o'erflow in tribute to thy memory.
O Garcia!-
Whose virtue has renounc'd thy father's crimes,
Seest thou how just the hand of heav'n has
been?
Let us, who through our innocence survive,
Still in the paths of honour persevere,
And not from past or present ills despair:
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
[Exeunt.
HILL.
AARON HILL, eldest son of George Hill, Esq. of Malmsbury Abbey, Wiltshire, was born in London, Febr. 10,
1684. The life of this author presents a most astonishing instance of genius and industry. At the age of 15 we find
him alone in a vessel bound for Constantinople, on a visit to Lord Paget, ambassador at that court, and a distant re-
lation of ais mother's. His Lordship, struck with the ardent desire of knowledge, which had induced this youth to
such an undertaking, provided him with a tutor with whom he travelled through Egypt, Palestine and the greater
part of the East. He returned with his Lordship from Constantinople by land; and profited of the occasion of their
stay at the different courts to see the greatest part of Europe. 1710, Manager of the King's Theatre, Haymarket, he
wrote the opera of Rinaldo, the music of which was the first of Handel's compositions after his arrival in England.
Although no man could be more qualified for this undertaking, he relinquished the management on account of some
5

34
[ACT I.
ZARA.
misunderstanding; and turned his thoughts entirely on a project of making sweet oil from beech-nuts. He obtained
a patent, and had his fortune been sufficient for the undertaking he would undoubtedly have rendered this attempt of
great advantage to the nation; but borrowing a sum of 25,000 pounds, he was obliged to submit to the formation of a
company, who were to act in concert with him. These people, with the most sanguine hopes of success and ignorant
of the inventor's plans, or perhaps fearing to loose their money, upon a trifling delay of their hopes, immediately com-
menced representations; these caused disputes, and the whole affair was overthrown just at the time when profits were
already rising from it, and, if pursued with vigour, would, in all probability have continued increasing and permanent.
Another valuable project, that of applying the timber grown in the north of Scotland to the use of the navy, for
which it had been long erroneously imagined to be unfit, he set on foot in 1727: here again we have a terrible ac-
count of the obstacles he met with: when the trees were chained together into a raft, the Highlanders could not be
prevailed upon to go down the river on them, till he first went himself; and he was obliged to find out a method of
doing away with the rocks (by lighting fires on them at low water), which choked up the passage in different parts
of the river. The commencement of a lead mine in the same country employing all the men and horses, which had
heretofore been at his service, put an end to this undertaking; however he was presented with the freedom of Inver-
ness and Aberdeen, as a compliment for his great exertions. All this time his pen did not continue idle: he produced
The progress of Wit, a caveat for the use of an eminent Writer; in which he retorts very severely upon Pope, who
had introduced him into The Dunciad, as one of the competitors for the prize offered by the goddess of Dulness. After
the death of his wife 1731, he continued in London and in intercourse with the public till about 1758, when he
withdrew to Plaistow in Essex, where his indefatigable genius projected many profitable improvements. One he lived
to complete, but without benefit to himself, which was the art of making potash, equal to that brought from Russia.
Here he wrote and published several poetical pieces; and adapted Voltaire's tragedy of Merope to the English Stage,
which was the last work he lived to complete. He died the very day before it was to he represented for his benefit,
Feb. 8. 1749, in the very minute of the earthquake. The Biographia Dramatica says him to have been a person of
the most amiable disposition, extensive knowledge, and elegant conversation. We find him bestowing the profits of
many of his works for the relief of distressed authors and artists; though he would never accept of a benefit for him-
self, till his distresses at the close of his life obliged him to solicit the acting of Merope for their relief. No labour
deterred him from the prosecution of any design which appeared to him to be praiseworthy and feasible, nor was it
in the power of the greatest misfortunes to overcome or even shake his fortitude of mind. Although accused of being
rather too turgid, and in some places obscure; yet the nervous power, and sterling sense we find in his writings ought
to make us overlook our having been obliged to take some little pains in digging through the 1ock in which it is con-
tained; while his rigid correctness will always make him stand in an exalted rank of merit,
ZARA.
ZARA was first produced 1735; and though it is founded on the principles of religious party, which are generally
apt to throw an air of enthusiasm and bigotry into those dramatic works which are built on them, this piece has al-
ways been esteemed a very superior one. The Biographia Dramatica says, "It is borrowed originally from the Zaïre
of Voltaire; an author who, while he resided in England, imbibed so much of the spirit of British liberty, that his
writings seem almost always calculated for the meridian of London. Mr. Hill, however, has made this as well as his
other translations so much his own, that it is hard to determine which of the two may most properly be called the
author of this play." It is remarkable for a very extraordinary event; it is related, that a gentleman of the name of
Bond, collecting a party of his friends, got up the play of Zara, at the music room in Villiers Street, York Buildings,
and chose the part of Lusignan for himself. His acting was considered as a prodigy; and he yielded himself up so
to the force and impetuosity of his imagination, that upon the discovery of his daughter, he fainted away. The house
rung with applause; but, finding that he continued a long time in that situation, the audience began to be uneasy and
apprehensive. With some difficulty, the representatives of Chatillon and Nerestan placed him in his chair; he then
faintly spoke, extended his arms to receive his children, raised his eyes to heaven, and then closed them for ever.
OSMAN.
LUSIGNAN.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
NERESTAN.
CHATILLON.
ORASMIN.
MELIDOR.
ZARA.
SELIMA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-Enter ZARA and SELIMA.
Sel. It moves my wonder, young and beau-
teous Zara,
heart!
Whence these new sentiments inspire your
Your peace of mind increases with your charms:
Tears now no longer shade your eyes' soft
lustre:
You meditate no more those happy climes
To which Nerestan will return to guide you.
You talk no more of that gay nation now,
Where men adore their wives, and woman's
power
Draws rev'rence from a polish'd people's
softness:
Their husbands' equals, and their lovers' queens!
Free, without scandal; wise, without restraint;
Why have you ceas'd to wish this happy change?
A barr'd seraglio! sad, unsocial life!
Scorn'd, and a slave! All this has lost its
terror;
And Syria rivals, now, the banks of Seine.
Zara. Joys which we do not know, we do
not wish.
My fate's bound in by Sion's sacred wall:
Clos'd from my infancy within this palace,
Custom has learnt, from time, the power to
please.
The sultan's property, bis will
I claim no share in the remoter world,
my law;
Unknowing all but him, his power, his fame;
All else, an empty dream-
To live his subject is my only hope.
Sel. Have you forgot
Absent Nerestan then? whose gen'rous friend-
ship
So nobly vow'd redemption from your chains!
How oft have you admir'd his dauntless soul?
rusted his faith, and on his word releas'd him:
Osman, his conqu'ror, by his courage charm'd,
Though not return'd in time-we yet expect him.
Nor had his noble journey other motive,
Than to procure our ransom.-And is this,
This dear, warm hope, become an idle dream?
Zara. Since after two long years he not
returns,
'Tis plain his promise stretch'd beyond his
power,
A stranger and a slave, unknown, like him

SCENE 1.]
35
ZARA.
Proposing much, means little; talks and vows,
Delighted with a prospect of escape:
He promis'd to redeem ten Christians more,
And free us all from slavery! I own
I once admir'd the unprofitable zeal,
But now it charms no longer.
Sel. What, if yet,
Zara. Can my fond heart, on such a feeble
proof,
Embrace a faith abhorr'd by him I love?
I see too plainly custom forms us all;
Our thoughts, our morals, our most fix'd belief,
Are consequences of our place of birth:
Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan,
He, faithful should return, and hold his vow; In France a Christian, I am here a Saracen:
Would you not, then-
Zara. No matter-Time is past.
And every thing is chang'd.
Sel. But whence comes this?
'Tis but instruction all! Our parents' hand
Writes on our heart the first faint characters,
Which time, re-tracing deepens into strength,
That nothing can efface, but death or heaven!
Zara. Go; 'twere too much to tell thee Thou wert not made a pris'ner in this place,
Zara's fate:
The sultan's secrets all are sacred here:
But my fond heart delights to mix with thine.
Some three months past, when thou, and other
slaves,
Were forc'd to quit fair Jordan's flow'ry bank!
Heav'n, to cut short the anguish of my days,
Rais'd me to comfort by a pow'rful hand:
This mighty Osman!-
Sel. What of him?
Zara. This sultan,
This conqueror of the Christians, loves-
Sel. Whom?
Zara. Zara!
Till after reasons, borrowing force from years,
Had lent its lustre to enlighten faith:
For me, who in my cradle was their slave,
Thy Christian doctrines were too lately taught
me:
Yet, far from having lost the rev'rence due,
This cross, as often as it meets my eye,
Strikes through my heart a kind of awful fear!
I honour, from my soul, the Christian laws,
Those laws, which, softening nature by humanity,
Melt nations into brotherhood; no doubt
Christians are happy; and 'tis just to love them.
Sel. Why have you then declar'd yourself
their foe?
Thou blushest, and I guess thy thoughts ac- Why will you join your hand with this proud
cuse me:
Zara. Ah!
But, known me better-'twas unjust suspicion. Who owes his
All emperor as he is, I cannot stoop
To honours, that bring shame and baseness
with 'em:
Reason and pride, those props of modesty,
Sustain my guarded heart, and strengthen virtue;
No-I shall now astonish thee; his greatness
Submits to own a pure and honest flame,
Among the shining crowds, which live to please
him,
His whole regard is fix'd on me alone:
He offers marriage; and its rites now wait
To crown me empress of this eastern world.
Sel. Your virtue and your charms deserve
it all:
My heart is not surpris'd, but struck to hear it.
If to be empress can complete your happiness,
I rank myself, with joy, among your slaves.
Zara. Be still my equal, and enjoy my
blessings;
For, thou partaking, they will bless me more.
Sel. Alas! but heaven! will it permit this
marriage?
Osman's,
triumph to the Christians' ruin?
who could slight the offer of
his heart?
Nay, for I mean to tell thee all my weakness,
Perhaps I had, ere now, profess'd thy faith,
But Osman lov'd me-and I've lost it all:
I think on none but Osman; my pleas'd heart,
Fill'd with the blessing, to be lov'd by him,
Wants room for other happiness.
Oh, my
friend!
I talk not of a sceptre, which he gives me:
No-to be charm'd with that were thanks too
humble!
Offensive tribute, and too poor for love!
'Twas Osman won my heart, not Osman's crown:
I love not in him aught besides himself.
Thou think'st, perhaps, that these are starts of
passion:
But had the will of heav'n, less bent to bless him,
Doom'd Osman to my chains, and me to fill
The throne that Osman sits on-ruin and
wretchedness
Catch and consume my wishes, but I would-
To raise me to myself, descend to him.
Will not this grandeur, falsely call'd a bliss,
Plant bitterness, and root it in your heart?
Have you forgot you are of Christian blood?
Zara. Ah, me! what hast thou said, why A
wouldst thou thus
Recall my wav'ring thoughts? How know I
what,
Or whence I am? Heaven kept it hid in dark-
ness,
Conceal'd me from myself, and from my blood.
Sel. Nerestan, who was born a Christian,
here,
Asserts, that you like him, had Christian pa-
rents;
Besides-that cross, which from your infant
years
Has been preserv'd, was found upon your
bosom,
As if design'd by heav'n, a pledge of faith
Due to the God you purpose to forsake!
[Exit Selima.
grand March. Enter OSMAN, reading
a Paper, which he re-delivers to ORAS-
MIN, with Attendants.
Osman. Wait my return, or should there
be a cause
That may require my presence, do not fear
To enter; ever mindful that my own
[Exit Oras. etc.
Follows my people's happiness. At length,
Cares have releas'd my heart-to love and Zara.
Zara. 'Twas not in cruel absence, to de-
prive me
Of your imperial image; every where
You reign triumphant; memory supplies
Reflection with your power; and you, like
heaven,
Are always present-and are always gracious.

36
[ACT I.
ZARA.
Osman. The sultans, my great ancestors, This place, long sacred to the sultan's privacies.
bequeath'd
Osman. Go-bring him with thee. Mon-
archs, like the sun,
Not the unhappy; every place alike
Gives the distress'd a privilege to enter.
[Exit Orasmin.
I think with horror on these dreadful maxims,
Which harden kings insensibly to tyrants.
Their empire to me, but their taste they gave not;
Their laws, their lives, their loves, delight not me; Shine but in vain, unwarming, if unseen;
I know our prophet smiles on am'rous wishes, With forms and rev'rence let the great ap-
And opens a wide field to vast desire;
proach us;
I know, that at my will I might possess;
That, wasting tenderness in wild profusion,
I might look down to my surrounded feet,
And bless contending beauties. I might speak,
Serenely slothful, from within my palace,
And bid my pleasure be my people's law.
But, sweet as softness is, its end is cruel;
I can look round and count a hundred kings,
Unconquer'd by themselves, and slaves to
others:
Hence was Jerusalem to Christians lost;
Hence from the distant Euxine to the Nile,
The trumpet's voice has wak'd the world to war;
Yet, amidst arms and death, thy power has
reach'd me,
For thou disdain'st, like me, a languid love;
Glory and Zara join, and charm together.
Zara. I hear at once, with blushes and
with joy,
This passion, so unlike your country's customs.
Osman. Passion, like mine, disdains my
country's customs;
Re-enter ORASMIN, with NERESTAN.
Ner. Imperial sultan! honour'd ev'n by foes!
See me return'd, regardful of my vow,
And punctual to discharge a Christian's duty.
I bring the ransom of the captive Zara,
Fair Selima, the partner of her fortune,
And of ten Christian captives, pris'ners here.
You promis'd, sultan, if I should return,
To grant their rated liberty: behold
I am return'd, and they are yours no more.
I would have stretch'd my purpose to myself,
But fortune has deny'd it; my poor all
Suffic'd no further, and a noble poverty
Is now my whole possession. I redeem
The promis'd Christians; for I taught 'em hope:
But, for myself, I come again your slave,
To wait the fuller hand of future charity.
Osman. Christian! I must confess thy cou-
rage charms me;
The jealousy, the faintness, the distrust,
The proud, superior coldness of the east.
I know to love you, Zara, with esteem;
To trust your virtue, and to court your soul. But let thy pride be taught it treads too high,
Nobly confiding, I unveil my heart,
When it presumes to climb above my mercy.
And dare inform you that 'tis all your own: Go ransomless thyself, and carry back
My joys must all be yours; only my cares Their unaccepted ransoms, join'd with gifts,
Shall lie conceal'd within, and reach not Zara. Fit to reward thy purpose: instead of ter,
Zara. Oblig'd by this excess of tenderness, Demand a hundred Christians; they are thine:
llow low, how wretched was the lot of Zara! Take 'em, and bid 'em teach their haughty
Too poor with aught but thanks to pay such
country,
blessings!
Osman. Not so-I love, and would be lov'd
again;
Let me confess it: I possess a soul,
That what it wishes, wishes ardently.
I should believe you hated, had you power
To love with moderation; 'tis my aim,
In every thing to reach supreme perfection.
If, with an equal flame I touch your heart,
Marriage attends your smile. But know, 'twill
make
Me wretched, it if makes not Zara happy.
Zara. Ah, sir! if such a heart as gen'rous
Osman's
Can, from my will, submit to take its bliss,
What mortal ever was decreed so happy?
Pardon the pride with which I own my joy:
Thus wholly to possess the man I love!
To know, and to confess his will my fate!
To be the happy work of his dear hands!
To be-
Re-enter ORASMIN.
Osman. Already interrupted! What?
Who? Whence?
Oras. This moment, sir, there is arriv'd
That Christian slave, who, licens'd on his faith,
Went hence to France; and now return'd,
prays audience.
Zara. Oh, heaven!
[Aside.
Osman, Admit him--What?-Why comes
he not?
Oras. He waits without, No Christian dares
approach
They left some virtue among Saracens.
Be Lusignan alone excepted. He
Who boasts the blood of kings, and dares lay
claim
To my Jerusalem-that claim, his guilt!
I mourn his lot,
Who must in fetters, lost to day-light, pine
And-sigh away old age in grief and pain.
For Zara but to name her as a captive,
Were to dishonour language; she's a prize
Above thy purchase: all the Christian realms,
With all their kings to guide 'em, would unite
In vain, to force her from me, Go, retire.
Ner. For Zara's ransom, with her own
consent,
I had your royal word. For Lusignan-
Unhappy, poor old man-
Osman. Was I not heard?
Have I not told thee, Christian, all my will?
What, if I prais'd thee! This presumptuous
virtue,
Compelling my esteem, provokes my pride;
Be gone; and when to-morrow's sun shall rise,
On my dominions be not found-too near me.
[Exit Nerestan.
[Aside.
Zara. Assist him, heaven!
Osman. Zara, retire a moment.
Assume, throughout my palace, sovereign em-
pire,
While I give orders to prepare the pomp
That waits to crown thee mistress of my throne.
[Leads her out, and returns.
Orasmin! didst thou mark th' imperious slave?

SCENE. 1.
37
ZARA.
What could he mean?-he sigh'd-and, as he And the proud crescent rise in bloody triumph.
went,
From this seraglio having young escap'd,
Turn'd and look'd back at Zara!-didst thou Fate, three years since, restor'd me to my
chains;
mark it?
Oras. Alas! my sovereign master! let not Then, sent to Paris on my plighted faith,
jealousy
Strike high enough to reach your noble heart.
Osman. Jealousy, saidst thou? I disdain it.
No!
Distrust is poor; and a misplac'd suspicion
Invites and justifies the falsehood fear'd,
Yet, as I love with warmth, so I could hate!
But Zara is above disguise and art.
Jealous! I was not jealous! If I was,
I am not-no-my heart-but, let us drown
Remembrance of the word, and of the image;
My heart is fill'd with a diviner flame.
Go, and prepare for the approaching nuptials.
I must allot one hour to thoughts of state,
Then all the smiling day is love and Zara's.
[Exit Orasmin.
Monarchs, by forms of pompous misery press'd,
In proud, unsocial misery, unbless'd,
Would, but for love's soft influence, curse
their throne,
And, among crowded millions, live alone. [Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter NERESTAN and CHATILLON.
I flatter'd my fond hope with vain resolves,
To guide the lovely Zara to that court,
Where Lewis has establish'd virtue's throne:
But Osman will detain her-yet, not Osman;
Zara herself forgets she is a Christian,
And loves the tyrant sultan! Let that pass:
I mourn a disappointment still more cruel;
The prop of all our Christian hope is lost.
Cha. Dispose me at your will; I am your
own.
Ner. Oh, sir, great Lusignan, so long their
captive,
That last of an
That warrior,
Osman refuses
heroic race of kings,
whose past fame has fill'd the
world,
to my sighs for ever.
Cha. Nay, then we have been all redeem'd
in vain;
Perish that soldier who would quit his chains,
And leave his noble chief behind in fetters.
Alas! you know him not as I have known him:
Thank heav'n, that plac'd your birth so far
remov'd
From those detested days of blood and woe:
But I, less happy, was condemn'd to see
Thy walls, Jerusalem, beat down, and all
Cha. Matchless Nerestan! generous and Our pious fathers' labours lost in ruins!
great!
You, who have broke the chains of hopeless
slaves!
Appear, be known, enjoy your due delight;
The grateful weepers wait to clasp your knees;
They throng to kiss the happy hand that
sav'd 'em!
Indulge the kind impatience of their eyes,
And, at their head, command their hearts for
ever.
Ner. Illustrious Chatillon! this praise o'er-
whelms me;
What have I done beyond a Christian's duty,
Beyond what you would, in my place, have
done?
Cha. True-it is every honest Christian's
duty;
Nay, 'tis the blessing of such minds as ours,
For others' good to sacrifice our own.
Yet, happy they, to whom heav'n grants the
power
To execute, like you, that duty's call.
For us, the relics of abandon'd war,
Forgot in France, and in Jerusalem,
Left to grow old in fetters, Osman's father
Consign'd us to the gloom of a damp dungeon,
Where, but for you, we must have groan'd
out life,
And native France have bless'd our eyes no
Heav'n! had you seen the very temple rifled,
The sacred sepulchre itself profan'd,
Fathers with children mingl'd, flame together,
And our last king, oppress'd with age and
arms,
Murder'd, and bleeding o'er his murder'd sons!
Then Lusignan, sole remnant of his race,
Rallying our fated few amidst the flames,
Fearless, beneath the crush of falling towers,
The conqu'rors and the conquer'd, groans
and death!
Dreadful-and waving in his hand a sword,
Red with the blood of infidels, cry'd out,
"This way, ye faithful Christians! follow me!"
Ner. How full of glory was that brave retreat!
Cha. 'Twas heav'n, no doubt, that sav'd and
led him on,
Pointed his, path, and march'd our guardian
guide:
We reach'd Caesarea-there the general voice
Chose Lusignan, thenceforth to give us laws.
Alas! 'twas vain; Caesarea could not stand
When Sion's self was fallen! we were betray'd;
And Lusignan condemn'd to length of life,
In chains, in damps, and darkness, and despair.
Ner. Oh! I should hate the liberty he
as shar'd not.
I knew too well the miseries you describe,
For I was born amidst them. Chains and death,
Caesarea lost, and Saracens triumphant,
Ner. The will of gracious heav'n, that soft-Were the first objects which my eyes e'er
more.
en'd Osman,
Inspir'd me for your sakes: but with our joy
Flows, mix'd, a bitter sadness. I had hop'd
To save from their perversion, a young beauty,
Who, in her infant innocence, with me,
Was made a slave by cruel Noradin;
When, sprinkling Syria with the blood
Christians,
Caesarea's walls saw Lusignan surpris'd,
look'd on.
Hurried, an infant, among other infants,
Snatch'd from the bosoms of their bleeding
mothers,
A temple sav'd us, till the slaughter ceas'd;
Then were we sent to this ill-fated city;
of Here, in the palace of our former kings,
To learn from Saracens their hated faith,
And be completely wretched. Zara, too,

38
[ACT II.
ZARA.
done
See where they bring the good old chief,
grown dim
Shar'd this captivity; we both grew up
So near each other, that a tender friendship
Endear'd her to my wishes: my fond heart-With age, by pain and sorrows hasten'd on.
Pardon its weakness, bleeds to see her lost,
And, for a barbarous tyrant, quit her God!
Cha. Such is the Saracens too fatal policy;
Watchful seducers still of infant weakness!
But let us think: may not this Zara's int'rest,
Loving the sultan, and by him belov'd,
For Lusignan procure some softer sentence?
Ner. How shall I gain admission to her
presence?
Osman has banish'd me; but that's a trifle:
Will the seraglio's portals open to me?
Or could I find that easy to my hopes,
What prospect of success from an apostate?
On whom I cannot look without disdain;
And who will read her shame upon my brow.
The hardest trial of a generous mind
Is to court favours from a hand it scorns.
Cha. Think it is Lusignan we seek to serve.
Ner. Well, it shall be attempted. Hark!
who's this?
Are my eyes false? or is it really she?
Enter ZARA.
Zara. Start not, my worthy friend! I come
to seek you;
The sultan has permitted it; fear nothing:
But to confirm my heart, which trembles near
you,
Soften that angry air, nor look reproach;
Why should we fear each other, both mis-
taking?
Cha. How is my heart dissolv'd with sud-
den joy.
Enter LUSIGNAN, led in by two Guards.
Lus. Where am I? From the dungeon's
depth what voice
Has call'd me to revisit long-lost day?
Am I with Christians? I am weak; forgive me,
And guide my trembling steps. I'm full of
years;
My miseries have worn me more than age.
Am I in truth at liberty? [Seats himself.
Cha. You are;
And every Christian's grief takes end with yours.
Lus. O light! O, dearer far than light, that
voice!
Chatillon, is it you? my fellow martyr!
And shall our wretchedness indeed have end?
In what place are we now? my feeble eyes,
Disus'd to day-light, long in vain to find you.
Cha. This was the palace of your royal
fathers:
'Tis now the son of Noradin's seraglio.
Zara. The master of this place, the mighty
Osman,
Distinguishes, and loves to cherish virtue.
This gen'rous Frenchman, yet a stranger to you
Drawn from his native soil, from peace and rest,
Brought the vow'd ransom of ten Christian
slaves,
Himself contented to remain a captive;
But Osman, charm'd by greatness like his own,
To equal what he lov'd, has giv'n him you.
Lus. So gen'rous France inspires her social
sons!
Associates from our birth, one prison held us,
One friendship taught affliction to be calm,
Till heaven thought fit to favour your escape,
And call you to the fields of happier France;
Thence, once again, it was my lot to find you They have been ever dear and useful to me.
A pris'ner here: where, hid amongst a crowd Would I were nearer to him. Noble sir,
Of undistinguish'd slaves, with less restraint
I shar'd your frequent converse:
[Nerestan approaches.
How have I merited, that you for me
Should pass such distant seas to bring me
blessings,
And hazard your own safety for my sake?
Ner. My name, sir, is Nerestan; born in
Syria,
It pleas'd your pity, shall I say your friendship?
Or rather, shall I call it generous charity?
To form that noble purpose, to redeem
Distressful Zara-you procur'd my ransom,
And with a greatness that out-soar'd a crown,
Return'd yourself a slave, to give me freedom: I wore the chains of slavery from my birth;
But heav'n has cast our fate for different Till quitting the proud crescent for the court
climes;
Here, in Jerusalem, I fix for ever;
Yet, among all the shine that marks my fortune,
I shall with frequent tears remember yours.
Your goodness will for ever sooth my heart,
And keep your image still a dweller there:
Warm'd by your great example to protect
That faith that lifts humanity so high,
I'll be a mother to distressful Christians.
Ner. How! you protect the Christians! you,
who can
Abjure their saving truth, and coldly see
Great Lusignan, their chief, die slow in chains!
Zara. To bring him freedom you behold
me here;
You will this moment meet his eyes in joy.
Cha. Shall I then live to bless that happy
hour?
Ner. Can Christians owe so dear a gift to
Zara?
Zara. Hopeless I gather'd courage to entreat
The sultan for his liberty: amaz'd,
So soon to gain the happiness I wish'd!
Where warlike Lewis reigns, beneath his eye
I learnt the trade of arms: the rank I held
Was but the kind distinction which he gave me,
To tempt my courage to deserve regard.
Your sight, unhappy prince, would charm
his eye;
That best and greatest monarch will behold
With grief and joy those venerable wounds,
And print embraces where your fetters bound
you.
All Paris will revere the cross's martyr.
Lus. Alas! in times long past, I've seen its
glory:
When Philip the victorious liv'd, I fought
Abreast with Montmorency and Melun,
D'Estaing, De Nesle, and the far-famous Courcy;
Names which were then the praise and dread
of war.
But what have I to do at Paris now?
I stand upon the brink of the cold grave;
That way my journey lies-to find, I hope,
The King of kings, and ask the recompense
For all my woes, long suffer'd for his sake.

SCENE 1.]
39
ZARA.
Lus. Tell me yet,
Has it remain'd for ever in your hands?
What, both brought captives from Caesarea
hither?
Zara. Both, both.
You gen'rous witnesses of my last hour,
While I yet live, assist my humble prayers,
And join the resignation of my soul.
Nerestan! Chatillon! and you, fair mourner,
Whose tears do honour to an old man's sorrows!
Pity a father, the unhappiest sure
Lus. Their voice! their looks!
That ever felt the hand of angry heaven! The living images of their dear mother!
My eyes, though dying, still can furnish tears; O God! who seest my tears and know'st my
Half my long life they flow'd, and still will flow!
A daughter and three sons, my heart's proud Do not forsake me at this dawn of hope;
hopes,
Strengthen my heart, too feeble for this joy.
Were all torn from me in their tend'rest Madam! Nerestan!-Help me, Chatillon!
years:
My friend Chatillon knows, and can remem-
ber-
Cho. Would I were able to forget your woe.
Lus. Thou wert a pris'ner with me in Cae-
sarea,
And there beheld'st my wife and two dear sons
Perish in flames.
Cha. A captive, and in fetters,
I could not help 'em.
Lus. I know thou couldst not.
thoughts,
[Rises.
Nerestan, hast thou on thy breast a scar,
Which ere Caesarea fell, from a fierce hand,
Surprising us by night, my child receiv'd?
Ner. Bless'd hand!-I bear it.- Sir, the mark
is there!
I
Lus. Merciful heaven!
Ner. Oh, sir!-Oh, Zara, kneel! [Kneels.
Zara. My father!-Oh!-
[Kneels.
Lus. Oh, my lost children!
Both. Oh!
Lus. My son! my daughter! lost in em-
bracing you,
would now die, lest this should prove a dream.
Cha. How touch'd is my glad heart to see
their joy!
Lus. They shall not tear you from my arms
-my children,
Oh, 'twas a dreadful scene! these eyes beheld it:
Husband and father, helpless I beheld it;
Deny'd the mournful privilege to die.
Oh, my poor children, whom I now deplore,
If ye are saints in heav'n, as sure ye are,
Look with an eye of pity on that brother,
That sister whom you left! If I have yet
Or son or daughter; for in early chains,
Far from their lost and unassisting father,
I heard that they were sent, with numbers more,
To this seraglio; hence to be dispers'd Now dissipate all doubt, remove all dread;
In nameless remnants o'er the east, and spread Has heaven, that gives me back
me back my children,
Our Christian miseries round a faithless world.
Cha. 'Twas true; for in the horrors of that Such as I lost them? come they Christians
day,
Again I find you-dear in wretchedness.
Oh, my brave son, and thou, my nameless
daughter!
given 'em
to me?
Zara. I cannot, sir, deceive you; Osman's
laws
I snatch'd your infant daughter from her cradle; One weeps, and one declines a conscious eye!
When from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens Your silence speaks; too well I understand it.
Forc'd the lost innocent, who smiling lay
And pointed, playful, at the swarthy spoilers!
With her your youngest, then your only son,
Whose little life had reach'd the fourth sad year,
And just giv'n sense to feel his own misfortunes,
Was order'd to this city.
Ner. I too, hither,
Just at that fatal age, from lost Caesarea,
Came in that crowd of undistinguish'd Christians.
Lus. You! came you thence? Alas! who
knows but you
Might heretofore have seen my two poor chil-
dren.
[Looks up.
Ha, madam! that small ornament you wear,
Its form a stranger to this country's fashion,
How long has it been yours?
Were mine; and Osman is not Christian.
Lus. Her words are thunder bursting on
my head.
Wer't not for thee, my son, I now should die.
Full sixty years I fought the Christian's cause;
Saw their doom'd temple fall, their power
destroy'd:
Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth;
Yet never for myself my tears sought heaven:
All for my children rose my fruitless prayers.
Yet what avails a father's wretched joy?
I have a daughter gain'd, and heaven an enemy.
Oh, my misguided daughter, lose not thy faith;
Reclaim thy birthright; think upon the blood
Of twenty Christian kings, that fills thy veins:
Ah, what! you seem surpris'd!-Why should 'Tis heroes' blood, the blood of saints and
Zara. From my first birth, sir.
this move you?
Lus. Would you confide it to my trembling
hands?
Zara. To what new wonders am I now
reserv'd?
Oh, sir! what mean you?
Lus. Providence and heaven!
Oh, failing eyes, deceive ye not my hope?
Can this be possible?-Yes, yes, 'tis she!
This little cross-I know it by sure marks!
Oh! take
me, heaven, while I can die with joy!
Zara. Oh, do not, sir, distract me! Rising
thoughts,
And hopes, and fears, o'erwhelm me!
martyrs!
What would thy mother feel to see thee thus?
She and thy murder'd brothers!-think they
call thee;
Think that thou see'st 'em stretch their bloody
arms,
And weep to win thee from their murd'rer's
bosom.
E'en in the place where thou betray'st thy God,
He died, my child, to save thee!
Thou tremblest-Oh! admit me to thy soul;
Kill not thy aged, thy afflicted father;
Shame not thy mother, nor renounce thy God.-
'Tis past; repentance dawns in thy sweet eyes;

40
[ACT III.
ZARA.
I see bright truth descending to thy heart,
And now my long-lost child is found for ever.
Zara. Oh, my father!
Dear author of my life! inform ine, teach me,
What should my duty do?
Lus. By one short word,
With that Nerestan, whom thou know'st-
that Christian!
Oras. And have you, sir, indulg'd that
strange desire?
Osman. What mean'st thou? They were
infant slaves together;
To dry up all my tears, and make life wel- Friends should part kind, who are to meet
come,
Say thou art a Christian.
Zara. Sir, I am a Christian.
no more.
When Zara asks, I will refuse her nothing:
Restraint was never made for those we love.
Lus. Receive her, gracious heaven! and bless Down with those rigours of the proud seraglio!
her for it.
Enter ORASMIN.
I hate its laws; where blind austerity
Sinks virtue to necessity.-My blood
Disclaims your Asian jealousy; I hold
Oras. Madam, the sultan order'd me to The fierce, free plainness of my Scythian an-
tell you
That he expects you instant quit this place,
And bid your last farewell to these vile Chris-
tians.
You, captive Frenchmen, follow me; for you
It is my task to answer.
Cha. Still new miseries!
How cautious man should be, to say, "I'm
happy!"
Lus. These are the times, my friends, to
try our firmness,
Our Christian firmness.
Zara. Alas, sir! Oh!
Lus. Oh, you!-I dare not name you!
Farewell! but, come what may, be sure re-
member
You keep the fatal secret: for the rest,
Leave all to heaven-be faithful, and be blest.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE 1. Enter OSMAN and ORASMIN.
Osman. Orasmin, this alarm was false and
groundless;
Lewis no longer turns his arms on me;
The French, grown weary by a length of woes,
Wish not at once to quit their fruitful plains,
And famish on Arabia's desert sands.
Their ships, 'tis true, have spread the Syrian seas:
And Lewis, hov'ring o'er the coast of Cyprus,
Alarms the fears of Asia.-But I've learn'd,
That, steering wide from our unmenac'd ports,
He points his thunder at th' Egyptian shore.
There let him war, and waste my enemies;
Their mutual conflict will but fix my throne.
Release those Christians; I restore their freedom:
'Twill please their master, nor can weaken me.
Transport 'em, at my cost, to find their king.
I wish to have him know me. Carry thither
This Lusignan; whom, tell him, I restore,
Because I cannot fear his fame in arms,
But love him for his virtue and his blood.
Tell him, my father, having conquer'd twice,
Condemn'd him to perpetual chains; but I
Have set him free, that I might triumph more.
Oras. The Christians gain an army in his
name.
Osman. I cannot fear a sound.
Oras. But, sir, should Lewis-
Osman. Tell Lewis, and the world, it shall
be so:
Zara propos'd it, and my heart approves.
Thy statesman's reason is too dull for love!
But I talk on, and waste the smiling mo-
ments.
For one long hour I yet defer my nuptials;
She would employ it in a conference
cestors,
Their open confidence, their honest hate,
Their love unfearing, and their anger told.
Go; the good Christian waits; conduct him
to her;
Zara expects thee. What she wills, obey.
[Exit.
Oras. Ho! Christian! enter.
Enter NERESTAN.
Wait a moment here.
Zara will soon approach: I go to find her. [Exit.
Ner. In what a state, in what a place, I
leave her!
Oh, faith! Oh, father! Oh, my poor, lost sister!
She's here.
Enter ZARA.
Thank heaven, it is not then unlawful
To see you yet once more, my lovely sister!
Not all so happy!-We, who met but now,
Shall never meet again; for Lusignan-
We shall be orphans still, and want a father.
Zara. Forbid it, heaven!
Ner. His last sad hour's at hand.
That flow of joy, which follow'd our discovery,
Too strong and sudden for his age's weakness,
Wasting his spirits, dried the source of life,
And nature yields him up to time's demand.
Shall he not die in peace?-Oh! let no doubt
Disturb his parting moments with distrust;
Let me, when I return to close his eyes,
Compose his mind's impatience too, and tell
him,
You are confirm'd a Christian!
Zara. Oh! may his soul enjoy, in earth
and heaven,
Eternal rest; nor let one thought, one sigh,
One bold complaint of mine recall his cares!
But you have injur'd me, who still can doubt.
What! am I not your sister? and shall you
Refuse me credit? You suppose me light;
You, who should judge my honour by your
own,
Shall you distrust a truth I dar'd avow,
And stamp apostate on a sister's heart?
Ner. Ah, do not misconceive me; if I err'd,
Affection, not distrust, misled my fear;
Your will may be a Christian, yet not you;
There is a sacred mark, a sign of faith,
A pledge of promise, that must firm your
claim,
Wash you from guilt, and
from guilt, and open heaven be-
fore you.
Swear, swear by all the woes we all have borne,
By all the martyr'd saints who call you
daughter,

SCENE 1.]
41
ZARA.
host,
That you consent, this day, to seal our faith, Now to submit to see my sister doom'd
By that mysterious rite which waits your call. A bosom slave to him whose tyrant heart
Zara. I swear by heaven, and all its holy But measures glory by the Christian's woe.
Yes, I will dare acquaint our father with it
Departing Lusignan may live so long,
As just to hear thy shame, and die to 'scape it.
Zara. Stay, my too angry brother; stay,
perhaps,
Its saints, its martyrs, its attesting angels,
And the dread presence of its living author,
To have no faith but yours-to die a Christian!
Now tell me what this mystic faith requires.
Ner. To hate the happiness of Osman's throne,
And love that God, who, through his maze
of woes,
Has brought us all, unhoping, thus together.
For me-I am a soldier, uninstructed,
Nor daring to instruct, though strong in faith:
But I will bring the ambassador of heaven,
To clear your views, and lift you to your God.
Be it your task to gain admission for him.
But where? from whom? Oh! thou immortal
power!
Zara has resolution great as thine:
'Tis cruel and unkind. Thy words are crimes;
My weakness but misfortune. Dost thou suffer?
I suffer more. Oh! would to heaven this blood
Of twenty boasted kings would stop at once,
And stagnate in my heart! It then no more
Would rush in boiling fevers through my veins,
And every trembling drop be fill'd with Osman.
How has he lov'd me; how has he oblig'd me!
I owe thee to him. What has he not done,
To justify his boundless pow'r of charming?
For me he softens the severe decrees
Of his own faith; and is it just that mine
Should bid me hate him, but because he loves
No- I will be a Christian-but preserve
My gratitude as sacred as my faith;
If I have death to fear for Osman's sake,
me?
Whence can we hope it, in this curs'd seraglio?
Who is this slave of Osman? Yes, this slave!
Does she not boast the blood of twenty kings?
Is not her race the same with that of Lewis?
Is she not Lusignan's unhappy daughter?
A Christian and my sister? yet a slave,
A willing slave! I dare not speak more plainly.
Zara. Cruel! go on-Alas! you do not It must be from his coldness, not his love.
know me.
At once, a stranger to my secret fate,
My pains, my fears, my wishes, and my power:
I am I will be Christian-will receive
This holy priest with his mysterious blessing;
I will not do nor suffer aught unworthy
Myself, my father, or my father's race.
But tell me, nor be tender on this point,
What punishment your Christian laws decree,
For an unhappy wretch, who, to herself
Unknown, and all abandon'd by the world,
Lost and enslav'd, has, in her sovereign master,
Found a protector, generous as great,
Has touch'd his heart, and given him all her
own?
Ner. The punishment of such a slave should be
Death in this world, and pain in that to come.
Zara. I am that slave! Strike here, and
save my shame.
Ner. Destruction to my hopes! Can it be
you?
Ner. I must at once condemn and pity thee.
Here then begin performance of thy vow;
Here, in the trembling horrors of thy soul,
Promise thy king, thy father, and thy God,
Not to accomplish these detested nuptials,
Till first the rev'rend priest has clear'd your
eyes,
Taught you to know, and given you claim to
Promise me this.
heaven.
Zara. So bless me, heaven! I do.
Go, hasten the good priest, I will expect him;
But first return; cheer my expiring father;
Tell him I am, and will be, all he wishes me:
Tell him, to give him life 'twere joy to die.
Ner. I go. Farewell, farewell, unhappy
sister!
[Exit.
Zara. I am alone;--and now be just, my
heart,
And tell me wilt thou dare betray thy God?
What am I? what am I about to be?
Zara. It is! ador'd by Osman, I adore him: Daughter of Lusignan, or wife to Osman?
This hour the nuptial rites will make us one. Am I a lover most, or most a Christian?
Ner. What! marry Osman! Let the world What shall I do? What heart has strength
grow dark,
That the extinguish'd sun may hide thy shame! These double weights of duty?-Help me,
Could it be thus, it were no crime to kill thee.
to bear
heaven!
Zara. Strike, strike! I love him! yes, by To thy hard laws I render up my soul:
heav'n, I love him.
But, oh! demand it back; for now 'tis Osman's.
Ner. Death is thy due; but not thy due
from me:
Yet, were the honour of our house no bar,
My father's fame, and the too gentle laws
Of that religion which thou hast disgrac'd;
Did not the God thou quit'st hold back my arm;
Not there-I could not there-but by my soul,
I would rush, desp'rate, to the sultan's breast,
And plunge my sword in his proud heart who
damns thee.
Oh, shame! shame! shame! at such a time as
this,
When Lewis, that awak'ner of the world,
Beneath the lifted cross makes Egypt pale,
And draws the sword of heaven to spread our
faith:
Re-enter OSMAN.
Osman. Shine out, be found, my
appear,
lovely Zara!
Impatient eyes attend, the rites expect thee,
And my devoted heart no longer brooks
This distance from its soft'ner:
Come, my slow love, the ceremonies wait thee;
Come, and begin from this dear hour my
triumph.
Zara. Oh, what a wretch am I! Oh, grief!
Oh, love!
[Aside.
Osman. Nay, Zara, give me thy hand, and
come.
Zara. Instruct me, heaven!
What I should say-alas! I cannot speak
6

42
[ACT IV.
ZARA.
Osman. Away! this modest, sweet, reluctant | If it has been that Frenchman- What a thought!
trifling
But doubles my desires, and thy own beauties.
Zara. Ah, me!
Osman. Nay, but thou shouldst not be too
cruel.
Zara. I can no longer bear it.-Oh, my
lord-
Osman. Ha! What? whence? how?
Zara. My lord, my sovereign!
Heaven knows this marriage would have been
a bliss
Above my humble hopes: yet, witness, love!
Not from the grandeur of your throne, that
bliss,
But from the pride of calling Osman mine.
But as it is-these Christians-
Osman. Christians! What!
How start two images into thy thoughts,
So distant, as the Christians and my love?
Zara. That good old Christian, rev'rend
Lusignan,
Now dying, ends his life and woes together.
Osman. Well, let him die. What has thy
heart to feel,
Thus pressing, and thus tender, from the death
Of an old, wretched Christian?-Thank our
prophet,
Thou art no Christian.-Educated here,
Thy happy youth was taught our better faith:
Sweet as thy pity shines, 'tis now mistim'd.
What! though an aged suff'rer dies unhappy,
Why should his foreign fate disturb our joys?
Zara. Sir, if you love me, and would have
me think
That I am truly dear-
Osman. Heaven! if I love?
Zara. Permit me-
Osman. What?
Zara. To desire-
Osman. Speak out.
Zara. The nuptial rites
May be deferr'd till-
Osman. What! Is that the voice
Of Zara?
Zara. Oh, I cannot bear his frown.
Osman. Of Zara!
Zara. It is dreadful to my heart,
[Aside.
How low, how horrid a suspicion that!
But tell me, didst thou mark 'em at their parting?
Didst thou observe the language of their eyes?
Hide nothing from me.-Is my love betray'd?
Tell me my whole disgrace.-Nay, if thou
tremblest,
I hear thy pity speak, though thou art silent.
Oras. I tremble at the pangs I see you suffer.
Let not your angry apprehensions urge
Your faithful slave to irritate your anguish.
I did, 'tis true, observe some parting tears;
But they were tears of charity and grief.
I cannot think there was a cause deserving
This agony of passion.
Osman. Why, no-I thank thee-
Orasmin, thou art wise. It could not be
That I should stand expos'd to such an insult.
Thou know'st, had Zara meant me the offence,
She wants not wisdom to have hid it better.
How rightly didst thou judge!-Zara shall
know it,
And thank thy honest service.-After all,
Might she not have some cause for tears, which I
Claim no concern in- but the grief it gives her?
What an unlikely fear-from a poor slave
Who goes to-morrow, and, no doubt, who
wishes,
Nay, who resolves to see these climes no more.
Öras. Why did you, sir, against our coun-
try's custom,
Indulge him with a second leave to come?
He said he should return once more to see her.
Osman. Return! the traitor! he return!
Dares he
Presume to press a second interview?
Would he be seen again? He shall be seen;
But dead. I'll punish the audacious slave,
To teach the faithless fair to feel my anger.
Be still, my transports; violence is blind:
I know my heart at once is fierce and weak.
Rather than fall
Beneath myself, I must, how dear soe'er
It costs me, rise-till I look down on Zara!
Away; but mark me-these seraglio doors,
Against all Christians be they henceforth shut,
Close as the dark retreats of silent death.
[Exit Orasmin.
To give you but a seeming cause for anger. What have I done, just heaven! thy rage to
Pardon my grief-alas! I cannot bear it.
There is a painful terror in your eye
That pierces to my soul. Hid from your sight,
I go to make a moment's truce with tears,
And gather force to speak of my despair.
[Exit, disordered.
Osman. I stand immoveable like senseless
marble;
Horror had frozen my suspended tongue,
And an astonish'd silence robb'd my will
Of power to tell her that she shock'd my soul.
Spoke she to me? Sure I misunderstood her.
Could it be me she left?-What have I seen?
Re-enter ORASMÍN.
gone;
Orasmin, what a change is here!-She's
And I permitted it, I know not how.
Oras. Perhaps you but accuse the charming
fault
Of innocence, too modest oft in love.
Osman. But why, and whence those tears?
those looks? that flight?
That grief, so strongly stamp'd on every feature?
move?
That thou shouldst sink me down so low to
love?
ACT IV.
[Exit.
SCENE I.-Enter ZARA and SELIMA.
Sel. Ah, madam! how at once I grieve your
fate,
And how admire your virtue! Heaven permits,
And heaven will give you strength to bear
misfortune;
To break these chains, so strong and yet so dear.
Zara. Oh that I could support the fatal
struggle!
Sel. Th'Eternal aids your weakness, sees
your will,
Directs your purpose, and rewards your sor-
rows.
Zara. Never had wretch more cause to hope
he does.
Sel. What! though you here no more be-
hold your father:

SCENE 1.]
43
ZARA.
There is a father to be found above,
Opinions which he hates. To-night the priest,
Who can restore that father to his daughter. In private introduc'd, attends you here;
Zara. But I have planted pain in Osman's You promis'd him admission.
Zara. Would I had not!
bosom:
He loves me, even to death; and I reward him I promis'd too to keep this fatal secret;
With anguish and despair. How base! how My father's urg'd command requir'd it of me;
cruel!
I must obey, all dangerous as it is;
But I deserv'd him not; I should have been Compell'd to silence, Osman is enrag'd,
Too happy, and the hand of heav'n repell'd me. Suspicion follows, and I lose his love.
Sel. What! will you then regret the glo-
rious loss
Enter OSMAN.
And hazard thus a vict'ry bravely won?
Zara. Inhuman victory!-thou dost not know
This love so pow'rful; this sole joy of life;
This first best hope of earthly happiness,
Is yet less pow'rful in my heart than heaven.
To him who made that heart I offer it:
There, there I sacrifice my bleeding passion;
I pour before him ev'ry guilty tear;
I beg him to efface the fond impression,
And fill with his own image all my soul.
But, while I weep and sigh, repent and pray,
Remembrance brings the object of my love,
And ev'ry light illusion floats before him.
I see, I hear him, and again he charms;
Fills my glad soul, and shines 'twixt me and
heav'n!
Oh, all ye royal ancestors! Oh, father!
Mother! You Christians, and the Christians'
God!
You who deprive me of this gen'rous lover!
If
you permit me not to live for him,
Let me not live at all, and I am bless'd.
Sel. Ah! despair not;
Trust your eternal helper, and be happy.
Zara, Why, what has Osman done, that
he too should not?
Has heaven so nobly form'd his heart to hate
it?
Gen'rous and just, beneficent and brave,
Were he but Christian-What can man be
more?
Osman. Madam, there was a time when my
charm'd heart
Made it a virtue to be lost in love;
When, without blushing, I indulg'd my flame,
And every day still made you dearer to me.
You taught me, madam, to believe my love
Rewarded and return'd; nor was that hope,
Methinks, too bold for reason. Emperors
Who choose to sigh devoted at the feet
Of beauties, whom the world conceive their
slaves,
Have fortune's claim, at least, to sure success:
But 'twere profane to think of power in love..
Dear as my passion makes you, I decline
Possession of her charms, whose heart's ano-
ther's.
You will not find me a weak, jealous lover,
By coarse reproaches, giving pain to you,
And shaming my own greatness: wounded
deeply,
Yet shunning and disdaining low complaint,
I come to tell you-
Zara. Give my trembling heart
A moment's respite.
Osman. Osman, in every trial, shall re-
member
That he is emperor. Whate'er I suffer,
'Tis due to honour that I give up you,
And to my injur'd bosom take despair,
Rather than shamefully possess you sighing,
Convinc'd those sighs were never meant for
me.
I wish, methinks, this rev'rend priest was come
To free me from these doubts, which shake Go, madam; you are free-from Osman's
my soul:
pow'r:
Zara. At last 'tis come-the fear'd, the
murd'ring moment
Yet know not why I should not dare to hope, Expect no wrongs; but see his face no more.
That heav'n, whose mercy all confess and feel,
Will pardon and approve th' alliance wish'd.
Perhaps it seats me on the throne of Syria,
To tax my pow'r for these good Christians'
comfort.
Is come; and I am curs'd by earth and heaven!
[Throws herself on the Ground.
If it is true that I am lov'd no more;
Thou know'st the mighty Saladine, who first If you-
Conquer'd this empire from my father's race, Osman. It is true, my fame requires it;
Who, like my Osman, charm'd th' admiring It is too true that I unwilling leave you;
That I at once renounce you and adore-
Zara, you weep!
world,
Drew breath, though Syrian, from a Christian
mother.
Sel. What mean you, madam? Ah, you
do not see-
Zara. Yes, yes, I see it all; I am not blind:
I see my country, and my race condemn me;
I see that, spite of all, I still love Osman.
What if I now go throw me at his feet,
And tell him there sincerely what I am?
Sel. Consider that might cost your bro-
ther's life,
Expose the Christians, and betray you all.
Zara, You do not know the noble heart of
Osman.
Sel. I know him the protector of a faith,
Sworn enemy to ours: the more he loves,
The less will he permit you to profess
Zara, If I am doom'd to lose you!
If I must wander o'er an empty world,
Unloving and unlov'd. Oh! yet do justice
To the afflicted; do not wrong me doubly:
Punish me, if 'tis needful to your peace,
But say not I deserv'd it.
But, ah! my heart was never known to Osman.
May heav'n, that punishes, for ever hate me,
If I regret the loss of aught but you.
Osman. Rise!
What! is it love to force yourself to wound
The heart you wish to gladden? But I find
Lovers least know themselves; for I believ'd
That I had taken back the power I gave you;
Yet see! you did but weep, and have resum'd
me!

44
[ACT IV.
ZARA.
Proud as I am, I must confess one wish
Evades my power-the blessing to forget you.
Zara, thy tears were form'd to teach disdain,
That softness can disarm it. 'Tis decreed,
I must for ever love; but from what cause,
If thy consenting heart partakes my fires,
Art thou reluctant to a blessing meant me?
Speak! is it artifice?
O! spare the needless pains: art was not made
For Zara. Art, however innocent,
Looks like deceiving; I abhorr'd it ever.
Zara. Alas! I have no art; not even enough
To hide this love, and this distress you give me.
Osman. New riddles! Speak with plainness
to my soul;
What canst thou mean?
Zara. I have no power to speak it..
Osman. Is it some secret dangerous to my
state?
Is it some Christian plot grown ripe against me?
Zara. Lives there a wretch so vile as to
betray you?
Osman is bless'd beyond the reach of fear:
Fears and misfortunes threaten only Zara.
Osman. Why threaten Zara?
Zara. Permit me at your feet,
Your faithful guards this moment intercepted,
And humbly offer to your sovereign eye.
Osman. Come nearer-give it me-To
Zara!-Rise!
Bring it with speed. Shame on your flatt'ring
distance!
[Advances, and snatches the Letter.
Be honest, and approach me like a subject
Who serves the prince, yet not forgets the
man.
Mel. One of the Christian slaves, whom
late your bounty
Releas'd from bondage, sought with heedful
guile,
Unnotic'd to deliver it. Discover'd,
He waits in chains his doom from your decree.
Osman. Leave me. [Exit Melidor] I tremble,
as if something fatal
Were meant me from this letter.
read it?
Should I
Oras. Who knows but it contains some
happy truth,
That may remove all doubts, and calm your
heart?
Osman. Be as 'twill, it shall be read.
[Opens the Letter.
Thus trembling, to beseech a favour from you. Fate, be thy call obey'd.-Orasmin, mark-
Osman. A favour! Oh, you guide the will Hell! tortures! death! and woman!-What,
of Osman.
Orasmin,
Zara. Ah! would to heav'n our duties were Are we awake?-Heard'st thou?-Can this be
But this day,
united:
But this one sad, unhappy day, permit me,
Alone, and far divided from your eye,
To cover my distress, lest you, too tender,
Should see and share it with me: from to-
morrow
I will not have a thought conceal'd from you.
Osman. If it must be, it must. Be pleas'd,
my will
Takes purpose from your wishes; and consent
Depends not on my choice, but your decree:
Go; but remember how he loves, who thus
Finds a delight in pain, because you give it.
Zara. It gives me more than pain to make
you feel it.
Osman. And can you, Zara, leave me?
Zara. Alas, my lord.
[Exit.
Osman. It should be yet, methinks, too soon
to fly me;
Too soon, as yet, to wrong my easy faith.
The more I think, the less I can conceive
What hidden cause should raise such strange
despair!
Now, when her hopes have wings, and every
wish
Is courted to be lively! When I love,
And joy and empire press her to their bosom;
To see her eyes through tears shine mystic love!
Yet, was I blameless? No-I was too rash;
I have felt jealousy, and spoke it to her;
I have distrusted her and still she loves:
Gen'rous atonement that!-I remark'd,
Ev'n while she wept, her soul a thousand times
Sprung to her lips, and long'd to leap to mine,
With honest, ardent utt'rance of her love.
Who can possess a heart so low, so base,
To look such tenderness, and yet have none?
Enter MELIDOR, with ORASMIN.
Mel. This letter, great disposer of the world!
Address'd to Zara, and in private brought,
Zara?
Oras. Would I had lost all sense! for what
I heard
Has cover'd my afflicted heart with horror.
Osman. Thou seest how I am treated.
Oras. Monstrous treason!
To an affront like this you cannot, must not,
Remain insensible. You, who but now,
From the most slight suspicion, felt such pain,
Must, in the horror of so black a guilt,
Find an effectual cure, and banish love.
Osman. Seek her this instant-go, Orasmin,
fly!
Show her this letter: bid her read and tremble:
Then, in the rising horrors of her guilt,
Stab her unfaithful breast, and let her die.
Say, while thou strik'st-Stay, stay, return
and pity me.
Would I were dead!
Would I had died, unconscious of this shame!
Oras. Never did prince receive so bold a
wrong.
Osman. See here detected this infernal
secret!
This fountain of her tears, which weak
heart
my
Mistook for marks of tenderness and pain!
Why! what a reach has woman to deceive!
Under how fine a veil of grief and fear
Did she propose retirement till to-morrow!
And I, blind dotard! gave the fool's consent,
Sooth'd her, and suffer'd her to go!-She parted,
Dissolv'd in tears; and parted to betray me!
Oras. Could you, my gracious lord! for-
give my zeal,
You would-
Osman. I know it-thou art right-I'll see
her;
I'll tax her in thy presence; I'll upbraid her;
I'll let her learn-Go-find, and bring her to me.
Oras. Believe me, sir, your threat'nings,
your complaints,

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
45
ZARA.
Zara. Alas, my lord! what cruel fears have
What will they all produce but Zara's tears, Had I not seen, had I not read, such proof
To quench this fancied anger? Your lost heart, Of her light falsehood as extinguish'd doubt,
Seduc'd against itself, will search but reasons I could not be a man, and not believe her.
To justify the guilt which gives it pain:
Rather conceal from Zara this discovery;
And let some trusty slave convey the letter,
Re-clos'd to her own hand: then shall you
learn,
Spite of her frauds, disguise, and artifice,
The firmness, or abasement of her soul.
Osman. Thy counsel charms me! We'll
about it now.
Here, take this fatal letter; choose a slave
Whom yet she never saw, and who retains
His tried fidelity-dispatch-be gone.
[Exit Orasmin.
Now whither shall I turn my eyes and steps
The surest way to shun her, and give time
For this discovering trial?-Heaven! she's here!
Re-enter ZARA.
So, madam! fortune will befriend my cause,
And free me from your fetters.-You are met
Most aptly, to dispel a new-ris'n doubt,
That claims the finest of your arts to gloss it.
Unhappy each by other, it is time
To end our mutual pain, that both may rest.
You want not generosity, but love;
My pride forgotten, my obtruded throne,
My favours, cares, respect, and tenderness,
Touching your gratitude, provok'd regard;
Till, by a length of benefits besieg'd,
Your heart submitted, and you thought 'twas
love:
But you deceiv'd yourself, and injur'd me.
There is, I'm told, an object more deserving
Your love than Osman: I would know his
name.
Be just, nor trifle with my anger: tell me
Now, while expiring pity struggles faint;
While I have yet, perhaps, the power to pardon,
Give up the bold invader of my claim,
And let him die to save thee. Thou art known.
Think and resolve. While I yet speak, re-
nounce him;
While yet the thunder rolls suspended, stay
it;
Let thy voice charm me, and recall my soul,
That turns averse, and dwells no more on Zara.
Zara. Can it be Osman speaks, and speaks
to Zara?
Learn, cruel! learn that this afflicted heart,
This heart which heaven delights to prove by
tortures,
Did it not love, has pride and power to shun
you.
I know not whether heaven, that frowns upon
me,
Has destin'd my unhappy days for yours;
But, be my fate or bless'd or curst, I swear,
By honour, dearer ev'n than life or love,
Could Zara be but mistress of herself,
She would with cold regard look down on
kings,
And, you alone excepted, fly 'em all.
And to this sacred truth, attesting heaven!
I call thy dreadful notice!-If my heart
Deserves reproach, 'tis for, but not from,
Osman.
Osman. What! does she yet presume to
swear sincerity?
Oh, boldness of unblushing perjury!
seiz'd you?
What harsh, mysterious words were those I
heard?
Osman. What fears should Osman feel,
since Zara loves him?
Zara. I cannot live, and answer to your
voice
In that reproachful tone; your angry eye
Trembles with fury while you talk of love.
Osman. Since Zara loves him!
Zara. Is it possible
Osman should disbelieve it?-Again, again
Your late repented violence returns.
Alas! what killing frowns you dart against me!
Can it be kind, can it be just to doubt me?
Osman. No! I can doubt no longer. - You
may retire. [Exit Zara.
Re-enter ORASMIN.
Orasmin, she's perfidious, even beyond
Her sex's undiscover'd power of seeming.
Say, hast thou chosen a slave?-Is he in-
structed?
Haste to detect her vileness and my wrongs.
Oras. Punctually I have obey'd your whole
command:
But have you arm'd, my lord, your injur'd
heart,
With coldness and indifference? Can you hear,
All painless and unmov'd, the false one's shame?
Osman. Orasmin, I adore her more than
ever.
Oras. My lord! my emperor! forbid it,
heaven!
Osman. I have discern'd a gleam of distant
hope.
Now hear me with attention.-Soon as night
Has thrown her welcome shadows o'er the
palace;
When this Nerestan, this ungrateful Christian,
Shall lurk in expectation near our walls,
Be watchful that our guards surprise and seize
him;
Then, bound in fetters and o'erwhelm'd with
shame,
Conduct the daring traitor to my presence:
But, above all, be sure you hurt not Zara;
Mindful to what supreme excess I love.
[Exit Orasmin.
On this last trial all my hopes depend.
Prophet, for once thy kind assistance lend,
Dispel the doubts that rack my anxious breast:
If Zara's innocent, thy Osman's bless'd. [Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-Enter ZARA and SELIMA.
Zara. Sooth me no longer with this vain
desire:
To a recluse like me, who dares henceforth
Presume admission!-The seraglio is shut;
Barr'd and impassable, as death to time!
My brother ne'er must hope to see me more.-
How now! what unknown slave accosts us
here?
Enter MELIDOR.
Mel. This letter, trusted to my hands, re-
ceive,

46
[AcT V.
ZARA
In secret witness I am wholly yours.
Enter OSMAN and ORASMIN.
Osman. Swifter, ye hours, move on; my
fury glows
[Zara reads the Letter.
Sel, Thou everlasting Ruler of the world!
Shed thy wish'd mercy on our hopeless tears; Impatient, and would push the wheels of time.
Redeem us from the hands of hated infidels, How now? What message dost thou bring?
And save my princess from the breast of Osman.
Speak boldly.
[Aside. What answer gave she to the letter sent her?
Zara. I wish, my friend, the comfort of Mel. She blush'd, and trembled, and grew
pale, and paus'd;
Sel. Retire-you shall be call'd-wait near Then blush'd, and read it, and again grew pale;
And wept, and smil'd, and doubted, and re-
solv'd:
your counsel.
-go, leave us.
[Exit Melidor.
Zara, Read this, and tell me what I ought For after all this race of varied passions,
When she had sent me out, and call'd me
back,
to answer:
For I would gladly hear my brother's voice.
Sel. Say rather you would hear the voice
of heaven.
'Tis not your brother calls you, but your God.
Zara. I know it, nor resist his awful will;
Thou know'st that I have bound my soul by
oath;
But can I, ought I, to engage myself,
My brother, and the Christians, in this danger?
Sel. "Tis not their danger that alarms your
fears;
Your love speaks loudest to your shrinking soul.
This tiger, savage in his tenderness,
Courts with contempt, and threatens amidst
softness;
Yet cannot your neglected heart efface
His fated, fix'd impression!
Zara. What reproach
Can I with justice make him?-I indeed
Have given him cause to hate me!
Was not his throne, was not his temple ready?
Did he not court his slave to be a queen,
And have not I declin'd it?-I who ought
To tremble, conscious of affronted power!
Have not I triumph'd o'er his pride and love?
Seen him submit his own high will to mine,
And sacrifice his wishes to my weakness?
Sel. Talk we no more of this unhappy pas-
sion:
What resolution will your virtue take?
Zara. All things combine to sink me to
despair:
From the seraglio death alone will free me.
I long to see the Christians' happy climes;
Yet in the moment while I form that prayer,
I sigh a secret wish to languish here.
How sad a state is mine! my restless soul
All ignorant what to do, or what to wish:
My only perfect sense is that of pain.
Oh, guardian heaven! protect my brother's life,
For I will meet him, and fulfil his prayer:
Then, when from Solyma's unfriendly walls,
His absence shall unbind his sister's tongue,
Osman shall learn the secret of my birth,
My faith unshaken, and my deathless love;
He will approve my choice, and pity me.
I'll send my brother word he may expect me.
Call in the faithful slaye. God of my fathers!
[Exit Selima.
Let thy hand save me, and thy will direct,
Tell him (she cried) who has intrusted thee,
That Zara's heart is fix'd, nor shrinks at danger;
And that my faithful friend will, at the hour,
Expect and introduce him to his wish.
Osman. Enough; be gone! I have no ear
for more. [To the Slave.
Leave me, thou too, Orasmin. Leave me, life,
For ev'ry mortal aspect moves my hate:
[To Orasmin.
Leave me to my distraction, [Exit Orasmin.
Who am I? Heav'n! Who am I? What re-
solve I?
Zara! Nerestan! sound these words like names
Decreed to join? Why pause I? Perish Zara-
Would I could tear her image from my heart.
Re-enter ORASMIN.
Orasmin! Friend! return, I cannot bear
This absence from thy reason: 'twas unkind,
'Twas cruel to obey me, thus distress'd,
And wanting power to think, when I had lost
thee.
How goes the hour? Has he appear'd, this rival?
Perish the shameful sound. Th villain Chris-
tian!
Has he appear'd below?
Oras. Silent and dark
Th' unbreathing world is hush'd, as if it heard
And listen'd to your sorrows.
Osman. Oh, treach'rous night!
Thou lend'st thy ready veil to ev'ry treason,
And teeming mischiefs thrive beneath thy shade.
Hark! Heard'st thou nothing?
Oras. My lord.
Osman. A voice, like dying groans!
Oras. I listen, but can hear nothing.
Osman. Again! look out-he comes-
Oras. Nor tread of mortal foot, nor voice
I hear:
The still seraglio lies, profoundly plung'd
In death-like silence! nothing stirs.-The air
Is soft, as infant sleep, no breathing wing,
Steals through the shadows to awaken night.
Osman, Horrors a thousand times more
dark than these,
Benight my suff'ring soul.
Thou dost not
know
To what excess of tenderness I lov'd her:
I knew no happiness but what she gave me,
Nor could have felt a mis'ry but for her!
Pity this weakness-mine are tears, Orasmin,
That fall not oft, nor lightly.
Oras. Tears! Oh, heaven!
Re-enter MELIDOR, with SELIMA.
Go-tell the Christian who intrusted thee,
That Zara's heart is fix'd, nor shrinks at danger;
And that my faithful friend will, at the hour,
Expect and introduce him to his wish.
Away-the sultan comes; he must not find us.
[Exeunt Zara and Selima. At my revenge too, tremble for 'tis due,
Oh, my unhappy lord! I tremble for you-
Osman. Do-tremble at my sufferings, at
my love;

SCENE 1.]
47
ZARA.
And will not be deluded.
Oras. Hark! I hear
The steps of men along the neighb'ring wall!
Osman. Fly! seize him! 'tis Nerestan! Wait
no chains,
But drag him down to my impatient eye.
[Exit Oras.
Enter ZARA and SELIMA, in the dark.
Zara. Where art thou, Selima? Give me
thy hand.
It is so dark, I tremble as I step,
Osman. Dost thou behold her, slave?
Ner. Unhappy sister!
Osman. Sister! Didst thou say sister? If
thou didst,
Bless me with deafness, heaven!
Ner. Tyrant! I did.
She was my sister. All that now is left thee,
Dispatch-From my distracted heart drain next
The remnant of the royal Christian blood!
Old Lusignan, expiring in my arms,
Sent his too wretched son, with his last bless-
ing,
With fears and startings, never felt till now! To his now murder'd daughter!
Osman. Damnation! 'tis her voice! the well- Would I had seen the bleeding innocent!
known sound
I would have liv'd to speak to her in death;
That has so often charm'd me into baseness! Would have awaken'd in her languid heart
[Draws a Dagger. A livelier sense of her abandon'd God;
Revenge, stand firm, and intercept his wishes! That God, who left by her, forsook her too,
Revenge! On whom? No matter: earth and And gave the poor lost sufferer to thy rage.
Osman. Thy sister! Lusignan her father!-
Selima!
heaven
Would blush, should I forbear: now, Zara,
now! [Drops the Dagger.
I must not, cannot strike, the starting steel,
Unwilling, flies my hand, and shuns to wound
her.
Zara. This is the private path; come near-
er, lead me.
Are we not notic'd, think'st thou?
Sel. Fear not, madam;
It cannot now be long, ere we shall meet him.
Osman. That word has given me back my
ebbing rage.
[Recovers the Dagger.
Zara. I walk in terror, and my heart fore-
bodes.
come
Can this be true? and have I wrong'd thee,
Zara?
Sel. Thy love was all the cloud 'twixt her
and heav'n!
Osman. Be dumb! for thou art base, to
add distraction
To my already more than bleeding heart.
And was thy love sincere? What then remains?
Ner. Why should a tyrant hesitate on mur-
der!
There now remains but mine of all the blood,
Which through thy father's cruel reign and
thine,
Has never ceas'd to stream on Syria's sands.
Who's there? Nerestan! Is it you? O wel-Restore a wretch to his unhappy race;
Nor hope that torments, after such a scere,
Osman. [Stabs her.] This to thy heart. Can force one feeble groan to feast thy anger.
'Tis not the traitor meets thee, I waste my fruitless words in empty air;
'Tis the betray'd, who writes it in thy blood. The tyrant, o'er the bleeding wound he made,
Zara. Oh, gracious heaven! receive my Hangs his unmoving eye, and heeds not me.
parting soul,
Osman. Oh, Zara!
And take thy trembling servant to thy mercy.
[Dies.
Osman. Soul! then revenge has reach'd
thee. I will now
Haste from this fatal place: I cannot leave her!
Whom did I strike? Was this the act of love?
Swallow me, earth! She's silent! Zara's dead!
And should I live to see returning day,
'Twill show me but her blood! show me left
joyless,
In a wide, empty world, with nothing round
me,
But penitence and pain: and yet 'twas just.
Hark! Destiny has sent her lover to me,
To fill my vengeance, and restore my joy.
Re-enter ORASMIN, with NERESTAN.
Approach, thou wretch! thou more than curs'd!
come near!
Thou who, in gratitude for freedom gain'd,
Hast giv'n me miseries beyond thy own!
Thou heart of hero with a traitor's soul!
Are my commands obey'd?
Oras. All is prepar'd.
Oras. Alas, my lord, return! Whither would
grief
Transport your gen'rous heart? This Christian
dog
Osman. Take off his fetters, and observe
my will:
To him and all his friends, give instant liberty a
Pour a profusion of the richest
gifts
On these unhappy Christians; and when heap'd.
With vary'd benefits, and charg'd with riches,
Give 'em safe conduct to the nearest port.
Oras. But, sir-
Osman. Reply not, but obey.
Fly-nor dispute thy master's last command,
Thy prince, who orders-and thy friend, who
loves thee!
Go-lose no time-farewell-be gone-and
thou!
Unhappy warrior-yet less lost than I-
Haste from our bloody land, and to thy own
Convey this poor pale object of my rage.
Thy king, and all his Christians, when they
hear
Thy miseries, shall mourn 'em with their tears;
in But, if thou tell'st 'em mine, and tell'st 'em
truly,
Osman. Thy wanton eyes look round
search of her
Whose love, descending to a slave like thee,
From my dishonour'd hand receiv'd her doom.
See! where she lies-
Ner. Oh, fatal, rash mistake!
They who shall hate my crime, shall pity me..
Take too, this poniard with thee, which my
hand
Has stain'd with blood far dearer than my own;

48
[ACT I.
DOUGLAS.
Tell 'em-with this I murder'd her I lov'd;
The noblest and most virtuous among wo-
men!
The soul of innocence, and pride of truth:
Tell 'em I laid my empire at her feet:
Tell 'em I plung'd my dagger in her blood:
Tell 'em I so ador'd- and thus reveng'd her.
[Stabs himself.
Rev'rence this hero, and conduct him safe.
[Dies.
Ner. Direct me, great inspirer of the soul!
How I should act, how judge in this distress!
Amazing grandeur! and detested rage!
Ev'n I, amidst my tears, admire this foe,
And mourn his death, who liv'd to give me
[Curtain falls.
woe.
HOME.
JOHN HOME, a native of Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, in Roxburgshire, in 1724, after the usual course
of education for the church, was ordained and inducted to the living of Athelstaneford, and was the successor of the Rev.
Mr. Blair, author of The Grave. In the rebellion of 1745 he took up arms in defence of the existing government.
He was present at the battle of Falkirk; where he was taken prisoner, and, with five or six other gentlemen,
es caped from the castle of Down. After the rebellion he resumed the duties of his profession. Having a na-
tural inclination for the Belles Lettres, which he had cultivated with some care; he wrote his tragedy of Doug-
las, and presented it to the managers of the Edinburgh Theatre. Its reception will be easily imagined from the
following anecdote. During the representation a young and sanguine Scotchman, in the pit, transported with de-
light and enthusiasm, cried out on a sudden with an air of triumph, "Weel lods; hwar's yeer Wolly Shokspeer nou!"
(where is your William Shakspeare now). The author being a clergyman, the resentment of the elders of the kirk,
and many other zealous members of that sect was inflamed, not only against him, but the performers also; on whom,
together with him, they freely denounced their anathemas in pamphlets and public papers. The latter indeed it was
out of their power greatly to injure; but their rod was near falling very heavy on the author, whom the assembly re-
pudiated, and cut off from his preferments. In England, however, he had the good fortune to meet with friends,
and being through the interest of the Earl of Bute and some other persons of distinction, recommended to the notice
of his present majesty, then Prince of Wales, his Royal Highness was pleased to bestow a pension on him; thus,
sheltering him under his own patronage, he put it out of the power of either bigotry, envy, or malevolence to blast
his laurels. Mr. Home afterwards pursued his poetical efforts, and produced more dramatic pieces, which were brought
on the stage in London; but Douglas must always stand as his master-piece in dramatic writing. He never after-
wards resumed his clerical profession, which he had abandoned in 1757; but enjoyed a place under government in
Scotland. Mr. Home, always the friend and patron of merit, as far as his circumstances would admit, was the means of
bringing the celebrated poems of Ossian to light. While Macpherson was schoolmaster of Ruthven in Badenoch, he
occupied his leisure hours in collecting, from the native, but illiterate bards of the mountains of Scotland, fragments of
these inimitable poems; a few of them he translated, and inserted in a weekly Miscellany, then publishing at Edin-
burgh. The beauty of these pieces soon attracted the notice of Mr. Home, Dr. Robertson and Dr. Blair; and they
resolved to sent Macpherson on a journey all over the Highlands, at their expence, to collect the originals of those
poems, which have since been a subject of so much controversy. Mr. Home died at Manchester-house near Edin-
burgh, Sept. the 4th 1808.
DOUGLAS.
THIS piece was first produced at Edinburgh, 1756; and the success it met with, induced our author to offer it to
the London managers; where, notwithstanding all the influence exerted in its favour, it was refused by Garrick. Mr.
Rich, however, accepted it, and it was acted the first time at Covent-garden, March the 14th 1757; where its real worth
soon placed it out of the reach of critical censure. The plot was suggested by the pathetical old Scotch ballad of Gil
(or Child) Morrice, reprinted in the third volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and it is founded on the
quarrels of the families of Douglas and other of the Scots clans. This tragedy has a great deal of pathos in it, some
of the narratives are pleasingly affecting, and the descriptions poetically beautiful. On its first appearance Hume gave
his opinion, that is was one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces ever exhibited in
any theatre. He declared,
that the author possessed the true theatric genius of Shakspeare and Otway; but we must remember, that the author
was a Scotchman, consequently such extravagant praise requires no comment. Gray however had so high an opinion
of this first drama of Mr. Home, that in a letter to a friend in 1757, he says, "I am greatly struck with the tragedy
of Douglas, though it has infinite faults: the author seems to have retrieved the true language of the Stage, which had
been lost for these hundred years; and there is one scene (between Matilda and the Old Peasant) so masterly, that it
strikes me blind to all the defects in the world." To this opinion every reader of taste will readily subscribe. John-
son blames Mr. Gray for concluding his celebrated ode with suicide; a circumstance borrowed perhaps from Douglas,
in which lady Randolph, otherwise a blameless character, precipitates herself, like the Bard, from a cliff, into eternity.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
NORVAL.
LORD RANDOLPH.
GLENALVON.
STRANGER.
ACT I.
DONALD.
OFFICER.
SERVANT.
PRISONER.
LADY RANDOLPH.
ANNA.
Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan.
Oh, Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts
SCENE I.-The Court of a Castle, surrounded Are e'er permitted to review this world,
with Woods.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
Lady R. YE woods and wilds, whose me-
lancholy gloom
Within the circle of that wood thou art,
And with the passion of immortals hear'st
My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost.
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn,
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day.
Farewell awhile: I will not leave you long; But Randolph comes, whom fate has made
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,
VVho from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.
my lord,

SCENE 1.]
49
DOUGLAS.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
Lord R. Again these weeds of woe! say,
dost thou well
To feed a passion which consumes thy life?
The living claim some duty; vainly thou
Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead.
Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom
mourn:
Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious
love,
And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate?
Forgive me, lady: humble though I am,
The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune:
So fervently I love you, that to dry
I These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady R. What power directed thy un-
conscious tongue
Childless, without memorial of his name,
He only now in my remembrance lives.
Lord R. Time, that wears out the trace of
deepest anguish,
Has past o'er thee in vain.
Sure thou art not the daughter of sir Malcolm:
Strong was his rage, eternal his resentment:
For when thy brother fell, he smil'd to hear
That Douglas' son in the same field was slain.
Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my
fathers:
Implacable resentment was their crime,
And grievous has the expiation been.
Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes
my words.
I never ask'd of thee that ardent love
Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns.
Decent affection and complacent kindness
Were all I wish'd for; but, I wish'd in vain.
Hence with the less regret my eyes behold
The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:
If I should perish by the Danish sword,
Matilda would not shed one tear the more.
Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woful
as I am,
I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues.
But whither goest thou now?"
Lord R. Straight to the camp,
Where every warrior on the tiptoe stands
Of expectation, and impatient asks
Each who arrives, if he is come to tell
The Danes are landed.
Lady R. O, may adverse winds,
Far from the coast of Scotland drive
fleet!
their
And every soldier of both hosts return
In peace and safety to his pleasant home!
Lord R. Thou speak'st a woman's, hear a
warrior's wish:
Right from their native land, the stormy north,
May the wind blow, till every keel is fix'd
Immoveable in Caledonia's strand!
Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion,
And roving armies shun the fatal shore.
Lady, farewell: I leave thee not alone;
Yonder comes one whose love makes duty
light.
Enter ANNA.
To speak as thou hast done? to name-
Anna. I know not:
But since my words have made my mistress
tremble,
I will speak so no more; but silent mix
My tears with hers.
Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent.
I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be
Henceforth the instructed partner of my woes
But what avails it? Can thy feeble pity
Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time?
Compel the earth and ocean to give up
Their dead alive?
Anna. What means my noble mistress?
Lady R. Didst thou not ask, what had my
sorrows been,
If I in early youth had lost a husband?
In the cold bosom of the earth is lodg'd,
Mangled with wounds, the husband of my
youth;
And in some cavern of the ocean lies
My child and his-
Anna. Oh! lady most rever'd!
The tale wrapt up in your amazing words
Deign to unfold.
Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud,
Hereditary evil, was the source
Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed,
That my brave brother should in battle save
The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe:
The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship.
To see the vaunted sister of his friend,
Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came,
Under a borrow'd name. My heart he gain'd;
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd:
My brother's presence authoriz'd our marriage.
Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings
of down,
Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was
call'd
To fight his father's battles; and with him,
In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go.
Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire
was told,
That the false stranger was lord Douglas' son.
[Exit. Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword,
And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his sword, falt'ring, I took
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity!
Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path! although the earth should
gape,
Anna. Forgive the rashness of your Anna's
love;
Urg'd by affection, I have thus presum'd
To interrupt your solitary thoughts;
And warn you of the hours that you neglect,
And lose in sadness.
Lady R. So to lose my hours
Is all the use I wish to make of time.
Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with
my state:
But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man,
Never did sister thus a brother mourn.
What had your sorrows been if you had lost,
In early youth the husband of your heart?
Lady R. Oh!
And from the gulf of hell destruction cry,
To take dissimulation's winding way.
Anna. Alas! how few of women's fearful
kind
Durst own a truth so hardy!
Lady R. The first truth
Is easiest to avow. This moral learn,
This precious moral, from my tragic tale.--
In a few days the dreadful tidings came
That Douglas and my brother both were slain.
7

50
[ACT II.
DOUGLAS.
My lord! my life! my husband!-mighty God! Glen. What dost thou doubt of? What
What had I done to merit such affliction?
hast thou to do
Anna. My dearest lady, many a tale of tears With subjects intricate? Thy youth, thy
I've listen'd to; but never did I hear
A tale so sad as this.
Ludy R. In the first days
Of my distracting grief, I found myself-
As women wish to be who love their lords.
But who durst tell my father? the good priest
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient
tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolv'd,
Till time should make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confidant I had,
Set out with him to reach her sister's house:
But nurse, nor infant have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
Anna. Not seen nor heard of! then perhaps
he lives.
Lady R. No. It was dark December; wind
and rain
Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay
The destin'd road, and in its swelling flood
My faithful servant perish'd with my child.
Oh! had I died when my lov'd husband fell!
Had some good angel op'd to me the book
Of Providence, and let me read my life,
My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum
Of ills, which one by one I have endur'd.
Anna. That God, whose ministers good
angels are,
Hath shut the book, in mercy to mankind.
But we must leave this theme: Glenalvon
comes;
I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes,
And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way.
Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious
person
Is doubly irksome in an hour like this.
Anna. Why speaks my lady thus of Ran-
dolph's heir?
Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Ran-
dolph's virtues.
Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind
An artificial image of himself:
Yet is he brave and politic in war,
And stands aloft in these unruly times.
Why I describe him thus I'll tell hereafter.
Stay, and detain him till I reach the castle.
[Exit.
Anna. Oh happiness! where art thou to be
found?
I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty,
Though grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth
array'd;
Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue
dwell;
Else had this gentle lady miss'd thee not.
Enter GLENALVON.
Glen. What dost thou muse on, meditating
maid?
Like some entranc'd and visionary seer,
On earth thou stand'st, thy thoughts ascend to
heaven.
Anna. Would that I were, e'en as thou
'say'st, a seer,
To have my doubts by heavenly vision clear'd.
Cannot be question'd: think of these good
beauty,
gifts;
And then thy contemplations will be pleasing.
Anna. Let women view yon monument of
woe,
Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she?
But I must follow; this revolving day
Awakes the memory of her ancient woes.
[Exit.
Glen. So!-Lady Randolph shuns me; by-
and-by
I'll woo her as the lion wooes his brides.
The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord
Of these rich valleys, and a chief of pow'r.
The season is most apt; my sounding steps.
Will not be heard amidst the din of arms.
Randolph has liv'd too long; his better fate
Had the ascendant once, and kept me down:
When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he
came,
Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour:
I 'scap'd unknown; a slender consolation!
Heav'n is my witness that I do not love
To sow in peril, and let others reap
The jocund harvest. Yet I am not safe;
By love, or something like it, stung, inflam'd,
Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife,
And she has threaten'd to acquaint him of it.
The way of woman's will I do not know:
But well I know the baron's wrath is deadly.
I will not live in fear; the man I dread
Is as a Dane to me; ay, and the man
Who stands betwixt me and my chief desire-
No bar but he; she has no kinsman near;
No brother in his sister's quarrel bold;
And for the righteous cause, a stranger's cause,
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvon.
ACT II.
[Exit.
SCENE I-A Court, etc.
Enter Servants and a Stranger at one Door,
and LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA at another.
Lady R. What means this clamour? Stran-
ger, speak secure;
Hast thou been wrong'd? have these rude men
presum'd
To vex the weary traveller on his way?
1 Sero. By us no stranger ever suffer'd
wrong:
This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth;
So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and NORVAL, with
their Swords drawn and bloody.
Lady R. Not vain the stranger's fears! how
fares my lord?
Lord R. That it fares well, thanks to this
gallant youth,
Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched death.
As down the winding dale I walk'd alone,
At the cross way four armed men attack'd me;
Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp,
Who would have quickly laid lord Randolph
low,
Had not this brave and generous stranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,
And mocking danger, made my foes his own.

SCENE 1.]
51
DOUGLAS.
They turn'd upon him, but his active arm
Struck to the ground, from whence they rose
no more,
The fiercest two; the others fled amain,
And left him master of the bloody field.
Speak, lady Randolph, upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold;
Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord.
Lady R. My lord, I cannot speak what
now I feel;
My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and
yours, deliberated not,
Nor paus'd at peril, but, humanely brave,
And, heaven directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord R. He is as wise as brave.
Was
ever tale
With such a gallant modesty rehears'd?
My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list, and in a monarch's sight
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.
Ah! my Matilda, wherefore starts that tear?
Lady R. I cannot say; for various affec-
tions,
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell;
Fought on your side against such fearful odds. Yet each of them may well command a tear.
Have you not learn'd of him whom we should I joy that thou art safe; and I admire
thank?
Him and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
safety;
Whom call the saviour of lord Randolph's life?
Lord R. I ask'd that question, and he an-
swer'd not;
But I must know who my deliverer is.
[To Norval.
Nor. A low-born man, of parentage obs-
cure,
Who nought can boast, but his desire to be
A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord R. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is
ennobl'd
By the great King of kings: thou art ordain'd
And stamp'd a hero, by the sovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flower of modesty
As well as valour, to declare thy birth.
Nor. My name is Norval: on the Gram-
pian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his
store,
Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless he the army sought,
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt, unknown he might have pe-
rish'd,
And gain'd with all his valour, but oblivion.
Now grac'd by thee, his virtues serve no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope,
He stands conspicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compass of his sword.
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven.
Lord R. Pious and grateful ever are thy
thoughts!
My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the
way.
Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon,
In honour and command shall Norval be.
Nor. I know not how to thank
I am
you. Rude
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And heav'n soon granted what my sire denied. In speech and manners: never till this hour
This moon which rose last night, round as Stood I in such a presence: yet, my lord,
There's something in my breast, which makes
me bold
my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shep-
herds fled
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was
drawn,
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their
chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I
wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summon'd his bold
peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps;
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his mas-
ter.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these
towers,
To say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy fa-
vour.
Lady R. I will be sworn thou wilt not
Thou shalt be
My knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day,
With happy valour guard the life of Randolph
Lord R. Well hast thou spoke. Let me
forbid reply; [To Norval,
We are thy debtors still. Thy high desert
O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp.
Some of my train I see are speeding hither,
Impatient doubtless of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandish'd swords.
Nor. Let us be gone, my lord.
Lord R. [To Lady R.] About the tim
that the declining sun
Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hill suspend,
Expect us to return. This night once more
Within these walls I rest; my tent 1 pitch
To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast:
Free is his heart who for his country fights;
He in the eve of battle may resign
Himself to social pleasure: sweetest then,
When danger to a soldier's soul endears

52
[ACT II.
DOUGLAS.
The human joy that never may return.
[Exeunt Lord Randolph and Norval.
Lady R. His parting words have struck a
fatal truth.
Oh, Douglas! Douglas! tender was the time
When we two parted, ne'er to meet again!
How many years of anguish and despair
Has heaven annex'd to those swift passing hours
Of love and fondness.
I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear.
[Exit Anna.
Glen. To him your counsels always are
commands.
Lady R. I have not found so; thou art
known to me.
Glen. Known!
Lady R. And most certain is my cause of
knowledge.
Wretch that I am! Alas! why am I so?
At every happy parent I repine.
How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval!
She for a living husband bore her pains,
And heard him bless her when a man was born:
She nurs'd her smiling infant on her breast;
Tended the child, and rear'd the pleasing boy;
She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth
In grace and comeliness surpass his peers:
Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son,
And to the roaring waters gave my child.
Anna. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume An outcast beggar, and unpitied too!
Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth For mortals shudder at a crime like thine.
Would for awhile have won you from your woe.
On him intent you gazed, with a look
Much more delighted, than your pensive eye
Has deign'd on other objects to bestow.
Lady R. Delighted, say'st thou? Oh! even
there mine eye
Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow;
I thought, that had the son of Douglas liv'd,
He might have been like this young gallant
stranger,
Glen. What do you know? By the most
blessed cross,
You much amaze me. No created being,
Yourself except, durst thus accost Glenalvon.
Lady R. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou
make a merit
Of thy pretended meekness? this to me,
Who, with a gentleness which duty blames,
Have hitherto conceal'd, what, if indulg'd,
Would make thee nothing! or what's worse
than that,
Glen. Thy virtue awes me. First of wo-
mankind!
Permit me yet to say, that the fond man
Whom love transports beyond strict virtue's
bounds,
If he is brought by love to misery,
In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn,
Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms
Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd;
For mortals know that love is still their lord,
And pair'd with him in features and in shape, And o'er their vain resolves advances still:
In all endowments, as in years, I deem, As fire, when kindled by our shepherds, moves
My boy with blooming Norval might have Through the dry heath before the fanning wind.
number'd.
Lady R. Reserve these accents for some
other ear;
Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness To love's apology I listen not.
For this young stranger, wand'ring from his Mark thou my words: for it is meet thou
home,
And like an orphan cast upon my care.
I will protect thee, said I to myself,
With all my power, and grace with all
favour.
Anna. Sure, heaven will bless so gen'rous
a resolve.
shouldst.
His brave deliverer, Randolph here retains.
Perhaps his presence may not please thee well:
my But, at thy peril, practise ought against him:
Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake
And loosen the good root he has in Randolph,
Whose favourites I know thou hast supplanted.
Thou look'st at me, as if thou wouldst pry
Into my heart. 'Tis open as my speech.
I give this early caution, and put on
The curb, before thy temper breaks away.
The friendless stranger my protection claims;
His friend I am, and be not thou his foe.
You must, my noble dame, exert your power:
You must awake; devices will be fram'd,
And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval.
Lady R. Glenalvon's false and crafty head
will work
Against a rival in his kinsman's love,
If I deter him not; I only can.
Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware
How he pulls down the fabric that I raise.
I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.
Enter GLENALVON.
Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble
Randolph?
Lady R. Have you not heard, Glenalvon,
of the base-
Glen. I have; and that the villains may not
scape,
With a strong band I have begirt the wood.
If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken,
And torture force from them the important
secret,
Whether some foe of Randolph's hir'd, their
swords,
Or if-
Lady R. That care becomes a kinsman's love.
[Exit.
Glen. Child that I was to start at my own
shadow,
And be the shallow fool of coward conscience!
I am not what I have been; what I should be.
The darts of destiny have almost pierc'd
My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith
In holy legends and religious tales,
I should conclude there was an arm above
That fought against me, and malignant turn'd,
To catch myself, the subtle snare I set.
Why, rape and murder are not simple means!
The imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse;
And the intended murder introduc'd
A favourite to hide the sun from me;
And worst of all, a rival. Burning hell!
This were thy centre, if I thought she lov'd
him!
'Tis certain she contemns me; nay, commands
me,

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
53
DOUGLAS.
And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass,
Is not more innocent than I of murder.
Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof
can ye produce?
1 Serv. We found him lurking in the hol-
low glen.
In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd?
Curb'd, as she calls it, by dame Chastity?
Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are
More fierce than hate, ambition, and revenge,
Rise up, and fill my bosom with your fires.
Darkly a project peers upon my mind, When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd he fled;
Like the red moon when rising in the east, We overtook him, and inquir'd from whence
Cross'd and divided by strange colour'd clouds. And what he was: he said he came from far,
I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither, And was upon his journey to the camp.
And for his cowardice was spurned from him. Not satisfied with this, we search'd his clothes,
I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed And found these jewels, whose rich value plead
Venom most fatal to his heedless lord. [Exit. Most pow'rfully against him. Hard he seems,
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The same.
Enter ANNA.
Anna. Thy vassals, grief, great nature's or-
der break,
And old in villany. Permit us try
His stubbornness against the torture's force.
Pris. Oh, gentle lady! by your lord's dear
life,
Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er
assail,
And by your children's welfare, spare my age!
Let not the iron tear my ancient joints,
And my grey hairs bring to the grave with
pain.
And change the noontide to the midnight hour.
Whilst lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth,
And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank.
Sweet may her slumbers be! Ye ministers
Of gracious heaven, who love the human race,
Angels and seraphs, who delight in goodness, For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth;
Forsake your skies and to her couch descend! Detected falsehood is most certain death.
There from her fancy chase those dismal forms
That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm
With images celestial, such as please
The blest above upon their golden beds.
Enter Servant.
Serv. One of the vile assassins is secur'd.
We found the villain lurking in the wood:
With dreadful imprecations he denies
All knowledge of the crime. But this is not
His first essay: these jewels were conceal'd
In the most secret places of his garment;
Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd.
Anna. Let me look on them. Ha! here is
a heart,
The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name!
These are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch.
Enter Servants, with a Prisoner.
Pris. I know no more than does the
unborn
Of what you charge me with.
1 Serv. You say so, sir!
[Exit.
child
But torture soon shall make you speak the truth.
Behold, the lady of lord Randolph comes:
Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH and ANNA.
Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, be-
fore
You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame,
Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret,
Which in a moment from your lips may fly.
Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a des-
perate heart,
Lady R. Account for these; thine own they
cannot be:
[Anna removes the Servants, and
returns.
Pris. Alas! I'm sore beset! let never man,
For sake of lucre, sin against his soul!
Eternal justice is in this most just!
I, guiltless now, must former guilt reveal.
Lady R. Oh! Anna, hear!-once more i
charge thee speak
The truth direct; for these to me foretel
And certify a part of thy narration,
With which, if the remainder tallies not,
An instant and a dreadful death abides thee.
Pris. Then, thus adjur'd, I'll speak to you
as just
As if you were the minister of heaven,
Sent down to search the secret sins of men.
Some eighteen years ago I rented land
Of brave sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord;
But falling to decay, his servants seiz'd
All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine
(Four helpless infants and their weeping mother),
Out to the mercy of the winter winds.
A little hovel by the river's side
Receiv'd us; there hard labour, and the skill
In fishing, which was formerly my sport,
Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly liv'd,
One stormy night, as I remember well,
The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof;
Red came the river down, and loud and oft
The angry spirit of the water shriek'd.
At the dead hour of night was heard the cry
Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran
To where the circling eddy of a pool,
Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within
My reach whatever floating thing the stream
Had caught. The voice had ceas'd; the per-
son lost;
Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels.
[The Prisoner kneels. But looking sad and earnest on the waters,
Pris. Heaven bless that countenance so sweet By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and
and mild!
A judge like thee makes innocence more bold.
Oh, save me, lady, from these cruel men,
Who have attack'd and seiz'd me; who accuse
Me of intended murder. As I hope
For mercy at the judgment-seat of heaven.
round,
A basket: soon I drew it to the bank,
And nestled curious there an infant lay.
Lady R. Was he alive?
Pris. He was.
Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!

54
DOUGLAS.
[ACT III.
Pris. Bless'd be the hour that made me a
poor man;
How couldst thou kill what waves and tem-
pests spar'd?
Pris. I am not so inhuman.
My poverty hath sav'd my master's house!
Lady R. Thy words surprise me: sure thou
dost not feign!
thee
The needy man who has known better days,
One whom distress has spited at the world,
Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon The tear stands in thine eye; such love from
To do such deeds as make the prosperous men
Lift up their hands, and wonder who could Sir Malcolm's house deserv'd not; if aright
Thou told'st the story of thy own distress.
Pris. Sir Malcolm of our barons was the
flower;
do them.
And such a man was I: a man declin'd,
Who saw no end of black adversity:
Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not
Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm.
Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so! then per-
haps he lives!
Pris. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady R. Oh, God of heav'n! did he then
die so lately?
Pris. I did not say he died; I hope he lives.
Not many days ago these eyes beheld
Him flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty.
Lady R. Where is he now?
Pris. Alas! I know not where.
Lady R. Oh, fate! I fear thee still.
riddler, speak
The safest friend, the best, the kindest master.
But ah! he knew not of my sad estate.
After that battle, where his gallant son,
Your own brave brother fell, the good old lord
Grew desperate and reckless of the world;
And never, as he erst was wont, went forth
To overlook the conduct of his servants.
By them I was thrust out, and them I blame:
May heav'n so judge me as I judge my master!
And God so love me as I love his race!
Lady R. His race shall yet reward thee.
On thy faith
Thou Depends the fate of thy lov'd master's house.
Rememb'rest thou a little, lonely hut,
That like a holy hermitage appears
Among the cliffs of Carron?
Direct and clear; else I will search thy soul.
Pris. Fear not my faith, though I must
speak my shame;
Within the cradle where the infant lay,
Was stow'd a mighty store of gold and jewels;
Tempted by which, we did resolve to hide,
From all the world this wonderful event,
And like a peasant breed the noble child.
That none might mark the change of our estate,
We left the country, travelled to the north,
Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought
forth
Pris. I remember the cottage of the cliffs.
Lady R. 'Tis that I mean:
There dwells a man of venerable age,
Who in my father's service spent his youth:
Tell him I sent thee, and with him remain,
Till I shall call upon thee to declare,
Before the king and nobles, what thou now
To me hast told. No more but this, and thou
Shalt live in honour all thy future days!
Thy son so long shall call thee father still,
And all the land shall bless the man who sav'd
The son of Douglas, and sir Malcolm's heir.
Remember well my words; if thou shouldst
meet
Our secret wealth. But God's all-seeing eye
Beheld our avarice, and smote us sore:
For, one by one, all our own children died,
And he, the stranger, sole remain'd the heir
Of what indeed was his. Fain then would I,
Who with a father's fondness lov'd the boy,
Have trusted him, now in the dawn of youth, And mention nothing of his nobler father.
With his own secret: but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would consent.
Meanwhile the stripling grew in years and
beauty;
Him, whom thou call'st thy son, still call him
And, as we oft observ'd, he bore himself,
Not as the offspring of our cottage blood;
For nature will break out: mild with the mild,
But with the froward he was fierce as fire;
And night and day he talk'd of war and arms.
I set myself against his warlike bent;
But all in vain; for when a desperate band
Of robbers from the savage mountains came-
Lady R. Eternal Providence! What is thy
name?
Pris. My name is Norval; and my name
he bears.
Lady R. 'Tis he! 'tis he himself! It is my
son!
so;
Pris. Fear not that I shall mar so fair a
harvest,
By putting in my sickle ere 'tis ripe.
Why did I leave my home and ancient dame?
To find the youth, to tell him all I knew,
And make him wear these jewels on his arm;
Which might, I thought, be challeng'd, and
so bring
To light the secret of his noble birth.
[Lady Randolph goes towards the
Servants.
Lady R. This man is not the assassin you
suspected,
Though chance combin'd some likelihood
against him.
He is the faithful bearer of the jewels
To their right owner, whom in haste he seeks.
'Tis meet that you should put him on his way,
Since your mistaken zeal hath dragg'd him
hither.
Oh, sovereign mercy! 'twas my child I saw!
Pris! If I, amidst astonishment and fear,
Have of your words and gestures rightly judg'd,
[Exeunt Prisoner and Servants.
Thou art the daughter of my ancient master; My faithful. Anna! dost thou share my joy?
The child I rescu'd from the flood is thine.. I know thou dost. Unparallel'd event!
Lady R. With thee dissimulation now
were vain.
I am indeed the daughter of sir Malcolm;
The child thou rescu'dst from the flood is
mine.
Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's arm
Snatch'd from the waves, and brings me to
my son!
Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father,
Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks

[ACT IV. SCENE 1]
55
DOUGLAS.
For such a gift! What does my Anna think |And be the echo of thy martial fame..
Of the young eaglet of a valiant nest?
How soon he gaz'd on bright and burning
arms,
No longer vainly feed a guilty passion:
Go and pursue a lawful mistress, glory.
Upon the Danish crests redeem thy fault,
Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had And let thy valour be the shield of Randolph.
thrown him,
And tower'd up to the regions of his sire!
Anna. How fondly did your eyes devour
the boy!
VMysterious nature, with the unseen cord
Of pow'rful instinct, drew you to your own.
Lady R. The ready story of his birth be-
liev'd,
Suppress'd my fancy quite; nor did he owe
To any likeness my so sudden favour:
But now I long to see his face again,
Examine every feature, and find out
The lineaments of Douglas, or my own.
But, most of all, I long to let him know
Who his true parents are, to clasp his neck,
And tell him all the story of his father.
Anna. With wary caution you must bear
yourself
In public, lest your tenderness break forth,
And in observers stir conjectures strange.
To-day the baron started at your tears.
Lady R. He did so, Anna: well thy mistress
knows
If the least circumstance, mote of offence,
Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would
be
With jealousy disorder'd. But the more
It does behove me instant to declare
The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights.
Anna. Behold, Glenalvon comes.
Lady R. Now I shun him not.
This day I brav'd him in behalf of Norval;
Perhaps too far; at least my nicer fears
For Douglas thus interpret.
Enter GLENALVON.
Glen. Noble dame,
The hovering Dane at last his men hath landed:
No band of pirates; but a mighty host,
That come to settle where there valour con-
quers:
Glen. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd
man.
When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'd
Flies its own colours, and goes o'er to virtue.
I am your convert; time will show how truly:
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.
That youth for whom your ardent zeal to-day,
Somewhat too haughtily defy'd your slave,
Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,
And turn death from him, with a guardian arm.
Lady R. Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am thy
friend;
But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir,
The truly generous is the truly wise;
And he, who loves not others, lives unblest.
[Exit Ludy Randolph.
Glen. Amen! and virtue is its own reward:
I think that I have hit the very tone
In which she loves to speak. Honey'd assent,
How pleasant art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also! flattery direct
Rarely disgusts. They little know mankind
Who doubt its operation: 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket of the human heart.
How far I have succeeded now, I know not;
Yet I incline to think her stormy virtue
Is lull'd awhile; 'tis her alone I fear;
While she and Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is my tenure.
That slave of Norval's I have found most apt;
I show'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soul
To say and swear whatever I suggest.
Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look,
Twixt man and woman, which I have observ'd
To charm the nicer and fantastic dames,
Who are, like lady Randolph, full of virtue.
In raising Randolph's jealousy, I
But point him to the truth. He seldom errs,
Who thinks the worst he can of womankind.
Exit.
To win a country, or to lose themselves.
A nimble courier, sent from yonder camp,
To hasten up the chieftains of the north,
Inform'd me as he pass'd, that the fierce Dane
Had on the eastern coats of Lothian landed.
Lady R. How many mothers shall bewail To
their sons!
How many widows weep their husbands slain!
Ye dames of Denmark, e'en for you I feel,
Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,
Long look for lords that never shall return.
Glen. Oft has the unconquer'd Caledonian
sword
Widow'd the north. The children of the slain
Come, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate.
The monster war, with her infernal brood,
Loud-yelling fury and life-ending pain,
Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul.
Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death;
Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword.
Lord R. I scorn thee not, but when I ought
to scorn;
Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtue
Against audacious vice asserts herself.
I own thy worth, Glenalvon; none more apt
Than I to praise thine eminence in arms,
ACT IV.
may
SCENE I.-Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH, attended.
Lord R. Summon a hundred horse, by break
of day,
wait our pleasure at the castle gate.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
Lady R. Alas, my lord, I've heard unwel-
come news;
The Danes are landed.
Lord R. Ay, no inroad this
Of the Northumbrian, bent to take a spoil:
No sportive war, no tournament essay,
Of some young knight resolv'd to break a spear,
And stain with hostile blood his maiden arms.
The Danes are landed: we must beat them back,
Or live the slaves of Denmark.
Lady R. Dreadful times!
Lord R. The fenceless villages are all for-
saken;
The trembling mothers, and their children
lodg'd
In wall-girt towers and castles! whilst the men
Retire indignant: yet, like broken waves,
They but retire more awful to return.

56
[ACT IV.
56
DOUGLAS.
Lady R. Immense, as fame reports, the Da-Those qualities that should have grac'd a camp?
Nor. That too at last I learn'd. Unhappy
man!
nish host!
Lord R. Were it as numerous as loud fame
reports,
An army knit like ours would pierce it through:
Brothers that shrink not from each other's side,
And fond companions, fill our warlike files:
For his dear offspring, and the wife he loves,
The husband, and the fearless father arm:
In vulgar breasts heroic ardour burns,
And the poor peasant mates his daring lord.
Lady R. Men's minds are temper'd, like
their swords, for war;
Lovers of danger, on destruction's brink
They joy to rear erect their daring forms.
Hence, early graves; hence, the lone widow's
life;
And the sad mother's grief-embitter'd age.
Where is our gallant guest?
Lord R. Down in the vale
I left him, managing a fiery steed,
Whose stubbornness had foil'd the strength
and skill
Of rider. But behold he comes,
every
In earnest conversation with Glenalvon.
Enter NORVAL and GLENALVON.
Glenalvon, with the lark arise; go forth,
And lead my troops that lie in yonder vale:
Private I travel to the royal camp:
Norval, thou goest with me. But say, young
man!
Where didst thou learn so to discourse of war,
And in such terms, as I o'erheard to-day?
War is no village science, nor its phrase
A language taught amongst the shepherd swains.
Nor. Small is the skill my lord delights to
praise
In him he favours. Hear from whence it came.
Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man!
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And, entering on discourse, such stories told,
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against the usurping infidel display'd
The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man would
shake
His years away, and act his young encounters:
Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him
down,
And all the live-long day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts;
Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm:
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
Lord R. Why did this soldier in a desert
hide
Returning homewards by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea
Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought:
The stranger fell, and with his dying breath
Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty pow'r!
The soldier cried, My brother! Oh, my brother!
Lady R. His brother!
Nor. Yes; of the same parents born;
His only brother. They exchang'd forgiveness;
And happy in my mind was he that died;
For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd.
In the wild desert on a rock he sits,
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! not in his perfect mind,
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew,
Lady R. In this dire tragedy were there no
more
Unhappy persons? Did the parents live?
Nor. No, they were dead; kind heav'n had
clos'd their eyes,
Before their son had shed his brother's blood.
Lord R. Hard is his fate; for he was not
to blame!
There is a destiny in this strange world,
Which oft decrees an undeserved doom:
Let schoolmen tell us why-
[Trumpets at a Distance.
From whence these sounds?
Enter an Officer.
Offi. My lord, the trumpets of the troops
of Lorn!
The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph.
Lord R. Mine ancient guest! Does he the
warriors lead?
Has Denmark rous'd the brave old knight to
arms?
Offi. No; worn with warfare, he resigns
the sword.
His eldest hope, the valiant John of Lorn,
Now leads his kindred bands.
Lord R. Glenalvon, go;
With hospitality's most strong request
Entreat the chief.
[Exit Glenalovon.
Offi. My lord, requests are vain.
He urges on, impatient of delay,
Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach.
Lord R. May victory sit upon the warrior's
plume!
Bravest of men! his flocks and herds are safe;
Remote from war's alarms his pastures lie,
By mountains inaccessible secur'd:
Yet foremost he into the plain descends,
Eager to bleed in battles not his own.
I'll
go and press the hero to my breast.
[Exit with the Officer.
Lady R. The soldier's loftiness, the pride
and pomp
Investing awful war, Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.
Nor. Ah! should they not?
Bless'd be the hour I left my father's house!
I might have been a shepherd all my days,,
And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;

SCENE 1.]
57
DOUGLAS.
And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie.
Lady R. There is a generous spirit in thy
breast,
That could have well sustain'd a prouder fortune.
This way with me; under yon spreading beach,
Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,
I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.
Nor. Let there be danger, lady, with the
secret,
That I may hug it to my grateful heart,
And prove my faith. Command my sword,
my life:
These are the sole possessions of
poor Norval.
Lady R. Know'st thou these gems?
Nor. Durst I believe mine eyes,
I'd say I knew them, and they were my father's.
Lady R. Thy father's, say'st thou? Ah, they
were thy father's!
But did my sire surpass the rest of men,
As thou excellest all of womankind?
Lady R. Arise, my son. In me thou dost
behold
The poor remains of beauty once admir'd.
Yet in my prime I equall'd not thy father;
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and, as he pleas'd, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit aw'd.
Nor. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody
field
When Douglas died! Oh, I have much to ask!
Lady R. Hereafter thou shalt hear the length-
en'd tale
Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes.
At present this-Thou art the rightful heir
Of yonder castle, and the wide domains,
Which now lord Randolph, as my husband,
holds.
Nor. I saw them once, and curiously inquir'd
Of both my parents, whence such splendour But thou shalt not be wrong'd; I have the
came.
power
But I was check'd, and more could never learn. To right thee still. Before the king I'll kneel,
Lady R. Then learn of me-thou art not And call lord Douglas to protect his blood.
Nor. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.
Lady R. But we shall need both friends
and favour, boy,
Norval's son.
Nor. Not Norval's son?
Lady R. Nor of a shepherd sprung.
Nor. Who am I then?
Lady R. Noble thou art,
For noble was' thy sire.
Nor. I will believe-
Oh, tell me further! say, who was my father!
Lady R. Douglas!
Nor. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I saw?
Lady R. His younger brother.
Nor. And in yonder camp?
Lady R. Alas!
To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe
Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet I think
My tale will move each gentle heart to pity,
My life incline the virtuous to believe.
Nor. To be the son of Douglas is to me
Inheritance enough! Declare my birth,
And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune.
Lady R. Thou dost not know what perils
and injustice
Await the poor man's valour. Oh, my son!
Nor. You make me tremble-Sighs and tears! The noblest blood of all the land's abash'd,
Lives my brave father?
Lady R. Ah! too brave, indeed!
He fell in battle ere thyself was born.
Nor. Ah me, unhappy! ere I saw the light!
But does my mother live? I may conclude,
From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow.
Lady R. She lives; but wastes her life in
constant woe,
Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost.
Nor. You that are skill'd so well in the sad
story
Of my unhappy parents, and with tears
Bewail their destiny, now have compassion
Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd.
Oh, tell me who and where my mother is!
Oppress'd by a base world, perhaps she bends
Beneath the weight of other ills than grief;
And, desolate, implores of heaven the aid
Her son should give. It is, it must be so-
Your countenance confesses that she's wretched.
Oh, tell me her condition! Can the sword-
Who shall resist me in a parent's cause?
Lady R. Thy virtue ends her woe-My son!
my son!
I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!
[Falls upon his Neck.
Nor. Oh, heaven and earth! how wond'rous
is my fate!
Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!,
Lady R. Image of Douglas! fruit of fatal
love!
All that I owe thy sire I pay to thee.
Nor. Respect and admiration still possess me,
Checking the love and fondness of a son:
Yet I was filial to my humble parents.
Having no lackey but pale poverty.
Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas;
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's
child:
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in thy youthful sports,
Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain.
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear:
But how I purpose to redress thy wrongs
Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
That we should part before yon chief's return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose
Of private conference. Its purport mark;
For, as I there appoint, we meet again.
Leave me, my son; and frame thy manners still
To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state.
Nor. I will remember. Where is Norval
now,
That good old man?
Lady R. At hand conceal'd he lies,
A useful witness. But beware, my son,
Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast
Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone
To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.
Nor. Has he, indeed? Then let yon false
Glenalvon
Beware of me.
[Exit
Lady R. There burst the smother'd flame.
O, thou all-righteous and eternal King!
Who father of the fatherless art call'd,
Protect my son! Thy inspiration, Lord!
Hlath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire,
8

58
[ACT IV.
DOUGLAS. -
Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd: But if he be the favourite of the fair,
Set him on high, like them, that he may shine
The star and glory of his native land!-
Yonder they come. How do bad women find
Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt,
When I, by reason and by justice urg'd,
Full hardly can dissemble with these men
In nature's pious cause?
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
Lord R. Yon gallant chief,
Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims.
Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example
sway'd.
Arrange the business of to-morrow now,
And when you enter, speak of war no more.
[Exit.
Lord R. 'Tis so, by heav'n! her mien, her
voice, her eye,
And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.
Glen. He parted from her now. Behind the
mount,
Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.
Lord R. For sad sequester'd virtue she's
renown'd.
Glen. Most true, my lord.
Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame
Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,
Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.
This assignation [Shows a Letter] the assas-
sin freed,
Her manifest affection for the youth,
Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded:
Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me.
Let no man, after me, a woman wed,
Whose heart he knows he has not, though
she brings
A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry.
For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,
Cold and contemplative-he cannot trust her;
She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow
on him;
Lov'd by the first of Caledonia's dames,
He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns
Upon the hunter's spear.
Lord R. 'Tis shrewdly thought.
Glen. When we grow loud, draw near.
But let lord
my
His rising wrath restrain.- [Exit Randolph.
'Tis strange, by heaven!
That she should run full tilt her fond career
To one so little known. She, too, that seem'd
Pure as the winter stream, when ice, emboss'd,
Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste,
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex!
Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's
thoughts!
Enter NORVAL.
His port I love: he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.-
[Aside.
Has Norval seen the troops?
Nor. The setting sun
With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale;
And as the warriors mov'd, each polish'd heim,
Corslet, or spear, glanc'd back his gilded beams.
The hill they climb'd, and, halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, tow'ring, they seem'd
A host angelic, clad in burning arms.
Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our
host
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war.
Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name,
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful ad-
miration
Vents itself freely; since no part is mine
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.
Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir, your
martial deeds
Have rank'd you with the great. But mark
me, Norval:
Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth
The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames! Above his veterans of famous service.
Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honour: seem not to command;
Else they will scarcely brook your late sprung
thoughts,
But let the spirit of a husband sleep,
Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand;
The moon shines bright, and your own eyes
may judge
Of their behaviour.
Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.
Glen. Permit me now to make one slight
essay;
Of all the trophies, which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won,
The first and fairest in a young man's eye
Is woman's captive heart. Successful love
With glorious fumes intoxicates the mind,
And the proud conqueror in triumph moves,
Air-borne, exalted above vulgar men.
Lord R. And what avails this maxim?
Glen. Much, my lord.
Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval,
And with ironical derisive counsel
Explore his spirit. If he is no more
Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd,
Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me:
power,
Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns.
Nor. Sir, I have been accustom'd all my days
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth:
And though I have been told, that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their
scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skill'd.
Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?
Glen. I did not mean
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Nor. My pride!
Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper.
Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Nor. A shepherd's scorn!
Glen. Yes; if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
What will become of you?
Nor. If this were told!-
[Aside.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
59
DOUGLAS.
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? The private quarrel.
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
Nor. Didst thou not hear?
Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been question'd thus.
thee-
But such as
Nor. Whom dost thou think me?
Glen. Norval.
Nor. So I am-
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?
Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar
boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.
Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect
my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie: and false
as hell
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Nor. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bed-
rid old,
Perhaps I should revile: but as I am,
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well.
Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born
to command
[Draws.
Ten thousand slaves like thee-
Nor. Villain, no more!
Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defy'd thee in another cause;
But heav'n accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and lady Randolph's wrongs.
[They fight.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The
man that stirs
Makes me his foe.
Nor. Another voice than thine
Glen. I agree to this.
Nor. And I.
Enter Servant.
Serv. The banquet waits.
Lord R. We come, [Exit with Servant.
Glen. Norval,
Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy
brow;
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.
Nor. Think not so lightly, sir, of my re-
sentment.
When we contend again, our strife is mortal.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-A Wood.
Enter DOUGLAS.
Doug. This is the place, the centre of the
grove;
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene!
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way
Through skies, where I could count each little
star.
The fanning west-wind scarcely stirs the leaves;
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed,
Imposes silence with a stilly sound.
In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in aught believ'd,
Descending spirits have convers'd with men,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.
Enter old NORVAL.
Old N. 'Tis he. But what if he should
chide me hence?
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Ran- His just reproach I fear.
dolph.
Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous
condescending!
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Nor. Now you may scoff in safety.
[Sheathes his Sword.
Lord R. Speak not thus,
Taunting each other; but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you.
Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere
you much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judg-I
ment.
I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
The opprobrious words that I from him have
borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but ev'n him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord;
Honour, sole judge, and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go
Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonour'd.
Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impar-
tial voice:
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields.
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader: then decide
[Douglas turns aside and sees him.
Forgive, forgive;
Canst thou forgive the man, the selfish man,
Who bred sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son?
Doug. Kneel not to me; thou art my father
still:
Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy
Welcome to me; my fortunes thou shalt share,
And ever honour'd with thy Douglas live.
Old N. And dost thou call me father? Oh,
my son!
think that I could die, to make amends
For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my
crime,
Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.
Doug. Not worse the fruit,
That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.
I, who was once a swain, will ever prove
The poor man's friend; and, when my vassals
bow,
Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.
Old N. Let me but live to see thine
exaltation!
Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place,
And those unfriendly towers!
Doug. Why should I leave them?

60
[ACT V.
DOUGLAS.
Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman By stealth the mother and the son should meet?
seek your life.
Doug. How know'st thou that?
Old N. I will inform you how.
When evening came, I left the secret place
Appointed for me by your mother's care,
And fondly trod in each accustom'd path
That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang'd,
I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds
Of earnest voices. On the persons came.
Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name
Each other as they talk'd, lord Randolph this,
And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke,
And of the lady: threat'ning was their speech,
Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery;
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Doug. Revenge! for what?
Old N. For being what you are.
[Embraces him.
Doug. No; on this happy day, this better
birth-day,
My thoughts and words are all of hope and
joy.
Lady R. Sad fear and melancholy still divide
The empire of my breast with hope and joy.
Now hear what I advise-
Doug. First, let me tell
What may the tenor of your counsel change.
Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil.
Doug. 'Tis not good-
At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their conversation; oft they mention'd me
With dreadful threat'nings; you they some-
times nam'd.
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery;
Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we are
betray'd:
Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage,
And there sat musing how I best might find
Means to inform you of their wicked purpose; They have found out the secret of thy birth!
But I could think of none. At last, perplex'd, It must be so. That is the great discovery.
I issued forth, encompassing the tower,
With many a wearied step and wishful look.
Now Providence hath brought you to my sight,
Let not your too courageous spirit scorn
The caution which I give.
Doug. I scorn it not.
My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph.
In our encounter with the vile assassins,
I mark'd his brave demeanour; him I'll trust.
Old N. I fear you will, too far.
Doug. Here in this place
I wait my mother's coming: she shall know
What thou hast told: her counsel I will follow:
And cautious ever are a mother's counsels.
You must depart: your presence may prevent
Our interview.
Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own,
And they will be reveng'd. Perhaps even now,
Arm'd and prepar'd for murder, they but wait
A darker and more silent hour, to break
Into the chamber where they think thou sleep'st.
This moment, this, heav'n hath ordain'd to
save thee!
Fly to the camp, my son!
Doug. And leave you here?
No: to the castle let us go together,
Call up the ancient servants of your house,
Who in their youth did eat your father's bread;
Then tell them loudly that I am your son.
If in the breasts of men one spark remains
Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity,
Some in your cause will arm. I ask but few
To drive those spoilers from my father's house.
Lady R. Oh, nature, nature! what can check
thy force?
Old N. My blessing rest upon thee!
Oh, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from
the wave,
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas!
And from the sword of foes, be near thee still; But rush not on destruction: save thyself,
Turning mischance, ifaught hangs o'er thy head, And I am safe. To me they mean no harm.
All upon mine!
Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain.
That winding path conducts thee to the river.
Cross where thou seest a broad and beaten
way,
[Exit.
Doug. He loves me like a parent;
And must not, shall not, lose the son he loves,
Although his son has found a nobler father.
Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state!
Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another soil;
Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
Ye glorious stars! high heav'n's resplendent
host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane,
To give a bold defiance to our host!
Before he speaks it out, I will accept:
Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
Lady R. My son! I heard a voice-
Doug. The voice was mine.
Lady R. Didst thou complain aloud to na-
ture's ear,
That thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours,
Which running eastward leads thee to the
camp.
Instant demand admittance to lord Douglas:
Show him these jewels, which his brother wore.
Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the
truth,
Which I by certain proof will soon confirm.
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my
heart
Bleeds at this parting.
stay,
Something bids me
And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read
Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm achiev'd.
Our foes are two; no more: let me go forth,
And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon.
Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or
rever'st
Thy father's memory, think of this no more.
One thing I have to say before we part:
Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my
child,
In a most fearful season. War and battle

SCENE 1.]
61
DOUGLAS.
I have great cause to dread. Too well I see
Which way the current of thy temper sets:
To-day I have found thee. Oh! my long-lost
hope!
If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein,
To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.
The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light,
Sustain'd my life when thy brave father fell.
If thou shalt fall, I have not love nor hope
In this waste world! My son, remember me!
Doug. What shall I say? How can I give
you comfort?
The God of battles of my life dispose
As may be best for you! for whose dear sake
I will not bear myself as I resolv'd.
But yet consider, as no vulgar name,
That which I boast, sounds among martial men,
How will inglorious caution suit my claim?
The post of fate unshrinking I maintain.
My country's foes must witness who I am.
On the invaders' heads I'll prove my birth,
Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain.
If in this strife I fall, blame not your son,
Who, if he live not honour'd, must not live.
Lady R. I will not utter what my bosom
feels.
I
Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword,
The villain came behind me; but I slew him.
Lady R. Behind thee! ah! thou'rt wounded!
Oh, my child,
How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee
now?
Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faint-
ness;
hope it will not last. [Leans upon his Sword.
Lady R. There is no hope!
And we must part! the hand of death is on
thee!
Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas!
Douglas growing more and more faint.
Doug. Oh! had I fall'n as my brave fathers
fell,
Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle,
Like them I should have smil'd and welcom'd
death;
But thus to perish by a villain's hand!
Cut off from nature's and from glory's course,
Which never mortal was so fond to run.
Lady R. Hear, justice, hear! stretch thy
avenging arm.
[Douglas falls.
Doug. Unknown I die; no tongue shall
speak of me.
Too well I love that valour which I warn.
Farewell, my son, my counsels are but vain. Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,
[Embracing. May yet conjecture what I might have prov'd,
And as high heav'n hath will'd it, all must be. And think life only wanting to my fame:
[They separate. But who shall comfort thee?
Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; Lady R. Despair, Despair!
[Exeunt. Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high heav'n to let
me live
I'll point it out again.
Just as they are separating, enter, from A little while!-my eyes that gaze on thee
the Wood, LORD RANDOLPH and GLEN- Grow dim apace! my mother-O! my mother!
ALVON.
Lord R. Not in her presence.
Now-
Glen. I'm prepar'd.
Lord R. No: I command thee stay.
I go alone: it never shall be said
That I took odds to combat mortal man.
The noblest vengeance is the most complete.
Exit.
[Glenalvon makes some Steps to
the same Side of the Stage, lis-
tens, and speaks.
Glen. Demons of death, come settle on my
sword,
And to a double slaughter guide it home!
The lover and the husband both must die.
Lord R. [Without] Draw, villain! draw!
Doug. [Without] Assail me not, lord Ran-
dolph;
Not as thou lov'st thyself.
[Clashing of Swords.
Glen. [Running out] Now is the time.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the opposite Side
of the Stage, faint and breathless.
Lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me; all shall
be thine own!
But spare! Oh, spare my son!
Enter DOUGLAS, with a Sword in each Hand.
Doug. My mother's voice!
I can protect thee still.
Lady R. He lives! he lives!
For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise!
But sure I saw thee fall.
Doug. It was Glenalvon.
[Dies. Lady Randolph faints on
the Body.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA.
Lord R. Thy words, thy words of truth,
have pierc'd my heart:
I am the stain of knighthood and of arms.
Oh! if my brave deliverer survives
The traitor's sword--
Anna. Alas! look there, my lord.
Lord R. The mother and her son! How
curst am I!
Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause.
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul
To frantic jealousy.
Anna. My lady lives:
The agony of grief hath but suppress'd
Awhile her powers.
Lord R. But my deliverer's dead!
Lady R. [Recovering] Where am I now?
Still in this wretched world!
Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine.
Lord R. Oh, misery!
Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim
My innocence.
Lady R. Thy innocence!
Lord R. My guilt
Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st it.
Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I
to do
With thee, or any thing? My son! my son!
My beautiful! my brave! how proud was 1
Of thee and of thy valour! my fond heart
O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I
thought
Of growing old amidst a race of thine.

62
[ACT V.
DOUGLAS.
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while
Was I a wife! a mother not so long!
What am I now?- I know-But I shall be
That only whilst I please; for such a son
And such a husband drive me to my fate.
[Exit running.
Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would
follow,
And headlong down-
Lord R. 'Twas I, alas! 'twas I
That fill'd her breast with fury; drove her
down
The precipice of death! Wretch that I am!
Anna. Oh, had you seen her last despairing
look!
Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes
But in this rage she must abhor my presence. Down on the deep: then lifting up her head
[Exit Anna. And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say
Curs'd, curs'd Glenalvon, he escap'd too well, Why am I forc'd to this? she plung'd herself
Though slain and baffled by the hand he hated. Into the empty air.
Foaming with rage and fury to the last,
Cursing his conqueror, the felon died.
Re-enter ANNA.
Anna. My lord! My lord!
Lord R. Speak: I can hear of horror.
Anna. Horror, indeed!
Lord R. Matilda!
Anna. Is no more:
She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill;
Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd,
Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls
Ingulf'd in rifted rocks: thither she came,
As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
Lord R. I will not vent,
In vain complaints, the passion of my soul.
Peace in this world I never ean enjoy.
These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave;
They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate
Denounce my doom. I am resolv'd. I'll go
Straight to the battle, where the man that
makes
Me turn aside, must threaten worse than death.
Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring,
Full warrant of my power. Let every rite
With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait:
For Randolph hopes he never shall return.
[The Curtain descends slowly to Music,
LILLO.
GEORGE LILLO, was by profession a jeweller, and was born in the neighbourhood of Moorgate, in London, on
the 4th of Feb. 1693; in which neighbourhood he pursued his occupation for many years, with the fairest and most
unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muses, yet seemed to have laid it down as a maxim, that the
devotion paid to them ought always to tend to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of this
aim, Mr. Lillo was happy in the choice of his subjects, and shewed great power of affecting the heart, by working
up the passions to such a height, as to render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as those
of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families by an indulgence of avarice, lust etc., as the havock
made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty and tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of
Feversham are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently drawn tears
from an audience, than the more pompous tragedies of Alexander the Great, All for Love, etc. Mr. Lillo, as before
observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less merito-
rious, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he affects
an elevation of style somewhat above the simplicity of his subject, and the supposed rank of his characters; but the
custom of tragedy will stand in some degree of excuse for this; and a still better argument perhaps may be admitted
in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament; which is, that even nature itself
will justify this conduct; since we find even the most humble characters in real life, when under peculiar circumstances
of distress, or actuated by the influence of any violent passions, will at times be elevated to an aptness of expression,
and power of language, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of per-
sons of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 3d. 1739, in the
47th year of his age; and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of him
in The Champion: "He had a perfect knowledge of human nature, though his contempt of all base means of applica
tion, which are the necessary steps to great acquaintance, restrained his conversation within very narrow bounds.
had the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian; he was contented with his little state
of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the power of riches; and it was neces-
sary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities to
serve him. In short, he was one of the best of men, and those who knew him best will most regret his loss."
He
GEORGE BARNWELL.
THIS play was acted 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with great success. "In the newspapers of the
time" says the Biographia Dramatica, "we find, that on Friday, 2d of July 1731, the Queen sent to the playhouse in
Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnwell, to peruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court.' This
tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went to the first represen-
tation of it, formed so contemptuous an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (some
thousands of which were used in one day on this account), in order to draw comparisons between that and the play.
But its merit soon got the better of this contempt, and presented them with scenes written so true to the heart, that
they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The original
performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that "in the year 1752, he played this part. Dr.
Barrowby was sent for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approaching
him, he saw his patient was afflicted with a disease of the mind. The Doctor being alone with the young man, he
confessed, after much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kept mistress; and had made free
with money intrusted to his care, by his employers, to the amount of 200 pounds. Seeing Mr. Ross in that piece, he
was so forcibly struck, he had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame he saw hang-
ing over him. The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, if his father made the least hesitation to give the money, be
should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands, they wept, kissed, embraced. The
son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby never told me the name; but one even-

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
63
GEORGE BARNWELL.
ing he said to me, you have done some good in your profession, more perhaps than many a clergyman who preached
last sunday. I had for nine or ten years, at my benefit, a note sealed up with ten guineas, and these words, "a tri-
bule of gratitude from one who is highly obliged, and saved from ruin, by seeing Mr. Ross's performance of Barn-
well." What will the virulent decriers of stage-plays say to this?
THOROWGOOD.
BARNWELL, Uncle to
George.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
DRAMATIS
TRUEMAN.
BLUNT.
GAOLER.
JOHN.
PERSONAE.
ROBERT.
MARIA.
MILLWOOD.
LUCY.
Officers, with their At-
tendants,
Keeper, and Footmen.
SCENE.- London and an adjacent Village.
ACT I.
SCENE I-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
Enter THOROWGOOD and TRUEMAN.
Thorow. Nay, 'twas a needless caution; I-
have no cause to doubt your prudence.
Maria. Sir, I find myself unfit for conver-
sation. I should but increase the number of
True. SIR, the packet from Genoa is arrived. the company, without adding to their satisfac-
[Gives Letters. tion.
Thorow. Heaven be praised! the storm that Thorow. Nay, my child, this melancholy
threatened our royal mistress, pure religion, must not be indulged.
liberty, and laws, is for a time diverted. By Maria. Company will but increase it. I
this means, time is gained to make such pre- wish you would dispense with my presence.
paration on our part, as may, heaven concur- Solitude best suits my present temper.
ring, prevent his malice, or turn the meditated
mischief on himself.
True. He must be insensible indeed, who is
not affected when the safety of his country is
concerned. Sir, may I know by what means?
-If I am not too bold-
Thorow. You are not insensible, that it is
chiefly on your account these noble lords do
me the honour so frequently to grace my board.
Should you be absent, the disappointment may
make them repent of their condescension, and
think their labour lost.
Thorow. Your curiosity is laudable; and I Maria. He that shall think his time or ho-
gratify it with the greater pleasure, because nour lost in visiting you, can set no real value
from thence you may learn how honest mer- on your daughter's company, whose only merit
chants, as such, may sometimes contribute to is that she is yours. The man of quality who
the safety of their country, as they do at all chooses to converse with a gentleman and
times to its happiness; that if hereafter you merchant of your worth and character, may
should be tempted to any action that has the confer honour by so doing, but he loses none.
appearance of vice or meanness in it, upon Thorow. Come, come, Maria, I need not
reflecting on the dignity of our profession, tell you, that a young gentleman may prefer
you may with honest scorn reject whatever is your conversation to mine, and yet intend me
unworthy of it.
True. Should Barnwell, or I, who have the
benefit of your example, by our ill conduct
bring any imputation on that honourable name,
we must be left without excuse.
no disrespect at all; for though he may lose
no honour in my company, 'tis very natural
for him to expect more pleasure in yours. I
remember the time when the company of the
greatest and wisest man in the kingdom, would
have been insipid and tiresome to me, if it
had deprived me of an opportunity of enjoy-
ing your mother's.
Thorow. You compliment, young man.
[Trueman bows respectfully] Nay, I'm not
offended. As the name of merchant never de-
grades the gentleman, so by no means does Maria. Yours, no doubt, was as agreeable
it exclude him; only take heed not to pur- to her: for generous minds know no pleasure
chase the character of complaisant at the ex-in society but where is mutual.
pense of your sincerity.
True. Sir, have you any commands for me
at this time?
Thorow. Only look carefully over the files,
to see whether there are any tradesmen's bills
unpaid; if there are, send and discharge 'em.
We must not let artificers lose their time, so
useful to the public and their families, in un-
necessary attendance. [Exit Trueman.
Enter MARIA.
Thorow. Thou knowest I have no heir, no
child, but thee; the fruits of many years sue-
cessful industry must all be thine. Now it
would give me pleasure, great as my love, to
see on whom you will bestow it. I am daily
solicited by men of the greatest rank and merit
for leave to address you; but I have hitherto
declined it, in hopes that, by observation, I
should learn which way your inclination tends;
for, as I know love to be essential to happi-
ness in the marriage state, I had rather my
approbation should confirm your choice than
direct it.
Well, Maria, have you given orders for the
entertainment? I would have it in some mea- Maria. What can I say? How shall I an-
sure worthy the guests. Let there be plenty, swer as I ought this tenderness, so uncommon
and of the best, that the courtiers may at least even in the best of parents? But you are with-
commend our hospitality.
out example; yet, had you been less indul-
Maria. Sir, I have endeavoured not to wrong gent, I had been most wretched. That I look
your well-known generosity by an ill-timed on the crowd of courtiers that visit here, with
parsimony.
equal esteem, but equal indifference, you have

64
[ACT L
GEORGE BARNWELL.
observed, and I must needs confess; yet, had is capable of any action, though ever so vile;
you asserted your authority, and insisted on and yet what pains will they not take, what
a parent's right to be obeyed, I had submitted, arts not use, to seduce us from our innocence,
and to my duty sacrificed my peace.
and make us contemptible and wicked, even
Thorow. From your perfect obedience in in their own opinion? Then is it not just, the
every other instance, I feared as much; and villains, to their cost, should find us so? But
therefore would leave you without a bias in guilt makes them suspicious, and keeps them
an affair wherein your happiness is so imme-on their guard; therefore we can take advan-
diately concerned.
tage only of the young and innocent part of
Maria. Whether from a want of that just the sex, who never having injured women,
ambition that would become your daughter, apprehend no danger from them.
or from some other cause, I know not; but I
find high birth and titles don't recommend the
man who owns them to my affections.
Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed!
Mill. Such a one I think I have found. As
I have passed through the city, I have often
Thorow. I would not that they should, un- observed him receiving and paying consider-
less his merit recommends him more. A no-able sums of money; from thence I conclude
ble birth and fortune, though they make not he is employed in affairs of consequence.
a bad man good, yet they are a real advan-
tage to a worthy one, and place his virtues in
the fairest light.
Maria. I cannot answer for my inclinations;
but they shall ever be submitted to your wis-
dom and authority. And as you will not com-
pel me to marry where I cannot love, love
shall never make me act contrary to my duty.
Sir, have I your permission to retire?
Thorow. I'll see you to your chamber.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-4 Room in MILLWOOD's House.
Lucy. Is he handsome?
Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, and
has a good face.
Lucy. About-
Mill. Eighteen.
Lucy. Innocent, handsome, and about eigh-
teen! You'll be vastly happy. Why, if you
manage well, you may keep him to yourself
these two or three years.
Mill. If I manage well, I shall have done
with him much sooner. Having long had a
design on him, and meeting him yesterday, I
made a full stop, and gazing wishfully on his
Enter MILLWOOD and Lucy.
face, asked his name. He blushed, and, bow-
Mill. How do I look to-day, Lucy? ing very low, answered George Barnwell. I
Lucy. O, killingly, madam! A little more begged his pardon for the freedom I had
red, and you'll be irresistible!-But why this taken, and told him that he was the person I
more than ordinary care of your dress and had long wished to see, and to whom I had
complexion? What new conquest are you an affair of importance to communicate at a
aiming at?
proper time and place. He named a tavern;
Mill. A conquest would be new indeed! I talked of honour and reputation, and in-
Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every vited him to my house. He swallowed the
day-but to me-Well, 'tis what I'm never to bait, promised to come, and this is the time I
expect-unfortunate as I am-But your wit expect him. [Knocking at the Door] Some-
and beauty-
body knocks. D'ye hear, I'm at home to
Mill. First made me a wretch, and still con- nobody to-day but him. [Exit Lucy] Less
tinue me so. Men, however generous and affairs must give way to those of more con-
sincere to one another, are all selfish hypo- sequence; and I am strangely mistaken if this
crites in their affairs with us; we are no does not prove of great importance to me,
otherwise esteemed or regarded by them, but and him too, before I have done with him.
as we contribute to their satisfaction.
Now, after what manner shall I receive him?
Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the Let me consider-What manner of person am
wrong side of this argument. Is not the ex-I to receive? He is young, innocent, and bash-
pense all theirs? And I am sure it is our own ful; therefore I must take care not to put him
fault if we han't our share of the pleasure. out of countenance at first.
Mill. We are but slaves to men.
Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most Enter BARNWELL, bowing very low. LUCY
certainly, for we lay them under contribution.
Mill. Slaves have no property; no, not even
in themselves: all is the victor's.
Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in your
principles, madam.
at a Distance.
Mill. Sir, the surprise and joy!
Barn. Madam!
Mill. This is such a favour- [Advancing.
Barn. Pardon me, madam!
Mill. I would have my conquest complete, Mill. So unhoped for! [Still advances.
like those of the Spaniards in the new world; Barnwell salutes her, and retires in con-
who first plundered the natives of all the fusion.] To see you here-Excuse the con-
wealth they had, and then comdemned the fusion-
wretches to the mines for life, to work for Barn. I fear I am too bold.
more.
Mill. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend you
Lucy. Well, I shall never approve of your think me so. Please, sir, to sit. I am as
scheme of government; I should think it much much at a loss how to receive this honour as
more politic, as well as just, to find my sub- I ought, as I am surprised at your goodness
jects an easier employment.
Mill. It is a general maxim among the know-
ing part of mankind, that a woman without
virtue, like a man without honour or honesty,
in conferring it.
Barn. I thought you had expected me:
promised to come.
I
Mill. That is the more surprising: few men

SCENE 2.
65
GEORGE BARNWELL.
are such religious observers of their word. forgive me, I should never forgive myself.
Barn. All who are honest are.
Mill. Am I refused by the first man, the
Mill. To one another; but we simple wo-second favour I ever stooped to ask? Go then,
men are seldom thought of consequence enough thou proud hard-hearted youth; but know,
to gain a place in their remembrance.
you are the only man that could be found,
[Laying her Hand on his, as by ac- who would let me sue twice for greater fa-
cident.f
vours.
Barn. Her disorder is so great, she don't Barn. What shall I do? How shall I go or
perceive she has laid her hand on mine. stay?
Heavens! how she trembles! What can this Mill. Yet do not, do not leave me. I with
mean?
[Aside. my sex' pride would meet your scorn; but
Mill. The interest I have in all that relates when I look upon you, when I behold those
to you (the reason of which you shall know eyes-Oh! spare my tongue, and let my
hereafter) excites my curiosity; and were I blushes-this flood of tears too, that will force
sure you would pardon my presumption, I its way, declare-what woman's modesty should
should desire to know your real sentiments hide.d
on a very particular subject.nl
Mill. You'll think me bold.
Barn. No, indeed.
Barn. Oh, heavens! she loves me, worthless
Barn. Madam, you may command my poor as I am. Her looks, her words, her flowing
thoughts on any subject. I have none that I tears confess it. And can I leave her then?
would conceal.s
Oh, never, never! Madam, dry up your tears;
you shall command me always. I will stay
here for ever, if you would have me.
Mill. What then are your thoughts of love? Lucy. So, she has wheedled him out of his
Barn. If you mean the love of women, I virtue of obedience already, and will strip
have not thought of it at all. My youth and him of all the rest, one after another, till she
circumstances make such thoughts improper has left him as few as her ladyship, or my-
in me yet. But if you mean the general love self.
[Aside.
we owe to mankind, I think no one has more Mill. Now you are kind indeed; but I mean
of it in his temper than myself. I don't know not to detain you always; I would have you
that person in the world, whose happiness I shake off all slavish obedience to your master;
don't wish, and wouldn't promote, were it in but you may serve him still.
my power. In an especial manner, I love Lucy. Serve him still! Ay, or he'll have no
my uncle and my master; but above all, my opportunity of fingering his cash; and then
he'll not serve your end, I'll be sworn.
friend.
Mill. You have a friend then, whom you
love?il a la buca
Barn. As he does me, sincerely.
Mill. He is, no doubt, often bless'd with
your company and conversation.
Barn. We live in one house, and both
serve the same worthy merchant.
Mill. Happy, happy youth! Whoe'er thou
art, I envy thee; and so must all who see and
know this youth. What have I lost by being
formed a woman! I hate my sex, myself. Had
I been a man, I might perhaps have been as
happy in your friendship, as he who now en-
joys it is; but as it is-Oh!-
Barn. I never observed woman before; or
this is, sure, the most beautiful of her sex.
[4side] You seem disordered, madam;-may
I know the cause?
Enter BLUNT.
[Aside.
Blunt. Madam, supper's on the table.
Mill. Come, sir, you'll excuse all defects.
My thoughts were too much employed on my
guest to observe the entertainment.
[Exeunt Barnwell and Millwood.
Blunt. What, is all this preparation, this
elegant supper, variety of wines, and music,
for the entertainment of that young fellow?
Lucy. So it seems.
Blunt. How! is our mistress turned fool at
last? She's in love with him, I suppose.
Lucy., I suppose not.
suppose not. But she designs to
make him in love with her, if she can.
Blunt. What will she get by that? He seems
under age, and can't be supposed to have
much money.
Lucy. But his master has, and that's the
same thing, as she'll manage it.
Blunt. I don't like this fooling with a hand-
some young fellow; while she's endeavouring
to ensnare him she may be caught herself.
Mill. Do not ask me-I can never speak it,
whatever is the cause. I wish for things im-
possible. I would be a servant, bound to the
same master, to live in one house with you.
Barn. How strange, and yet how kind her
words and actions are! and the effect they Lucy. Nay, were she like me, that would
have on me is as strange. I feel desires I certainly be the consequence; for, I confess,
never knew before; I must be gone, while there is something in youth and innocence
I have power to go. [4side] Madam, I humbly
take my leave.
Mill. You will not, sure, leave me so soon!
Barn. Indeed I must.
Mill. You cannot be so cruel! I have pre-
pared a poor supper, at which I promised
myself your company,
that moves me mightily.
Blunt. Yes, so does the smoothness and
plumpness of a partridge move a mighty desire
in the hawk to be the destruction of it.
Lucy. Why, birds are their prey, and men
ours: though, as you observed, we are some-
times caught ourselves. But that, I dare say,
Barn. I am sorry I must refuse the honour will never be the case with our mistress.
you designed me; but my duty to my master Blunt. I wish it may prove so; for you
calls me hence. I never yet neglected his ser-know we all depend upon her.
vice. He is so gentle, and so good a master, trifle away her time with a young fellow that
that should I wrong him, though he might there's nothing to be got by, we must all starve.
Should she
9

66
[ACT II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Lucy. There's no danger of that; for I am alone; you have no interest in them, nor ought
sure she has no view in this affair but interest. your concern for me to give you a moment's
Blunt. Well, and what hopes are there of pain.
success in that?
True. You speak as if you knew of friend-
Lucy. The most promising that can be. 'Tis ship nothing but the name. Before I saw
true, the youth has his scruples; but she'll your grief. I felt it. E'en now, though igno-
soon teach him to answer them, by stifling rant of the cause, your sorrow wounds me to
his conscience. Oh, the lad is in a hopeful the heart.
way, depend upon it.
ACT II.
[Exeunt. Barn. Twill not be always thus. Friend-
ship and all engagements cease as circum-
stances and occasions vary; and since you
SCENE 1.-4 Room in THOROWGOOD's House. for us both that now you loved me less..
once may hate me, perhaps it might be better
Enter BARNWELL.
True. Sure I but dream! Without a cause
Barn. How strange are all things round would Barnwell use me thus? Ungenerous
me! Like some thief who treads forbidden and ungrateful youth, farewell; I shall en-
ground, and fain would lurk unseen, fearful deavour to follow your advice. [Going] Yet,
I enter each apartment of this well-known stay; perhaps I am too rash and angry, when
house. To guilty love, as if that were too the cause demands compassion. Some unfore-
little, already have I added breach of trust. seen calamity may have befallen him, too great
A thief! Can I know myself that wretched to bear.
[Aside.
thing, and look my honest friend and injured Barn. What part am I reduced to act?
master in the face? Though hypocrisy may 'Tis vile and base to move his temper thus,
awhile conceal my guilt, at length it will be the best of friends and men.
known, and public shame and ruin must ensue. True. I am to blame; pr'ythee forgive me,
In the mean time, what must be my life? Ever Barnwell. Try to compose your ruffled mind;
to speak a language foreign to my heart; to and let me know the cause that thus trans-
hourly add to the number of my crimes, in order ports you from yourself; my friendly counsel
to conceal 'em. Sure such was the condition may restore your peace.
of the grand apostate, when first he lost his Barn. All that is possible for man to do
purity. Like me, disconsolate he wandered; for man your generous friendship may effect;
and while yet in heaven, bore all his future but here, even that's in vain.
hell about him.
Enter TRUEMAN.
True. Barnwell, oh how I rejoice to see
you safe! So will our master, and his gentle
daughter; who, during your absence, often
inquired after you.
Barn. Would he were gone! His officious
love will pry into the secrets of my soul.
[Aside.
True. Unless you knew the pain the whole
family has felt on your account, you can't
conceive how much you are beloved. But
why thus cold and silent?-When my heart
is full of joy for your return, why do you
turn away-why thus avoid me? What have
I done? How am I altered since you saw me
last? Or rather, what have you done-and
why are you thus changed? for I am still the
same.
Barn. What have I done, indeed! [Aside.
True. Not speak!-nor look upon me!-
Barn. By my face he will discover all I
would conceal. Methinks already I begin to
hate him.
[Aside.
True. I cannot bear this usage from a friend;
one whom till now I ever found so loving;
whom yet I love; though his unkindness strikes
at the root of friendship, and might, destroy
it in any breast but mine.
Barn. I am not well. [Turning to him]
Sleep has been a stranger to these eyes since
you beheld 'em last.
True. Something dreadful is labouring in
your breast; oh, give it vent, and let me share
your grief; 'twill ease your pain, should it
admit no cure, and make it lighter by the
part I bear.
Barn. Vain supposition! My woes increase
by being observed: should the cause be known,
they would exceed all bounds.
True. So well I know thy honest heart,
guilt cannot harbour there.
Barn. Oh, torture insupportable! [Aside.
True. Then why am I excluded? Have I a
thought I would conceal from you?
Barn. If still you urge me on this hated
subject, I'll never enter more beneath this roof,
nor see your face again.
True. 'Tis strange-but I have done-say
but you hate me not.
Barn. Hate you! I am not that monster yet.
True. Shall our friendship still continue?
Barn. It's a blessing I never was worthy
of, yet now must stand on terms; and but
upon conditions can confirm it.
True. What are they?
Barn. Never hereafter, though you should
wonder at my conduct, desire to know more
than I am willing to reveal.
True. 'Tis hard; but upon any conditions
I must be your friend.
Barn. Then, as much as one lost to himself
can be another's, I am yours. [Embracing.
True. Be ever so; and may heaven restore
your peace! But business requires our atten-
dance: business, the youth's best preservative
from ill, as idleness his worst of snares. Will
you go with me?
True. Heavy they look, indeed, and swoln
with tears; now they overflow. Rightly did
my sympathizing heart forebode last night,
when thou wast absent, something fatal to our Barn. I'll take a little time to reflect on
what has passed, and follow you. [Exit True-
man] I might have trusted Trueman, and en-
gaged him to apply to my uncle to repair the
peace.
Barn. Your friendship engages you too far.
My troubles, whate'er they are, are mine

SCENE 1. 2.]
67
GEORGE BARNWELL.
House.
wrong I have done my master:-but what of SCENE II.-Another Room in THOROWGOOD'S
Millwood? Yet shall I leave her, for ever leave
her, and not let her know the cause? she who Enter MILLWOOD, LUCY, and a Footman.
loves me with such a boundless passion! Can Foot. Ladies, he'll wait upon you imme-
cruelty be duty? I judge of what she then diately.
must feel, by what I now endure. The love
of life, and fear of shame, opposed by incli-
nation strong as death or shame, like wind
and tide in raging conflict met, when neither
can prevail, keep me in doubt. How then can
I determine?
Enter THOROWGOOD.
Mill. 'Tis very well-I thank you.
[Exit Footman.
Enter BARNWELL.
Barn. Confusion! Millwood!
Mill. That angry look tells me, that here I
am an unwelcome guest: I feared as much:
the unhappy are so every where.
Barn. Will nothing but my utter ruin con-
tent you?
Mill. Unkind and cruel. Lost myself, your
happiness is now my only care.
Barn. How did you gain admission?
Mill. Saying we were desired by your uncle
Thorow. Without a cause assigned or no-
tice given, to absent yourself last night was a
fault, young man, and I came to chide you
for it, but hope I am prevented. That mo-
dest blush, the confusion so visible in your
face, speak grief and shame. When we have
offended heaven, it requires no more: and to visit and deliver a message to you, we were
shall man, who needs himself to be forgiven, received by the family without suspicion, and
be harder to appease? If my pardon, or love, with much respect conducted here.
be of moment to your peace, look up secure
of both.
I'm
Barn. Why did you come at all?
Mill. I never shall trouble you more.
come to take
my leave for ever. Such is the
Barn. This goodness has o'ercome me. [4-
side] Oh, sir, you know not the nature and malice of my fate! I go hopeless, despairing
extent of my offence; and I should abuse your ever to return. This hour is all I have left;
mistaken bounty to receive it. Though I had one short hour is all I have to bestow on love
rather die than speak my shame, though racks and you, for whom I thought the longest life
could not have forced the guilty secret from
my breast, your kindness has.
too short.
Barn. Then we are met to part ever.
Mill. It must be so. Yet think not that time
absence shall ever put a period to my grief,
make me love you less. Though I must
leave you, yet condemn me not.
Barn. Condemn you! No, I approve your
resolution, and rejoice to hear it; 'tis just,
'tis necessary;-I have well weighed, and found
Thorow. Enough, enough; whate'er it be,
this concern shows you're convinced, and I or
am satisfied. How painful is the sense of guilt or
to an ingenuous mind: Some youthful folly
which it were prudent not to inquire into.
Barn. It will be known, and you'll recall
your pardon, and abhor me.
Thorow. I never will. Yet be upon your
guard in this gay, thoughtless season of your
life: when vice becomes habitual, the very
power of leaving it is lost.
Barn. Hear me, on my knees, confess-
Thorow. Not a syllable more upon this
subject: it were not mercy, but cruelty, to
hear what must give you such torment to re-
veal.
me!
it so.
sense than she thought he had.
Lucy. I am afraid the young man has more
[Aside.
Barn. Before you came, I had determined
never to see you more.
Mill. Confusion!
[Aside.
Lucy. Ay, we are all out; this is a turn
so unexpected, that I shall make nothing of
my part; they must e'en play the scene be-
twixt themselves.
[Aside.
Barn. This generosity amazes and distracts
Mill. It was some relief to think, though
Thorow. This remorse makes thee dearer absent, you would love me still; but to find
to me, than if thou hadst never offended. this, as I never could expect, I have not learn'd
to bear.
Whatever is your fault, of this I am certain,
'twas harder for you to offend, than me to in a resolution that so well becomes us both.
Barn. I am sorry to hear you blame me
pardon.
Barn. Villain! villain! villain! basely to have none.
Mill. I have reason for what I do, but you
wrong so excellent a man. Should I again.
[Exit.
return to folly?-Detested thought!-But what who have so many to wish we had never met?
Barn. Can we want a reason for parting,
of Millwood then?-Why I renounce her- Mill. Look on me, Barnwell. Am I de-
I give her up-The struggle's over, and virtue
has prevailed. Reason may convince, but gra-
titude compels. This unlooked-for generosity
[Going
has saved me from destruction.
enjoyment? Nay, look again; am I not she
formed or old, that satiety so soon succeeds
whom yesterday you thought the fairest and
the kindest of her sex; whose hand, trembling
with ecstasy, you pressed and moulded thus,
while on my eyes you gazed with such de-
Foot. Sir, two ladies from your uncle in light, as if desire increased by being fed?
the country desire to see you.
Enter a Footman.
Barn. Who should they be? [Aside] Tell
them I'll wait upon 'em. [Exit Footman]
Methinks I dread to see 'em-Now, every
thing alarms me!-Guilt, what a, coward hast
thou made me.
Barn. No more: let me repent my former
follies, if possible, without remembering what
they were.
Mill. Why?
Barn. Such is my frailty, that 'tis danger-
ous.

68
[ACT II.
GEORGE BARNVVELL.
Mill. Where is the danger, since we are
to part?
Barn. The thought of that
painful.
Mill. Ay, ay, the barbarous man is rich
enough; but what are riches when compared
already is too to love!
Mill. If it be painful to part, then I may
hope, at least, you do not hate me.
Barn. No-No-I never said I did-Oh,
my heart!
Mill. Perhaps you pity me?
Barn. I do-I do- Indeed I do.
Mill. You'll think upon me!
Lucy. For awhile he performed the office
of a faithful guardian, settled her in a house,
hired her servants-But you have seen in
what manner she has lived, so I need say no
more of that.
Mill. How I shall live hereafter, heaven
knows!
Lucy. All things went on as one could
Barn. Doubt it not, while I can think at all. wish, till some time ago, his wife dying, he
Mill. You may judge an embrace at part-fell violently in love with his charge, and
ing too great a favour, though it would be would fain have married her. Now the man
the last. Barnwell draws back] A look shall is neither old nor ugly, but a good, personable
then suffice-farewell-for ever.
sort of man; but I don't know how it was,
she could never endure him. In short, her
ill usage so provoked him, that he brought in
an account of his executorship, wherein he
makes her debtor to him-
[Exeunt Millwood and Lucy.
Barn. If to resolve to suffer be to conquer
-I have conquered-Painful victory!
Re-enter MILLWOOD and Lucy,
Mill. A trifle in itself, but more than enough
Mill. One thing I had forgot-I never must to ruin me, whom, by this unjust account, he
return to my own house again. This I thought had stripped of all before.
Barn. I hope it was; yet it is kind, and
must thank your for it.
I
proper to let you know, lest your mind should. Lucy. Now, she having neither money nor
change, and you should seek in vain to find friend, except me, who am as unfortunate as
me there. Forgive me this second intrusion; herself, he compelled her to pass his account,
I only came to give you this caution, and that and give bond for the sum he demanded; but
perhaps was needless.
still provided handsomely for her, and conti-
nued his courtship, till being informed by his
spies (truly, I suspect some in her own fa-
[To Lucy] mily) that you were entertained in her house,
[Going and staid with her all night, he came this morn-
there's no ing, raving and storming like a madman; talks
If you no more of marriage (so there's no hope of
making up matters that way), but vows her
ruin, unless she'll allow him the same favour
that he supposes she granted you.
Mill. My friend, your arm.
Now, I am gone for ever.
Barn. One thing more-sure
danger in knowing where you go?
think otherwise-
Mill, Alas!
[Weeping.
Lucy. We are right, I find; that's my cue.
[Aside] Ah, dear sir, she's going she knows
not whither; but go she must.
Barn. Humanity obliges me to wish you
well; why will you thus expose yourself to
needless troubles?
Barn. Must she be ruined, or find a refuge.
in another's arms?
Mill. He gave me but an hour to resolve
in: that's happily spent with you-And now
I go-
Lucy. Nay, there's no help for it; she must Barn. To be exposed to all the rigours of
quit the town immediately, and the kingdom the various seasons; the summer's parching
as soon as possible. It was no small matter, heat, and winter's cold; unhoused, to wander
you may be sure, that could make her resolve friendless through the unhospitable world, in
to leave you,
misery and want; attended with fear and
Mill. No more, my friend; since he for danger, and pursued by malice and revenge.
whose dear sake alone I suffer, and am con- Wouldst thou endure all this for me, and can
tent to suffer, is kind and pities me; where'er I do nothing, nothing to prevent it?
I wander, through wilds and deserts benight- Lucy. 'Tis really a pity there can be no
ed and forlorn, that thought shall give me way found out.
comfort.
Barn. Oh, where are all my
resolutions
Lucy. Now, I advised her, sir, to comply
with the gentleman.
Barn. For my sake!-Oh tell me
which way I am so cursed to bring
ruin on thee?
how,
now?
such
Mill. To know it will but increase
troubles.
your
Barn. My troubles can't be greater than
they are.
Lucy. Well, well, sir, if she won't satisfy
you, I will.
Barn. I am bound to you beyond expression.
Mill. Remember, sir, that I desired
you not
to hear it.
Barn. Tormenting fiend, away! I had rather
perish, nay, see her perish, than have her
saved by him. I will myself prevent her ruin,
though with my own. A moment's patience;
I'll return immediately.
[Exit,
Lucy. 'Twas well you came, or, by what I
can perceive, you had lost him.
Mill. Hush! he's here.
Barn. Begin, and ease my expectation.
Re-enter BARNWELL, with a Bag of Money.
Lucy. Why you must know my lady here Barn. What am I about to do?-Now you,
was an only child, and her parents dying, who boast your reason all-sufficient, suppose
while she was young, left her and her for-yourselves in my condition, and determine for
tune (no inconsiderable one I assure you) to me; whether 'tis right to let her suffer for my
the care of a gentleman who has a good estate faults, or, by this small addition to my guilt,
of his own.
prevent the ill affects of what is past.-Here,

SCENE 2.1
69
GEORGE BARNWELL.
69
take this, and with it purchase your deliver-|
⚫ance; return to your house, and live in peace
and safety.
Mill. So, I may hope to see you there
again?
Barn. Answer me not, but fly-lest, in the
agonies of my remorse, I again take what is
not mine to give, and abandon thee to want
and misery.
True. I cannot speak it.
See there.
[Gives a Letter.
Maria. [Reads] I know my absence will
surprise my honoured master and yourself;
and the more, when you shall understand,
that the reason of my withdrawing is, my
having embezzled part of the cash with
which I was entrusted. After this, 'tis need-
less to inform you, that I intend never to
Mill. Say but you'll come.
return again. Though this might have been
Barn. You are my fate-my heaven, or my known by examining my accounts, yet to
hell; only leave me now-dispose of me here- prevent that unnecessary trouble, and to
after as you please. [Exeunt Millwood and cut off all fruitless expectations of my re-
Lucy] What have I done? Were my reso- turn, I have left this from the lost
lutions founded on reason, and sincerely made?
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Why then has heaven suffered me to fall? True. Lost indeed! Yet how he should be
I sought not the occasion; and, if my heart guilty of what he here charges himself withal,
deceives me not, compassion and generosity raises my wonder equal to my grief. Never
were my motives. But why should I attempt had youth a higher sense of virtue. Justly
'to reason? All is confusion, horror, and re- he thought, and as he thought he practised;
morse. I find I am lost, cast down from all never was life more regular than his. An un-
my late-erected hope, and plunged again in derstanding uncommon at his years; an open,
guilt, yet scarce know how or why- generous, manliness of temper; his manners
Such undistinguish'd horrors make my brain, easy, unaffected, and engaging.
Like hell, the seat of darkness and of pain.
ACT III.
Maria. This and much more you might
[Exit. have said with truth. He was the delight of
every eye, and joy of every heart that knew
SCENE I-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
him.
True. Since such he was, and was my friend,
piest maid this wealthy city boasts, kindly
can I support his loss? See, the fairest, hap-
condescends to weep for thy unhappy fate,
THOROWGOOD and TRUEMAN discovered,
with Account-books, sitting at a Table.
Thorow. Well, I have examined your ac- poor, ruined Barnwell!
counts; they are not only just, as I have Maria. Trueman, do you think a soul so
always found them, but regularly kept, and delicate as his, so sensible of shame, can e'er
fairly entered. I commend your diligence. submit to live a slave to vice?
Method in business is the surest guide. Are True. Never, never: so well I know him,
Barnwell's accounts ready for my inspection? I'm sure this act of his, so contrary to his na-
He does not use to be the last on those oc- ture, must have been caused by some una-
voidable necessity.
casions.
True. Upon receiving your orders he retired, Maria. Is there no means yet to preserve
I thought in some confusion. If you please,
I'll go and hasten him.
him?
True. Oh, that there were! But few men
Thorow. I'm now going to the Exchange: recover their reputation lost, a merchant never.
let him know, at my return I expect to find Nor would he, I fear, though I should find
him ready.
[Exeunt. him, ever be brought to look his injured master-
in the face.
Maria. I fear as much, and therefore would
never have my father know it.
True. That's impossible.
Maria. What's the sum?
Enter MARIA, with a Book, Sits and reads.
Maria. "How forcible is truth! The weakest
mind, inspired with love of that, fixed and
collected in itself, with indifference beholds the
united force of earth and hell opposing. Such True. 'Tis considerable. I've marked it here,
souls are raised above the sense of pain, or to show it, with the letter, to your father, at
so supported that they regard it not. The his return.
martyr cheaply purchases his heaven; small Maria. If I should supply the money, could
are his sufferings, great is his reward. Not so you so dispose of that and the account, as to
the wretch who combats love with duty; conceal this unhappy mismanagement from my
whose mind, weakened and dissolved by the father?
soft passion, feeble and hopeless, opposes his True. Nothing more easy. But can you
own desires. What is an hour, a day, a intend it? Will you save a helpless wretch
year of pain, to a whole life of tortures such from ruin? Oh, 'twere an act worthy such
as these?
Enter TRUEMAN,
True. Oh, Barnwell! Oh, my friend! how
art thou fallen!
Maria. Ha! Barnwell! What of him? Speak,
say, what of Barnwell?
exalted virtue as Maria's! Sure heaven, in
mercy to my friend, inspired the generous
thought.
Maria. Doubt not but I would purchase so
great a happiness at a much dearer price. But
how shall he be found?
True. Trust to my diligence for that. In
True, 'Tis not to be concealed: I've news the mean time I'll conceal his absence from
to tell of him that will afflict your generous your father, or find such excuses for it, that
father, yourself, and all who know him. the real cause shall never be suspected.
Maria. Defend us, heaven!
Maria. In attempting to save from shame

70
[ACT III.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
one whom we hope may yet return to virtue, when compared to that; I would not be in-
to heaven, and you, the only witnesses of this volved in the guilt of it for all the world!
action, I appeal whether I do any thing un- Lucy. Nor I, heaven knows. Therefore let
becoming my sex and character.
us clear ourselves, by doing all that's in our
True. Earth must approve the deed, and power to prevent it. I have just thought of
heaven, I doubt not, will reward it.
a way that to me seems probable. Will you
Maria. If heaven succeeds it, I am well re-join with me to detect this cursed design?
warded. A virgin's fame is sullied by sus- Blunt. With all my heart. He who knows
picion's lightest breath; and, therefore, as this of a murder intended to be committed, and
must be a secret from my father and the world, does not discover it, in the eye of the law
for Barnwell's sake, for mine, let it be so to and reason, is a murderer.
him.
[Exeunt. Lucy. Let us lose no time. I'll acquaint
SCENE II-A Room in MILLWOOD's House, you with the particulars as we go. [Exeunt.
SCENE III-4 Walk some distance from a
Enter Lucy and BLUNT.
Country-seat.
Enter BARNWELL.
Lucy. Well, what do you think of Mill-
wood's conduct now? Her artifice in making
him rob his master at first, and the various Barn. A dismal gloom obscures the face of
stratagems by which she has obliged him to the day. Either the sun has slipped behind a
continue that course, astonish, even me, who cloud, or journeys down the west of heaven
know her so well. Being called by his master with more than common speed, to avoid the
to make up his accounts, he was forced to sight of what I am doomed to act. Since I
quit his house and service, and wisely flies to set forth on this accursed design, where'er I
Millwood for relief and entertainment.
tread, methinks the solid earth trembles be-
neath my feet. Murder my uncle! my father's
tenance.
Barnwell behave?
Blunt. How did she receive him?
Lucy. As you would expect. She wondered only brother, and since his death, has been to
what he meant, was astonished at his impu-me a father; that took me up an infant and
dence, and, with an air of modesty peculiar an orphan, reared me with tenderest care, and
to herself, swore so heartily that she never still indulged me with most paternal fondness!
saw him before, that she put me out of coun-Yet here I stand his destined murderer.-I
stiffen with horror at my own impiety-Tis
Blunt. That's much, indeed! But how did yet unperformed-What if I quit my bloody
purpose and fly the place? [Going, then stops]
Lucy. He grieved; and, at length, enraged -But whither, oh, whither shall I fly? My
at this barbarous treatment, was preparing to Master's once friendly doors are ever shut
be gone; and making towards the door, showed against me; and without money, Millwood
a sum of money, which he had brought from will never see me more; and she has got such
his master's, the last he is ever likely to have firm possession of my heart, and governs there
from thence.
with such despotic sway, that life is not to be
Blunt. But then, Millwood-
endured without her. Ay, there's the cause
Lucy. Ay, she, with her usual address, re- of all my sin and sorrow: 'tis more than love;
turned to her old arts of lying, swearing, and it is the fever of the soul, and madness of de-
dissembling; hung on his neck, wept, and sire. In vain does nature, reason, conscience,
swore 'twas meant in jest. The amorous youth all oppose it; the impetuous passion bears
melted into tears, threw the money into her down all before it, and drives me on to lust,
lap, and swore he had rather die than think to theft, and murder. Oh, conscience, feeble
her false.
guide to virtue, thou only showest us when
Blunt. Strange infatuation!
we go astray, but wantest power to stop us
Lucy. But what ensued was stranger still. in our course!-Ha! in yonder shady walk I
Just then, when every passion with lawless see my uncle-He's alone-Now for my dis-
anarchy prevailed, and reason was in the rag-guise. [Plucks out a Vizor]-This is his hour
ing tempest lost, the cruel, artful Millwood, of private meditation. Thus daily he prepares
prevailed upon the wretched youth to promise his soul for heaven, while I-But what have
what I tremble but to think on.
I to do with heaven?-Ha! no struggles, con-
Blunt. I am amazed! What can it be? science-
Lucy. You will be more so to hear-it is
to attempt the life of his nearest relation, and
best benefactor.
Blunt. His uncle! whom we have often
heard him speak of, as a gentleman of a large
estate, and fair character, in the country where
he lives.
Hence, hence remorse, and ev'ry thought
that's good;
The storm that lust began, must end in
blood.
[Puts on the Vitor, draws a
Pistol, and exit.
SCENE IV. A close Walk in a Wood.
Enter UNCLE.
Lucy. The same. She was no sooner pos-
sessed of the last dear purchase of his ruin,
but her avarice, insatiate as the grave, de- Uncle. If I were superstitious, I should fear
manded this horrid sacrifice. Barnwell's near some danger lurked unseen, or death were
relation, whose blood must seal the dreadful nigh. A heavy melancholy clouds my spirits.
secret, and prevent the terrors of her guilty My imagination is filled with ghastly forms
of dreary graves, and bodies changed by death;
Blunt. "Tis time the world were rid of such when the pale, lengthen'd visage attracts each
But there is something so horrid weeping eye, and fills the musing soul at once
in murder, that all other crimes seem nothing, with grief and horror, pity and aversion. I
fears.
a monster.

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
71
GEORGE BARNWELL.
will indulge the thought. The wise man pre-p
ACT IV.
Enter MARIA, meeting TRUEMAN.
Maria. What news of Barnwell?
True. None; I have sought him with the
greatest diligence, but all in vain.
Maria. Does my father yet suspect the cause
of his absence?
pares himself for death by making it familiar SCENE I-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
to his mind. When strong reflections hold
the mirror near, and the living in the dead
behold their future self, how does each inor-
dinate passion and desire cease, or sicken at
the view! The mind scarce moves! the blood,
curdling and chilled, creeps slowly through
the veins; fixed, still, and motionless we stand,
so like the solemn objects of our thoughts, we
are almost at present what we must be here-
after; till curiosity awake the soul, and sets
it on inquiry.
True. All appeared so just and fair to him,
it is not possible he ever should. But his
absence will no longer be concealed. Your
father is wise; and though he seems to heark-
en to the friendly excuses I would make for
Barnwell, yet I am afraid he regards 'em only
as such, without suffering them to influence
Enter THOROWGOOD and Lucy.
Enter GEORGE BARNWELL, at a Distance.
Oh, death! thou strange, mysterious power,
seen every day, yet never understood but by his judgment.
the incommunicative dead, what art thou? The
extensive mind of man, that with a thought
circles the earth's vast globe, sinks to the centre, Thorow. This woman here has given me a
or ascends above the stars; that worlds exotic sad, and bating some circumstances, too prob-
finds, or thinks it finds, thy thick clouds at-able an account of Barnwell's defection.
tempts to pass in vain; lost and bewildered in Lucy. I am sorry, sir, that my frank con-
the horrid gloom, defeated, she returns more fession of my former unhappy course of life
doubtful than before, of nothing certain but should cause you to suspect my truth on this
of labour lost.
[During this Speech, Barnwell some-
times presents the Pistol, and draws
it back again.
Barn. Oh, 'tis impossible!
[Throws down the Pistol. Uncle starts,
and attempts to draw his Sword.
Uncle. A man so near me! armed and
masked-
Barn. Nay, then there's no retreat.
[Plucks a Poignard from his Breast,
and stabs him.
him.
occasion.
Thorow. It is not that; your confession has
in it all the appearance of truth. Among ma-
ny other particulars, she informs me that Barn-
well has been influenced to break his trust,
and wrong me, at several times, of consider-
able sums of money. Now, as I know this
to be false, I would fain doubt the whole
of her relation, too dreadful to be willingly
believed.
Maria. Sir, your pardon; I find myself on
a sudden so indisposed that I must retire.
Poor, ruined Barnwell! Wretched, lost Maria?
[Aside. Exit.
Uncle. Oh, I am slain! All gracious heaven,
regard the prayer of thy dying servant; bless,
with the choicest blessings, my dearest nephew;
Thorow. How am I distressed on every
forgive my murderer; and take my fleeting side! Pity, for that unhappy youth, fear for the
soul to endless mercy!
life of a much valued friend-and then my
[Barnwell throws off his Mask, runs child-the only joy and hope of my declining
to him, and kneeling by him, raises life! Her melancholy increases hourly, and
gives me painful apprehensions of her loss-
Barn. Expiring saint! Oh, murdered, mar- Oh, Trueman, this person informs me that
tyred uncle! lift up your dying eyes, and view your friend, at the instigation of an impious
your nephew in your murderer.-Oh, do not woman, is gone to rob and murder his vener-
look so tenderly upon me Let indignation able uncle.
lighten from your eyes, and blast me ere you
die.-By heaven, he weeps, in pity of my
woes.-Tears, tears for blood.-The murdered,
in the agonies of death, weeps for his mur- Thorow. What to do or think I know not.
derer-Oh, speak your pious purpose; pro- That he ever wronged me I know is false;
nounce your pardon then, and take me with the rest may be so too; there's all my hope.
you-He would, but cannot.-Oh, why with True. Trust not to that; rather suppose all
such fond affection do you press my murder- true, than lose a moment's time. Even now
ing hand? [Uncle sighs, and dies] Life, the horrid deed may be doing-dreadful ima-
that hovered on his lips but till he had sealed gination! or it may be done, and we be vain-
my pardon, in that sigh expired! He's gone ly debating on the means to prevent what is
for ever-and oh! I follow-[Swoons away already past.
True. Oh, execrable deed! I'm blasted with
horror at the thought!
Lucy. This delay may ruin all.
upon the dead Body] Do I still breathe, and Thorow. This earnestness convinces me that
taint with my infectious breath the wholesome he knows more than he has yet discovered.
air? Let heaven from its high throne, in jus- What, ho! without there, who waits?
tice or in mercy, now look down on that
dear, murdered saint, and me the murderer,
Enter a Servant.
and if his vengeance spares, let pity strike, Order the groom to saddle the swiftest horse,
and end my wretched being.-Murder the and prepare to set out with speed; an affair
worst of crimes, and parricide the worst of of life and death demands his diligence. [Exit
murders, and this the worst of parricides. Servant] For you, whose behaviour on this
Oh may it ever stand alone accurst,
occasion I have no time to commend as it
The last of murders, as it is the worst. [Exit. deserves, I must engage your further assist-

72
[ACT IV..
GEORGE BARNWELL.
ance. Return, and observe this Millwood till to murder your uncle, rob him of life, na-
I come. I have your directions, and will fol- ture's first, last, dear prerogative, after which
low you as soon as possible [Exit Lucy] there's no injury, then fear to take what he
Trueman, you I am sure will not be idle on no longer wanted, and bring to me your pe-
this occasion.
[Exit. nury and guilt. Do you think I'll hazard my
True. He only who is a friend, can judge reputation, nay my life, to entertain you?
of my distress.
SCENE II.-MILLWOOD's House.
Enter MILLWOOD.
[Exit.
Barn. Oh, Millwood!-this from thee?-
But I have done-If you hate me, if you wish
me dead, then are you happy; for, oh, 'tis
sure my grief will quickly end me.
Mill. I wish I knew the event of his design. Mill. In this madness he will discover all,
The attempt without success would ruin him. and involve me in his ruin. We are on a
-Well, what have I to apprehend from that? precipice, from whence there's no retreat for
I fear too much. The mischief being only both. Then to preserve myself-[Pauses]-
intended, his friends, through pity of his youth, There is no other way. 'Tis dreadful; but
turn all their rage on me. I should have reflection comes too late when danger's press-
thought of that before. Suppose the deed done; ing, and there's no room for choice. It must
then and then only I shall be secure-Or what be done.
[Aside. Rings a Bell.
if he returns without attempting it at all-
Enter BARNWELL, bloody.
Enter a Servant.
Fetch me an officer, and seize this villain.
But he is here, and I have done him wrong. He has confess'd himself a murderer. Should
His bloody hands show he has done the deed, I let him escape, I might justly be thought as
but show he wants the prudence to conceal it. bad as he.
[Exit Servant.
Barn. Where shall I hide me? Whither Barn. Oh, Millwood! sure you do not, you
shall I fly to avoid the swift unerring hand of cannot mean it. Stop the messenger; upon
justice?
my knees, I beg you'd call him back. 'Tis fit
Mill. Dismiss your fears; though thousands I die, indeed, but not by you. I will this in-
had pursued you to the door, yet being en- stant throw myself into the hands of justice,
tered here, you are as safe as innocence. I indeed I will; for death is all I wish. But
have a cavern by art so cunningly contrived, thy ingratitude so tears my wounded soul, 'tis
that the piercing eyes of jealousy and revenge worse ten thousand times than death with
'may search in vain, nor find the entrance to torture.
the safe retreat. There will I hide you, if Mill. Call it what you will; I am willing
any danger's near.
to live, and live secure, which nothing but
Barn. Oh, hide me-from myself, if it be your death can warrant.
possible; for while I bear my conscience in Barn. If there be a pitch of wickedness that
my bosom, though I were hid where man's sets the author beyond the reach of vengeance,
eye never saw, nor light ere dawned, 'twere you must be secure. But what remains for
all in vain. For, oh, that innate, that impar-me, but a dismal dungeon, hard galling fetters,
tial judge, will try, convict, and sentence me an awful trial, and an ignominious death, justly
for murder, and execute me with never-end- to fall, unpitied and abhorred? This I could
ing torments. Behold these hands all crim- bear, nay wish not to avoid, had it but come
soned o'er with my dear uncle's blood. Here's from any hand but thine.
a sight to make a statue start with horror, or
turn a living man into a statue!
Mill. Ridiculous! Then it seems you are
afraid of your own shadow, or what is less
than a shadow, your conscience.
Barn. Though to man unknown I did the
accursed act, what can hide me from heaven's
all-seeing eye?
Enter BLUNT, Officer, and Attendants.
Mill. Heaven defend me! Conceal a mur-
derer! Here, sir, take this youth into your
custody, I accuse him of murder, and will ap-
pear to make good my charge.
Be warn'd, ye youths, who see my sad
despair;
Avoid lewd women, false as they are fair.
By my example learn to shun my fate,
(How wretched is the man who's wise too
late!)'
[They seize him.
Barn. To whom, of what, or how shall I
Mill. No more of this stuff! What advan- complain? I'll not accuse her. The hand of
tage have you made by his death: or what heaven is in it, and this the punishment of
advantage may yet be made of it? Did you lust and parricide.
secure the keys of his treasure, which no doubt
were about him? What gold, what jewels,
or what else of value have you brought me?
Barn. Think you I added sacrilege to mur-
der! Oh, had you seen him as his life flowed
from him in a crimson flood, and heard him
praying for me by the double name of nephew
and of murderer; (alas, alas, he knew not then
that his nephew was his murderer!) how would
you have wished, as I did, though you had a
thousand years of life to come, to have given
them all to have lengthened his one hour. But
being dead, I fled the sight of what my hands
had done, nor could I, to have gained the
empire of the world, have violated by theft
his sacred corpse.
Mill. Whining, preposterous, canting villain!
Ere innocence, and fame, and life be lost,
Here purchase wisdom cheaply at my cost.
[Exeunt Barnwell, Officer, and
Attendants.
Mill. Where's Lucy? Why is she absent
at such a time?
Blunt. Would I had been so too! Lucy
will soon be here; and I hope to thy confu-
sion, thou devil!
Mill. Insolent! This to me!
Blunt. The worst that we know of the

SCENE 1.]
73
GEORGE BARNWELL.
devil is, that he first seduces to
betrays to punishment.
Mill. They disapprove of my
My ruin is resolved. I see my
scorn both it and them. I was
fall by such weak instruments.
sin, and then Thorow. I hear you. Pray go on.
[Exit Blunt. Mill. I have been informed he had a violent
conduct then. passion for her, and she for him; but till now
danger, but I always thought it innocent. I know her
not born to poor, and given to expensive pleasures. Now,
[Going, who can tell but she may have influenced the
amorous youth to commit this murder, to sup-
ply her extravagancies.-It must be so. I now
firm it. I'll have her, and a man-servant whom
Enter THOROWGOOD.
Thorow. Where is the scandal of her own recollect a thousand circumstances that con-
sex, and curse of ours?
Thorow. Millwood!-
tely.
Mill. What means this insolence? Whom I suspect as an accomplice, secured immedia-
do you seek for?
[Offers to go.
Thorow. Madam, you pass not this way.
I see your design, but shall protect them from
your malice.
Mill. Well, you have found her then, I am
Millwood!
Thorow. Then you are the most impious
wretch that e'er the sun beheld!
Mill. I hope you will not use your influ-
ence, and the credit of your name, to screen
Mill. From your appearance I should have such guilty wretches. Consider, sir, the wick-
expected wisdom and moderation: but your edness of persuading a thoughtless youth to
manners belie your aspect. What is your such a crime!
business here? I know you not.
Thorow. I do-and of betraying him when
Thorow. Hereafter you may know me bet-it was done.
ter. I am Barnwell's master.
Mill. Then you are master to a villain;
which, I think, is not much to your credit.
Thorow. Had he been as much above thy
arts, as my credit is superior to thy malice,
I need not have blushed to own him.
She
Mill. That which you call betraying him,
may convince you of my innocence.
who loves him, though she contrived the mur-
der, would never have delivered him into the
hands of justice, as I, struck with horror at
his crimes, have done.
Mill. My arts! I don't understand you, sir. Thorow. How should an unexperienced
If he has done amiss, what's that to me? Was youth escape her snares? Even I, that with
he my servant, or yours? You should have just prejudice came prepared, had by her art-
taught him better.
ful story been deceived, but that my strong
Thorow. Why should I wonder to find such conviction of her guilt makes even a doubt
uncommon impudence in one arrived to such a impossible. [Aside] Those whom subtilely you
height of wickedness? Know, sorceress, I'm not would accuse, you know are your accusers;
ignorant of any of the arts by which you first and, which proves unanswerably their inno-
deceived the unwary youth. I know how, step cence and your guilt, they accused you before
by step, you've led him on, reluctant and un- the deed was done, and did all that was in
willing, from crime to crime, to this last horrid their power to prevent it.
act, which you contrived, and by your cursed Mill. Sir, your are very hard to be con-
wiles even forced him to commit.
vinced; but I have a proof, which, when pro-
Mill. Ha! Lucy has got the advantage, and duced, will silence all objection. [Exit Millwood.
accused me first. Unless I can turn the ac-
cusation, and fix it upon her and Blunt, I am Enter LUCY, TRUEMAN, BLUNT, Officers, etc.
lost.
[Aside. Lucy. Gentlemen, pray place yourselves,
Thorow. Had I known your cruel design some on one side of that door, and some on
sooner, it had been prevented. To see you the other; watch her entrance, and act as your
punished, as the law directs, is all that now prudence shall direct you. This way; [To
remains. Poor satisfaction! For he, innocent Thorowgood] and note her behaviour; I have
as he is, compared to you, must suffer too. observed her; she's driven to the last extrem-
Mill. I find, sir, we are both unhappy in ity, and is forming some desperate resolu-
our servants. I was surprised at such ill treat- tion. I guess at her design.
ment without cause, from a gentleman of
secures her.
your appearance, and therefore too hastily re- Re-enter MILLWOOD with a Pistol, TRUEMAN
turned it, for which I ask your pardon. I
now perceive you have been so far imposed
on, as to think me engaged in a former cor-
respondence with your servant, and some way.
or other accessary to his undoing.
True. Here thy power of doing mischief
ends, deceitful, cruel, bloody woman!
Mill. Fool, hypocrite, villain, man! Thou
canst not call me that.
True. To call thee woman were to wrong
thy sex, thou devil!
Thorow. I charge you as the cause, the
sole cause of all his guilt, and all his suffer-
ing, of all he now endures, and must endure, Mill. That imaginary being is an emblem
till a violent and shameful death shall put a of thy cursed sex collected. A mirror, where-
dreadful period to his life and miseries together. in each particular man may see his own like-
Mill. "Tis very strange! But who's secure ness, and that of all mankind.
from scandal and detraction? So far from Thorow. Think not by aggravating the faults
contributing to his ruin, I never spoke to him of others, to extenuate thy own, of which the
till since this fatal accident, which I lament as abuse of such uncommon perfections of mind
much as you. 'Tis true I have a servant, on whose and body is not the least.
account he hath of late frequented my house.
If she has abused my good opinion of her, am I to
blame? Has not Barnwell done the same by you?
Mill. If such I had, well may I curse your
barbarous sex, who robbed me of 'em ere I
knew their worth; then left me, too late, to
10

74
[ACT V.
GEORGE BARNVVELL.
count their value by their loss.-Another, and Thorow. These are the genuine signs of
another spoiler came, and all my gain was true repentance; the only preparatory, the cer-
poverty and reproach. My soul disdained, and tain way to everlasting peace.
yet disdains, dependence and contempt. Rich- Barn. What do I owe for all your gene-
es, no matter by what means obtained, Irous kindness? But though I cannot, heaven
saw secured the worst of men from both; I can and will reward you.
found it therefore necessary to be rich, and Thorow. To see thee thus, is joy too great
to that end I summoned all my arts. You for words. Farewell.-Heaven strengthen thee!
call 'em wicked; be it so; they were such as-Farewell.
my conversation with your sex had furnished
me withal.
Barn. Oh, sir, there's something I would
say, if my sad swelling heart would give me leave.
Thorow. Sure none but the worst of men Thorow. Give it vent awhile, and try.
conversed with thee!
Barn. I had a friend-'tis true I am un-
Mill. Men of all degrees, and all profes-worthy-yet methinks your generous example.
sions, I have known, yet found no difference, might persuade. Could I not see him once,
but in their several capacities; all were alike, before I go from whence there's no return?
wicked to the utmost of their power, What Thorow. He's coming, and as much thy
are your laws of which you make your boast, friend as ever. I will not anticipate his sor-
but the fool's wisdom, and the coward's va- row; too soon he'll see the sad effects of this
lour, the instrument and screen of all your contagious ruin.-This torrent of domestic
villanies? By them you punish in others what misery bears too hard upon me. I must re-
you act yourselves, or would have acted, had tire, to indulge a weakness I find impossible
you been in their circumstances. The judge, to overcome. [Aside] Much loved - and much
who condemns the poor man for being a thief, lamented youth!-Farewell. Heaven strength-
had been a thief himself had he been poor.- en thee!-Eternally farewell.
Thus you go on deceiving and deceived, har-
rassing, plaguing, and destroying one another.
But women are your universal prey:
Women, by whom you are, the source of
joy,
With cruel arts you labour to destroy:
A thousand ways our ruin you pursue,
Yet blame in us those arts first taught by
you.
Oh, may from hence each violated maid,
By flattering, faithless, barb'rous man
tray'd,
Barn. The best of masters, and of men-
Farewell. While I live let me not want your
prayers.
Thorow. Thou shalt not. Thy peace being
made with heaven, death is already vanquished.
Bear a little longer the pains that attend this
transitory life, and cease from pain fo rever.
[Exit.
Barn. Perhaps I shall. I find a power with-
in, that bears my soul above the fears of
be-death, and, spite of conscious shame and guilt,
gives me a taste of pleasure more than mortal.
Enter TRUEMAN.
When robb'd of innocence and virgin fame,
From your destruction raise a nobler name,
To avenge their sex' wrongs devote their mind, Barn. Trueman!-My friend, whom I so
And future Millwood's prove to plague man-wished to see; yet, now he's here, I dare not
look upon him.
kind.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
[Weeps.
True. Oh, Barnwell, Barnwell!
Barn. Mercy mercy! gracious heaven! For
SCENE I-4 Dungeon, a Table, and a Lamp. death, but not for this was I prepared.
BARNWELL reading.
True. What have I suffered since I saw
thee last!-What pain has absence given me!
-But oh, to see thee thus!-
Enter THOROWGOOD, at a Distance.
Thorow. There see the bitter fruits of pas- Barn. I know it is dreadful! I feel the an-
sion's detested reign, and sensual appetite in-guish of thy generous soul:-But I was born
dulged: severe reflections, penitence, and tears. to murder all who love me. [Both weep.
Barn. My honoured, injured master, whose True. I come not to reproach you; I thought
goodness has covered me a thousand times to bring you comfort. Oh, had you trusted
with shame, forgive this last unwilling disre-me when first the fair seducer tempted you,
spect. Indeed I saw you not.
all might have been prevented.
Thorow. 'Tis well; I hope you are better Barn. Alas, thou knowest not what a wretch
employed in viewing of yourself; your jour- I've been. Breach of friendship was my first
ney's long, your time for preparation almost and least offence. So far was I lost to good-
spent. I sent a reverend divine to teach you ness, so devoted to the author of my ruin,
to improve it, and should be glad to hear of that had she insisted on my murdering thee-
his success.
I think I should have done it.
Barn. The word of truth, which he recom- True. Pr'ythee aggravate thy faults no more.
mended for my constant companion in this Barn. I think I should! Thus good and ge-
my sad retirement, has at length removed the nerous as you are, I should have murdered
doubts I laboured under. From thence I have you!
learned the infinite extent of heavenly mercy. True. We have not yet embraced, and may
How shall I describe my present state of mind? be interrupted. Come to my arms.
I hope in doubt, and trembling I rejoice; I Barn. Never, never will I taste such joys
feel my grief increase,ven as my fears give on earth; never will I sooth my just remorse.
way. Joy and gratitude now supply more Are those honest arms and faithful bosom fit
tears than the horror and anguish of despair to embrace and support a murderer? These
before.
iron fetters only shall clasp, and flinty pave-

SCENE 1.]
75
GEORGE BARNVVELL.
ment bear me; [Throwing himself on the per guest, the abandoned and lost Maria brings
Ground] even these are too good for such a despair, and sees the subject and the cause of
bloody monster.
all this world of woe. Silent and motionless
True. Shall fortune sever those whom he stands, as if his soul had quitted her abode,
friendship joined? Thy miseries cannot lay and the lifeless form alone was left behind.
thee so low, but love will find thee. Here will Barn. I groan, but murmur not. Just hea-
we offer to stern calamity; this place the altar, ven! I am your own; do with me what you please.
and ourselves the sacrifice. Our mutual groans Maria. Why are your streaming eyes still
shall echo to each other through the dreary fix'd below, as though thou'dst give the greedy
vault; our sighs shall number the moments as earth thy sorrows, and rob me of my due?
they pass; and mingling tears communicate such Were happiness within your power, you
anguish, as words were never made to express. should bestow it where you pleased; but in
Barn. Then be it so. [Rising] Since you your misery I must and will partake.
propose an intercourse of woe, pour all your Barn. Oh, say not so; but fly, abhor, and
griefs into my breast, and in exchange take leave me to my fate. Consider what you are.
mine. [Embracing] Where's now the an- So shall I quickly be to you-as though I had
guish that you promised? Oh, take, take some never been.
of the joy that overflows my breast!
True. I do, I do. Almighty Power! how
hast thou made us capable to bear at once the
extremes of pleasure and of pain!
Keep. Sir.
True. I come.
Enter Keeper.
[Exit Keeper.
Maria. When I forget you, I must be so
indeed. Reason, choice, virtue, all forbid it.
Let women, like Millwood, if there are more
such women, smile in prosperity, and in ad-
versity forsake. Be it the pride of virtue to
repair, or to partake, the ruin such have made.
True. Lovely, ill-fated maid!
Maria. Yes, fruitless is my love, and una-
Barn. Must you leave me? Death would vailing all my sighs and tears. Can they save
soon have parted us for ever.
thee from approaching death?-from such a
True. Oh, my Barnwell, there's yet another death?-Oh, sorrow insupportable!
task behind. Again your heart must bleed for
others woes.
Barn. Preserve her, heaven, and restore her
peace, nor let her death be added to my crimes!
Barn. To meet and part with you, I thought-[Bell tolls]-I'm summoned to my fate.
What is there
was all I had to do on earth.
more for me to do or suffer?
True. I dread to tell thee, yet it must be
known!--Maria-
Barn. Our master's fair and virtuous daugh-
ter?
True. The same.
Re-enter Keeper.
Keep. Sir, the officers attend you. Millwood
is already summoned.
Barn. Tell 'em I'm ready. [Exit Keeper]
And now, my friend, farewell. [Embracing]
Support and comfort, the best you can, this
Barn. No misfortune, I hope, has reached mourning fair.-No more-Forget not to pray
that maid! Preserve her, heaven, from every for me.-[Turning to Maria]-Would you,
ill, to show mankind that goodness is your care! bright excellence, permit me the honour of a
True. Thy, thy misfortunes, my unhappy chaste embrace, the last happiness this world
friend, have reached her ear. Whatever you could give were mine.-[She inclines towards
and I have felt, and more, if more be possi- him; they embrace] Exalted goodness! Oh,
ble, she feels for you.
turn your eyes from earth and me to heaven,
Barn. This is indeed the bitterness of death. where virtue like yours is ever heard. Pray
[Aside. for the peace of my departing soul! Early my
True. You must remember (for we all ob- race of wickedness began, and soon I reached
served it), for some time past, a heavy me- the summit. Thus justice, in compassion to
lancholy weighed her down. Disconsolate she mankind, cuts off a wretch like me; by one
seemed, and pined and languished from a such example to secure thousands from future
cause unknown; till hearing of your dreadful
fate, the long stifled flame blazed out, and in
the transport of her grief discovered her own
lost state, while she lamented yours.
Barn. [Weeping] Why did not you let
me die, and never know it?
True. It was impossible.
She makes no
secret of her passion for you; she is deter-
mined to see you ere you die, and waits for
[Exit.
me to introduce her.
Barn. Vain, busy thoughts, be still! What
avails it to think on what I might have been?
I am now what I've made myself.
ruin.
If any youth, like you, in future times
Shall mourn my fate, though he abhors my
crimes;
Or tender maid, like you, my tale shall hear,
And to my sorrows give a pitying tear;
To each such melting eye and throbbing heart,
Would gracious heaven this benefit impart:
Never to know my guilt, nor feel my pain,
Then must you own you ought not to
complain,
Since you nor weep, nor I shall die in vain.
[Exit Barnwell.
True. In vain
With bleeding hearts, and weeping eyes, we
show
Re-enter TRUEMAN, with MARIA.
True. Madam, reluctant I lead you to this
dismal scene. This is the seat of misery and A humane, gen'rous sense of others woe,
guilt. Here awful justice reserves her public Unless we mark what drew their ruin on,
victims. This is the entrance to a shameful death. And, by avoiding that, prevent our own.
Maria. To this sad place then, no impro- [The Curtain descends to slow Music,

76
[ACT I.
MASSINGER.
THIS excellent poet was son to Mr. Philip Massinger, a gentleman, who had some employment under the Earl
of Pembroke, in whose service he died, after having spent several happy years in his family. Our author was born
at Salisbury, in queen Elizabeth's reign, anno 1584, and at the age of 18, was entered a fellow-commoner of Alban
Hall, in Oxford; in which station he remained three or four years, in order to complete his education, yet, though he
was encouraged in the pursuit of his studies by his father's patron, the Earl of Pembroke, the natural bent of his ge-
nius lead him much more to poetry and polite literature, than to the dryer and more abstruse studies of logic and
philosophy; being impatient for an opportunity of moving in a more public sphere of action, and improving his
poetical fancy and his knowledge of the belles lettres, by conversation with the world, and an intercourse with men of
wit and genius; he quitted the university without taking any degree, and came to London, where, applying himself
to writing for the stage, he presently rose into high reputation; his plays meeting with universal approbation, both for
the purity of their style, and the ingenuity and oeconomy of their plots. "Those who are unacquainted with Mas-
singer's writings," says the Biographia Dramatica, "will, perhaps be surprised to find us placing him in an equal rank
with Beaumont and Fletcher, and the immortal Ben; but we flatter ourselves that, upon a perusal of his plays, their
astonishment will cease, that they will acquiesce with our opinion, and think themselves obliged to us, for pointing
out so vast a treasury of entertainment and delight." Massinger has certainly equal invention, equal ingenuity, in the
conduct of his plots, and an equal knowledge of character and nature, with Beaumont and Fletcher; and if it should
be objected, that he has less of the vis comica, it will surely be allowed, that that deficiency is amply made amends
for by that purity and decorum which he has preserved, and a rejection of that looseness and obscenity which runs
through most of their comedies, As to Ben Jonson, we shall readily allow that he excels this author with respect to
the studied accuracy and classical correctness of his style; yet Massinger has so greatly the superiority over him in
fire, pathos, and the fancy and management of his plots, that we cannot help thinking the balance stands pretty even
between them. Though his pieces bespeak him a man of the first-rate abilities, and well qualified both as to learning
and a most perfect acquaintance with the methods of dramatic writing, yet he was at the same time a person of the
most consummate modesty, which rendered him extremely beloved by all his contemporary poets, few of whom but
esteemed it as an honour to join with him in the composition of their works. He died in 1659, some say 69.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
ACTED at Black Friars, 1623. The plot is taken partly from Guicciardini, book 8, and partly from Josephus's
History of the Jews, book 15, ch. 4, where will be found the story of Herod's leaving orders with his uncle Joseph
to put his beloved wife Mariamne to death; from which the instructions given by Sforza to his favourite Francisco,
for the murder of the Duchess Marcelia, his wife, seem evidently borrowed. This piece was altered, and produced
at Covent Garden, by Mr. Cumberland, in 1799, but the additions made to it, from Fenton's Mariamne, rather injured
than improved the play, and it was acted only two or three times. In its present state it was reproduced at Drury
Lane, March 9, 1816; and from its reception promises to be a long and lasting favourite. Massinger seems to have
been buried in obscurity, and forgotten among the number of writers of the same period, whose names were not
worth calling forth from the cavern of oblivion; but when we consider, how long many of those pieces, even of the
immortal Shakspeare himself, which are now the greatest ornament of the stage, lay neglected, although they wanted
nothing but a judicious pruning of some few luxuriancies, some little straggling branches, which overhung the fairer
flowers, and hid some of the choicest fruits, it is the less to be wondered at, that this author who though second,
stands no more than second to him, should share for a while the same destiny. Thus has this precious gem been once
more presented to an admiring audience, the modern taste demanding a different dress to that of former years; and the
few judicious alterations which have taken place in it, have fitted it to shine in all its lustre.
LUDOVICO SFORZA.
FRANCISCO.
TIBERIO.
STEPHANO.
GRACCHO.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MARCELIA.
THE EMPEROR CHARLES. ISABELLA.
PESCARA.
HERNANDO.
MARIANA.
EUGENIA.
Guards,
Servants, and
Attendants.
SCENE. For the first and second Acts, in MILAN; during part of the third, in the Im-
perial Camp near PAVIA; the rest of the Play, in MILAN and its Neighbourhood.
ACT I.
SCENE I-An outer Room in the Castle.
Enter GRACCHO, JULIO, and GIOVANNI, with
Flagons.
Grac. TAKE every man his flagon;
the oath
give
To all you meet; I am this day the state drunkard,
I am sure against my will; and if you find
A man at ten that's sober, he's a traitor,
And, in my name, arrest him.
Julio. Very good, sir;
But say he be a sexton?
Grac. If the bells
Julio. But think you 'tis a fault
To be found sober?
Grac. It is capital treason;
Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay
Forty crowns to the poor; but give a pension
To all the magistrates you find singing catches,
Or their wives dancing; for the courtiers
reeling,
And the duke himself, I dare not say dis-
temper'd,
But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing,
They do the country service.
And so, dear friends, co-partners in my travails,
Drink hard; and let the health run through
the city,
Ring out of tune, as if the streets were burning,
And he cry, "Tis rare music!" bid him Until it reel again, and with me cry,
"Long live the dutchess!"
sleep;
Tis a sign he has ta'en his liquor: and if you
meet
An officer preaching of sobriety,
Unless he read it in Geneva spirit,
Lay him by the heels.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Julio. Here are two lords! what think you?
Shall we give the oath to them?
Grac. Fie! no; I know them:

SCENE 1. 2.]
77
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
You need not swear them; your lord, by his Are these loud triumphs? in my weak opi-
patent,
nion,
Stands bound to take his rouse. Long live They are unseasonable.
Tib. I judge so too;
But only in the cause to be excus'd.
the dutchess!
[Exeunt Graccho, Julio, and Giovanni.
Steph. The cause of this? but yesterday the It is the dutchess' birth-day, once a year
court
Wore the sad livery of distrust and fear;
No smile, not in a buffoon, to be seen,
Or common jester: the great duke himself
Had sorrow in his face; which, waited on
By his mother, sister, and his fairest dutchess,
Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan:
As if some great blow had been given the state,
Or were at least expected.
Tib. Stephano,
I know as you are noble, you are honest,
And capable of secrets of more weight
Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza,
The present duke (though his whole life hath
been
But one continual pilgrimage through dangers,
Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune,
guided
Solemniz'd with all pomp and ceremony;
In which the duke is not his own, but hers:
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature;
For never man so doted.
Steph. She knows it,
And how to prize it.
Tib. She bear's herself with such a majesty,
That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part
Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister,
Will brook it well.
Come, let us to the court;
We there shall see all bravery and cost
That art can boast of.
Steph. I'll bear you company.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Another Room in the same.
Enter FRANCISCO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA.
Mari. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot
By his strong judgment, still hath overcome), In her proud train.
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder: Isa. Shall I, that am his mother,
All that his youth hath labour'd for, the harvest Be so indulgent as to wait on her
Sown by his industry ready to be reap'd too, That owes me duty?
Being now at stake; and all his hopes con- Fran. 'Tis done to the duke,
Or lost for ever.
firm'd
Steph. I know no such hazard:
His guards are strong and sure, and though
war rages
In most parts of our western world, there is
No enemy near us.
Tib. Dangers that we see
To threaten ruin,, are with ease prevented;
But those strike deadly that come unexpected.
The wars so long continued between
The emperor Charles, and Francis, the French
king,
Have interest'd, in either's cause, the most
Of the Italian princes; among which, Sforza,
As one of greatest power, was sought by both;
But with assurance, having one his friend,
The other lived his enemy.
Steph. 'Tis true;
And 'twas a doubtful choice.
Tib. But he, well knowing
And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride,
Lent his assistance to the king of France;
Which hath so far incens'd the emperor,
That all his hopes and honours are embark'd
With his great patron's fortune.
Steph. Which stands fair,
For aught I yet can hear.
Tib. But should it change,
The duke's undone. They have drawn to the
field
Two royal armies, full of fiery youth,
Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do;
So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all hope
Of human counsel they e'er can be severed,
Until it be determin'd by the sword
Who hath the better cause; for the success
Concludes the victor innocent, and the van-
quish'd
Most miserably guilty.
Steph. But why, then,
In such a time, when every knee should bend
For the success and safety of his person,
And not to her; and, my sweet wife, re-
member,
And, madam, if you please, receive my counsel,
As Sforza is your son, you may command
him;
And, as a sister, you may challenge from
him
A brother's love and favour: but this granted,
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects,
And not to question or contend with her
Whom he is pleas'd to honour. Private men
Prefer their wives; and shall he, being a prince,
And blest with one that is the paradise
Of sweetness, and of beauty,
Not use her like herself?
Isa. You are ever forward
To sing her praises.
Mari. Others are as fair;
I am sure as noble.
Fran. I detract from none
In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd,
Yet, being the dutchess, I stand bound to
serve her;
But as she is, to admire her. Never wife
Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour;
A happy pair, one in the other blest!
She confident in herself he's wholly hers,
And cannot seek for change; and he secure
That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt
her.
And therefore to contest with her, that is
The stronger and the better part of him,
Is more than folly: you know him of a nature
Not to be play'd with; and, should you forget
To obey him as your prince, he'll not re-
member
The duty that he owes you.
Mari. I shall do
What may become the sister of a prince;
But will not stoop beneath it.
Fran. Yet, be wise;
Soar not too high, to fall; but stoop, to rise.
[Exeunt.

78
[ACT I.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
SCENE III-A State Room in the same. A
magnificent Banquet.
Marc. My lord!
Sfor. To doubt,
but to antedate those miseries
Is worse than to have lost; and to despair,
That must fall on us.
The cause consider'd,
Flourish. Enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, FRAN-IS
CISCO, LUDOVICO SFORZA, MARCELIA, ISA-
BELLA, MARIANA, and Attendants.
Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast;
here,
O my soul's comfort!
Let me glory in
sit Why should I fear? The French are bold.
and strong,
My happiness, and mighty kings look pale
With envy, while I triumph in mine own.
O mother, look on her! sister, admire her!
For sure this present age yields not a woman
Worthy to be her second.
Fran. Your excellence,
Their numbers full, and in their councils wise;
But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire,
Hot in his executions, fortunate
In his attempts, married to victory.
Ay, there it is that shakes me.
Marc. Speak to him, Francisco.
Fran. Excellent lady,
[Aside.
[Apart.
One gale of your sweet breath will easily
Though I confess you give her but her own, Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there's
Forces her modesty to the defence
Of a sweet blush.
Sfor. It need not, my Marcelia;
When most I strive to praise thee, I appear
A poor detractor: for thou art, indeed,
So absolute in body and in mind
That, but to speak the least part to the height,
Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end
In silent admiration!
Isa. You still court her
As if she were a mistress, not your wife.
Sfor. A mistress, mother! she is more to me,
And every day deserves more to be sued to.
Marc. My worthiest lord!
My pride, my glory, in a word, my all!
Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself
In nothing worthy of the meanest praise
You can bestow, unless it be in this,
That in my heart I love you, and desire,
When you are sated with all earthly glories,
And age and honours make you fit for heaven,
That one grave may receive us.
Sfor. 'Tis believ'd-
Believ'd, my blest one.
Immortal viands ta'en in at his eyes.
Mari. How she winds herself
Into his soul!
Sfor. Sit all. Let others feed
On those gross cates, while Sforza
[Aside.
banquets
with
I could live ever thus.
Enter a Courier.
From whence?
Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord.
Cour. [Delivers a Letter] The letter
will
inform you.
[Exit.
Fran, How his hand shakes,
As he receives it!
Sfor. Speak, is all lost?
Mari. This is some allay
To his hot passion.
none
That dare speak to him.
Marc. I will run the hazard.
My lord!
[Apart.
[Apart.
Sfor. Ha! pardon me, Marcelia, I am trou-
bled;
And stand uncertain, whether I am master
Of aught that's worth the owning.
Marc. I am yours, sir;
And I have heard you swear, I being safe,
There was no loss could move you.
day, sir,
This
Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke
A grant made to Marcelia? your Marcelia?
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir,
All deep designs, and state affairs deferr'd,
Be, as you purpos'd, merry.
Sfor. Out of my sight!
[Throws away the Letter.
And all thoughts that may strangle mirth,
forsake me.
Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate:
Though the foundation of the earth should
shrink,
The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour,
Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins,
And seek for new life here. Why are you
sad?
Some music there! by heaven he's not my
friend,
That wears one furrow in his face.
Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt-
'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next,
But all my days and years shall be employ'd
[A Trumpet without.
Another post! hang him-
To do thee honour.
I will not interrupt my present pleasures,
Although his message should import my head.
Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleas'd
To grant a little intermission to you:
[Aside. Who knows but he brings news we wish to
hear,
[Aside. To heighten our delights.
Sfor. As wise as fair!
Sfor. Though it bring death, I'll read it.
Enter another Courier.
From Gaspero ?
Cour. That was, my lord.
Sfor. How? dead?"
[Reads.
May it please your excellence to un-
derstand, that the very hour I wrote
this, I heard a bold defiance delivered by
a herald from the emperor, which was
cheerfully received by the king of France.
The battles being ready to join, and the
very of this, and prayers,
van guard committed to my charge, en- To guard your excellency from certain dangers,
forces me to end abruptly. Your high- He ceased to be a man.
ness's humble servant.
GASPERO.
Cour. [Delivers a Letter] With the deli-
Sfor. All that my fears
[Music. Exit.
Ready to join!-By this, then, I am nothing. Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish,
[Aside. Is fallen upon me. Silence that harsh music;
Or my estate secure.

SCENE 3.]
79
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
'Tis now unseasonable: a tolling bell,
As a sad harbinger to tell me that
This pamper'd lump of flesh must feast the
worms,
Is fitter for me: I am sick.
Marc. My lord!
Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursed thing
I were, beyond expression!
Marc. Do not feed
Those jealous thoughts; the only blessing that
Heav'n hath bestow'd on us, more than on beasts,
Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die.
Sfor. Sick to the death, Marcelia. Remove Besides, were I now in another's power,
These signs of mirth: they were ominous, and I would not live for one short minute his;
I was born only yours, and I will die so.
Sfor. Angels reward the goodness of this
Sorrow and ruin.
but usher'd
Marc. Bless us, heaven!
Isa. My son.
Marc. What sudden change is this?
Sfor. All leave the room;
I'll bear alone the burden of my grief,
And must admit no partner. I am yet
Your prince, where's your obedience?
[Exeunt Tiberio, Stephano, Fran-
cisco, Isabella, Mariana, and At-
tendants.
Stay, Marcelia;
I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow,
In which you must not share.
Marc. And cheerfully
I will sustain my part. Why look you pale?
Where is that wonted constancy and courage,
That dar'd the worst of fortune? where is Sforza,
To whom all dangers that fright common men,
Appear'd but panic terrors? why do you eye me,
With such fix'd looks? Love, counsel, duty,
service,
May flow from me, not danger.
Sfor. O Marcelia!
It is for thee I fear; for thee, thy Sforza
Shakes like a coward: for myself, unmov'd
I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces,
My general slain, and he, on whom my hopes
Of rule, of state, of life, had their dependence,
The king of France, my greatest friend, made
prisoner
To so proud enemies.
Marc. Then you have just cause
To show you are a man.
Sfor. All this were nothing,
Though I add to it, that I am assured,
For giving aid to this unfortunate king,
The emperor, incens'd, lays his command
On his victorious army, flesh'd with spoil,
And bold of conquest, to march up against me,
And seize on my estates: suppose that done too,
The city ta'en, the kennels running blood,
Myself bound fast in chains, to grace their
triumph;
I would be Sforza still. But when I think
That my Marcelia, to whom all these
Are but as atoms to the greatest hill,
Must suffer in my cause, and for me suffer!
All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd
Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes, compar'd
To what I feel, Marcelia.
Marc. Good sir, have patience:
I can as well partake your adverse fortune,
As I thus long have had an ample share
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power
Of fate to alter me; for while I am,
In spite of it, I'm yours.
Sfor. But should that will
To be so-forced, Marcelia; and I live
To see those eyes I prize above my own,
Dart favours, though compell'd, upon another;
Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar,
Be gently touch'd by any but myself;
woman!
Re-enter FRANCISCO.
All I can pay is nothing. Why, uncall'd for?
Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me
thus press
Upon your privacies. Your constant friend,
The marquis of Pescara, tir'd with haste,
Hath business that concerns your life and for-
tunes,
And with speed to impart.
Sfor. Wait on him hither. [Exit Francisco.
And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers
Assist my councils.
Marc. To spare imprecations
Against myself, without you I am nothing.
[Exit.
Sfor. The marquis of Pescara! a great soldier;
And though he serv'd upon the adverse party,
Ever my constant friend.
Re-enter FRANCISCO, with PESCARA.
Fran. Yonder he walks,
Full of sad thoughts.
[Apart.
Pes. Blame him not, good Francisco,
He hath much cause to grieve; would I might
end SO,
And not add this to fear!
[Apart.
Sfor. My dear Pescara;
A miracle in these times! a friend, and happy,
Cleaves to a falling fortune!
Pes. If it were
As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it,
As 'tis to bear a part of sorrow with you,
You then should have just cause to say, Pes-
cara
Look'd not upon your state, but on your virtues,
When he made suit to be writ in the list
Of those you favour'd. But my haste forbids
All compliment; thus then, sir, to the purpose:
The cause that, unattended brought me hither,
Was not to tell you of your loss or danger
(For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings,
And I presume you've heard it), but to give
you
Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make
Your sad disaster less.
Sfor. You are all goodness;
And I give up myself to be dispos'd of,
As in your wisdom you think fit.
Pes. Thus, then, sir;
To hope you can hold out against the emperor,
Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing;
Therefore, the safest course that you can take,
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion,
Before you be compell'd; for rest assur'd,
A voluntary yielding may find grace,
And will admit defence, at least, excuse:
But should you linger doubtful, till his powers
Have seiz'd your person and estates perforce,
You must expect extremes.
Sfor. I understand you;

80
[ACT I.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
And I will put your counsel into act,
And speedily. I only will take order
For some domestical affairs, that do
Concern me nearly, and with the next sun
Ride with you: in the mean time, my best
friend,
Pray take your rest.
Pes. Indeed, I have travell'd hard;
And will embrace your counsel.
Sfor. With all care
Attend my noble friend.
[Exit.
Stay you, Francisco.
You see how things stand with me!
Fran. To my grief:
And if the loss of my poor life could be
A sacrifice to restore them as they were,
I willingly would lay it down.
Sfor. I think so;
For I have ever found you true and thankful,
Which makes me love the building I have rais'd
In your advancement; and repent no grace
I have conferr'd upon you. And, believe me,
Though now I should repeat my favours to you,
The titles I have given you, and the means
Suitable to your honours; that I thought you
Worthy my sister and my family,
And in my dukedom made you next myself;
It is not to upbraid you; but to tell you
I find you are worthy of them, in your love
And service to me.
Fran. Sir, I am your creature;
That were before us; and such as succeed,
Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er
come near us.
Art thou not shaken yet?
Fran. I grant you move me:
But to a man confirm'd-
Sfor. I'll try your temper:
What think you of my wife?
Fran. As a thing sacred;
To whose fair name and memory I-pay gladly
These signs of duty.
Sfor. Is she not the abstract
Of all that's rare, or to be wish'd in woman?
Fran. It were a kind of blasphemy to dis-
pute it.
But to the purpose, sir.
Sfor. Add too, her goodness,
Her tenderness of me, her care to please me,
Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equall'd;
Her innocence, her honour-Oh, I am lost
In the ocean of her virtues and her graces,
When I think of them!
Fran. Now I find the end
Of all your conjurations; there's some service
To be done for this sweet lady. If she have
enemies,
That she would have remov'd-
Sfor. Alas! Francisco,
Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover;
Yet, in that hatred, her idolater.
And any shape that you would have me wear, One smile of hers would make a savage tame;
I gladly will put on.
Sfor. Thus, then, Francisco:
I now am to deliver to your trust
A weighty secret; of so strange a nature,
And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you,
That you will tremble in the execution,
As much as I am tortur'd to command it:
For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it,
Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders,
Or an obdurate hangman, soft compassion;
And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest,
And from me most deserving, such my state
And strange condition is, that thou alone
Must know the fatal service, and perform it.
Fran. These preparations, sir, to work a
stranger,
Or to one unacquainted with your bounties,
Might appear useful; but to me they are
Needless impertinences: for I dare do
Whate'er you dare command.
Sfor. But you must swear it;
And put into the oath all joys or torments
That fright the wicked, or confirm the good;
Not to conceal it only-that is nothing-
But, whensoe'er my will shall speak, "Strike
now!"
To fall upon't like thunder..
Fran. Minister
The oath in any way or form you please,
I stand resolv'd to take it.
Sfor. Thou must do, then,
What no malevolent star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked: for which men will curse thee
For being the instrument; and the blest angels
Forsake me at my need, for being the author:
For 'tis a deed of night, of night, Francisco!
In which the memory of all good actions
We can pretend to, shall be buried quick:
Or, if we be remember'd, it shall be
To fright posterity by our example,
That have outgone all precedents of villains
One accent of that tongue would calm the seas,
Though all the winds at once strove there for
empire.
Yet I, for whom she thinks all this too little,
Should I miscarry in this present journey,
From whence it is all number to a cipher,
I ne'er return with honour, by thy hand
Must have her murder'd.
Fran. Murder'd!-She that loves so,
And so deserves to be belov'd again!
And I, who sometimes you were pleas'd to
favour,
Pick'd out the instrument!
Sfor. Do not fly off.
What is decreed can never be recall'd.
'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out
A wish'd companion to me in both fortunes:
And strong assurance of thy zealous faith,
That gives up to thy trust a secret, that
Racks should not have forc'd from me. Oh,
Francisco!
There is no heaven without her, nor a hell
Where she resides. I ask from her but justice,
And what I would have paid to her, had sickness,
Or any other accident, divorc'd
Her purer soul from her unspotted body.
Express a ready purpose to perform
What I command, or, by Marcelia's soul,
This is thy latest minute.
Fran. 'Tis not fear
Of death, but love to you, makes me embrace
it;
But for mine own security, when 'tis done,
What warrant have I? If you please to sign
one,
I shall, though with unwillingness and horror,
Perform your dreadful charge.
Sfor. I will, Francisco:
But still remember that a prince's secrets
Are balm, conceal'd; but poison, if discover'd.
I may come back; then this is but a trial

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
81
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
To purchase thee, if it were possible,
A nearer place in my affection: but
I know thee honest.
Fran. 'Tis a character
I will not part with.
Sfor. I may live to reward it.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The same. An open Space be-
fore the Castle.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Steph. How! left the court?
You never heard the motives that induc'd him
To this strange course?
Alas!
Tib. No, those are cabinet councils,
And not to be communicated, but
To such as are his own, and sure.
We fill up empty places, and in public
Are taught to give our suffrages to that
Which was before determin'd; and are safe so.
Seignior Francisco (upon whom alone
His absolute power is, with all strength con-
ferr'd,
During his absence) can with ease resolve you.
Steph. But, my good lord Tiberio, this
Francisco
Is on the sudden strangely rais'd.
Tib. O sir,
He took the thriving course: he had a sister,
A fair one too, with whom, as it is rumour'd,
The duke was too familiar; but she, cast off,
Upon the sight of this, forsook the court,
And since was never seen.
Steph. But how is
His absence borne by the dutchess?
Tib. Sadly, it seems;
For since he left the court,
For the most part she hath kept her private
chamber,
No visitants admitted. But on the other side,
The darling of his mother, Mariana,
As there were an antipathy between
Her and the dutchess's passions; and as
She'd no dependance on her brother's fortune,
She ne'er appear'd so full of mirth.
Steph. 'Tis strange.
[They retire.
Enter GRACCHO, with Musicians.
But see! her favourite, and accompanied,
To your report.
Grac. You shall play, and I will sing
A scurvy ditty to a scurvy tune,
Repine who dares.
Mus. But if we should offend,
And have access at all times to her closet;
Such is my impudence! when your grave
lordships
Are masters of the modesty to attend
Three hours, nay, sometimes four; and then
bid wait
Upon her the next morning.
Steph. He derides us.
[Apart.
Tib. Pray you, what news is stirring? You
know all.
Grac. Who, I? alas! I've no intelligence
At home nor abroad; I only sometimes guess
The change of the times: I should ask of
your lordships
Who are to keep their honours, who to lose
them;
Who the dutchess smil'd on last, or on whom
frown'd;
You only can resolve me; and could you tell
me
What point of state 'tis that I am commanded
To muster up this music, on mine honesty,
You should much befriend me.
Steph. Sirrah, you grow saucy.
Tib. And would be laid by the heels.
Grac. Not by your lordships,
Without a special warrant. Look to your
own stakes;
Were I committed, here come those would
bail me:
Perhaps we might change places too.
Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA.
whispers the latter.
Tib. The princess!
We must be patient.
Steph. There is no contending.
Tib. See the informing rogue!
Steph. That we should stoop
To such a mushroom!
GRACCHO
Apart.
Apart.
Apart.
[Apart.
Mari. Thou dost mistake; they durst not
Use the least word of scorn, although provok'd,
To any thing of mine.-Go, get you home,
And to your servants, friends, and flatt'rers,
number
How many descents you're noble.
[Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano.
Grac. Your excellence hath the best gift to
dispatch
These arras pictures of nobility,
I ever read of.
Isa. But the purpose, daughter,
That brings us hither? Is it to bestow
A visit on this woman?
Mari. If to vex her
The dutchess having silenc'd us, and these lords May be interpreted to do her honour,
Stand by to hear us.
Grac. They in name are lords,
But I am one in power; and, for the dutchess,
But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure;
We'll now be for my lady's.
[Tiberio and Stephano come forward.
Tib. Seignior Graccho.
Grac. A poor man, sir, a servant to the
But
princess;
you, great lords and counsellors of state,
Whom I stand bound to reverence.
Tib. Come, we know
She shall have many of them.
My brother, being not by now to protect her,
I am her equal.
Play any thing
That's light and loud enough but to torment
her.
Enter MARCELJA.
[Music.
[Apart.
Mari. May it please your greatness, one.
smile, I pray you,
Isa. She frowns, as if
Her looks could fright us.
On your poor servants.
Isa. She's made of courtesy.
[Apart.
I bear my fortunes patiently; serve the prin-
Mari. Mistress of all hearts!
Apart,
Isa. 'Tis wormwood, and it works.
Apart.
You are a man in grace.
Grac. Fie! no: I grant
cess,
11

62
82
[ACT II.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
Marc. If doting age could let you but Than in a paradise at her entreaty.
remember,
You have a son; or frontless impudence,
You are a sister; and, in making answer
To what was most unfit for you to speak,
Or me to hear, borrow of my just anger;
You durst not then, on any hire or hope,
Rememb'ring what I am, and whose I am,
Put on the desp'rate boldness to disturb
The least of my retirements.
Mari. Note her now.
[Apart.
And for you, upstart-
Offi. What shall become of these?
Fran. See them well whipp'd,
will answer it.
As you
Grac. I preach patience,
And must endure my fortune.
[Exeunt all but Francisco and
Marcelia.
Fran. Let them first know themselves, and
how you are
Marc. For both shall understand, though To be serv'd and honour'd; which, when they
the one presume
Upon the privilege due to a mother;
confess,
You may again receive them to your favour;
The duke stands now on his own legs, and And then it will show nobly.
needs
No nurse to lead him.
Marc. But I am merciful.
Isa. How, a nurse!
And dotage signs your pardon.
Isa. I defy thee!
Thee and thy pardons, proud one!
Marc. For you,
Marc. With my thanks,
The duke shall pay you his, if he return
To bless us with his presence.
Fran. Any service done to so much sweet-
ness,
In your favour finds
A wish'd and glorious end.
Marc. From you I take this
From this hour learn to serve me, or you'll feel As loyal duty; but in any other,
I must make use of my authority,
And, as a princess, punish it.
Isa. A princess!
It would appear gross flattery.
Fran. Flattery, madam!
You are so rare and excellent in all things,
Mari. I had rather be a slave unto a Moor, And rais'd so high upon a rock of goodness,
Than know thee for my equal.
Enter FRANCISCO and Guards.
Fran. What wind hath rais'd this tempest?
A tumult in the court! What's the cause?
Speak, Mariana.
Mari. Do you hear, sir?
As that vice cannot reach you: who but looks on
This temple, built by nature to perfection,
But must bow to it; and out of that zeal,
Not only learn to adore it, but to love it?
Marc. Whither will this fellow?
Fran. Pardon, therefore, madam,
If an excess in me of humble duty,
Right me on this monster, or ne'er look to Teach me to hope my piety and love
have
A quiet hour with me.
Isa. If my son were here,
And would endure this, may a mother's curse
Pursue and overtake him!
Fran. O, forbear:
In me he's present, both in power and will;
And, madam, I much grieve that, in his ab-
sence,
There should arise the least distaste to move
you:
It being his principal, nay, only charge,
To have you, in his absence, serv'd and ho-
nour'd,
May find reward.
[Aside.
Marc. You have it in my thanks;
And, on my hand, I am pleas'd that you
take
shall
A full possession of it: but take heed
That you fix here, and feed no hope beyond it;
If you do, it will prove fatal.
Fran. Be it death,
And death with torments tyrants ne'er found
out,
Yet I must say I love you
Marc. As a subject,
And 'twill become you.
Fran. Farewell circumstance!
And since you are not pleas'd to understand
me,
As when himself perform'd the willing office.
Grac. I would I were well off! [Aside.
Fran. And therefore I beseech you, gentle But by a plain and usual form of speech,
All superstitious reverence laid by,
madam,
Name those that have offended you.
Isa. I am one.
Mari. And I will justify it.
Fran. Remember she's the dutchess.
Marc. But us'd with more contempt than
if I were
A peasant's daughter.
Fran. Think not then I speak
(For I stand bound to honour, and to serve you);
But that the duke, that lives in this great lady,
For the contempt of him in her, commands you
To be close prisoners.
Isa. Mari, Prisoners!
Fran. Bear them hence.
Marc. I am not cruel,
But pleas'd they may have liberty.
Isa. Pleas'd, with a mischief!
I love you as a man. Why do you start?
I am no monster, and you but a woman;
A woman made to yield, and by example
Told it is lawful.
Marc. Keep off! O, you powers!
Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours,
Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom,
Thy lord and raiser hath conferr'd upon thee,
In three days absence, buried? And is this,
This impudent attempt to taint mine honour,
The fair return of both our ventur'd favours?
Fran. Hear my excuse.
Marc. Read my life,
And find one act of mine so loosely carried,
That could invite a most self-loving fool,
Set off with all that fortune could throw on
him,
Mari. Pllrather live in any loathsome dungeon, To the least hope to find way to my favour.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
83
Fran. And while the duke did prize you to
your value,
I well might envy him; but durst not hope
To stop you in your full career of goodness:
But now I find that he's fall'n from his fortune,
And, howsoever he would appear doting,
Grown cold in his affection; I presume,
From his most barbarous neglect of you,
To offer my true service. Nor stand I bound
To look back on the courtesies of him
That, of all living men, is most unthankful.
Marc. Unheard-of arrogance!
Fran. You'll say I am modest
When I have told the story.
You think he loves you
With unexampl'd fervour; nay, dotes on you,
As there were something in you more than
woman:
When, on my knowledge, he long since hath
wish'd
You were among the dead.
Marc. Bless me, good angels,
Or I am blasted! Lies so false and wicked,
And fashion'd to so damnable a purpose,
Cannot be spoken by a human tongue.
My husband hate me! give thyself the lie,
False and accurs'd! Thy soul, if thou hast any,
Can witness, never lady stood so bound
To the unfeign'd affections of her lord,
As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work
Upon my weak credulity, tell me, rather,
There's peace between the lion and the lamb;
Or, that the ravenous eagle and the dove
Keep in one aerie, and bring up their young;
Or any thing that is averse to nature;
And I will sooner credit it than that
My lord can think of me but as a jewel
He loves more than himself, and all the world.
Fran. O innocence abus'd! simplicity cozen'd!
It were a sin, for which we have no name,
To keep you longer in this wilful error.
Read his affections here; [Gives her a Pa-
per] and then observe
How dear he holds you! 'Tis his character,
Which cunning yet could never counterfeit.
Marc. 'Tis his hand, I'm resolv'd of it: I'll
try
What the inscription is.
Fran. Pray you do so.
Marc. [Reads] You know my pleasure,
and the hour of Marcelia's death, which
fail not to execute, as you will answer
Fran. But I am true,
And live to make you happy.
Marc. I prefer the hate
grave,
Of Sforza, though it mark me for the
Before thy base affection. I am yet
Pure and unspotted in my true love to him;
Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted;
Nor will I part with innocence, because
He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art
A thing, that, equal with the devil himself,
I do detest and scorn.
Fran. Thou, then, art nothing:
Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman!
Think on't, and tremble.
Marc. No, with my curses
Of horror to thy conscience in this life,
And pains in hell hereafter, I defy thee. [Exit.
Fran. I am lost
In the discovery of this fatal secret.
Curs'd hope, that flatter'd me, that wrongs
could make her
A stranger to her goodness! all my plots
Turn back upon myself; but I am in,
And must go on; and since I have put off
From the shore of innocence, guilt be now
my pilot!
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The Imperial Camp before PAVIA:
Enter MEDINA, HERNANDO, and ALPHONSO.
Med. The spoil, the spoil! 'tis that the sol-
dier fights for.
Our victory, as yet, affords us nothing
But wounds and empty honour.
Her. Hell put it in
The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold
out!
Yieldings and compositions will undo us;
And what is that way given, for the most part,
Comes to the emperor: the poor soldier left
To starve, or fill up hospitals.
Alph. But, when
We enter towns by force, and carve ourselves,
Pleasure with pillage-
Med. I long to be at it.
Her. My main hope is,
To begin the sport at Milan: there's enough,
And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for,
To satisfy the most covetous.
Alph. Every day
We look for a remove.
the contrary, not with your head alone, Med. For Lodowick Sforza,
but with the ruin of your whole family. The duke of Milan, I, on mine own knowledge,
And this, written with my own hand, Can say thus much: he is too much a soldier;
and signed with my privy signet, shall
be your sufficient warrant.-
LUDOVICO SFORZA.
I do obey it! every word's a poniard,
And reaches to my heart.
[Swoons.
Fran. What have I done?
Madam! for heaven's sake, madam!-
Dear lady!-
She stirs. For the duke's sake! for Sforza's
sake-
Marc. Sforza's! stand off! though dead,
will be his;
And even my ashes shall abhor the touch
Of any other. O unkind, and cruel!
Learn, women, learn to trust in one another;
There is no faith in man: Sforza is false,
False to Marcelia!
I
Too confident of his own worth; too rich too;
And understands too well the emperor hates him,
To hope for composition.
Alph. On my life
We need not fear his coming in.
Her, On mine
I do not wish it: I had rather that,
To show his valour, he'd put us to the trouble
To fetch him in by the ears.
Med. The emperor!
Flourish. Enter the EMPEROR CHARLES
PESCARA, and Attendants.
Emp. C. You make me wonder: nay, it is
no counsel:
You may partake it, gentlemen. Who'd have
thought

84
[ACT III.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
That he, that scorn'd our proffer'd amity
When he was sued to, should, ere he be Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasons
summon'd,
First kneel for mercy?
Med. When your majesty
Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may
Admire it with you.
Emp. C. Who, but the duke of Milan,
The right hand of the French! of all that stand
In our displeasure, whom necessity
Compels to seek our favour, I would have
sworn
Sforza had been the last.
Her. And should be writ so
In the list of those you pardon.
city
Would his
Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy,
Than, by a feign'd submission, he should cheat
you
Of a just revenge, or us of those fair glories
We have sweat blood to purchase!
Alph. The sack alone of Milan
Will pay the army.
Emp. C. I am not so weak,
To be wrought on as you fear; nor ignorant
That money is the sinew of the war:
Yet, for our glory, and to show him that
We've brought him on his knees, it is resolv'd
To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in;
But let him see the effects of our just anger,
In the guard that you make for him.
[Exit Pescara.
Her. I am now
Familiar with the issue; all plagues on it!
He will appear in some dejected habit,
His countenance suitable, and for his order,
A rope about his neck; then kneel, and tell
Old stories-what more worthy thing it is
To have power than to use it;
To make a king than kill one: which apply'd
To the emperor and himself, a pardon's granted
To him, an enemy; and we, his servants,
Condemn'd to beggary. [Apart to Medina.
Med, Yonder he comes;
But not as you expected.
Re-enter PESCARA, with LUDOVICO
strongly guarded,
Alph. He looks as if
He would outface his dangers.
Her. I am cozen'd:
A suitor, in the devil's name!
Med. Hear him speak.
Sfor. I come not, emperor, to
mercy,
My hate against thyself, and love to him
That made me so affected: in my wants
I ever found him faithful; had supplies
Of men and money from him; and my hopes
Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buoy'd up again;
I dare to speak his praise now, in as high
And loud a key, as when he was thy equal.
The benefits he sow'd in me met not
Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own
With fair increase, and I still glory in it.
And though my fortunes
Are in thy fury burnt, let it be mention'd,
They serv'd but as small tapers to attend
The solemn flame at this great funeral:
And with them I will gladly waste myself,
Rather than undergo the imputation
Of being base, or unthankful.
Alph. Nobly spoken!
[Apart.
Her. I do begin, I know not why, to hate
Less than I did.
him
[Apart.
Sfor. If that, then, to be grateful
For courtesies receiv'd, or not to leave
A friend in his necessities, be a crime
Amongst you Spaniards, Sforza brings his head
To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave,
Pinion'd and fetter'd, in a squalid weed,
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling
For a forestall'd remission; I ne'er fear'd to die,
More than I wish'd to live. When I had reach'd
My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes,
This crown upon my head, and to my side
This sword was girt; and witness, truth, that
now
'Tis in another's power, when I shall part
With them and life together, I'm the same:
My veins then did not swell with pride; nor
now
Shrink they for fear. Know, sir, that Sforza
stands
Prepar'd for either fortune.
Her. As I live,
I do begin strangely to love this fellow.
Sfor. But, if example
SFORZA, Of my fidelity to the French,
[Apart.
Has power to invite you to make him a friend,
That hath given evident proof he knows to love,
[Apart. And to be thankful: this my crown, now yours,
You may restore me.
By fawning on thy fortune; nor bring with me
Excuses or denials. I profess,
[Apart.
Apart. Alph. By this light,
[Apart. 'Tis a brave gentleman.
invade thy Emp. C. Thou hast so far
Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza,
For such I hold thee; and true constancy,
Rais'd on a brave foundation, bears such palm
And privilege with it, that where we behold it,
Though in an enemy, it does command us
That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy: To love and honour it. By my future hopes,
Thy deadly and vow'd enemy; one that wish'd I am glad, for thy sake, that, in seeking favour,
Confusion to thy person and estates;
Thou didst not borrow of vice her indirect,
And with my utmost powers, and deepest Crooked, and abject means: and so far
counsels,
And with a good man's confidence, even this
instant
Had they been truly follow'd, further'd it.
Nor will I now, although my neck were under
The hangman's axe, with one poor syllable
Confess, but that I honour'd the French king
More than thyself, and all men.
Med. By saint Jaques,
This is no flattery.
Sfor. Now give me leave,
I am from robbing thee of the least honour,
That with my hands, to make it sit the faster,
I set thy crown once more upon thy head;
And do not only style thee duke of Milan,
But vow to keep thee so. Yet, not to take
From others to give only to myself,
I will not hinder your magnificence
[Aside. To my commanders, neither will I urge it;
But in that, as in all things else, I leave you

SCENE 2. 3.]
85
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
To be your own disposer.
Sfor. May I live
To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life.
[Flourish. Exeunt Emperor Char-
les, Medina, Hernando, and Al-
phonso.
Pes. So, sir, this tempest is well overblown,
And all things fall out to our wishes; but,
In my opinion, this quick return,
Before you've made a party in the court
Among the great ones (for these needy cap-
tains
Have little power in peace), may beget danger,
At least suspicion.
Sfor. Where true honour lives,
Doubt hath no being; I desire no pawn,
Beyond an emperor's word, for my assurance.
Besides, Pescara, to thyself, of all men,
I will confess my weakness: though my state
And crown's restor'd me, though I am in grace,
And that a little stay might be a step
To greater honours, I must hence. Alas,
I live not here; my wife, my wife, Pescara,
Being absent, I am dead. Pr'ythee excuse,
And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my
fondness;
But ride along with me: I'll give you reasons,
And strong ones, to plead for me.
Pes. Use your own pleasure;
I'll bear you company.
Sfor. Farewell, grief! I am stored with
Two blessings most desired in human life,
A constant friend, an unsuspected wife.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-MILAN. A Room in the Castle.
Enter GRACCHO.
Grac. Whipt like a rogue! no lighter pu-
nishment serve
To balance with a little mirth! 'Tis well:
My credit sunk for ever, I am now
Fit company only for pages and for footboys.
Enter JULIO and GIOVANNI.
Gio. See Julio,
Yonder the proud slave is. How he looks now,
After his castigation!
Julio. Let's be merry with him.
Grac. How they stare at me! am
to an owl?
Enter FRANCISCO and a Servant.
Hell now inspire me! How, the lord protector!
Whither thus in private?
I will not see him.
[Stands aside.
Fran. If I am sought for,
Say I am indispos'd, and will not hear
Or suits, or suitors.
Serv. But, sir, if the princess
Inquire, what shall I answer?
Fran. Say I am rid
Abroad to take the air; but by no means
Let her know I'm in court.
Serv. So I shall tell her.
Fran. Within there!
Enter a Gentlewoman.
[Exit.
Gentlew. My good lord, your pleasure?
Fran. Pr'ythee let me beg thy favour for
To the dutchess.
access
Gentlew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not;
She's very private.
Fran. Come, there's gold-
Where is thy lady?
A
Gentlew. She's walking in the gallery.
Fran. Bring me to her.
[Exeunt Francisco and Gentlewoman.
Grac. A brave discovery beyond my hope,
plot even offer'd to my hand to work on!
If I am dull now, may I live and die
The scorn of worms and slaves! Let me
consider;
My lady and her mother first committed,
In the favour of the dutchess; and I whipt!
To be conceal'd! good, good. This to my lady
And all his brib'd approaches to the dutchess
Deliver'd, as I'll order it, runs her mad.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-Another Room in the same.
Enter MARCELIA and FRANCISCO.
Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths! can it be
hop'd,
After a practice so abhorr'd and horrid,
Repentance e'er can find thee?
Fran. Dearest lady,
[Apart. I do confess, humbly confess my fault,
Apart. To be beyond all pity; my attempt
I turn'd So barbarously rude, that it would turn
A saint-like patience into savage fury.
Marc. I'st possible
The wonder, gentlemen?
Julio. I read this morning,
Strange stories of the passive fortitude
Of men in former ages, which I thought
Impossible, and not to be believed;
But now I look on you my wonder ceases.
Grac. The reason, sir?
Julio. Why, sir, you have been whipt;
Whipt, seignior Graccho; and the whip,
take it,
Is, to a gentleman, the greatest trial
That may be of his patience.
Grac. Sir, I'll call you
To a strict account for this.
Gio. I'll not deal with you,
Unless I have a beadle for my second;
And then I'll answer you.
Julio. Farewell, poor Graccho.
I
This can be cunning?
Fran. But, if no submission,
[Aside.
Nor prayers can appease you, that you may
know
'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue
thus,
I will not wait the sentence of the duke;
But I myself will do a fearful justice on myself,
No witness by but you.
Yet, before I do it,
For I perceive in you no signs of mercy,
I will disclose a secret, which, dying with me,
May prove your ruin.
Mare. Speak it; it will take from
The burden of thy conscience.
Fran. Thus, then, madam:
The warrant, by my lord sign'd for your death,
[Exeunt Julio and Giovanni. Was but conditional; but you must swear,
Grac. Better and better still. If ever wrongs By your unspotted truth, not to reveal it,
Could teach a wretch to find the way to Or I end here abruptly.
vengeance.
Marc. By my hopes

86
[ACT IV.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
Of joys hereafter. On.
Fran. Nor was it hate
That forc'd him to it, but excess of love.
"And if I ne'er return (so said great Sforza),
No living man deserving to enjoy
My best Marcelia, with the first news
That I am dead (for no man after me
Must e'er enjoy her), fail not to kill her.
But till certain proof
Assure thee I am lost (these were his words),
Observe and honour her, as if the soul
Of woman's goodness only dwelt in hers."
This trust I have abus'd, and basely wrong'd;
And if the excelling pity of your mind
Cannot forgive it, as I dare not hope it,
Rather than look on my offended lord,
I stand resolv'd to punish it.
[Draws his Sword.
Marc. Hold! 'tis forgiven,
And by me freely pardon'd. In thy fair life
Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty:
But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem
My life fit only as a page, to wait on
The various course of his uncertain fortunes;
Or cherish in himself that sensual hope,
In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me.
I will slack the ardour that I had to see him
Return in safety.
Fran. But if your entertainment
Should give the least ground to his jealousy,
To raise up an opinion I am false,
You then destroy your mercy.
Vouchsafe,
Therefore
In company, to do me those fair graces
And favours, which your innocence and honour
May safely warrant: it would to the duke,
I being to your best self alone known guilty,
Make me appear most innocent.
Marc. Have your wishes;
And something I may do to try his temper,
At least to make him know a constant wife
Is not so slaved to her husband's doting hu-
mours,
Her fate appointing it.
Fran. It is enough,
Nay, all I could desire; and will make way
To my revenge, which shall disperse itself
On him, on her, and all,
[Aside, and exit. Shout, and flourish.
Marc, What noise is that?
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Tib. All happiness to the dutchess, that may
flow
From the duke's new and wish'd return!
Marc. He's welcome.
Steph. How coldly she receives it! [Apart.
Tib. Observe the encounter. [Apart.
Flourish. Enter LUDOVICO SFORZA, PESCARA,
and Attendants.
Sfor. I have stood
Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting
When, with more than a greedy haste, thou
wouldst
Have flown into my arms, and on my lips
Have printed a deep welcome. My desires
To glass myself in these fair eyes, have borne
me
With more than human speed: nor durst I stay
In any temple, or to any saint,
To pay my vows and thanks for my return,
Till I had seen thee.
Marc. Sir, I am most happy
To look upon you safe, and would express
My love and duty in a modest fashion,
Such as might suit with the behaviour
Of one that knows herself a wife, and how
To temper her desires; nor can it wrong me
To love discreetly.
Sfor. How! why, can there be
A mean in your affections to Sforza?
My passions to you are in extremes,
And know no bounds.-Come, kiss me.
Marc. I obey you.
Sfor. By all the joys of love, she does sa-
lute me
As if I were her father! What witch,
With cursed spells, hath quench'd the amo-
rous heat
That liv'd upon these lips? Tell me, Marcelia,
And truly tell me, is't a fault of mine
That hath begot this coldness, or neglect
Of others in my absence?
Marc. Neither, sir:
I stand indebted to your substitute,
Noble and good Francisco, for his care,
And fair observance of me.
Sfor. How!
Steph. How the duke stands!
Tib. As he were rooted there,
And had no motion.
Pes. My lord, from whence
Grows this amazement?
[Apart.
[Apart.
Sfor. It is more, dear my friend;
For I am doubtful whether I've a being,
But certain that my life's a burden to me.
Take me back, good Pescara, show me to Caesar,
In all his rage and fury; I disclaim
His mercy; to live now, which is his gift,
Is worse than death, and with all studied tor-
Marcelia is unkind, nay, worse, grown cold
In her affection; my excess of fervour,
Which yet was never equall'd, grown dis-
tasteful.
ments.
But have thy wishes, woman; thou shalt know
That I can be myself, and thus shake off
The fetters of fond dotage. From my sight,
Without reply; for I am apt to do
Something I may repent.
Oh! who would place
[Exit Marcelia.
His happiness in most accursed woman;
In whom obsequiousness engenders pride,
And harshness, deadly hatred? From this hour
I'll labour to forget there are such creatures:
True friends, be now my mistresses.
Clear
your brows,
And, though my heart-strings crack for't, I
will be
We will have sports of all kinds, and propound
To all a free example of delight.
Rewards to such as can produce us new;
Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store:
And never think of curs'd Marcelia more.
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-The same. An Apartment in the
Castle.
Enter FRANCISCO and GRACCHO.
Fran. And is it possible thou shouldst forget
A wrong of such a nature, and then study
My safety and content?

SCENE 2.1
87
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
Grac. Sir, but allow me
In policy's roguish school, to try conclusions
Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive With one that, hath commenc'd, and gone out
doctor.
there:
knowledge,
That injuries from one in
Are noble favours.
grace, like you,
And you may please to grant me so much If I discover what but now he bragg'd of,
I shall not be believ'd: if I fall off
From him, his threats and actions go together,
And there's no hope of safety. Till I get
A plummet that may sound his deepest counsels,
I must obey and serve him. Want of skill
Now makes me play the rogue against my will.
[Exit.
Fran. But to the purpose;
And then, that service done, make thine own
fortunes.
My wife, thou say'st, is jealous I am too
Familiar with the dutchess.
Grac. And incens'd
For her commitment in her brother's absence;
And by her mother's anger is spurr'd on
To make discovery of it.
Fran. I thank thy care, and will deserve
this secret,
In making thee acquainted with a greater,
And of more moment. I delight in change
And sweet variety; that's my heaven on earth,
For which I love life only. I confess,
My wife pleas'd me a day; the dutches, two
(And yet I must not say I have enjoy'd her);
But now I care for neither: therefore, Grac-
cho,
So far I am from stopping Mariana
In making her complaint, that I desire thee
To urge her to it.
Grac. That may prove your ruin:
The duke already being, as 'tis reported,
Doubtful she hath play'd false.
Fran. There thou art cozen'd;
His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course,
And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose
time;
And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no,
Thou art to be my instrument; and, in spite
Of the old saw, that says, "It is not safe
On any terms to trust a man that's wrong'd,"
I dare thee to be false.
Grac. This is a language,
My lord, I understand not.
Fran. You thought, sirrah,
To
put a trick on me, for the relation
Of what I knew before; and, having won
Some weighty secret from me, in revenge
To play the traitor. Know, thou wretched
thing,
By my command thou wert whipt; and every
day
I'll have thee freshly tortur'd, if thou miss
In the least charge that I impose upon thee.
Though what I speak, for the most part, is
true;
Nay, grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses
To be depos'd they heard it, 'tis in me,
With one word, such is Sforza's confidence
Of
my fidelity not to be shaken,
SCENE II.-Another Apartment in the Castle.
Enter MARCELIA, TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and
Gentlewoman.
Marc. Command me from his sight, and
with such scorn
As he would rate his slave!
Tib. 'Twas in his fury.
Steph. And he repents it, madam.
Maro. Was I born
To observe his humours? or, because he dotes,
Must I run mad?
Tib. He hath paid the forfeit
Of his offence, I'm sure, with such a sorrow,
As if it had been greater, would deserve
A full remission.
Marc. Why, perhaps, he hath it;
And I stand more afflicted for his absence,
Than he can be for mine: so, pray you, tell
him.
But till I have digested some sad thoughts,
And reconcil'd passions that are at war
Within myself, I purpose to be private:
And have you care, unless it be Francisco,
That no man be admitted.
Tib. How! Francisco?"
[Exit Gentlewoman.
Enter FRANCISCO.
Steph. Here he comes.
Is this her privacy!
This may go to the duke.
[Exeunt Tib. and Steph.
Marc. Your face is full
Of fears and doubts: the reason!
Fran. O, best madam,
They are not counterfeit. The duke, the duke,
I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty.
Mare. By my unspotted honour, not from me;
Nor have I with him chang'd one syllable,
Since his return, but what you heard.
Fran. Yet malice
Is eagle-ey'd, and would see that which is not;
And jealousy's too apt to build upon
Unsure foundations.
Marc. Jealousy!
Fran. It takes.
[Aside.
Marc. Who dares but only think I can be
tainted?
To make all void, and ruin my accusers.
Therefore look to't; bring my wife hotly on But for him, though almost on certain proof,
To accuse me to the duke--I have an end in't-To give it hearing, not belief, deserves
Or think what 'tis makes man most miserable, My hate for ever.
And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a
fool
To hope, by being acquainted with my courses,
To curb and awe me; or that I should live
Thy slave, as thou didst saucily divine:
For prying in my counsels, still live mine.
[Exit.
Grac. I am caught on both sides. This 'tis
for a puisne
Fran. Whether grounded on
Your noble, yet chaste favours, shewn unto
me;
Or her imprisonment, for her contempt
To you, by my' command, my frantic wife
Hath put it in his head.
Marc. Have I then liv'd
So long, now to be doubted? Are my favours
The themes of her discourse? or what I do,

88
[ACT IV.
THE DUKE OF MILAN,
That never trod in a suspected path,
Subject to base construction? Be undaunted;
For now, as of a creature that is mine,
I rise up your protectress: all the grace
I hitherto have done you, was bestow'd
With a shut hand; it shall be now more free,
Open, and liberal. But let it not,
Though counterfeited to the life, teach you
To nourish saucy hopes.
Fran. May I be accurs'd,
When I prove such a monster!
Marc. I will stand then
Between you and all danger. He shall know,
Suspicion overturns what confidence builds;
And he that dares but doubt when there's no
ground,
Is neither to himself nor others sound. [Exit.
Fran. So, let it work! Her goodness, that
denied
My service, branded with the name of lust,
Shall now destroy itself; and she shall find,
When he's a suitor, that brings cunning arm'd
With power to be his advocates, the denial
Is a disease as killing as the plague,
And chastity a clue that leads to death.
Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash
And violent enough, and then at leisure
Repent; I care not.
And let my plots produce this long'd-for birth,
In my revenge I have my heaven on earth.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-Another Room in the same.
Enter LUDOVICO SFORZA, PESCARA, JULIO,
and GIOVANNI.
Pes. You promis'd to be merry.
Julio. There are pleasures,
And of all kinds, to entertain the time.
Gio. Your excellence vouchsafing to
choice
Of that which best affects you.
Sfor. Hold your prating.
Learn manners too; you are rude.
Pes. I must borrow
make
The privilege of a friend, and will; or else
I am, like these, a servant; or, what's worse,
A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships
In spite of reason.
Sfor. Pray you, use your freedom;
And so far, if you please, allow me mine,
To hear you only; not to be compell'd
To take your moral potions. I am a man,
And, though philosophy, your mistress, rage
for't,
Now I have cause to grieve, I must be sad;
And I dare show it.
Pes. Would it were bestow'd
Upon a worthier subject!
Sfor. Take heed, friend.
You rub a sore, whose pain will make
mad;
And I shall then forget myself and you.
Lance it no further.
Pes. Have you stood the shock
Deject your valour? Shall, I say, these virtues,
So many and so various trials of
Your constant mind, be buried in the frown
(To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman?
-Yet I have seen her equals.
-
Sfor. Good Pescara,
This language in another were profane;
In you it is unmannerly. Her equal!
I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly
(To all men else my sword should make reply),
Her goodness does disdain comparison,
And, but herself, admits no parallel.
Pes. Well, sir, I'll not cross you,
Nor labour to diminish your esteem,
Hereafter, of her.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Sfor. O! you are well return'd;
Say, am I blest? hath she vouchsaf'd to hear
you?
Is there hope left that she may be appeas'd?
Tib. She, sir, yet is froward,
And desires respite, and some privacy.
Steph. She was harsh at first; but, ere we
parted, seem'd not
Implacable.
Sfor. There's comfort yet: I'll ply her
Each hour with new ambassadors of more
honours,
Titles, and eminence: my second self,
Francisco, shall solicit her.,
Steph. That a wise man,
And what is more, a prince that may com-
mand,
Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife,
As she were a victorious enemy.
Sfor. What is that you mutter?
I'll have thy thoughts.
Steph. You shall. You are too fond,
And feed a pride that's swoln too big already,
And surfeits with observance.
Sfor. O my patience!
My vassal speak thus?
Steph. Let my head answer it,
If I offend. She, that you think a saint,
I fear, may play the devil.
Pes. Well said, old fellow. [Aside.
Steph. And he that hath so long engross'd
your favours,
Though to be nam'd with rev'rence, lord
Francisco,
Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you,
I think's too near her.
[Sfor. lays his Hand on his Sword.
Pes. Hold, sir! this is madness.
Steph. It may be they confer of joining
lordships;
I'm sure he's private with her.
Sfor. Let me go,
me I scorn to touch him; he deserves my pity,
And not my anger. Dotard! and to be one
Is thy protection, else thou durst not think
That love to my Marcelia hath left room
In my full heart for any jealous thought:
I could smile to think, what wretched things
they are,
That dare be jealous.
Of thousand enemies, and outfac'd the anger
Of a great emperor, that vow'd your ruin,
Though by a desperate, a glorious way,
That had no precedent?
Have you given proof, to this hour of your
life,
Prosperity, that searches the best temper,
Could never puff you up, nor adverse fate
Tib. This is a confidence
Beyond example.
Enter ISABELLA, and MARIANA.
Sfor. If you come

SCENE 3.]
89
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
To bring me comfort, say that you have made Let them at once dispatch me.
My peace with my Marcelia.
Isa. I had rather
Wait on you to your funeral.
Sfor. You are my mother;
Or, by her life, you were dead else.
Mari. VVould you were,
To your dishonour! Here your mother was
Committed by your servant (for I scorn
To call him husband), and myself, your sister,
If that you dare remember such a name,
Mew'd up, to make the way open and free
For the adultress; I am unwilling
To say, a part of Sforza.
Sfor. She hath blasphem'd, and by our law
must die.
Isa. Blasphem'd! for giving a false woman
her true name.
Sfor. O hell, what do I suffer?
Mari. Or is it treason
For me, that am a subject, to endeavour
To save the honour of the duke, and that
He should not be a wittol on record?
Sfor. Some proof, vile creature!
Or thou hast spoke thy last.
Mari. The public fame,
Their hourly private meetings; and, e'en now,
When, under a pretence of grief or anger,
You are denied the joys due to a husband,
And made a stranger to her, at all times
The door stands open to him.,
Sfor. O the malice
And envy of base women! Wretches! you
have rais'd
A monumental trophy to her. I'm so far
From giving credit to you, this would teach me
More to admire and serve her. You are not
worthy
To fall as sacrifices to appease her;
And therefore live till your own envy burst
you.
Isa. All is in vain; he is not to be mov'd.
Mari. She has bewitch'd him.
Pes. 'Tis so past belief,
To me it shows a fable.
Fran. Draw your sword then,
And, as you wish your own peace, quickly
kill me;
Consider not, but do it.
Sfor. Art thou mad?
Fran. Would from my youth a loathsome
leprosy
Had run upon this face, or that my breath
Had been infectious, and so made me shunn'd
Of all societies! Curs'd be he that taught me
Discourse or manners, or lent any grace
That makes the owner pleasing in the eye
Of wanton woman!
Sfor. I am on the rack!
Dissolve this doubtful riddle.
Fran. That I alone,
Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love
you,
And study your content, should be appointed,
Not by my will, but forc'd by cruel fate,
To be your greatest enemy! Not to hold you
In this amazement longer, in a word,
Your dutchess loves me.
Sfor. Loves thee!
Fran. Is mad for me-
Pursues me hourly.
Sfor. Oh!
Fran. And from hence grew
Her late neglect of you.
Sfor. O women! women!
Fran. I labour'd to divert her by persuasion,
Then urg'd your much love to her, and the
danger;
Denied her and with scorn.
Sfor. 'Twas like thyself.
Fran. But when I saw her smile, then heard
her say,
Your love and extreme dotage, as a cloak,
Should cover our embraces, and your power
Fright others from suspicion; and all favours
That should preserve her in her innocence,
By lust inverted to be us'd as bawds;
I could not but in duty (though I know
That the relation kills in you all hope
Of peace hereafter, and in me 'twill show
Enter FRANCISCO, speaking to a Servant Both base and poor to rise up her accuser)
within.
Fran. On thy life,
Provide my horses, and without the port
With care attend me.
Sere. [within] I shall, my lord.
Fran. Great sir,
I would impart,
Freely discover it.
Sfor. Eternal plagues
Pursue and overtake her! But, like a village
nurse,.
Stand I now cursing and considering, when
The tamest fool would do. Within there!
Stephano,
Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret, Tiberio, and the rest! I will be sudden,
I am in labour to deliver to you.
Sfor. All leave the room.
[Exeunt Isa. and Mari.]
Excuse me, good Pescara,
Ere long I will wait on you.
Pes. You speak, sir,
The language I should use.
Sfor. Be within call,
Perhaps we may have use of
Tib. We shall, sir.
you.
[Exit.
[Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano.
Sfor. Say on, my comfort!
Fran. Comfort! no, your torment,
For so my fate appoints me. I could curse
The hour that gave me being.
Sfor. What new monsters
Of misery stand ready to devour me?
And she shall know and feel, love in extremes
Abus'd, knows no degree in hate.
Re-enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Tib. My lord.
Sfor. Go to the chamber of that wicked
woman-
Steph. What wicked woman, sir?
Sfor. The devil, my wife.
Force a rude entry; drag her hither;
And know no pity: any gentle usage
To her will call on cruelty from me,
To such as show it. Stand you staring! Go,
Put my will in act.
[Exeunt Tiberio and Stephano.
Since she dares damnation,
I'll be a fury to her.
12

90
[ACT V.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
Fran. Yet, great sir,
Exceed not in your fury; she's yet guilty
Only in her intent.
Sfor. Intent, Francisco!
It does include all fact; and I might sooner
Be won to pardon treason to my crown,
Or one that kill'd my father.
Fran. You are wise,
And know what's best to do: yet, if you please,
To prove her temper to the height, say only
That I am dead, and then observe how far
She'll be transported. I'll remove a little,
But be within your call. Now to the upshot!
Howe'er, I'll shift for one. [Aside, and exit.
Re-enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and Guard,
with MARCELIA.
Marc. Where is this monster,
This walking tree of jealousy? Are you here?
Is it by your commandment or allowance,
I am thus basely us'd? Which of my virtues,
My labours, services, and cares to please you,
Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenc'd by you,
Before that I was guilty in a thought,
Made me put on a seeming anger towards you,
And now-behold the issue! As I do,
May heaven forgive you!
Sfor. Then I believe thee;
Believe thee innocent too.
Tib. Her sweet soul has left
Her beauteous prison.
Steph. Look to the duke; he stands
As if he wanted motion.
Tib. Grief hath stopp'd
The organ of his speech.
Sfor. O my heart-strings!
ACT V.
SCENE I.-The MILANESE.
[Dies.
[Exeunt.
A Room in Eu-
GENIA'S House.
Enter FRANCISCO and EUGENIA.
Fran. Why, couldst thou think, Eugenia,
that rewards,
Invites this barbarous course? Dare you look Graces, or favours, though strew'd thick upon
on me
Without a seal of shame?
Sfor. Impudence,
How ugly thou appear'st now! Thy intent
me,
Could ever bribe me to forget mine honour?
Or that I tamely would set down, before
I had dried these eyes, still wet with showers
of tears
To be a wanton, leaves thee not blood enough
To make an honest blush: what had the act By the fire of my revenge? Look up, my dearest!
For that proud fair, that thief-like, stepp'd
done?
Marc. Return'd thee the dishonour thou
deserv'st.
Sfor. Your chosen favourite, your woo'd
Francisco,
Has dearly paid for't; for, wretch! know, he's
dead,
And by my hand.
Marc. Thou hast kill'd then,
A man, I do profess I lov'd; a man
For whom a thousand queens might well be
rivals.
But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be
A jealous fool, dares be a murderer,
And knows no end in mischief.
Sfor. I begin now
In this my justice.
[Stabs her.
Marc. Oh! I have fool'd myself
Into my grave, and only grieve for that
Which, when you know you've slain an in-
nocent,
You needs must suffer.
Sfor. An innocent! Let one
Call in Francisco; for he lives, vile creature,
[Exit Stephano.
To justify thy falsehood.
With wanton flatteries thou hast tempted him.
Re-enter STEPHANO.
between
Thy promis'd hopes, and robb'd thee of a fortune
Almost in thy possession, hath found,
With horrid proof, his love she thought her
glory,
But hasten'd her sad ruin.
Eug. Do not flatter
A grief that is beneath it; for, however
The credulous duke to me prov'd false and cruel,
It is impossible he could be wrought on
So to serve her.
Fran. Such indeed, I grant,
The stream of his affection was, and ran,
A constant course, till I, with cunning malice
(And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice),
Made it turn backward; and hate, in extremes
(Love banish'd from his heart), to fill the room:
In a word, know the fair Marcelia's dead.
Eug. Dead!
Fran. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not
move you?
How coldly you receive it! I expected
The mere relation of so great a blessing,
Borne proudly on the wings of sweet revenge,
Would have call'd on a sacrifice of thanks.
You entertain it with a look, as if
You wish'd it were undone.
Eug. Indeed I do:
Steph. Seignior Francisco, sir, but even now For if my sorrows could receive addition,
Took horse without the ports.
Marc. We are both abus'd,
And both by him undone. Stay, death, a little,
Till I have clear'd me to my lord, and then
I willingly obey thee. O my Sforza!
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter;
And, as he thought to win me, show'd the
Her sad fate would increase, not lessen them.
She never injur'd me.
warrant
That you sign'd for my death. But, being
contemn'd,
Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me,
Not to reveal it: I, soft-hearted fool,
Judging his penitence true, was won unto it:
Fran. Have you then no gall,
Anger, or spleen, familiar to your
sex?
Or is it possible that you could see
Another to possess what was your due,
And not grow pale with envy?
Eug. Yes, of him
That did deceive me. There's no passion, that
A maid so, injur'd ever could partake of,
But I have dearly suffer'd. These three years,
In my desire and labour of revenge,
Trusted to you, I have endur'd the throes

SCENE 1.2.]
91
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
Of teeming women; and will hazard all
Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach
Thy heart, false Sforza!
Fran. Still mine own, and dearer!
And yet in this you but pour oil on fire,
And offer your assistance where it needs not:
And that you may perceive I lay not fallow,
But had your wrongs stamp'd deeply on my
heart,
I did begin his tragedy in her death,
To which it serv'd as prologue, and will make
A memorable story of your fortunes
In my assur'd revenge: only, best sister,
Let us not lose ourselves in the performance,
By your rash undertaking: we will be
As sudden as you could wish.
Eug. Upon those terms
I yield myself and cause, to be dispos'd of
As you think fit.
Enter a Servant.
Fran. Thy purpose?
Sero. There's one Graccho,
That follow'd you, it seems, upon the track,
Since you left Milan, that's importunate
To have access, and will not be denied;
His haste, he says, concerns you.
Fran. Bring him to me. [Exit Servant.
Though he hath laid an ambush for my life,
Or apprehension, yet I will prevent him,
And work mine own ends out.
Enter GRACCHO.
Grae. Now for my whipping!
And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him,
I'll swear there are worms in my brains.
Fran. Now, my good Graccho!
We meet as 'twere by miracle.
Be brief; what brought thee hither?
Grac. Love and duty,
[Aside.
And vigilance in me for my lord's safety.
You are a condemn'd man, pursued
sought for,
Speak, my oraculous Graccho.
Grac. I have heard, sir,
Of men in debt that, laid for by their creditors,
In all such places where it could be thought
They would take shelter, chose for sanctuary
Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses;
Confident that there they never should be
sought for.
Fran. But what infer you from it?
Grac. This, my lord;
That since all ways of your escape are stopp'd,
In Milan only, or, what's more, in the court,
Whither it is presum'd you dare not come,
Conceal'd in some disguise, you may live safe.
Fran. And not to be discover'd?
Grac. But by myself.
Fran. By thee? Alas! I know thee honest,
Graccho,
And I will put thy counsel into act,
And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful
For all thy loving travail to preserve me,
What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint,
Thou shalt be safe, good Graccho.-Who's
within there?
Grac. In the
devil's name, what means he?
[Aside.
Enter Servants.
Fran. Take my friend
Into your custody, and bind him fast:
I would not part with him.
Grac. My good lord!
Fran. Dispatch:
'Tis for your good, to keep you honest,
Graccho:
I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt
you
To play the traitor. Why, thou fool!
I can look through and through thee! thy
intents
Appear to me as written in thy forehead,
In plain and easy characters: and, but that
and I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that
sword
And your head rated at ten thousand ducats
To him that brings it.
Fran. Very good.
Grac. All passengers
Are intercepted, and your picture sent
To every state confederate with Milan:
It is impossible you should escape
Their curious search.
Eug. Why, let us then turn Romans.
And, falling by our own hands, mock their
threats.
Fran. Twould show nobly:
But that the honour of our full revenge
Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia,
Graccho is wise; my friend too, not my
servant;
And I dare trust him with my latest secret.
We would, and thou must help us to perform it,
First kill the duke-then, fall what can upon us!
For injuries are writ in brass, kind Graccho,
And not to be forgotten.
Grac. He instructs me
What I should do.
Fran. What's that?
Grac. I labour with
[Aside.
That from a prince expects a scarlet die,
Thou now wert dead. Away with him!
I will not hear a syllable.
[Exeunt Servants, with Graccho.
We must trust
Ourselves, Eugenia; and though we make
use of
The counsel of our servants, that oil spent,
Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out.
But now to our last scene, which we'll so
carry,
That few shall understand how 'twas begun,
Till all, with half an eye, may see 'tis done.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-MILAN. A Room in the Castle.
Enter PESCARA, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO.
Pes. The like was never read of.
Steph. But that melancholy should work
So far upon a man, as to compel him
To court a thing that has nor sense nor being,
Is unto me a miracle.
Pes. Troth, I'll tell you,
And briefly as I can, by what degrees
He fell into this madness. When, by the care
A strong desire to assist you with my service; Of his physicians, he was brought to life,
And now I am deliver'd of it,
Fran. I told you.
He call'd for fair Marcelia, and being told
That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes

92
[ACT V.
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
(I would not say blasphem'd); then it came
Into his fancy that she was accus'd
By his mother and his sister; thrice he curs'd
them,
Bite your tongues, vile creatures,
And let your inward horror fright your souls,
For having belied that pureness.
And for that dog, Francisco, that seduc'd me,
And thrice his desp'rate hand was on his sword I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him,
T'have kill'd them both; but they restrain'd him;
When wisely his physicians, looking on
The dutchess's wound, to stay his ready hand,
Cried out, it was not mortal.
Tib. 'Twas well thought on.
Pes. He, easily believing what he wish'd,
Fell prostrate at the doctors' feet, and swore,
Provided they recover'd her, he would live
A private man, and they should share his
dukedom.
Sfor. [Within] Support her gently,
Pes. Now be your own witnesses;
I am prevented.
Enter LUDOVICO SFORZA, ISABELLA, MARIANA,
Doctors, and Servants, with the Body
of MARCELIA.
Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you.
How pale and wan she looks! O pardon me,
That I presume, dyed o'er with bloody guilt,
To touch this snow-white hand. How cold
it is!
This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still
'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too!
Yet in this temper she is all perfection.
Mari. Is not this strange?
Isa Oh! cross him not, dear daughter.
Enter a Servant, and whispers PESCARA.
Pes. With me? What is he?
Sero. He has a strange aspect;
A Jew by birth, and a physician
By his profession, as he says; who, hearing
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of
His life, will undertake to render him
Perfect in every part.
[Apart.
Pes. Bring me to him,
As I find cause, I'll do,
[Apart. Exeunt Pescara and Servants.
Sfor. How sound she sleeps!
And there live a fourth fury to torment him.
Then, for this cursed hand and arm, that
guided
The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint,
With burning irons sear'd off, which I will eat,
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion.
Lastly-
1 Doc. You are too loud, sir; you disturb
Her sweet repose.
Sfor. I am hush'd.
1 Doc. He's past hope: we can no longer
cover the imposture.
Re-enter PESCARA, with FRANCISCO, as a Jew
Doctor, and EUGENIA, disguised.
Fran. I am no god, sir,
To give a new life to her; yet I'll hazard
My head, I'll work the senseless trunk t'appear
To him as it had got a second being.
Pes. Do but this,
Till we use means to win upon his passions,
T'endure to hear she's dead with some small
patience,
And make thy own reward.
Fran. The art I use
Admits no looker on: I only ask
The fourth part of an hour, to perfect that
I boldly undertake. Therefore command,
That instantly my pupil and myself
Have leave to make a trial of our skill
Alone and undisturb'd.
[Exit Eugenia.
Pes. About it straight.
Sfor. What stranger's this?
Pes. Look up sir, cheerfully;
Comfort in him flows strongly to you.
Sfor. Comfort! from whence came that
sound?
Pes. He is a man that can do wonders.
[Beckons Francisco. Exit Francisco.
Do not hinder
Heaven keep her from a lethargy! How long The dutchess's wish'd recovery, to inquire
(But answer me with comfort, I beseech you) Or what he is, or to give thanks; but leave him
Does your judgment tell you that her sleep To work this miracle.
will last?
1 Doc. We have given her, sir,
A sleepy potion, that will hold her long;
That she may be less sensible of the torment
The searching of her wound will put her to.
Sfor. I am patient.
You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure.
What do you think she dreams of now? for
sure,
Although her body's organs are bound fast,
Her fancy cannot slumber.
1 Doc. That, sir, looks on
Your sorrow for your late rash act, and
pares
To meet the free confession of your guilt
With a glad pardon.
Sfor. She was ever kind.
Let her behold me in a pleasing dream
pre-
[Kneels.
Thus, on my knees before her (yet that duty
In me is not sufficient); let her see me
Compel my mother, from whom I took life,
And this my sister, partner of my being,
To bow thus low unto her:
Sfor. Sure 'tis my good angel.
I do obey in all things. Be it death
For any to disturb him, or come near,
Till he be pleas'd to call us. O be prosperous,
And make a duke thy bondman. [Exeunt
Re-enter FRANCISCO, leading in, EUGENIA,
clothed as the Body of MARCELIA.
Fran. Tis my purpose.
I'll make the door fast-so-
Eug. Alas! I tremble:
Thus to tyrannise upon, and mock the dead,
Is most inhuman.
Fran. Come we for revenge,
And can we think on pity? If to enjoy
The wish'd-for sacrifice to thy lost honour,
Be in thy wavering thought a benefit,
Now art thou blest.
Eug. Ah me! what follows now?
Fran. What, but a full conclusion of our
wishes!
Look on this flow'r, Eugenia-such a thing
As yonder corpse, whose fatal robe you wear,
Must the pale wretch be summon'd to appear

SCENE 1.]
93
THE DUKE OF MILAN.
In the grim court of death, whose senses taste And after breath'd a jealousy upon thee,
The poisonous powder scatter'd o'er its leaves. As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
Now mark, that when with rapturous lust, When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
Thinking the dead Marcelia reviv'd,
I made thee do a deed heaven will not pardon,
The duke shall fix his lips upon thy hand,
Which was-to kill an innocent.
Hold fast the poison'd herb, till the fond fool
Has drunk his death-draught from thy hand
he spurn'd.
Eug. I yield myself and cause up, to be
dispos'd
As thou think'st fit. [Sits down veiled.
Fran. Now to the upshot;
And, as it proves, applaud it.-My lord the
duke!
Enter with joy, and see the sudden change,
Your servant's hand hath wrought.
Re-enter LUDOVICO SFORZA and the Rest.
Sfor. I live again
In my full confidence that Marcelia may
Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet?
Fran. No:
You must not look for all your joys at once;
That will ask longer time.
Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had
from her,
This hand seems as it was when first I kiss'd it.
[Kisses her Hand.
Pes. 'Tis wondrous strange!
Sfor. This act will bind e'en heaven your
debtor:
The saints will smile and look on't.
Oh, I could ever feed upon this native
Sweetness.
[Kisses her Hand again. Eugenia
throws away the Flower, and
sobs.
She wakes! she lives! and I am blest again.
[She lifts up her Feil.
Oh! horror! shield me from that face.
Eug. I can no more-thou'rt mark'd for death.
Pes. Treason, treason!
Tib. Call up the guard.
Fran. Then we are lost.
Sfor. Speak.
Eug. This is-
Enter Guard.
Fran. Francisco.
Pes. Monster of men!
Fran. Give me all attributes
Of all you can imagine, yet I glory
To be the thing I was born. I am Francisco;
Francisco, that was rais'd by you, and made
The minion of the time; the same Francisco,
That would have us'd thy wife while she had life,
Sfor. Call forth the tortures
For all that flesh can feel.
Fran. I dare the worst.
Only, to yield some reason to the world
Why I pursu'd this course-look on this face,
Made old by thy base falsehood! 'tis Eugenia.
Sfor. Eugenia!
Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister,
Seduc'd and fool'd by thee; but thou must
pay
The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not
work yet?
Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not,
Thou art mark'd for the grave: I've given thee
poison
In this cup; now observe me: which, thy lust
Carousing deeply of, made thee forget
Thy vow'd faith to Eugenia.
Pes. O damn'd villain!
How do you, sir? [To Ludovico Sforza.
Sfor. Like one
That learns to know in death what punish-
ment
Waits on the breach of faith! Oh! now I feel
An Aetna in my entrails. I have liv'd
A prince, and my last breath shall be command.
I burn! I burn! yet, ere life be consum'd,
Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture
That witty cruelty can invent.
I
Pes. Away with him!
Tib. In all things we will serve you.
Fran. Farewell, sister!
Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn;
leave the world with glory. They are men,
And leave behind them name and memory,
That, wrong'd, do right themselves before they
die.
[Exeunt Guard, with Francisco.
Steph. A desperate wretch!
Sfor. I come: death! I obey thee.
Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!
My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia,
In death forgive me.-As you love me, bear
her
To some religious house, there let her spend
The remnant of her life: when I am ashes,
Perhaps she'll be appeas'd, and spare a prayer
For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia,
And let our epitaph be-
[Dies. Curtain falls.
MOORE.
EDWARD MOORE was bred a linen-draper; but having a stronger attachment to Pegasus than the yard, and a
more ardent zeal in the pursuit of fame than in the hunt after fortune, he quitted business and applied to the Muses
for a support. In verse he had certainly a very happy and pleasing manner; in his Trial of Selim the Persian, which
is a compliment to the ingenious Lord Lyttelton, he has shewn himself a perfect master of the most elegant kind of
panegyric, viz. that which is couched under the appearance of accusation; and his Fables for the Female Sex seem,
not only in the freedom and case of the versification, but also in the forcibleness of the moral and poignancy of the
satire, to approach nearer to the manner of Mr, Gay, than any of the numerous imitations of that author which have
been attempted since the publication of his Fables. As a dramatic writer, Mr. Moore has, by no means, met with the

94
THE GAMESTER.
[ACT 1.
success his works had merited; since, out of three plays that he wrote, one of them, The Foundling, has been con-
demned for its supposed resemblance to a very celebrated comedy (The Conscious Lovers), but to which great prefer-
ence must be given; and another, The Gamester, met with a cold reception, for no other apparent reason, but because
it too nearly touched a favourite and fashionable vice. Yet on the whole his plots are interesting his sentiments deli-
cate, and his language poetical and pleasing; and, what crowns the whole of his recommendation, the greatest purity
runs through all his writings, and the apparent tendency of every piece is towards the promotion of morality and
virtue. The two plays mentioned, and one more, (Gil Blas) with a serenata (Solomon) make the whole of his dra-
matic works. Mr. Moore married a lady of the name of Hamilton, whose father was table-decker to the princesses;
she had also a very poetical turn, and has been said to have assisted him in the writing of his tragedy. One specimen
of her poetry, however, was handed about before their marriage; it was addressed to a daughter of the famous Stephen
Duck; and begins with the following stanza:
Would you think it, my Duck, for the fault I must own
Your Jenny, at last, is quite covetous grown;
Though millions if fortune should lavishly pour,
I still should be wretched if I had not MORE.
And after half a dozen stanzas more, in which, with great ingenuity and delicacy, and yet in a manner that expres-
ses a sincere affection, she has quibbled on our author's name, she concludes with the following lines:
But you shan't know his name; though I told you before,
You will wonder, my girl, who this dear one can be, It begins with an M.; but I dare not say MORE.
Whose merit can boast such a conquest as me;
Mr. Moore died the 28. of Febr. 1757, soon after his celebrated papers, entitled The World, were collected into
volumes.
THE GAMESTER.
ACTED at Drury Lane 1753. This tragedy is written in prose, and is the best drama that Mr. Moore produced,
The language is nervous, and yet pathetic; the plot is artful, yet clearly conducted; the characters are highly marked,
yet not unnatural; and the catastrophe is truly tragic, yet not unjust. Still with all these merits it met with but mid-
dling success, the general cry against it being, that the distress was too deep to be borne; yet we are rather apt to ima-
gine its want of perfect approbation arose in one part, and that no inconsiderable one, of the audience, from a tenderness
of another kind than that of compassion; and that they were less hurt by the distress of Beverley, than by finding their
darling vice, their favourite folly, thus vehemently attacked by the strong lance of reason and dramatic execution. It
has often been disputed, whether plays, in which the plots are taken from domestic life, should be written in prose or
metre; and the success of the present performance and George Barnwell must incline one very strongly in favour of
the former. A great author, however, appears to be of a different opinion. Mr. Howard says, that having communi-
cated his play of The Female Gamester to Dr. Samuel Johnson, that gentleman observed that he could hardly consider
a prose tragedy as dramatic; that it was difficult to performers to speak it; that, let it be either in the middling or in
low life, it may, though in metre and spirited, be properly familiar and colloquial; that many in the middling rank are
not without erudition; that they have the feelings and sensations of nature, and every emotion in consequence thereof,
as well as the great; that even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language; and that the writing of prose is ge-
nerally the plea and excuse of poverty of genius." We have heard that the interview between Lewson and Stukely,
in the fourth act, was the production of Mr. Garrick's pen. When the play was shown in manuscript to Dr. Young,
he remarked, that "Gaming wanted such a caustic as the concluding scene of the play presented."
BEVERLEY.
LEWSON.
STUKELY.
JARVIS.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
BATES.
DAWSON.
WAITER.
MRS. BEVERLEY.
CHARLOTTE.
LUCY.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings..
MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered.
Mrs. B. Be comforted, my dear, all may be
one vice driven him from every virtue!-Nay,
from his affections too!-The time was, sister-
Mrs. B. And is. I have no fear of his af-
fections. Would I knew that he were safe!
Char. From ruin and his companions. But
well yet.
And now, methinks, the lodging that's impossible. His poor little boy too!
begins to look with another face. Oh, sister! What must become of him?
sister! if these were all my hardships; if all I Mrs. B. Why, want shall teach him indus-
had to complain of were no more than quit- try. From his father's mistakes he shall learn
ting my house, servants, equipage, and show, prudence, and from his mother's resignation,
your pity would be weakness.
patience. Poverty has no such terrors in it
Char. Is poverty nothing, then?
as you imagine. There's no condition of life,
Mrs. B. Nothing in the world, if it affected sickness and pain excepted, where happiness
only me. While we had a fortune, I was is excluded. The husbandman, who rises early
the happiest of the rich; and now 'tis gone, to his labour, enjoys more welcome rest at
give me but a bare subsistence and my hus-night for't. His bread is sweeter to him; his
band's smiles, and I shall be the happiest of home happier; his family dearer; his enjoy-
the poor. Why do you look at me?
Char. That I may hate my brother.
Mrs. B. Don't talk so, Charlotte.
ments surer. The sun that rouses him in the
morning, sets in the evening to release him.
All situations have their comforts if sweet
Char. Has he not undone you?-Oh, this contentment dwell in the heart. But my poor
pernicious vice of gaming! But methinks his Beverley has none. The thought of having
usual hours of four or five in the morning ruined those he loves is misery for ever to
might have contented him. Need he have him. Would I could ease his mind of that!
staid out all night?-I shall learn to detest him. Char. If he alone were ruined 'twere just
Mrs. B. Not for the first fault. He never he should be punished. He is my brother,
slept from me before.
'tis true; but when I think of what he has
Char. Slept from you! No, no, his nights done-of the fortune you brought him-of his
have nothing to do with sleep. How has this own large estate too, squandered away upon

SCENE 1.]
THE GAMESTER.
95
this vilest of passions, and among the vilest of Jar. Is he indeed so poor, then?-Oh! he
wretches! Oh, I have no patience!-My own was the joy of my old heart-But must his
little fortune is untouched, he says. Would creditors have all?-And have they sold his
I were sure on't.
house too? His father built it when he was
Mrs. B. And so you may-'twould be a but a prating boy. The times that I have
carried him in these arms! And, Jarvis, says
sin to doubt it.
Char. I will be sure on't-'twas madness he, when a beggar has asked charity of me,
in me to give it to his management. But I'll why should people be poor? You shan't be
demand it from him this morning. I have a poor, Jarvis; if I were a king nobody should
melancholy occasion for it.
be poor. Yet he is poor. And then he was
Mrs. B. What occasion?
so brave!-Oh, he was a brave little boy! And
Char. To support a sister.
yet so merciful, he'd not have killed the gnat
that stung him.
Mrs. B. No; I have no need on't. Take
it, and reward a lover with it.-The generous
Lewson deserves much more-Why won't
you make him happy?
Char. Because my sister's miserable.
Mrs. B. Speak to him, Charlotte, for I cannot.
Jar. I have a little money, madam; it might
have been more, but I have loved the poor.
All that I have is yours.
Mrs. B. You must not think so. I have my Mrs. B. No, Jarvis; we have enough yet.
jewels left yet. And when all's gone, these I thank you though, and I will deserve your
hands shall toil for our support. The poor goodness.
should be industrious-Why those tears,
Charlotte?
Mrs. B. Not at home, Jarvis. You shall
see him another time.
Jar. But shall I see my master? And will
he let me attend him in his distresses; I'll be
Char. They flow in pity for you.
no expense to him; and, 'twill kill me to be
Mrs. B. All may be well yet. When he refused.-Where is he, madam?
has nothing to lose, 1 shall fetter him in these
arms again; and then what is it to be poor?
Char. Cure him but of this destructive pas-
sion, and my uncle's death may retrieve all yet.
Mrs. B. Ay, Charlotte, could we cure him!
-But the disease of play admits no cure but
poverty; and the loss of another fortune would
but increase his shame and his affliction.-
Will Mr. Lewson call this morning?
Char. He said so last night. He gave me
hints too, that he had suspicions of our friend
Stukely.
Mrs. B. Not of treachery to my husband?
That he loves play I know, but surely he's
honest.
Char. He would fain be thought so;-there-
fore I doubt him. Honesty needs no pains
to set itself off.
Enter LucY.
Char. Tó-morrow, or the next day - Oh,
Jarvis! what a change is here!
Jar. A change indeed, madam! my old heart
aches at it. And yet, methinks-But here's
somebody coming.
Re-enter LUCY, with STUKELY.
Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam.
[Exit.
Stuke. Good morning to you, ladies. Mr.
Jarvis, your servant. Where's my friend,
madam?
[To Mrs. Beverley.
Mrs. B. I should have asked that question
of you. Have you seen him to-day?
Stuke. No, madam.
Char. Nor last night?
Stuke. Last night! Did he not come home then?
Mrs. B. No.-Were you not together?
Stuke. At the beginning of the evening, but
Lucy. Your old steward, madam. I had not since.-Where can he have staid?
not the heart to deny him admittance, the
Char. You call yourself his friend, sir-why
good old man begged so hard for't. [Exit. do you encourage him in this madness of
Enter JARVIS.
Mrs. B. Is this well, Jarvis? I desired you
to avoid me.
gaming?
Stuke. You have asked me that question
before, madam; and I told you my concern
was that I could not save him; Mr. Beverley
is a man, madam; and if the most friendly
entreaties have no effect upon him, I have no
other means. My purse has been his, even
to the injury of my fortune. If that has been
Mrs. B. The faithful creature! how he moves encouragement I deserve censure; but I meant
[To Charlotte. it to retrieve him.
Jar. Did you, madam? I am an old man,
and had forgot. Perhaps, too, you forbade
my tears; but I am old, madam, and age will
be forgetful.
me!
Jar. I have forgot these apartments too. I Mrs. B. I don't doubt it, sir, and I thank
remember none such in my young master's you-But where did you leave him last night?
house; and yet I have lived in't these five-
and-twenty years. His good father would not
have dismissed me.
Mrs. B. He had no reason, Jarvis.
Jar. I was faithful to him while he lived,
and when he died he bequeathed me to his
son. I have been faithful to him too.
Mrs. B. I know it, I know it, Jarvis.
Jar. I have not a long time to live. I
ed but to have died with him, and he dis-
missed me.
his
Stuke. At Wilson's, madam, if I ought to
tell, in company I did not like. Possibly he
may be there still. Mr. Jarvis knows the
house, I believe.
Jar, Shall I go, madam?
Mrs. B. No; he may take it ill.
Char. He may go as from himself.
Stuke. And if he pleases, madam, without
ask-naming me. I am faulty myself, and should
conceal the errors of a friend. But I can re-
fuse nothing here. [Bowing to the Ladies.
Jar. I would fain see him, methinks.
Mrs. B. Do so then, but take care how you
Mrs.. B. Pr'ythee no more of this! 'Twas
poverty that dismissed you.

96
THE GAMESTER.
[ACT I.
Mrs. B. Nor have you, sir. Who told you
upbraid him-I have never upbraided him.
Jar. Would I could bring him comfort! of suspicion? I have a heart it cannot reach.
Stuke. Then I am happy-I would say more
[Exit.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Stuke. Don't be too much alarmed, madam.-but am prevented.
All men have their errors, and their times of
seeing them. Perhaps my friend's time is not
come yet. But he has an uncle; and old men Char. What a heart has that Jarvis!-A
don't live for ever. You should look forward, creditor, sister. But the good old man has
madam; we are taught how to value a second taken him away-"Don't distress his wife-
fortune by the loss of a first.
Don't distress his sister." I could hear him
[Knocking at the Door. say. ""Tis cruel to distress the afflicted"-
Mrs. B. Hark!-No-that knocking was too And when he saw me at the door, he begged
rude for Mr. Beverley. Pray heaven he be well! pardon that his friend had knocked so loud.
Stuke. Never doubt it, madam. You shall Stuke. I wish I had known of this.
be well too-Every thing shall be well. it a large demand, madam?
[Knocking again. Char. I heard not that; but visits such as
Mrs. B. The knocking is a little loud though these we must expect often-Why so distress-
-Who waits there? Will none of you an-ed, sister? This is no new affliction.
swer?-None of you, did I say?-Alas, what Mrs. B. No, Charlotte; but I am faint with
was I thinking of! I had forgot myself. watching quite sunk and spiritless - Will
Char. I'll go, sister-But don't be alarmed you excuse me, sir? I'll to my chamber, and
[Exit. try to rest a little.
SO.
Was
[Exit.
Stuke. What extraordinary accident have Stuke. Good thoughts go with you, madam.
you to fear, madam?
My bait is taken then. [Aside.]-Poor Mrs. Be-
verley! How my heart grieves to see her thus!
Char. Cure her, and be. a friend then.
Stuke. How cure her, madam?
Char. Reclaim my brother.
Mrs. B. I beg your pardon; but 'tis ever
thus with me in Mr. Beverley's absence. No
one knocks at the door, but I fancy it is a
messenger of ill news.
Stuke. Ay; give him a new creation, or
Stuke. You are too fearful, madam; 'twas
but one night of absence; and if ill thoughts breathe another soul into him. I'll think on't,
intrude (as love is always doubtful), think of madam. Advice, I see, is thankless.
your worth and beauty, and drive them from Char. Useless I am sure it is, if, through
your breast.
mistaken friendship, or other motives, you
Mrs. B. What thoughts? I have no thoughts feed his passion with your purse, and sooth
that wrong my husband.
it by example. Physicians, to cure fevers,
Stuke. Such thoughts indeed would wrong keep from the patient's thirsty lip the cup that
him. The world is full of slander; and every would inflame him. You give it to his hands.
wretch that knows himself unjust, charges his [4 knocking] Hark, sir!-These are my bro-
neighbour with like passions; and by the ge- ther's desperate symptoms-Another creditor!
neral frailty hides his own-If you are wise, Stuke. One not so easily got rid of-What,
and would be happy, turn a deaf ear to such Lewson!
reports. 'Tis ruin to believe them.
Mrs. B. Ay, worse than ruin. "Twould be
to sin against conviction. Why was it men-
tioned?
Stuke. To guard you against rumour. The
sport of half mankind is mischief; and for a
single error they make men devils. If their
tales reach you, disbelieve them,
Mrs. B. What tales? By whom? Why
told? I have heard nothing-or, if I had, with
all his errors, my Beverley's firm faith admits
no doubt-It is my safety, my seat of rest and
joy, while the storm threatens round me. I'll
not forsake it. [Stukely sighs, and looks
down.] Why turn you, sir, away? and why
that sigh?
Enter LEWSON.
Lew. Madam, your servant-Yours, sir. I
was inquiring for you at your lodgings.
Stuke. This morning! You had business
then?
Lew. You'll call it by another name, per-
haps. Where's Mr. Beverley, madam?
Char. We have sent to inquire for him.
Lew. Is he abroad then? He did not use to
go out so early.
Char. No, nor stay out so late.
Lew. Is that the case? I am sorry for it.
But Mr. Stukely, perhaps, may direct you to
him.
Stuke. I have already, sir. But what was
your business with me?
Lew. To congratulate you upon your late
successes at play. Poor Beverley! But you
are his friend; and there's a comfort in having
successful friends.
Stuke. I was attentive, madam; and sighs
will come, we know not why. Perhaps I have
been too busy-If it should seem so, impute
my zeal to friendship, that meant to guard you
against evil tongues. Your Beverley is wronged,
slandered most vilely-My life upon his truth. Stuke. And what am I to understand by this?
Mrs. B. And mine too. Who is't that Lew. That Beverley's a poor man, with a
doubts it? But no matter-I am prepared, sir-rich friend; that's all.
Yet why this caution?-You are my husband's Stuke. Your words would mean something,
friend; I think you mine too; the common I suppose. Another time, sir, I shall desire
friend of both. [Pauses] I had been uncon- an explanation.
cerned else.
Lew. And why not now? I am no dealer
Stuke. For heaven's sake, madam, be so in long sentences. A minute or two will do
still! I meant to guard you against suspicion, for me.
not to alarm it.
Stuke. But not for me, sir. - I am slow of

SCENE 1.2.]
97
THE GAMESTER.
apprehension, and must have time and priv-less, will be sufficient for us. We shall find
acy. A lady's presence engages my attention. you at home, madam?
Another morning I may be found at home.
Lew. Another morning, then, I'll wait upon
you.
Stuke. I shall expect you, sir. Madam, your
servant.
[Exit.
Char. What mean you by this?
Lew. To hint to him that I know him.
[To Charlotte. Exit with Mrs. Beverley.
Char. Certainly.
SCENE II.-STUKELY's Lodgings.
Enter STUKELY.
Stuke. That Lewson suspects me, 'tis too
Char. How know him? Mere doubt and plain. Yet why should he suspect me?-I ap-
supposition!
Lew. I shall have proof soon.
Char. And what then? Would you
your life to be his punisher?
pear the friend of Beverley as much as he.
But I am rich, it seems; and so I am, thanks
risk to another's folly and my own wisdom. To
what use is wisdom, but to take advantage of
Lew. My life, madam! Don't be afraid. But the weak? This Beverley's my fool; I cheat
let it content you that I know this Stukely him, and he calls me friend. But more bu-
"Twould be as easy to make him honest as siness must be done yet-His wife's jewels are
brave.
unsold; so is the reversion of his uncle's estate:
Char. And what do you intend to do. I must have these too. And then there's a
Lew. Nothing, till I have proof. But me- treasure above all-I love his wife-Before she
thinks, madam, I am acting here without author- knew this Beverley I loved her; but, like a
ity. Could I have leave to call Mr. Bever- cringing fool, bowed at a distance, while he
ley brother, his concerns would be my own. stepped in and won her- Never, never will
Why will you make my services appear of- I forgive him for it. Those hints this morn-
ficious?
ing were well thrown in-Already they have
Char. You know my reasons, and should fastened on her. If jealousy should weaken
not press me. But I am cold, you say; and her affections, want may corrupt her virtue-
cold I will be, while a poor sister's destitute These jewels may do much-He shall demand
-But let us change this subject - Your busi- them of her; which, when mine, shall be con-
ness here this morning is with my sister. Mis-verted to special purposes-
fortunes press too hard upon her; yet, till to-
day she has borne them nobly.
Lew. Where is she?
Char. Gone to her chamber. Her spirits
failed her.
Enter BATES.
What now, Bates?
Bates. Is it a wonder then to see me? The
forces are all in readiness, and only wait for
Lew. I hear her coming. Let what has pas-orders. Where's Beverley?
sed with Stukely be a secret-She has already
too much to trouble her.
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY.
Mrs. B. Good morning, sir; I heard your
voice, and, as I thought, inquiring for me.
Where's Mr. Stukely, Charlotte?
Char. This moment gone-You have been
in tears, sister; but here's a friend shall com-
fort you.
Lew. Or, if I add to your distresses, I'll beg
your pardon, madam. The sale of your house
and furniture was finished yesterday.
Stuke. At last night's rendezvous, waiting
for me. Is Dawson with you?
Bates. Dressed like a nobleman; with mo-
ney in his pocket, and a set of dice that shall
deceive the devil.
Stuke. That fellow has a head to undo a
nation; but for the rest, they are such low-
mannered, ill-looking dogs, I wonder Beverley
has not suspected them.
Bates. No matter for manners and looks.
Do you supply them with money, and they
are gentlemen by profession- The passion of
gaming casts such a mist before the eyes, that
Mrs. B. I know it, sir; I know too your the nobleman shall be surrounded with shar-
generous reason for putting me in mind of it. pers, and imagine himself in the best company.
But you have obliged me too much already. Stuke. There's that Williams too. It was
Lew. There are trifles, madam, which I he, I suppose, that called at Beverley's with
know you have set a value on; those I have the note this morning. What directions did
purchased, and will deliver. I have a friend you give him?
too, that esteems you-He has bought largely,
and will call nothing his, till he has seen you.
If a visit to him would not be painful, he has
begged it may be this morning.
Bates. To knock loud and be clamorous.
Did not you see him?
Stuke. No; the fool sneaked off with Jarvis.
Had he appeared within doors as directed, the
Mrs. B. Not painful in the least, my pain note had been discharged. I waited there on
is from the kindness of my friends. Why am purpose. I want the women to think well of
I to be obliged beyond the power of return? me, for Lewson's grown suspicious; he told
Lew. You shall repay us at your own time. me so himself.
I have a coach waiting at the door-Shall we
have your company, madam? [To Charlotte.
Char. No; my brother may return soon;
I'll stay and receive him.
Mrs. B. He may want a comforter, perhaps.
But don't upbraid him, Charlotte. We shan't
be absent long. Come, sir, since I must be
so obliged.
Lew. 'Tis I that am obliged. An hour, or
Bates. What answer did you make him?
Stuke. A short one-That I would see him
soon for further explanation.
But
Bates. We must take care of him.
what have we to do with Beverley? Dawson
and the rest are wondering at you.
Stuke. Why, let them wonder. I have de-
signs above their narrow reach. They see
me lend him money, and they stare at me.
13

98
[ACT II.
THE GAMESTER.
Bev. No; think'st thou I'd ruin thee too? I
have enough of shame already-My wife! my
wife! Wouldst thou believe it, Jarvis? I have
But they are fools. I want him to believe
me beggared by him.
Bates. And what then?
Stuke. Ay, there's the question; but no not seen her all this long night-I, who have
matter; at night you may know more. He loved her so, that every hour of absence seemed
waits for me at Wilson's.-I told the women as a gap in life! but other bonds have held
where to find him.
me-Oh, I have played the boy! dropping my
counters in the stream, and reaching to re-
deem them, lost myself!
Bates. To what purpose?
Stuke. To save suspicion. It looked friendly,
and they thanked me.-Old Jarvis was dis-
patched to him.
Bates. And may
Stuke. No; he
but I'll have none.
entreat him home-
expects money from me,
His wife's jewels must go
Women are easy creatures, and refuse
nothing where they love. Follow to Wilson's
-Come, sir.
-
Let drudging fools by honesty grow great;
The shorter road to riches is deceit.
ACT II.
Jar. For pity's sake, sir!-I have no heart
to see this change.
Bev. Nor I to bear it-How speaks the
world of me, Jarvis?
Jar. As of a good man dead-Of one who,
walking in a dream, fell down a precipice.
The world is sorry for you.
Bev. Ay, and pities me- Says it not so?
But I was born to infamy. I'll tell thee what
it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous hus-
[Exeunt. band, a cruel father, a false brother, one lost
to nature and her charities; or, to say all in
one short word, it calls me-gamester.
SCENE I.-A Gaming-house, with a Table, to thy mistress-I'll see her presently.
Box, Dice, etc.
BEVERLEY discovered sitting.
Go
Jar. And why not now? Rude people press
upon her; loud, bawling creditors; wretches
Beo. Why, what a world is this! The slave who know no pity-I met one at the door-
that digs for gold receives his daily pittance, he would have seen my mistress: I wanted
and sleeps contented; while those for whom means of present payment, so promised it to-
he labours convert their good to mischief, morrow: but others may be pressing, and she
making abundance the means of want. What has grief enough already.-Your absence hangs
had I to do with play? I wanted nothing-too heavy on her.
My wishes and my means were equal. - The Bev. Tell her I'll come then. I have a mo-
poor followed me with blessings, love scattered ment's business. But what hast thou to do
roses on my pillow, and morning waked me with my distresses? Thy honesty has left thee
to delight-Oh, bitter thought, that leads to poor; and age wants comfort. - Keep what
what I was, by what I am! I would forget thou hast, lest, between thee and the grave,
both-Who's there?
misery steal in. I have a friend shall counsel
me-This is that friend,
Enter a Waiter.
Wait. A gentleman, sir, inquires for you.
Beo. He might have used less ceremony.
Stukely, I suppose?
Wait, No, sir, a stranger.
Bev. Well, show him in. [Exit Waiter]
A messenger from Stukely then; from him
that has undone me! yet all in friendship
And now he lends me his little to bring back
fortune to me.
Enter JARVIS.
Jarvis!-Why this intrusion?--Your absence
had been kinder.
Jar. I came in duty, sir. If it be trouble-
some-
Bev. It is I would be private-hid even
from myself. Who sent you hither?
Jar. One that would persuade you home
again. My mistress is not well-her tears told
me so.
Beo. Go with thy duty there then-Pr'ythee,
be gone-I have no business for thee.
Jar. Yes, sir; to lead you from this place.
I am your servant still. Your prosperous for-
tune blessed my old age: If that has left you,
I must not leave you.
Enter STUKELY.
Stuke. How fares it, Beverley? Honest Mr.
Jarvis, well met. That viper, Williams! was
it not he that troubled you this morning?
Jar. My mistress heard him then; I am
sorry that she heard him.
Beo. And Jarvis promised payment.
Stuke. That must not be. Tell him I'll sa-
tisfy him.
Jar. Will you, sir? Heaven will reward you
for it.
Bev. Generous Stukely! Friendship like
yours, had it ability like will, would more than
balance the wrongs of fortune.
Stuke. You think too kindly of me-Make
haste to Williams; his clamours may be rude
else.
[To Jarvis.
Jar. And my master will go home again-
Alas! sir, we know of hearts there breaking
for his absence.
[Exit.
Bev. 'Would I were dead!
Stuke. Ha! ha! ha! Pr'ythee, be a man, and
leave dying to disease and old age. Fortune
may be ours again; at least we'll try for't.
Bev. No; it has fooled us on too far.
Bev. Not leave me! Recall past time then; Stuke. Ay, ruined us; and therefore we'll
or, through this sea of storms and darkness, sit down contented. These are the despond-
show me a star to guide me.-But what canst ings of men without money; but let the shin-
thou?
ing ore chink in the pocket, and folly turns
Jar. The little that I can I will. You have to wisdom. We are fortune's children-True,
been generous to me--I would not offend you, she's a fickle mother; but shall we droop be-
sir-but-
cause she's peevish?-No; she has smiles in

SCENE 1. 2.]
99
THE GAMESTER.
store, and these her frowns are meant to bright-
en them.
Stuke. No matter; I have changed my mind
-Leave me to a prison; 'tis the reward of
Bev. Is this a time for levity?-But you friendship.
are single in the ruin, and therefore may talk Bev. Perish mankind first!-Leave you to
lightly of it; with me 'tis complicated misery. a prison! No! fallen as you see me, I'm not
Stuke. You censure me unjustly; I but as- that wretch: nor would I change this heart,
sumed these spirits to cheer my friend. Heav- o'ercharged as 'tis with folly and misfortune,
en knows he wants a comforter.
for one most prudent and most happy, if cal-
lous to a friend's distress.
Beo. What new misfortune?
Stuke. I would have brought you money,
but lenders want securities. What's to be
done? All that was mine is yours already.
Beo. And there's the double weight that
sinks me. I have undone my friend too; one
Stuke. You are too warm.
Beo. In such a cause, not to be warm is to
be frozen. Farewell-I'll meet you at your
lodgings.
Stuke. Reflect a little. The jewels may be
who, to save a drowning wretch, reached out lost-Better not hazard them-I was too pres-
his hand, and perished with him.
Stuke. Have better thoughts.
Bev. Whence are they to proceed? I have
nothing left.
sing.
Beo. And I ungrateful. Reflection takes up
time.-I have no leisure for't-Within an hour
expect me.
[Exit.
Stuke.[Sighing] Then we're indeed undone-- Stuke. The thoughtless, shallow prodigal!
What! nothing? No moveables, nor useless We shall have sport at night then-but hold
trinkets?-Bawbles locked up in caskets, to -The jewels are not ours yet-The lady may
starve their owners? I have ventured deeply refuse them-The husband may relent too-
for you.
Beo. Therefore this heart-ache; for I
lost beyond all hope.
'Tis more than probable-I'll write a note to Bev-
am erley, and the contents shall spur him to de-
mand them-But am I grown this rogue through
avarice? No; I have warmer motives, love and
revenge-Ruin the husband, and the wife's
virtue may be bid for.
Stuke. No; means may be found to save
us.-Jarvis is rich-Who made him so? This
is no time for ceremony.
Enter BATES.
Look to your men, Bates; there's money
stirring. We meet to-night upon this spot.-
Hasten, and tell them.-Hasten, I say, the ro-
gues will scatter else.
Beo. And is it for dishonesty? The good
old man! Shall I rob him too? My friend
would grieve for't.-No; let the little that he
has buy food and clothing for him.
Stuke. Good morning then. [Going.
Beo. So hasty! why, then good morning.
Stuke. And when we meet again upbraid Bates. Not till their leader bids them.
me-Say it was I that tempted you-Tell Stuke. Give them the word, and follow me;
Lewson so, and tell him I have wronged you I must advise with you-This is a day of bu-
-He has suspicions of me, and will thank you. siness.
Beo. No; we have been companions in a
rash voyage, and the same storm has wrecked
us both: mine shall be self-upbraidings.
Stuke. And will they feed us? You deal un-
kindly by me. I have sold and borrowed for
you while land or credit lasted; and now,
when fortune should be tried, and my heart
whispers me success, I am deserted-turned
loose to beggary, while you have hoards.
Beo. What hoards? Name them, and take
them!
Stuke. Jewels.
Beo. And shall this thriftless hand seize them
too? My poor, poor wife! Must she lose all?
I would not wound her so.
Stuke. Nor 1, but from necessity. One ef-
fort more, and fortune may grow kind.-I have
unusual hopes.
Bec. Think of some other means then.
Stuke. I have, and you rejected them.
Beo. Pr'ythee let me be a man.
Stuke. Ay, and your friend
friend a poor one-
But I have done: and for these trinkets of a
woman, why let her keep them to deck her
pride with, and show a laughing world that
she has finery to starve in.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings.
Enter BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE.
Char. Your looks are changed too;-there's
wildness in them. My wretched sister! How
will it grieve her to see you thus!
Beo. No, no; a little rest will ease me. And
for your Lewson's kindness to her it has my
thanks; I have no more to give him.
Char. Yes; a sister and her fortune. I trifle
with him, and he complains-My looks, he
says, are cold upon him. He thinks too-
Bev. That I have lost your fortune-He dares
not think so.
Char. Nor does he-you are too quick at
guessing-He cares not if you had. That care
is mine-I lent it you to husband, and now
I claim it.
Beo. You have suspicions then?
Char. Cure them, and give it me.
Beo. To stop a sister's chidings?
Char. To vindicate her brother.
Bev. How if he needs no vindication?
Char. I would fain hope so.
Bev. Ay; would and cannot-Leave it to
time then; 'twill satisfy all doubts.
Char. Mine are already satisfied.
Bev. 'Tis well. And when the subject is
renewed, speak to me like a sister, and I will
answer like á brother.
Bev. No; she shall yield up all-My friend
demands it. But need we have talked lightly
of her? The jewels that she values are truth
and innocence-Those will adorn her for ever;
and, for the rest, she wore them for a hus-
band's pride, and to his wants will give them. Char. To tell me I'm a beggar.-Why, tell
Alas! you know her not.-VVhere shall we meet? it now. I, that can bear the ruin of those

100
[ACT II.
THE GAMESTER.
dearer to me the ruin of a sister and her ripens manhood in him, shall ripen vice too-
infant, can bear that too.
I'll prove him, and lay him open to you-
Beo. No more of this-you wring my heart. Till then be warned-I know him, and there-
Char. 'Would that the misery were all your fore shun him.
own! But innocence must suffer-Unthinking Beo. As I would those that wrong him. -
rioter!-whose home was heaven to him! an You are too busy, sir.
angel dwelt there, and a little cherub, that Mrs. B. No; not too busy-Mistaken, per-
crown'd his days with blessings.-How has he haps-That had been milder.
lost this heaven, to league with devils!
Bev. Forbear, I say; reproaches come too
late; they search, but cure not. And, for the
fortune you demand, we'll talk to-morrow on't
-our tempers may be milder.
Lew. No matter, madam. I can bear this,
and praise the heart that prompts it-Pity such
friendship should be so placed!
Beo. Again, sir! But I'll bear too - You
wrong him, Lewson, and will be sorry for't.
Char. Ay; when 'tis proved he wrongs him..
The world is full of hypocrites.
Char, Or, if 'tis gone, why farewell all. I
claimed it for a sister.-But I'll upbraid no
more. What heaven permits, perhaps it may Beo, And Stukely one-so you would infer,
ordain.-Yet, that the husband, father, brother, I think.-I'll hear no more of this-my heart
should be its instruments of vengeance!-'Tis aches for him-I have undone him.
grievous to know that!
Lew. The world says otherwise.
Bev. If you're my sister spare the remem- Beo. The world is false then-I have busi-
brance-it wounds too deeply. To-morrow ness with you, love. [To Mrs. Beverley]
shall clear all; and when the worst is known, We'll leave them to their rancour. [Going
it may be better than your fears. Comfort my Char. No; we shall find room within for't.
wife; and for the pains of absence I'll make -Come this way, sir.
[To Lewson.
Lew, Another time my friend will thank
Char. See where she comes!-Look cheer-me; that time is hastening too.
fully upon her Affections such as hers are
prying, and lend those eyes that read the soul.
atonement.
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and LEWSON.
Mrs. B. My life!
Beo. My love! how fares it? I have been
a truant husband.
-
Is
[Exeunt Lewson and Charlotte.
Beo. They hurt me beyond bearing.
Stukely false! Then honesty has left us! "Twere
sinning against heaven to think so.
Mrs. B. I never doubted him.
Beo. No; you are charity. Meekness and
ever-during patience live in that heart, and
love that knows no change.-Why did I ruin
Mrs. B. But we meet now, and that heals
all-Doubts and alarms I have had; but in you?
this dear embrace I bury and forget them. My Mrs. B. You have not ruined me. I have
friend here, [Pointing to Lewson] has been no wants when you are present, nor wishes.
indeed a friend. Charlotte, 'tis you must thank in your absence, but to be blest with your
him: your brother's thanks and mine are of return. Be but resigned to what has happened,
too little value.
and I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
Beo. Yet what we have we'll pay. I thank Beo. My generous girl!-But memory will
you, sir, and am obliged. I would say more, but be busy; still crowding on my thoughts, to
that your goodness to the wife upbraids the sour the present by the past. I have another
husband's follies. Had I been wise, she had pang too.
not trespassed on your bounty.
Lew. Nor has she trespassed.
have done acceptance overpays.
Char. So friendship thinks-
The little I
Mrs. B. Tell it, and let me cure it.
Beo. That friend that generous friend,
whose fame they have traduced- I have un-
done him too. While he had means he lent
Mrs. B. And doubles obligations by striving me largely; and now a prison must be his
to conceal them-We'll talk another time on't
You are too thoughtful, love.
Beo, No; I have reason for these thoughts.
portion.
Mrs. B. No; I hope otherwise,
Bev. To hope must be to act.
The chari-
Char. And hatred for the cause-'Would table wish feeds not the hungry-Something
you had that too!
Beo. I have-The cause was avarice.
Char. And who the tempter?
Beo. A ruined friend-ruined by too much
kindness.
must be done.
I
Mrs. B. What?
Bev. In bitterness of heart he told me, just
now he told me, I had undone him. Could
hear that, and think of happiness? No, I
have disclaimed it while he is miserable.
Mrs. B. The world may mend with us, and
Bev. Or if they could, those I have drained then we may be grateful. There's comfort in
him of. Something of this he hinted in the that hope.
Lew. Ay, worse than ruined; stabbed in his
fame, mortally stabbed-riches can't cure him.
Enter Lucy.
morning-that Lewson had suspicions of him Beo. Ay, 'tis the sick man's cordial, his pro-
-Why these suspicions?
[Angrily. mised cure; while, in preparing it, the patient
Lew. At school we knew this Stukely. A dies-What now?
cunning, plodding boy he was, sordid and
cruel, slow at his task, but quick at shifts and
tricking. He schemed out mischief, that others
might be punished; and would tell his tale
with so much art, that for the lash he merited,
rewards and praise were given him. Show
me a boy with such a mind, and time, that I'll hope so-What says he, love?
Lucy. A letter, sir. [Delivers it, and exit.
Bev. The hand is Stukely's.
[Opens it, and reads it to himself.
Mrs. B. And brings good news-at least

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
101
THE GAMESTER.
Bev. Why this-too much for patience. ther. The dwarf that has it shall trip the
Yet he directs me to conceal it from you. giant's heels up.
[Reads. Stuke. And bind him to the ground. Why,
Let your haste to see me be the only proof we'll erect a shrine for nature, and be her
of your esteem for me. I have determined, oracles. Conscience is weakness; fear made
since we parted, to bid adieu to England; it, and fear maintains it. The dread of shame,
choosing rather to forsake my country, inward reproaches, and fictitious burnings swell
than owe my freedom in it to the means out the phantom. Nature knows none of this;
we talked of. Keep this a secret at home, her laws are freedom.
and hasten to the ruined. R. STUKELY. Bates. Sound doctrine, and well delivered!
Ruined by friendship!-I must relieve or Stuke. We are sincere too, and practise
follow him.
what we teach. Let the grave pedant say as
Mrs. B. Follow him did you say? Then I much.-But now to business-The jewels are
am lost indeed!
disposed of, and Beverley again worth money.
Bev. Oh, this infernal vice! how has it sunk If my design succeeds, this night we finish
me! A vice, whose highest joy was poor to with him-Go to your lodgings, and be busy
my domestic happiness. Yet how have I pur--You understand conveyances, and can make
sued it! turned all my comforts to bitterest ruin sure.
pangs, and all my smiles to tears. - Damned, Bates. Better stop here. The sale of this
damned infatuation!
reversion may be talked of-There's danger
Mrs. B. Be cool, my life! What are the in it.
means the letter talks of? Have you-have I
those means? Tell me, and ease me. I have
no life while you are wretched.
Bev. No, no; it must not be. 'Tis I alone
have sinned; 'tis I alone must suffer. You shall
reserve those means, to keep my child and his
wronged mother from want and wretchedness.
Mrs. B. What means?
Stuke. No, 'tis the mark I aim at. We'll
thrive and laugh. You are the purchaser, and
there's the payment. [Giving a Pocket-book]
He thinks you rich; and so you shall be. In-
quire for titles, and deal hardly; 'twill look
like honesty.
Bates. How if he suspects us?
4
Stuke. Leave it to me. I study hearts, and
Beo. I came to rob you of them-but can- when to work upon them. Go to your lodg-
not-dare not-Those jewels are your sole ings; and if we come, be busy over papers.
support-I should be more than monster to Talk of a thoughtless age, of gaming and ex-
request them.
travagance; you have a face for't.
Mrs. B. My jewels! Trifles, not worth speak- Bates. A feeling too that would avoid it.
ing of, if weighed against a husband's peace; We push too far; but I have cautioned you.
but let them purchase that, and the world's If it ends ill, you'll think of me-adieu. [Exit.
wealth is of less value.
Stuke. This fellow sins by halves; his fears
Bev. How little do I seem before such virtues! are conscience to him. I'll turn these fears to
Mrs. B. No more, my love. I kept them use. Rogues that dread shame will still be
till occasion called to use them; now is the greater rogues to hide their guilt-Lewson
occasion, and I'll resign them cheerfully. grows troublesome-We must get rid of him
Beo. Why, we'll be rich in love then. But -He knows too much. I have a tale for Bev-
this excess of kindness melts me. Yet for a erley; part of it truth too-He shall call Lew-
friend one would do much - He has denied son to account-If it succeeds, 'tis well; if
me nothing.
not, we must try other means-But here he
comes-I must dissemble.
Mrs. B. Come to my closet-But let him
manage wisely. We have no more to give him.
Beo, Where learned my love this excellence?
'Tis heaven's own teaching: that heaven, which
to an angel's form has given a mind more
lovely. I am unworthy of you, but will de-
serve you better.
Henceforth my follies and neglects shall cease,
And all to come be penitence and peace;
Vice shall no more attract me with her charms,
Nor pleasure reach me, but in these dear arms,
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I-STUKELY's Lodgings.
Enter STUKELY and BATES.
Enter BEVERLEY,
Look to the door there!-[In a seeming Fright]
-My friend!-I thought of other visitors.
Bec. No; these shall guard you from them.
[Offering Notes] Take them, and use them
cautiously-The world deals hardly by us.
Stuke. And shall I leave you destitute? No;
your wants are the greatest. Another climate
may treat me kinder. The shelter of to-night
takes me from this.
Bev. Let these be your support then-Yet
is there need of parting? I may have means
again; we'll share them, and live wisely.
Stuke. No; I should tempt you on. Habit
Stuke. So runs the world, Bates. Fools are is nature in me: ruin can't cure it. Even now
the natural prey of knaves; nature designed I would be gaming. Taught by experience as
them so, when she made lambs for wolves. I am, and knowing this poor sum is all that's
The laws, that fear and policy have framed, left us, I am for venturing still-And say I
nature disclaims: she knows but two, and those am to blame-Yet will this little supply our
are force and cunning. The nobler law is wants? No; we must put it out to usury.-
force; but then there's danger in't; while cun- Whether 'tis madness in me, or some restless
ning, like a skilful miner, works safely and impulse of good fortune, I yet am ignorant;
but-
unseen.
Bates. And therefore wisely. Force must Beo. Take it, and succeed then. I'll try no
have nerves and sinews; cunning wants nei-more.

102
[ACT II.
THE GAMESTER.
Stuke. "Tis surely impulse; it pleads so
strongly-But you are cold-We'll e'en part
here then. And for this last reserve, keep it
for better uses; I'll have none on't. I thank
you though, and will seek fortune singly-
One thing I had forgot-
Bev. What is it?
Stuke. Perhaps 'twere best forgotten. But
I am open in my nature, and zealous for the
honour of my friend - Lewson speaks freely
of you.
Bev. Of you I know he does.
Reason would lose what rashness may ob-
tain.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings.
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE.
Char. 'Twas all a scheme, a mean one;
unworthy of my brother.
Mrs. B. No, I am sure it was not-Stukely
is honest too, I know he is. This madness
has undone them both.
Char. My brother irrecoverable-You are
too spiritless a wife-A mournful tale, mixed
Stuke. I can forgive him for't; but, for my with a few kind words, will steal away your
friend, I'm angry,
Beo. What says he of me?
soul. The world's too subtle for such good-
ness. Had I been by, he should have asked
Stuke. That Charlotte's fortune is embezzled your life sooner than those jewels.
-He talks on't loudly.
Mrs. B. He should have had it then.
Beo. He shall be silenced then-How heard [Warmly] I live but to oblige him. She
you of it?
Stuke. From many. He questioned Bates
about it. You must account with him, he says.
Bev. Or he with me-and soon too.
Stuke. Speak mildly to him. Cautions
are best.
Beo. I'll think on't-But whither go you?
Stuke. From poverty and prisons-No mat-
ter whither. If fortune changes, you may
hear from me.
Beo. May these be prosperous then, [Of-
fering the Notes, which he refuses] Nay,
they are yours-I have sworn it, and will have
nothing-Take them, and use them.
Stuke. Singly I will not-My cares are for
my friend; for his lost fortune and ruined fam-
ily. All separate interests I disclaim. To-
gether we have fallen; together we must rise.
My heart, my honour, and affections, all will
have it so.
7
who can love and is beloved, like me, will do
as much. Men have done more for mistress-
es, and women for a base deluder: and shall
a wife do less? Your chidings hurt me, Charlotte.
Char. And come too late; they might have
saved you else. How could he use you so?
Mrs. B. 'Twas friendship did it. His heart
was breaking for a friend.
Char. The friend that has betrayed him.
Mrs. B. Pr'ythee don't think so.
Char. To-morrow he accounts with me.
Mrs. B. And fairly-I will not doubt it.
Char. Unless a friend has wanted-I have
no patience-Sister! sister! we are bound to
curse this friend.
Mrs. B. My Beverley speaks nobly of him.
Char. And Lewson truly-But I displease
you with this talk.-To-morrow will instruct us.
Mrs. B. Stay till it comes then-I would
not think so hardly.
Beo. I am weary of being fooled.
Char. Nor I, but from conviction-Yet we
Stuke. And so am I-Here let us part then have hope of better days. My uncle is infirm,
-These bodings of good fortune shall all be and of an age that threatens hourly-Or if he
stifled; call them folly, and forgot them-lives, you never have offended him; and for
farewell.
distresses so unmerited he will have pity.
Bev. No; stay a moment-How my poor Mrs. B. I know it, and am cheerful. We
heart's distracted! I have the bodings too; but have no more to lose; and for what is gone,
whether caught from you, or prompted by my if it brings prudence home, the purchase was
good or evil genius, I know not-The trial well made.
shall determine-And yet, my wife-
Char. My Lewson will be kind too. While
he and I have life and means you shall divide
with us-And see, he's here.
Enter LEWSON.
We were just speaking of you.
Stuke. Ay, ay, she'll chide.
Bev. No; my chidings are all here.
[Pointing to his Heart.
Stuke. I'll not persuade you.
Bev. I am persuaded; by reason too; the
strongest reason, necessity. Oh, could I but
Lew. 'Tis best to interrupt you then. Few
regain the height I have fallen from, heaven characters will bear a scrutiny; and where
should forsake me in my latest hour, if I again the bad outweighs the good, he's safest that's
mixed in these scenes, or sacrificed the hus-least talked of. What say you, madam?
band's peace, his joy, and best affections, to
[To Charlotte.
avarice and infamy.
Char. That I hate scandal, though a woman
therefore talk seldom of you.
Stuke. I have resolved like you; and, since
our motives are so honest, why should we
fear success?
Beo. Come on then-Where shall we meet?
Stuke. At Wilson's - Yet if it hurts you,
leave me: I have misled you often.
Bev. We have misled each other-But come!
Fortune is fickle, and may be tir'd with plagu-
ing us-There let us rest our hopes.
Stuke. Yet think a little.
Beo. I cannot-thinking but distracts me.
When desperation leads, all thoughts are
vain;
Mrs. B. Or, with more truth, that though
a woman, she loves to praise-therefore talks
always of you. I'll leave you to decide it.
[Exit.
Lew. How good and amiable! I came to talk
in private with you, of matters that concern you.
Char. What matters?
Lew. First, answer me sincerely to what I ask.
Char. Propose your question.
Lew. 'Tis now a tedious twelvemonth since,
with an open and kind heart, you said you
loved me. And when, in consequence of such

SCENE 3.]
103
THE GAMESTER.
known.-Farewell.
more may be
[Exit.
[Exit.
sweet words, I pressed for marriage, you gave other. Keep what you know a secret; and
a voluntary promise that you would live for me. when we meet to-morrow,
Char. You think me changed then?
[Angrily. Char. My poor, poor sister! how would
Lew. I did not say so. Time and a near this wound her! But I'll conceal it, and speak
acquaintance with my faults may have brought comfort to her.
change-if it be so; or for a moment, if you
have wished this promise were unmade, here
I acquit you of it-This is my question then;
and with such plainness as I ask it, I shall
entreat an answer. Have you repented of this
promise?
Char. Why am I doubted?
Lew. My doubts are of myself. I have my
faults, and you have observation. If, from my
temper, my words, or actions, you have con-
ceived a thought against me, or even a wish
for separation, all that has passed is nothing.
Char. Why now I'll answer you. Your
doubts are prophecies-I am really changed.
Lew. Indeed!
SCENE III.-A Room in a Gaming-house.
Enter BEVERLEY and STUKELY.
Bev. Whither would you lead me?
[Angrily.
Stuke. Where we may vent our curses.
Bev. Ay, on yourself, and those damned
counsels that have destroyed me. A thousand
fiends were in that bosom, and all let loose to
tempt me-I had resisted else.
Stuke. Go on, sir-I have deserved this
from you.
Beo. And curses everlasting-Time is too
scanty for them--
Stuke. What have I done?
Char. I could torment you now, as you have Beo. What the arch-devil of old did-
me; but it is not in my nature. That I am soothed with false hopes for certain ruin.
changed, I own: for what at first was incli- Stuke. Myself unhurt; nay, pleased at your
nation is now grown reason in me; and from destruction-So your words mean. Why, tell
that reason, had I the world, nay, were I it to the world. I am too
Iit poor to find a
poorer than the poorest, and you too want- friend in't.
ing bread-I would be yours, and happy.
Bev. A friend! What's he? I had a friend.
Stuke. And have one still.
Beo. Ay; I'll tell you of this friend. He
Lew. My kindest Charlotte! [Taking her
Hand] Thanks are too poor for this-and
words too weak! But if we loved so, why found me happiest of the happy. Fortune and
should our union be delayed?
Char. For happier times. The present are
too wretched.
Lew. I may have reasons that press it now.
Char. What reasons?
Lew. The strongest reasons; unanswerable
ones.
Char. Be quick and name them.
Lew. First promise, that to-morrow, or the
next day, you will be mine for ever.
Char. I do-though misery should succeed.
Lew. Thus then I seize you! And with you
every joy on this side heaven!
Char. Now, sir, your secret.
Lew. Your fortune's lost.
Char. My fortune lost!-I'll study to be
humble then, But was my promise claimed
for this? How nobly generous! Where learned
you this sad news?
Lew. From Bates, Stukeley's prime agent. I
have obliged him, and he's grateful-He told
it me in friendship, to warn me from my
Charlotte.
Char. 'Twas honest in him, and I'll esteem
him for it.
honour crowned me; and love and peace lived
in my heart. One spark of folly lurked there;
that too he found: and by deceitful breath
blew it into flames, that have consumed me.
This friend were you to me.
Stuke. A little more, perhaps-The friend,
who gave his all to save you; and not suc-
ceeding, chose ruin with you.. But no matter,
I have undone you, and am a villain.
Beo. No; I think not-The villains are
within.
Stuke. What villains?
Bev. Dawson and the rest-We have been
dupes to sharpers.
Stuke. How know you this? I have had
doubts as well as you; yet still as fortune
changed I blushed at my own thoughts.-But
you have proofs, perhaps?
Bev. Ay, damned ones. Repeated losses-
Night after night, and no reverse-Chance has
no hand in this.
Stuke. I think more charitably; yet I am
peevish in my nature, and apt to doubt-The
world speaks fairly of this Dawson; so it does
of the rest. We have watched them closely
Lew. He knows much more than he has told. too. But 'tis a right usurped by losers, to
Char. For me it is enough. And for your think the winners knaves-We'll have more
generous love, I thank you from my soul. If manhood in us.
you'd oblige me more, give me a little time. Bev. I know not what to think-This night
Lew. Why time? It robs us of our happiness. has stung me to the quick-Blasted my rep-
Char. I have a task to learn first. The little utation too-I have bound my honour to these
pride this fortune gave me must be subdued. vipers; played meanly upon credit, till I tired
Once we were equal; but now 'tis otherwise; them; and now they shun me, to rifle one
and for a life of obligations, I have not learned another. What's to be done?
to bear it.
Stuke. Nothing. My counsels have been
Lew. Mine is that life. You are too noble. fatal.
Char. Leave me to think on't.
Bev. By heaven I'll not survive this shame
Lew. To-morrow then you'll fix my hap--Traitor! 'tis you have brought it on me.
piness?
Char. All that I can I will.
[Taking hold of him] Show me the means
to save me, or I'll commit a murder here, and
Lew. It must be so; we live but for each next upon myself.

104
[ACT III. SCENE 4.]
THE GAMESTER.
Stuke. Why, do it then, and rid me of in- Mrs. B. No, my kind girl; I was not born
gratitude.
for it-But why do I distress thee? Thy sym-
Beo. Pr'ythee forgive this language-I speak pathizing heart bleeds for the ills of others-
I know not what-Rage and despair are in What pity that thy mistress can't reward
my heart, and hurry me to madness. My thee! But there's a power above, that sees
home is horror to me-I'll not return to it. and will remember all. [Knocking] Hark!
Speak quickly; tell me, if, in this wreck of there's some one entering.
fortune, one hope remains? Name it, and be Lucy. Perhaps 'tis my master, madam.
my oracle.
[Exit.
Stuke. To vent your curses on-You have Mrs. B. Let him be well too, and I am
bestowed them liberally. Take your own satisfied. [Goes to the Door and listens] No,
counsel; and should a desperate hope present 'tis another's voice.
itself, 'twill suit your desperate fortune. I'll
not advise you.
Bev. What hope? By heaven I'll catch at
it, however desperate. I am so sunk in misery
it cannot lay me lower.
Stuke. You have an uncle.
Bev. Ay; what of him?
Stuke. Old men live long by temperance;
while their heirs starve on expectation.
Beo. What mean you?
Stuke. That the reversion of his estate is
yours; and will bring money to pay debts
with-Nay more, it may retrieve what's past.
Beo. Or leave my child a beggar.
Stuke. And what's his father? A dishonour-
able one; engaged for sums he cannot pay-
That should be thought of.
Beo. It is my shame-The poison that in-
flames me. Where shall we go? To whom?
I'm impatient till all's lost.
Stuke. All may be yours again--Your man
is Bates-He has large funds at his command,
and will deal justly by you.
Beo. I am resolved-Tell them within we'll
meet them presently; and with full purses,
too-Come, follow me.
Stuke. No; I'll have no hand in this; nor
do I counsel it-Use your discretion, and act
from that. You'll find me at my lodgings.
Beo. Succeed what will, this night I'll dare
the worst;
"Tis loss of fear to be completely curst.
Re-enter LUCY, with STUKELY.
Lucy. Mr. Stukely, madam.
[Exit.
Stuke. To meet you thus alone, madam,
was what I wished. Unseasonable visits, when
friendship warrants them, need no excuse-
therefore I make none.
Mrs. B. What mean you, sir? And where
is your friend?
Stuke. Men may have secrets, madam, which
their best friends are not admitted to. We
parted in the morning, not soon to meet again.
Mrs. B. You mean to leave us then - to
leave your country too? I am no stranger to
your reasons, and pity your misfortunes.
Stuke. Your pity has undone you. Could
Beverley do this? That letter was a false one;
a mean contrivance to rob you of your jewels
I wrote it not.
Mrs. B. Impossible! Whence came it then?
Stuke. Wronged as I am, madam, I must
speak plainly.
Mrs. B. Do so, and ease me. Your hints
have troubled me. Reports, you, say, are stirr
ing-Reports of whom? You wished me not
to credit them.-What, sir, are these reports?
Stuke. I thought them slander, madam; and
cautioned in friendship, lest from officious
tongues the tale had reached you with double
aggravation.
Mrs. B. Proceed, sir.
Stuke. It is a debt due to my fame; due to
[Exit. an injured wife too.-We are both injured.
Stuke. Why, lose it then for ever-Fear is Mrs. B. How injured? And who has in-
the mind's worst evil: and 'tis a friendly of-jured us?
fice to drive it from the bosom-Thus far has
Stuke. My friend-your husband.
and
fortune crowned me-Yet Beverley is rich; Mrs. B. You would resent for both then;
rich in his wife's best treasure, her honour but know, sir, my injuries are my own,
and affections. I would supplant him there do not need a champion.
too. Charlotte is sometimes absent. The seeds Stuke. Be not too hasty, madam. I come
of jealousy are sown already. If I mistake not in resentment, but for acquittance. You
not, they have taken root too. Now is the thought me poor; and to the feigned distresses
time to ripen them, and reap the harvest. The of a friend gave up your jewels.
softest of her sex, if wronged in love, or
thinking that she's wronged, becomes a tigress
in revenge-I'll instantly to Beverley's - No
matter for the danger-When beauty leads us
on, 'tis indiscretion to reflect, and cowardice
to doubt.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings.
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and Lucy.
Mrs. B. Did Charlotte tell you any thing?
Lucy. No, madam.
Mrs. B. I gave them to a husband.
Stuke, Who gave them to a-
Mrs. B. What? whom did he give them to?
Stuke. A mistress.
Mrs. B. No; on my life he did not.
Stuke. Himself confessed it, with curses on
her avarice.
Mrs. B. I'll not believe it-He has no mistress;
or, if he has, why is it told to me?
Stuke. To guard you against insults. He
told me, that, to move you to compliance, he
Mrs. B. She looked confused, methought; forged that letter, pretending I was ruined,
said she had business with her Lewson; which ruined by him too. The fraud succeeded; and
when I pressed to know, tears only were her what a trusting wife bestowed in pity, was
lavished on a wanton.
answer.
Lucy. She seemed in haste too-Yet her
return may bring you comfort.
Mrs. B. Then I am lost indeed! His follies
I have borne without upbraiding, and saw the

[ACT IV. Sc. 1.]
105
THE GAMESTER.
approach of poverty without a tear-My af- his punisher, till heaven, in mercy, gives him
fections, my strong affections, supported me penitence, or dooms him in his justice. [Exit.
through every trial.
Stuke. Be patient, madam.
Mrs. B. Patient! the barbarous, ungrateful
man! And does he think that the tenderness
of my heart is his best security for wounding
it? But he shall find that injuries such as these
can arm my weakness for vengeance and redress.
Stuke. Ha! then I may succeed. [Aside]
Redress is in your power.
Mrs. B. What redress?
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-STUKELY's Lodgings.
Enter STUKELY and BATES, meeting.
Bates. Where have you been?
Stuke. Fooling my time away-playing my
tricks, like a tame monkey, to entertain a
woman.-No matter where I have been vexed
and disappointed.-Tell me of Beverley: how
bore he his last shock?
Stuke. Forgive me, madam, if, in my zeal
to serve you, I hazard your displeasure. Think Bates. Like one (so Dawson says) whose
of your wretched state. Already want sur- senses had been numbed with misery. When
rounds you-Is it in patience to bear that? all was lost, he fixed his eyes upon the ground,
To see your helpless little one robbed of his and stood some time, with folded arms, stupid
birthright? A sister too, with unavailing tears, and motionless; then snatching his sword, that
lamenting her lost fortune? No comfort left hung against the wainscot, he sat him down,
you, but ineffectual pity from the few, out- and with a look of fixed attention, drew fi-
weighed by insults from the many.
gures on the floor. At last he started up,
Mrs. B. Am I so lost a creature?-Well, looked wild, and trembled; and, like a woman
sir, my redress?
seized with her sex' fits, laughed out aloud,
while the tears trickled down his face-so left
the room.
Stuke. Why, this was madness.
Bates. The madness of despair.
Stuke. To be resolved is to secure it. The
marriage vow once violated, is, in the sight
of heaven, dissolved-Start not, but hear me.
'Tis now the summer of your youth: time
has not cropped the roses from your cheek, Stuke. We must confine him then-A prison
though sorrow long has washed them. Then would do well. [4 knocking at the Door]
use your beauty wisely, and, freed by injuries, Hark! that knocking may be his-Go that way
fly from the cruellest of men, for shelter with down. [Exit Bates] Who's there?
the kindest.
Mrs. B. And who is he?
Stuke. A friend to the unfortunate; a bold
one too, who, while the storm is bursting on
your brów, and lightning flashing from your
eyes, dares tell you that he loves you.
Enter LEWSON.
Lew. An enemy-an open, and avowed one.
Stuke. Why am I thus broke in upon?
This house is mine, sir, and should protect
me from insult and ill manners.
Mrs. B. 'Would that these eyes had heaven's Lew. Guilt has no place of sanctuary; wher-
own lightning, that, with a look, thus I might ever found, 'tis virtue's lawful
game. The
blast thee! Am I then fallen so low? Has fox's hold, and tiger's den, are no security
poverty so humbled me, that I should listen against the hunter.
to a hellish offer, and sell my soul for bread?
-Oh, villain! villain!-But now I know thee,
and thank thee for that knowledge.
Stuke. If you are wise, you shall have cause
to thank me.
Mrs. B. An injured husband too shall thank
thee.
Stuke. Your business, sir?
Lew. To tell you that I know you.-Why
this confusion? That look of guilt and terror?
Is Beverley awake, or has his wife told tales?
The man that dares like you, should have a
soul to justify his deeds, and courage to con-
front accusers: not, with a coward's fear, to
shrink beneath reproof.
Stuke. Who waits there?
Stuke. Yet know, proud woman, I have a
heart as stubborn as your own! as haughty
and imperious: and as it loves, so can it hate.
[Aloud, and in confusion.
Mrs. B. Mean, despicable villain! I scorn Lew. By heaven he dies that interrupts us!
thee, and thy threats. Was it for this that [Shutting the Door] You should have weigh-
Beverley was false?-that his too credulous ed your strength, sir; and then, instead of
wife should, in despair and vengeance, give climbing to high fortune, the world had marked
up her honour to a wretch? But he shall you for what you are-a little, paltry villain!
know it, and vengeance shall be his.
Stuke. Why, send him for defiance then-
Tell him I love his wife; but that a worthless
husband forbids our union. I'll make a widow
of you, and court you honourably.
Mrs. B. Oh, coward, coward! thy soul will
shrink at him: Yet, in the thought of what may
happen, I feel a woman's fears.-Keep thy own
secret, and be gone.
[Rings a Bell.
Enter LUCY.
Your absence, sir, would please me.
Stuke. I'll not offend you, madam.
[Exit with Lucy.
Mrs. B. Why opens not the earth, to
swallow such a monster? Be conscience then
Stuke. You think I fear you.
Lew. I know you fear me-This is to prove
it.-[Pulls him by the Sleeve] You wanted
privacy-A lady's presence took up your at-
tention.-Now we are alone, sir.-Why, what
a wretch! [Flings him from him] The vilest
insect in creation will turn when trampled on;
yet has this thing undone a man!-by cunning
and mean arts undone him!-But we have
found you, sir; traced you through all your
labyrinths. If you would save yourself, fall to
confession, no mercy will be shown else.
Stuke. First prove me what you think me;
till then your threatenings are in vain-And
for this insult, vengeance may yet be mine.
Lew. Infamous coward! why, take it now
14

106
[ACT IV.
THE GAMESTER.
then-[Draws, and Stukely retires] Alas, I and not Beverley, that left you-I heard him
pity thee!-Yet, that a wretch like this should loud-You seem alarmed too.
overcome a Beverley! It fills me with aston-
Stuke. Ay, and with reason-We are dis-
ishment!-A wretch, so mean of soul, that covered.
even desperation cannot animate him to look Bates. I feared as much, and therefore cau-
upon an enemy. You should not have thus tioned you; but you were peremptory.
soared, sir, unless, like others of your black Stuke. Thus fools talk ever; spending their
profession, you had a sword to keep the fools idle breath on what is past, and trembling at
in awe your villany has ruined.
the future. We must be active; Beverley, at
Stuke. Villany! "Twere best to curb this worst, is but suspicious; but Lewson's genius,
license of your tongue-for know, sir, while and his hate to me, will lay all open. Means
there are laws, this outrage on my reputation must be found to stop him.
will not be borne with.
Bates. What means?
Lew. Laws! Dar'st thou seek shelter from Stuke. Dispatch him-Nay, start not-Des-
the laws-those laws which thou and thy in-perate occasions call for desperate deeds-We
fernal crew live in the constant violation of? live but by his death.
Talk'st thou of reputation too, when, under Bates. You cannot mean it?
friendship's sacred name, thou hast betrayed,
robbed, and destroyed?
Stuke. I do, by heaven!
Bates. Good night, then.
[Going.
Stuke. Ay, rail at gaming-'tis a rich topic, Stuke. Stay-I must be heard, then answer-
and affords noble declamation.-Go preach ed.-Perhaps the motion was too sudden; and
against it in the city-you'll find a congrega- human weakness starts at murder, though
tion in every tavern. If they should laugh at strong necessity compels it. I have thought
you, fly to my lord, and sermonize it there: long of this, and my first feelings were like
he'll thank you, and reform.
yours; a foolish conscience awed me, which
Lew. And will example sanctify a vice? No, soon I conquered. The man that would undo
wretch; the custom of my lord, or of the cit me, nature cries out, undo. Brutes know their
that apes him, cannot excuse a breach of law, foes by instinct; and, where superior force is
or make the gamester's calling reputable. given, they use it for destruction. Shall man
Stuke. Rail on, I say-But is this zeal for do less? Lewson pursues us to our ruin! and
beggared Beverley? Is it for him that I am shall we, with the means to crush him, fly
treated thus? No; he and his wife might both from our hunter, or turn and tear him? 'Tis
have groaned in prison, had but the sister's folly even to hesitate.
fortune escaped the wreck, to have rewarded Bates. He has obliged me, and I dare not.
the disinterested love of honest Mr. Lewson. Stuke. Why, live to shame then-to beggary
Lew. How I detest thee for the thought! and punishment. You would be privy to the
But thou art lost to every human feeling. Yet, deed, yet want the soul to act it.-Nay more,
let me tell thee, and may it wring thy heart, had my designs been levelled at his fortune,
that, though my friend is ruined by thy you had stepped in the foremost-And what is
snares, thou hast, unknowingly, been kind to life without its comforts?-Those you would
rob him of, and by a lingering death add
Stuke. Have I? It was, indeed, unknowingly. cruelty to murder. Henceforth, adieu to half-
Lew. Thou hast assisted me in love-given made villains-There's danger in them. What
me the merit that I wanted; since, but for you have got is yours-keep it, and hide with
thee, my Charlotte had not known 'twas her it-I'll deal my future bounty to those that
dear self I sighed for, and not her fortune. merit it.
me.
Stuke. Thank me, and take her then.
Lew. And, as a brother to poor Beverley,
Bates. What's the reward?
Stuke. Equal division of our gains. I swear
I will pursue the robber that has stripped him, it, and will be just.
and snatch him from his gripe.
Bates. Think of the means then.
Stuke. He's gone to Beverley's-Wait for
him in the street-'Tis a dark night, and fit
for mischief-A dagger would be useful.
Bates. He sleeps no more.
Stuke. Consider the reward.
deed's done I have other business with you.
When the
Stuke. Then know, imprudent man, he is
within my gripe; and should my friendship
for him be slandered once again, the hand
that has supplied him shall fall and crush him.
Lew. Why, now there's a spirit in thee!
This is, indeed, to be a villain! But I shall
reach thee yet-Fly where thou wilt, my ven- Send Dawson to me.
geance shall pursue thee-And Beverley shall
yet be saved-be saved from thee, thou mon- well.
ster! nor owe his rescue to his wife's dis- Stuke. Why farewell, Lewson, then; and
honour.
[Exit. farewell to my fears. This night secures me
-I'll wait the event within.
Bates. Think it already done-and so, fare-
[Exit.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-The Street.-Stage darkened.
Enter BEVERLEY.
Stuke. [Pausing] Then ruin has enclosed
me!-Curse on my coward heart! I would
be bravely villainous; but 'tis my nature to
shrink at danger, and he has found me. Yet
fear brings caution, and that security-More Bev. How like an outcast do I wander!
mischief must be done to hide the past-Look Loaded with every curse that drives the soul
to yourself, officious Lewson-there may be to desperation! The midnight robber, as he
danger stirring-How now, Bates?
walks his rounds, sees, by the glimmering
lamp, my frantic looks, and dreads to meet
me. Whither am I going? My home lies
Bates. What is the matter? 'Twas Lewson, there; all that is dear on earth it holds too
Enter BATES.

SCENE 2.]
107
THE GAMESTER.
yet are the gates of death more welcome to sciousness of guilt, than the world's just re-
me-I'll enter it no more-VVho passes there? proofs! But 'tis the fashion of the times; and
'Tis Lewson-He meets me in a gloomy hour; in defence of falsehood and false honour, men
and memory tells me he has been meddling die martyrs. I knew not that my nature was
with my fame.
so bad.
[Stands musing.
Enter BATES and JARVIS.
Enter LEWSON.
Lew. Beverley! well met. I have been busy
in your affairs.
Beo. So I have heard, sir: and now I must
thank you as I ought.
Jar. This way the noise was; and yonder's
my poor master.
Bates. I heard him at high words with
Lewson.-
Jar. I heard him too. Misfortunes vex him.
Bates. Go to him, and lead him home.-
I'll not be seen by him.
[Exit.
Lew. To-morrow I may deserve your thanks.
-Late as it is I go to Bates.-Discoveries are
making that an arch villain trembles at.
Bev. Discoveries are made, sir, that you shall Bev. [Starting What fellow's that? [See-
tremble at. Where is this boasted spirit, this ing Jarvis] Art thou a murderer, friend?
high demeanour, that was to call me to ac- Come, lead the way-I have a hand as mis-
count? You say I have wronged my sister-chievous as thine; a heart as desperate too--
Now say as much. But, first be ready for Jarvis! to bed, old man-the cold will chill
defence, as I am for resentment. [Draws. thee.
Lew. What mean you? I understand you
not.
Beo. The coward's stale acquittance! who,
when he spreads foul calumny abroad, and
dreads just vengeance on him, cries out,
"What mean you? I understand you not."
Lew. Coward and calumny? Whence are
those words? But I forgive and pity you.
Beo. Your pity had been kinder to my fame:
But you have traduced it-told a vile story to
the public ear, that I have wronged my sister.
Lew. 'Tis false! Show me the man that dares
accuse me.
Bev. I thought you brave, and of a soul
superior to low malice; but I have found you,
and will have vengeance. This is no place
for argument.
me not.
Jar. Why are you wandering at this late
hour? Your sword drawn too? For heaven's
sake sheath it, sir-the sight distracts me.
Beo. Whose voice was that? [Wildly.
Jar. 'Twas mine, sir: Let me entreat you
to give the sword to me.
Bev. Ay, take it quickly take it-Perhaps
I am not so cursed, but heaven may have
sent thee at this moment to snatch me from
perdition,
Jar. Then I am blessed.
Beo. Continue so, and leave me-my sor-
rows are contagious. No one is bless'd that's
near me.
Jar. I came to seek you, sir.
Bev. And now thou hast found me, leave
me,-My thoughts are wild, and will not be
disturbed.
Jar. Such thoughts are best disturbed.
Beo. Who sent thee hither?
Lew. Nor shall it be for violence.-Impru-
dent man! who in revenge for fancied injuries,
would pierce the heart that loves him! But
honest friendship acts from itself, unmoved by Jar. My weeping mistress.-Alas, sir, forget
slander or ingratitude: the life you thirst for your griefs, and let me lead you to her! The
shall be employed to serve you.-You know streets are dangerous.
Beo. Be wise, and leave me then. The
Beo. Yes; for the slanderer of my fame-night's black horrors are suited to my thoughts
who, under show of friendship, arraigns me These stones shall be my resting-place.
of injustice; buzzing in every ear foul breach [Throws himself on the Ground] Here shall
of trust, and family dishonour.
my soul brood o'er its miseries; till, with the
Lew. Have I done this? Who told you so? fiends of hell and guilty of the earth, I start
Bev. The world-'Tis talked of every where. and tremble at the morning's light.
-It pleased you to add threats too-You were Jar. Let patience, not despair, possess you
to call me to account-Why, do it now then;-Rise, I beseech you-There's not a moment
I should be proud of such an arbiter. of your absence that my poor mistress does
Lew. Put up your sword, and know me not mourn for.
better. I never injured you.
The base sug-
Beo. Have I undone her, and is she still so
gestion comes from Stukely: I see him and kind? [Starting up] It is too much-My brain
his aims.
can't hold it.-Oh, Jarvis, how desperate is
Bev. What aims? I'll not conceal it-'twas that wretch's state, which only death or mad-
Stukely that accused you.
Lew. To rid him of an enemy-Perhaps of
two-He fears discovery, and frames a tale of
falsehood, to ground revenge and murder on.
Beo. I must have proof of this.
Lew. Wait till to-morrow then.
Beo. I will.
ness can relieve!
Jar. Appease his mind, good heaven, and
give him resignation! Alas, sir, could beings
in the other world perceive the events of this,
how would your parents' blessed spirits grieve
for you, even in heaven!-Let me conjure you,
by their honoured memories-by the sweet in-
Lew. Good night-I go to serve you-Forget nocence of your yet helpless child, and by
what's past, as I do; and cheer your family the ceaseless sorrows of my poor mistress, to
with smiles-To-morrow may confirm them, rouse your manhood and struggle with these
and make all happy.
[Exit. griefs!
Bev. [Pausing] How vile and how absurd Beo. Thou virtuous, good, old man! Thy
is man! His boasted honour is but another tears and thy entreaties have reached my heart,
name for pride, which easier bears the con- through all its miseries.

108
[ACT V.
THE GAMESTER.
Jar. Be but resigned, sir, and happiness enough 'last night. The thought of him is hor-
may yet be yours. Hark! I hear voices-rible to me.
Come this way: we may reach home unnoticed.
Stuke. In the street did you say? and no
Bev. Unnoticed didst thou say? Alas! I dread one near him.
no looks but of those wretches I have made Bates. By his own door; he was leading
at home.
Oh, had I listened to thy honest me to his house. I pretended business with
warnings, no earthly blessing had been want- him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he
ing to me; but I have warred against the power was reaching at the bell.
that blest me, and now am sentenced to the
hell I merit.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-STUKELY's Lodgings.
Stuke. And did he fall so suddenly?
Bates. The repetition pleases you, I see-
I told you he fell without a groan.
Stuke. What heard you of him this morning?
Bates. That the watch found him in their
Enter STUKELY and DAWSON.
Stuke. Come hither, Dawson; my limbs are rounds, and alarmed the servants. I mingled
on the rack, and my soul shivers in me, till with the crowd just now, and saw him dead
this night's business be complete.-Tell me thy in his own house. The sight terrified me.
thoughts; is Bates determined, or does he waver? Stuke. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise
Daw. At first he seemed irresolute!-wished and accuse us. We have no living enemy to
the employment had been mine; and muttered fear unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have
curses on his coward hand, that trembled at lodged safe in prison.
the deed.
Bates. Must he be murdered too?
Stuke. And did he leave you so?
Stuke. No; I have a scheme to make the
Daw. No; we walked together, and, shel-law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall?
tered by the darkness, saw Beverley and Lew- Bates. The clock struck twelve as I turned
son in warm debate; but soon they cooled, to leave him-'Twas a melancholy bell, I thought,
and then I left them to hasten hither; but not ringing for his death.
till 'twas resolved Lewson should die.
Stuke. The time was lucky for us-Beverley
Stuke. Thy words have given me life.was arrested at one, you say? [To Dawson.
That quarrel too was fortunate; for, if my hopes Daw. Exactly.
deceive me not, it promises a grave to Beverley.
Stuke. Good. We'll talk of this presently.
Daw. You misconceive me-Lewson and he The women were with him, I think?
were friends.
Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told
Stuke. But my prolific brain shall make them you of them last night, but your thoughts were
enemies. If Lewson falls he falls by Beverley too busy.-Tis well you have a heart of stone;
-Ask me no question, but do as I direct. the tale would melt it else.
This writ [Takes out a Pocket-book] for some
days past I have treasured here, till a conve-
Stuke. Out with it then.
Daw. I traced him to his lodgings; and
nient time called for its use-That time is come; pretending pity for his misfortunes, kept the
take it, and give it to an officer-It must be door open while the officers seized him. 'Twas
served this instant.
[Gives a Paper. a damned deed!-but no matter-I followed
Daw. On Beverley?
Stuke. Look at it. It is for the sums that
I have lent him.
Daw. Must he to prison then?
Stuke. I ask obedience, not replies. This
night a gaol must be his lodging. "Tis probable
he's not gone home yet.-Wait at his door,
and see it executed.
Daw. Upon a beggar!-He has no means
of payment.
my instructions.
Stuke, And what said he?
Daw. He upbraided me with treachery, call-
ed you a villain, acknowledged the sum's you
had lent him, and submitted to his fortune.
Stuke. And the women-
Daw. For a few minutes astonishment kept
them silent. They looked wildly at one an-
other, while the tears streamed down their
cheeks. But rage and fury soon gave them
Stuke. Dull and insensible!-If Lewson dies, words; and then, in the very bitterness of
who was it killed him? Why, he that was despair, they cursed me, and the monster that
seen quarrelling with him: and I, that knew had employed me.
of Beverley's intents, arrested him in friendship
-A little late, perhaps; but 'twas a virtuous
act, and men will thank me for it. Now, sir,
you understand me?
Daw. Most perfectly; and will about it.
Stuke. Haste, then; and when 'tis done, come
back and tell me.
Stuke. And you bore it with philosophy?
Daw. Till the scene changed, and then I
melted. I ordered the officers to take away
their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would
have followed him; but we forbade them. 'Twas
then they fell upon their knees, the wife faint-
ed, the sister raving, and both, with all the
[Exit. eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften
Stuke. Now tell thy tale, fond wife! And, us. I never felt compassion till that moment;
Lewson, if again thou canst insult me! and, had the officers been moved like me, we
Not avarice now, but vengeance, fires my had left the business undone, and fled with
Daw. Till then, farewell.
breast;
curses on ourselves. But their hearts were
And one short hour must make me curs'd steeled by custom. The sighs of beauty, and
or bless'd.
ACT V.
SCENE I. STUKELY's Lodgings.
[Exit. the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity.
They tore him from their arms, and lodged
kim in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort him.
Stuke. There let him lie, till we have further
business with him---But how to proceed will
Bates. Poor Lewson! But I told you require time and thought.--Come along with
Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON.
SCENE 2. 3.]
109
Eave
THE GAMESTER.

me; the room within is fitted for privacy-deliberately, and the result is death! How the
But no compassion, sir. [To Dawson]-We self-murderer's account may stand I know not.
want leisure for't-This way. [Exeunt. But this I know-the load of hateful life op-
presses me too much-The horrors of my soul
are more than I can bear-[Offers to kneel.]
Father of mercy!-I cannot pray-Despair has
laid his iron hand upon me, and sealed me
for perdition - Conscience! conscience! thy
SCENE II.-BEVERLEY'S Lodgings.
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE.
Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet?
Char. None. He went out early, and knows
not what has happened.
clamours are too loud!-Here's that shall si-
Mrs. B. The clock strikes eight-I'll wait no lence thee. [Takes a Phial out of his Pocket,
longer. Oh, what a night was last night! I and looks at it] Thou art most friendly to
would not pass another such to purchase worlds the miserable. Come then, thou cordial for
by it-My poor Beverley too! What must he sick minds-Come to my heart. [Drinks] Oh,
have felt? The very thought distracts me!-that the grave would bury memory as well as
To have him torn at midnight from me! A body! For if the soul sees and feels the suf-
loathsome prison his habitation! A cold, damp ferings of those dear ones it leaves behind,
room his lodging! The bleak winds, perhaps, the Everlasting has no vengeance to torment
blowing upon his pillow! No fond wife to lull it deeper-I'll think no more on't-Reflection
him to his rest! and no reflections but to comes too late-Once there was a time for't
wound and tear him!-Tis too horrible!-I-but now 'tis past.-Who's there?
wanted love for him, or they had not forced
him from me.-They should have parted soul
and body first-I was too tame.
Enter JARVIS.
Jar. One that hoped to see you with better
Char. You must not talk so.-All that we looks-Why do you turn so from me? I have
could we did; and Jarvis did the rest-The brought comfort with me. And see who comes
faithful creature will give him comfort. See to give it welcome!
where he comes! His looks are cheerful too!
Enter JARVIS.
Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful! Alas, he
weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte.
Char. How does your master, Jarvis?
Jar. I am old and foolish, madam; and
tears will come before my words-But don't
you weep; [To Mrs. Beverley] I have a tale
of joy for you.
4
Bev. My wife and sister! Why 'tis but one
pang more then, and farewell, world! [Aside.
I
Enter MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE.
Mrs. B. Where is he? [Runs and em-
braces him] Oh, I have him! I have him!
And now they shall never part us more-I
have news, love, to make you happy for ever
-Alas, he hears us not!-Speak to me, love.
have no heart to see you thus.
Beo. This is a sad place!
Jar. All shall be well-I have news for him,
Mrs. B. We come to take you from it-
that will make his poor heart bound again- to tell you the world goes well again-- that
Fie upon old age!-How childish it makes Providence has seen our sorrows, and sent the
me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my means to help them-Your uncle died yesterday.
Beo. My uncle!-No, do not say so!-Oh,
I am sick at heart!
Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy
enough.
tears drown it.
Mrs. B. VVhat is it, Jarvis?
Jar. Your uncle, madam, died yesterday.
Mrs. B. My uncle!-Oh, heavens!
Char. How heard you of his death?
Jar. His steward came express, madam-I
met him in the street, inquiring for your lodg-
ings-I should not rejoice, perhaps but he was
old, and my poor master a prisoner-Now he
shall live again- Ob, 'tis a brave fortune! and
'twas death to me to see him a prisoner.
Mrs. B. Indeed!-I meant to bring you
comfort.
Beo. Tell me he lives then-If you would
bring me comfort, tell me he lives!
Mrs. B. And if I did-I have no power to
raise the dead-He died yesterday.
Beo. And I am heir to him?
Jar. To his whole estate, sir-But bear it
patiently-pray bear it patiently.
Beo. Well, well-[Pausing] Why fame
says I am rich then?
Mrs. B. And truly so-Why do you look
so wildly?
Bev. Do I? The news was unexpected. But
Jar. All, all, sir-He could not leave it
Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis?
Jar, Like a man dreaming of death and
horrors-When they led him to his cell, he
flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay
speechless till day-break. I spoke to him, but
he would not hear me; and when I persisted, has he left me.all?
he raised his hand at me, and knit his brow
so-I thought he would have struck me. I from you.
bid him be of comfort-Be gone, old wretch,
says he-My wife! my child! my sister! I have
undone them all, and will know no comfort!
Then, falling upon his knees, he imprecated
curses upon himself.
Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have
staid too long. Let us haste to comfort him,
or die with him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III-A Prison.
BEVERLEY is discovered sitting.
Bee. Why there's an end then; I have judged
Bev. I am sorry for it.
Mrs. B. VVhy are you disturbed so?
Beo. Has death no terrors in it?
Mrs. B. Not an old man's death. Yet, if
it troubles you, I wish him living.
Beo. And I, with all my heart. For I have
a tale to tell that shall turn you into stone; or,
if the power of speech remain, you shall kneel
down and curse me.
Mrs. B. Alas! and why are we to curse
you?-I'll bless you for ever.
Bev. No; I have deserved no blessings. The

110
THE GAMESTER.
[ACT V.
Stuke. Rather let him fly. His evidence
world holds not such another wretch. All this
large fortune, this second bounty of heaven, may crush his master.
that might have healed our sorrows, and sa-
tisfied our utmost hopes, in a cursed hour I
sold last night.
Mrs. B. Impossible!
Beo. That devil, Stukely, with all hell to aid
him, tempted me to the deed. To pay false
debts of honour, and to redeem past errors,
I sold the reversion-Sold it for a scanty sum,
and lost it among villains.
Char. Why, farewell all then!
Beo. Liberty and life-Come, kneel and
curse me.
Beo. Why ay; this looks like management.
Bates. He found you quarrelling with Lewson
in the streets last night. [To Beverley.
Mrs. B. No; I am sure he did not.
Jar. Or if I did-
Mrs. B. 'Tis false, old man-They had no
quarrel; there was no cause for quarrel.
Beo. Let him proceed, I say-Oh! I am
sick! sick!-Reach a chair. [He sits down.
Mrs. B. If Lewson's dead, you killed him not.
Enter DAWSON.
Stuke. Who sent for Dawson?
Bates. 'Twas I-We have a witness too
you little think of-without there!
Stuke. What witness?
Bates. A right one. Look at
Look at him.
Enter LEWSON and CHARLOTTE.
Stuke. Lewson! O villains! villains!
Mrs B. Then hear me, heaven! [Kneels]
Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give
softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart!
Take from his memory the sense of what is
past, and cure him of despair! On me, on me,
if misery must be the lot of either, multiply
misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he is
happy! These hands shall toil for his support!
These eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings
on him! And every duty of a fond and faith-
ful wife be doubly done, to cheer and comfort is
him!-So hear me!-So reward me! [Rises.
Beo. I would kneel too, but that offended sight would please you, sir.
heaven would turn my prayers into curses.
For I have done a deed to make life horrible
to you-
Mrs B. What deed?
Jar. Ask him no questions, madam-This
last misfortune has hurt his brain. A little
time will give him patience.
Enter STUKELY.
Bev. Why is this villain here!
Stuke. To give you liberty and safety. There,
madam, is his discharge. [Giving a Paper to
Mrs. Beverley.] The arrest last night was
meant in friendship, but came too late.
Char. What mean you, sir?
Stuke. The arrest was too late, I say; I
would have kept his hands from blood, but
was too late.
Mrs. B. His hands from blood!-whose blood?
Stuke. From Lewson's blood.
Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson?
Speak quickly.
Stuke. You are ignorant then! I thought
heard the murderer at confession.
I
Char. What murderer?-And who is mur-
dered? Not Lewson?-Say he lives, and I'll
kneel and worship you.
Stuke. In pity, so I would; but that the
tongues of all cry murder.
I came in pity,
not in malice, to save the brother, not kill the
sister. Your Lewson's dead.
Char. Oh, horrible!
Bev. Silence, I charge you-Proceed, sir.
Stuke. No; justice may stop the tale-and
there's an evidence..
Enter BATES.
Bates. The news, I see, has reached you.
But take comfort, madam. [To Charlotte]
There's one without inquiring for you.-Go
to him, and lose no time.
[Exit.
Char. O misery! misery!
Mrs. B. Follow her, Jarvis. If it be true
that Lewson's dead, her grief may kill her.
Bates. Jarvis must stay here, madam.
have some questions for him.
[To Bates and Dawson.
Mrs. B. Risen from the dead! Why, this
unexpected happiness!
Char. Or is it his ghost? [To Stukely] That
Jar. What riddle's this?
Beo. Be quick and tell it-My minutes are
but few.
Mrs. B. Alas! Why so? You shall live long
and happily.
Lew. While shame and punishment shall
rack that viper! [Pointing to Stukely] The
tale is short-I was too busy in his secrets,
and therefore doomed to die. Bates, to pre-
give it credit.-
vent the murder, undertook it-I kept aloof to
Char. And gave me pangs unutterable.
Lew. I felt them all, and would have told
you-But vengeance wanted ripening. The
villain's scheme was but half executed. The
arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder
-And now, depending on his once wicked as-
sociates, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley.
Bates. Dawson and I are witnesses of this.
Lew. And of a thousand frauds. His for-
tune ruined by sharpers and false dice; and
Stukely sole contriver and possessor of all.
Daw. Had he but stopped on this side murder,
we had been villains still.
Lew. How does my friend? [To Beverley.
Bee. Why, well. Who's he that asks me?
look so at him?
Mrs. B. 'Tis Lewson, love-VVhy do you
Bev. They told me he was murdered.
[Wildly.
Mrs. B. Ay; but he lives to save us.
Beo. Lend me your hand-The room turns
round.
Lew. This villain here disturbs him. Remove
him from his sight-And, for your lives, see
that you guard him. [Stukely is taken off by
Dawson and Bates] How is it, sir?
Beo. 'Tis 'here-and here. [Pointing to his
Head and Heart] And now it tears me.
Mrs. B. You feel convulsed too-What is't
disturbs you?
Beo. A furnace rages in this heart-Down,
restless flames! [Laying his Hand on his
I Heart] Down to your native hell-There you
shall rack me-Oh! for a pause from pain!-

SCENE 3.]
111
THE GAMESTER.
Where's my wife?-Can you forgive me, love?
Mrs. B. Alas! for what?
Bev. For meanly dying.
Mrs. B. No-do not say it.
Mrs. B. Restore him, heaven! Oh, save him!
save him! or let me die too.
Bev. No; live, I charge you. We have a
little one. Though I have left him, you will
Beo. As truly as my soul must answer it- not leave him.-To Lewson's kindness I be-
Had Jarvis staid this morning all had been queath him.-Is not this Charlotte?-We have
well. But, pressed by shame-pent in a prison lived in love, though I have wronged you.-
-tormented with my pangs for you-driven Can you forgive me, Charlotte?
to despair and madness-I took the advantage
of his absence, corrupted the poor wretch he
left to guard me, and-swallowed poison.
Lew. Oh, fatal deed!
Char. Dreadful and cruel!
Char. Forgive you! Oh, my poor brother!
Beo. Oh! for a few short moments to tell
you how my heart bleeds for you-That even
now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearful
of hereafter, my bosom-pang is for your mis-
eries! Support her, heaven! And now I go-
Oh, mercy!" mercy!
[Dies.
Lew. How is it, madam?
Char. Her grief is speechless.
Beo. Ay, most accursed-And now I go to
my account. Bend me, and let me kneel.
[Kneels.] I'll pray for you too. Thou power
that madest me, hear me! If for a life of frailty,
and this too hasty deed of death, thy justice Lew. Remove her from this sight-lead and
dooms me, here I acquit the sentence; but if, support her-Some ministering angel bring her
enthroned in mercy where thou sittest, thy peace! [Charlotte leads her off] And thou,
pity has beheld me, send me a gleam of hope, poor, breathless corpse, may thy departed soul
that in these last and bitter moments my soul have found the rest it prayed for! Save but
may taste of comfort! and for these mourners one error, and this last fatal deed, thy life was
here, oh! let their lives be peaceful, and their lovely. Let frailer minds take warning; and
deaths happy!
from example learn, that want of prudence is
[They lift him to the Chair. want of virtue.
[Exit.
THOMAS OTWAY,
WAS not more remarkable for moving the tender passions, than for the variety of fortune to which he himself
was subjected. He was the son of the Rev. Mr. Humphrey Otway, rector of Wolbeding, in Sussex, and was born at
Trotton in that county, the 3d of March in the year 1651. He received his education at Wickeham school, near
Winchester, and became a commoner of Christ Church, in Oxford, in 1669. But on his quitting the university, in
1674, and coming to London, he turned player. His success as an actor was but indifferent, having made only one
attempt in Mrs. Behn's tragedy of The Forc'd Marriage; or, Jealous Bridegroom; he was more valued for the spright-
liness of his conversation and the acuteness of his wit; which gained him the friendship of the Earl of Plymouth, who
procured him a cornet's, commission in the troops which then served in Flanders. At his return from Flanders he gave
up his commission and had recourse to writing for the stage; and now it was that he found out the only employ-
ment that nature seems to have fitted him for. In comedy he has been deemed to licentious; which, however, was
no great objection to those who lived in the profligate days of Charles 11. But in tragedy few of our English poets
ever equalled him; and perhaps none ever excelled him in touching the passions, particularly that of love. There is
generally something familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, and there is amazing energy in his expression.
But though Otway possessed, in so eminent a degree, the rare talent of writing to the heart, yet he was not very fa-
vourably regarded by some of his contemporary poets; nor was he always successful in his dramatic compositions. Af-
ter experiencing many reverses of fortune, in regard to his circumstances, but generally changing for the worse, he at
last died wretchedly in a house, known by the sign of a Bull, on Tower Hill, April 14, 1685. whither he had retired
to avoid the pressure of his creditors. Some have said, that downright hunger compelling him to fall too eagerly upon
a piece of bread, of which he had been some time in want, the first mouthful choked him, and instantly put a period
to his days..
VENICE PRESERVED.
ACTED at the Duke's Theatre, 1682. This interesting tragedy is borrowed, with respect to the plan of it at least,
from a little book that relates the circumstances of the Spanish conspiracy at Venice, i, e. the Abbé de St. Real's His-
toire du la Conjuration du Marquis de Badamar. The speech of Renault to the conspirators is translated word for
word from this author. It has been remarked, that though, on the whole, the incidents of Otway's piece are interesting,
and the catastrophe affecting, there is not one truly valuable character in the whole drama, except that of Belvidera.
To this, however, we cannot entirely subscribe. The character of Pierre is nobly drawn. His public services had been
returned with ingratitude, and he was a greatly injured character; but was justly punished for taking a treasonable
mode of redressing his wrongs. The scene lies in Venice. By comparing this with The Orphan, it will appear that
his images were by time become stronger, and his language more energetic. The public seems to judge rightly of the
faults and excellencies of this play; that it is the work of a man not attentive to decency, nor zealous for virtuc, but of
one who conceived forcibly, and drew originally, by consulting nature in his own breast, Mr. Dryden says, "the mo-
tions which are studied are never so natural as those which break out in the height of a real passion. Mr. Otway
possessed this part as thoroughly as any of the ancients or moderns. I will not defend every thing in his Venice Pre-
served; but I must bear this testimony to his memory, that the passions are truly touched in it, though perhaps there
is somewhat to be desired, both in the grounds of them, and in the height and elegance of expression; but nature is
there, which is the greatest beauty."
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DUKE OF VENICE.
PRIULI.
ANTONIO.
BEDAMAR.
JAFFIER.
PIERRE.
RENAULT.
SPINOSA.
BELVIDERA.
AQUILINA.
Officers, Guards,
Executioner, etc.

112
[ACT 1.
VENICE PRESERVED.
ACT I.
SCENE I-4 Street in VENICE.
Enter PRIULI and JAFFIER.
Pri. No more! I'll hear no more! Be gone
and leave me.
Jaf. Not hear me! By my suffering but you
shall!
throws
May all your joys in her prove false, like mine;
A sterile fortune, and a barren bed,
Attend you both; continual discord make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous; still
May the hard hand of a vexatious need
Oppress and grind you; till at last you find
The curse of disobedience all your portion.
Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestow'd
in vain:
My lord, my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me. Patience! where's the distance Heav'n has already crown'd our faithful loves
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's
beauty:
May he live to prove more gentle than his
grandsire,
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
In right, though proud oppression will not hear
me?
Pri. Have you not wrong'd me?
Jaf. Could my nature e'er
Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrongs,
I need not now thus low have bent myself
myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father."
Wrong'd you?
Pri. Yes, wrong'd me! In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you've done me
wrong.
You may
remember (for I now will speak,
And urge its baseness) when you first came
home
From travel, with such hopes as made you
look'd on,
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation;
And happier than his father.
Pri. Rather live
To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears
With hungry cries; whilst his unhappy mother
Sits down and weeps in bitter ess of want.
Jaf. You talk as if 'twould please you.
Pri. 'Twould, by heav'n!
Jaf. Would I were in my grave!
Pri. And she too with thee:
For, living here, you're but my curst remem-
brancers.
I once was happy.
Jaf. You use me thus, because you know
my soul
Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive
Pleas'd with your growing virtue, I receiv'd My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat
you;
merits:
me.
Courted, and sought to raise you to your Oh! could my soul ever have known satiety;
Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs
As you upbraid me with, what hinders me
But I might send her back to you with con-
tumely,
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have us'd
me
To your best service; like an open friend
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine:
When, in requital of my best endeavours,
You treacherously practis'd to undo me;
Seduc'd the weakness of my age's darling,
My only child, and stole her from my bosom.
Oh Belvidera!
Jaf. 'Tis to me you owe her:
Childless you had been else, and in the grave
Your name extinct; no more Priuli heard of.
You may remember, scarce five years are past,
Since in your brigantine you sail'd to see
The Adriatic wedded by our duke;
And I was with you: your unskilful pilot
Dash'd us upon a rock; when to your boat
You made for safety: enter'd first yourself;
Th' affrighted Belvidera following next,
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side,
Was, by a wave, wash'd off into the deep;
When instantly I plung'd into the sea,
And buffeting the billows to her rescue,
Redeem'd her life with half the loss of mine.
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dash'd the saucy waves,
That throng'd and press'd to rob me of my
prize.
I brought her, gave her to your despairing
arms:
Indeed you thank'd me; but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul: for from that hour she lov'd
me,
Till for her life she paid me with herself.
Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief
you stole her,
At dead of night! that cursed hour you chose
To rifle me of all my heart held dear.
And court my fortune where she would be
kinder?
Pri. You dare not do't.
Jaf. Indeed, my lord, I dare not.
My heart, that awes me, is too much my
master:
Three years are past, since first our yows were
plighted,
During which time, the world must bear me
witness,
I've treated Belvidera like your daughter,
The daughter of a senator of Venice:
Distinction, place, attendance, and observance,
Due to her birth, she always has commanded.
Out of my little fortune I've done this;
Because (though hopeless e'er to win your
nature)
The world might see I lov'd her for herself;
Not as the heiress of the great Priuli.
Pri. No more.
Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu for ever.
There's not a wretch, that lives on common
charity,
But's happier than me: for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Have slept with soft content about my head,
And never wak'd, but to a joyful morning;
Yet now must fall, like a full ear of corn,
Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the
ripening.
Pri. Home, and be humble; study to retrench;
Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,
Those pageants of thy folly:
Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife
To humble weeds, fit for thy little state:
Then, to some suburb cottage both retire;

SCENE 1.]
113
VENICE PRESERVED.
Drudge to feed loathsome life: get brats and
starve-
Home, home, I say.-
[Exit.
Juf. Yes, if my heart would let me
This proud, this swelling heart: home I would go,
But that my doors are baleful to my eyes,
Fill'd and dam'd up with gaping creditors,
Watchful as fowlers when their game will
spring.
I've now not fifty ducats in the world,
Yet still I am in love, and pleas'd with ruin.
Oh! Belvidera! Oh! she is my wife-
And we will bear our wayward fate together,
But ne'er know comfort more,
Enter PIERRE.
Pier. My friend, good morrow!
How fares the honest partner of my heart?
What, melancholy! not a word to spare me?
Jaf. I'm thinking, Pierre, how that damn'd
starving quality,
Call'd honesty, got footing in the world.
Pier. Why, powerful villany first set it up,
For its own ease and safety. Honest men
Are the soft easy cushions on which knaves
Repose and fatten. Were all mankind villains,
They'd starve each other; lawyers would want
practice,
Cut-throats rewards: each man would kill his
brother
Himself; none would be paid or hang'd for
murder.
Honesty! 'twas a cheat invented first
To bind the hands of bold deserving rogues,
That fools and cowards might sit safe in power,
And lord it uncontrol'd above their betters.
Jaf. Then honesty is but a notion?
Pier. Nothing else;
Like wit, much talk'd of, not to be defin'd:
He that pretends to most, too, has least share in't.
'Tis a ragged virtue: Honesty! no more on't.
Jaf. Sure thou art honest!
Pier. So, indeed, men think me;
But they're mistaken, Jaffier: I'm a rogue
As well as they;
A fine, gay, bold-fac'd villain as thou seest me.
'Tis true, I pay my debts, when they're con-
tracted;
I steal from no man; would not cut a throat
To gain admission to a great man's purse,
Or a whore's bed; I'd not betray my friend
To get his place or fortune; I scorn to flatter
A blown-up fool above me, or crush the wretch
beneath me;
Yet, Jaffier, for all this I'm a villain.
Jaf. A villain!
Pier. Yes, a most notorious villain;
To see the sufferings of my fellow creatures,
And own myself a man: to see our senators
Cheat the deluded people with a show
Of liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of.
They say, by them our hands are free from
fetters;
Yet whom they please they lay in basest bonds;
Bring whom they please to infamy and sorrow;
Drive us, like wrecks, down the rough tide
of power,
Whilst no hold's left to save us from destruction.
All that bear this are villains, and I one,
Not to rouse up at the great call of nature,
And check the growth of these domestic spoilers,
That make us slaves, and tell us, 'tis our charter.
Jaf. I think no safety can be here for virtue,
And grieve, my friend, as much as thou, to live
In such a wretched state as this of Venice,
Where all agree to spoil the public good;
And villains fatten with the brave man's labours.
Pier. We've neither safety, unity, nor peace,
For the foundation's lost of common good;
Justice is lame, as well as blind, amongst us;
The laws (corrupted to their ends that make 'em)
Serve but for instruments of some new tyranny,
That every day starts up, t'enslave us deeper.
Now could this glorious cause but find out friends
To do it right, oh, Jaffier! then might'st thou
Not wear these seals of woe upon thy face;
The proud Priuli should be taught humanity,
And learn to value such a son as thou art.
I dare not speak, but my heart bleeds this moment.
Jaf. Curs'd be the cause, though I thy friend
be part on't:
Let me partake the troubles of thy bosom,
For I am us'd to misery, and perhaps
May find a way to sweeten't to thy spirit.
Pier. Too soon 'twill reach thy knowledge-
Jaf. Then from thee
Let it proceed. There's virtue in thy friendship,
Would make the saddest tale of sorrow pleasing,
Strengthen my constancy and welcome ruin.
Pier. Then thou art ruined!
Jaf. That I long since knew;
I and ill fortune have been long acquainted.
Pier. I pass'd this very moment by thy doors,
And found them guarded by a troop of villains;
The sons of public rapine were destroying.
They told me, by the sentence of the law,
They had commission to seize all thy fortune:
Nay more, Priuli's cruel hand had sign'd it.
Here stood a ruffian with a horrid face,
Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate,
Tumbled into a heap for public sale;
There was another, making villanous jests
At thy undoing: he had ta'en possession
Of all thy ancient, most domestic ornaments,
Rich hangings intermix'd and wrought with gold;
The very bed, which on thy wedding-night
Receiv'd thee to the arms of Belvidera,
The scene of all thy joys, was violated
By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains,
And thrown amongst the common lumber.
Jaf. Now thank heaven-
Pier. Thank heaven! for what?
Juf. That I'm not worth a ducat.
Pier. Curse thy dull stars, and the worse
fate of Venice,
Where brothers, friends, and fathers, all are
false;
Where there's no truth, no trust; where in-
nocence
Stoops under vile oppression, and vice lords it.
Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how at last
Thy beauteous Belvidera, like a wretch
That's doom'd to banishment,came weeping forth,
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers,
That labour to o'ercome the cloud that loads 'em;
Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms
she lean'd,
Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad,
As if they catch'd the sorrows that fell from her.
Ev'n the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round
To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her;
Govern'd their roaring throats,and grumbled pity.
I could have hugg'd the greasy rogues: they
pleas'd me.
15

114
[ACT I.
VENICE PRESERVED.
Jaf. Ithank thee for this story, from my soul;| Were in their spring! Has then our fortune
Since now I know the worst that can befal me.
chang'd?
Ah, Pierre! I have a heart that could have.borne Art thou not Belvidera, still the same,
The roughest wrong my fortune could have Kind, good, and tender, as my arms first found
done me;
But when I think what Belvidera feels,
The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of,
I own myself a coward: bear my weakness:
If throwing thus my arms about thy neck,
I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom.
Oh! I shall drown thee with my sorrows.
Pier. Burn,
First, burn and level Venice to thy ruin.
What! starve, like beggars' brats, in frosty
weather,
Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death!
Thou or thy cause shall never want assistance,
Whilst I have blood or fortune fit to serve thee:
Command my heart, thou'rt every way its master.
Jaf. No, there's a secret pride in bravely dying.
Pier. Rats die in holes and corners, dogs
run mad;
thee?
If thou art alter'd, where shall I have harbour?
Where ease my loaded heart? Oh! where
complain?
Bel. Does this appear like change, or love
decaying,
When thus I throw myself into thy bosom,
With all the resolution of strong truth!
Beats not my heart, as 'twould alarum thine
To a new charge of bliss?-I joy more in thee,
Than did thy mother, when she hugg'd thee first,
And bless'd the gods for all her travail past.
Jaf. Can there in woman be such glorious
faith?
Sure all ill stories of thy sex are false!
Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee
To temper man: we had been brutes without you!
Angels are painted fair to look like you:
There's in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Man knows a braver remedy for sorrow:
Revenge, the attribute of gods; they stamp'd it,
With their great image, on our natures. Die!
Consider well the cause, that calls upon thee: Bel. Iflove be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich;
And, if thou'rt base enough, die then. Remember, I have so much, my heart will surely break with't:
Thy Belvidera suffers; Belvidera!
Vows can't express it. When I would declare
Die-damn first-What! be decently interr'd How great's my joy, I'm dumb with the big
In a church-yard, and mingle thy brave dust.
With stinking rogues, that rot in winding-sheets, I swell, and sigh, and labour with my longing.
Surfeit-slain fools, the common dung o'th' soil! O! lead me to some desert wide and wild,
Jaf. Oh!
Barren as our misfortunes, where my soul
Pier. Well said, out with't, swear a little-May have its vent, where I may tell aloud
Jaf. Swear! By sea and air; by earth, by To the high heavens, and ev'ry list'ning planet,
heav'n, and hell,
With what a boundless stock my bosom's
I will revenge my Belvidera's tears.
Hark thee, my friend-Priuli-is-a senator.
Pier. A dog.
Jaf. Agreed.
Pier. Shoot him.
Jaf. With all my heart.
No more; where shall we meet at night?
Pier. I'll tell thee;
On the Rialto, every night at twelve,
I take my evening's walk of meditation;
There we two will meet, and talk of precious
Mischief-
Jaf. Farewell.
Pier. At twelve.
[Exit Pierre.
Jaf. At any hour; my plagues
Will keep me waking.
Tell me why, good heaven,
Thou mad'st me, what I am, with all the spirit,
Aspiring thoughts, and elegant desires,
That fill the happiest man? Ah, rather, why
Didst thou not form me sordid as my faté,
Base-minded, dull, and fit to carry burthens?
Why have I sense to know the curse that's
on me?
Is this just dealing, nature?--Belvidera!
Enter BELVIDERA.
Poor Belvidera!
Bel. Lead me, lead me, my virgins,
To that kind voice. My lord, my love, my refuge!
Happy my eyes, when they behold thy face!
My heavy heart will leave its doleful beating
At sight of thee, and bound with sprightly joys.
Oh smile! as when our loves were in their spring,
And cheer my fainting soul.
Jaf. As when our loves
thought;
fraught;
Where I may throw my eager arms about thee,
Give loose to love, with kisses kindling joy,
And let off all the fire that's in my heart.
Jaf. Oh, Belvidera! doubly I'm a beggar:
Undone by fortune, and in debt to thee.
Want, worldly want, that hungry, meagre fiend,
Is at my heels, and chases me in view.
Canst thou bear cold and hunger? Can these
limbs,
Fram'd for the tender offices of love,
Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty?
When banish'd by our miseries abroad
(As suddenly we shall be) to seek out
In some far climate, where our names are
strangers,
For charitable succour; wilt thou then,
When in a bed of straw we shrink together,
And the bleak winds shall whistle round our
heads;
Wilt thou then talk thus to me? Wilt thou then
Hush my cares thus, and shelter me with love?
Bel. Oh! I will love thee, even in madness
love thee;
Though my distracted senses should forsake me,
I'd find some intervals, when my poor heart
Should 'swage itself, and be let loose to thine.
Though the bare earth be all our resting-place,
Its roots our food, some clift our habitation,
I'll make this arm a pillow for thine head;
And, as thou sighing ly'st, and swell'd with
sorrow,
Creep to thy bosom, pour the balm of love
Into thy soul, and kiss thee to thy rest;
Then praise our God, and watch thee till the
morning.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
115
VENICE PRESERVED.
Jaf. Hear this, you heav'ns! and wonder
how you made her:
Reign, reign, ye monarchs that divide the world,
Busy rebellion ne'er will let you know
Tranquillity and happiness like mine!
Like gaudy ships th' obsequious billows fall,
And rise again to lift you in your pride;
They wait but for a storm, and then devour you;
I, in my private bark already wreck'd,'
Like a poor merchant driven to unknown land,
That had by chance pack'd up his choicest
treasure
In one dear casket, and sav'd only that;
Since I must wander further on the shore,
Thus hug my little, but my precious store,
Resolv'd to scorn and trust my fate no more,
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The Rialto.
Enter JAFFIER.
Jaf. I'm here; and thus, the shades of night
around me,
I look as if all hell were in my heart,
And I in hell. Nay surely 'tis so with me!
For every step I tread, methinks some fiend
Knocks at my breast, and bids me not be quiet.
I've heard how desperate wretches, like myself,
Have wander'd out at this dead time of night,
To meet the foe of mankind in his walk.
Sure I'm so curs'd that, though of heaven
forsaken,
No minister of darkness cares to tempt me.
Hell, hell! why sleep'st thou?
Enter PIERRE.
Pier. Sure I've staid too long:
The clock has struck, and I may lose my proselyte.
Speak, who goes there?
Jaf. A dog, that comes to howl
At yonder moon. What's he that asks the
question?
Pier. A friend to dogs, for they are honest
creatures,
And ne'er betray their masters: never fawn
On any that they love not. Well met, friend:
Jaffier!
Jaf. The same.
Pier. Where's Belvidera?-
Jaf. For a day or two
I've lodg'd her privately, till I see further
What fortune will do for me. Pr'ythee, friend,
If thou wouldst have me fit to hear good counsel,
Speak not of Belvidera-
Pier. Not of her!
Jaf. Oh, no!
Pier. Not name her! May be I wish her well.
Jaf. Whom well?
Pier. Thy wife; thy lovely Belvidera,
I hope a man may wish his friend's wife well,
And no harm done?
Jaf. Y' are merry, Pierre.
Pier. I am so:
Thou shalt smile too, and Belvidera smile:
We'll all rejoice. Here's something to buy pins;
Marriage is chargeable. [Gives him a Purse.
Jaf. I but half wish'd
To see the devil, and he's here already. Well!
What must this buy? Rebellion, murder,
treason?
Tell me, which way I must be damn'd for this.
Pier. When last we parted, we'd no qualms
like these,
But entertain'd each other's thoughts like men
Whose souls were well acquainted. Is the world
Reform'd since our last meeting? What new
miracles
Have happen'd? Has Priuli's heart relented?
Can he be honest?
Jaf. Kind heav'n, let heavy curses
Gall his old age; cramps, aches, rack his bones,
And bitterest disquiet wring his heart.
Oh! let him live, till life become his burden:
Let him groan under't long, linger an age
In the worst agonies and pangs of death,
And find its ease but late.
Pier. Nay, couldst thou not
As well, my friend, have stretch'd the curse to all
The senate round, as to one single villain?
Jaf. But curses stick not: could I kill with
cursing,
By heaven I know not thirty heads in Venice
Should not be blasted. Senators should rot
Like dogs on dunghills. Oh! for a curse
To kill with!
Pier. Daggers, daggers are much better.
Jaf. Ha!
Pier. Daggers.
Jaf. But where are they?
Pier. Oh! a thousand
May be dispos'd of, in honest hands, in Venice.
Jaf. Thou talk'st in clouds.
Pier. But yet a heart, half wrong'd
As thine has been, would find the meaning,
Jaffier.
Jaf. A thousand daggers, all in honest hands!
And have not I a friend will stick one here!
Pier. Yes, if I thought thou wert not cherish'd
T' a nobler purpose, I would be thy friend;
But thou hast better friends; friends whom thy
wrongs
Have made thy friends; friends worthy to be
call'd so.
I'll trust thee with a secret: There are spirits
This hour at work.-But as thou art a man,
Whom I have pick'd and chosen from the world,
Swear that thou wilt be true to what I utter;
And when I've told thee that which only gods,
And men like gods, are privy to, then swear
No chance or change shall wrest it from
thy bosom.
Jaf. When thou wouldst bind me, is there
need of oaths?
For thou'rt so near my heart, that thou may'st see
Its bottom, sound its strength and firmness to thee.
Is coward, fool, or villain in my face?
If I seem none of these, I dare believe
Thou wouldst not use me in a little cause,
For I am fit for honour's toughest task,
Nor ever yet found fooling was my province;
And for a villainous, inglorious enterprise,
I know thy heart so well, I dare lay mine
Before thee, set it to what point thou wilt.
Pier. Nay, 'tis a cause thou wilt be fond
of, Jaffier;
For it is founded on the noblest basis;
Our liberties, our natural inheritance.
There's no religion, no hypocrisy in't;
We'll do the business, and ne'er fast and
pray for't;
Openly act a deed the world shall
gaze
With wonder at, and envy when 'tis done,
Jaf. For liberty!

116
[ACT II.
VENICE PRESERVED.
Pier. For liberty, my friend.
Spin. Hell seize that soul amongst us it can
frighten.
Thou shalt be freed from base Priuli's tyranny,
And thy sequester'd fortunes heal'd again:
I shall be free from those opprobrious wrongs
That press me now, and bend my spirit Why are we not together?
Ren. What's then the cause that I am
here alone?
downward;
Enter ELLIOTT.
All Venice free, and every growing merit
Succeed to its just right: fools shall be pull'd O, sir, welcome!
From wisdom's seat: those baleful, unclean birds, You are an Englishman: when treason's hatching,
Those lazy owls, who, perch'd near fortune's top, One might have thought you'd not have been
Sit only watchful with their heavy wings
behind-hand.
To cuff down new-fledg'd virtues, that would rise
To nobler heights, and make the grove har-
monious.
Jaf. What can I do?
Pier. Canst thou not kill a senator?
Jaf. Were there one wise or honest, I could
kill him,
For herding with that nest of fools and knaves.
By all my wrongs, thou talk'st as if revenge
Were to be had; and the brave story warms me,
Pier. Swear then!
Jaf. I do, by all those glittering stars,
And yon great ruling planet of the night;
By all good pow'rs above, and ill below;
By love and friendship, dearer than my life,
No pow'r or death shall make me false to thee.
Pier. Here we embrace, and I'll unlock
my heart.
A council's held hard by, where the destruction
Of this great empire's hatching: there I'll lead thee.
But be a man! for thou'rt to mix with men
Fit to disturb the peace of all the world,
And rule it when it's wildest-
Jaf. I give thee thanks
For this kind warning. Yes, I'll be a man;
And charge thee, Pierre, whene'er thou seest
my fears
Betray me less, to rip this heart of mine
Out of my breast, and show it for a coward's.
Come, let's be gone, for from this hour I chase
All little thoughts, all tender human follies
Out of my bosom: Vengeance shall have room:
Revenge!
Pier. And liberty!
Jaf. Revenge-revenge-
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-AQUILINA'S House.
Enter RENAULT.
Ren. Why was my choice ambition? the
worst ground
A wretch can build on! It's, indeed, at distance,
A goodly prospect, tempting to the view;
The height delights us, and the mountain top
Looks beautiful, because it's nigh to heav'n.
But we ne'er think how sandy's the foundation,
What storm will batter, and what tempest
shake us.
Who's there?
Enter SPINOSA.
Spin. Renault, good morrow, for by this time
I think the scale of night has turn'd the balance,
And weighs up morning! Has the clock struck
twelve?
Ren. Yes! clocks will go as they are set;
but man,
Irregular man's ne'er constant, never certain:
I've spent at least three precious hours of darkness
In waiting dull attendance: 'tis the curse
Of diligent virtue to be mix'd, like mine,
With giddy tempers, souls but half resolv'd.
In what whore's lap have you been lolling?
Give but an Englishman his whore and ease,
Beef, and a sea-coal fire, he's yours for ever.
Ell. Frenchman, you are saucy.
Ren. How!
Enter BEDAMAR, the Ambassador; THEO-
DORE, BRAMVEIL, DURAND, BRABE, REVIL-
LIDO, MEZZANA, TERNON, and RETROSI,
Conspirators.
Bed. At difference; fie!
Is this a time for quarrels? Thieves and rogues
Fall out and brawl: should men of your high
calling,
Men separated by the choice of Providence
From the gross heap of mankind, and set here
In this assembly as in one great jewel,
T' adorn the bravest purpose it e'er smil'd on;
Should you, like boys, wrangle for trifles?
Ren. Boys!
Bed. Renault, thy hand.
Ren. I thought I'd given my heart
Long since to every man that mingles here;
But grieve to find it trusted with such tempers,
That can't forgive my froward age its weakness.
Bed. Elliot, thou once hadst virtue. I have seen
Thy stubborn temper bent with godlike goodness,
Not half thus courted: 'Tis thy nation's glory
To hug the foe that offers brave alliance.
One more embrace, my friends - we'll all
embrace.
United thus, we are the mighty engine
Must twist this rooted empire from its basis.
Totters not it already?
Ell. Would 'twere tumbling.
Bed. Nay, it shall down; this night we seal
its ruin.
Enter PIERRE.
Oh, Pierre, thou art welcome.
Come to my breast, for by its hopes thou look'st
Lovelily dreadful, and the fate of Venice
Seems on thy sword already. Oh, my Mars!
The poets that first feign'd a god of war,
Sure prophesied of thee.
Pier. Friend, was not Brutus
(I mean that Brutus, who in open senate
Stabb'd the first Caesar that usurp'd the world),
A gallant man?
Ren. Yes, and Cataline too;
Though story wrong his fame: for he conspir'd
To prop the reeling glory of his country:
His cause was good.
Bed. And ours as much above it,
As, Renault, thou'rt superior to Cethegus,
Or Pierre to Cassius.
Pier. Then to what we aim at.
When do we start? or must we talk for ever?
Bed. No, Pierre, the deed's near birth; fate
seems to have set
The business up, and given it to our care;

SCENE 2.]
117
VENICE PRESERVED.
I hope there's not a heart or hand amongst us,
But is firm and ready.
All. All.
We'll die with Bedamar.
Bed. O men
Matchless! as will your glory be hereafter:
The game is for a matchless prize, if won;
If lost, disgraceful ruin.
Pier.Ten thousand men are armed at your nod,
Commanded all by leaders fit to guide
A battle for the freedom of the world:
This wretched state has starv'd them in its
service;
Come, come, I read distrust in all your faces;
You fear me villain, and, indeed, it's odd
To hear a stranger talk thus, at first meeting,
Of matters that have been so well debated;
But I come ripe with wrongs, as you with
councils.
I hate this senate, am a foe to Venice;
A friend to none, but men resolv'd like me
To push on mischief. Oh! did you but know me,
I need not talk thus!
Bed. Pierre, I must embrace him.
My heart beats to this man, as if it knew him.
Ren. I never lov'd these huggers.
Jaf. Still I see
And, by your bounty quicken'd, they're resolved
To serve your glory, and revenge their own: The cause delights ye not. Your friends survey me
They've all their different quarters in this city, As I were dangerous-But I come arm'd
Watch for th' alarm, and grumble 'tis so tardy. Against all doubts, and to your trust will give
Bed. I doubt not, friend, but thy unwearied A pledge, worth more than all the world can
diligence
Has still kept waking, and it shall have ease;
After this night it is resolv'd we meet
No more, till Venice owns us for her lords.
Pier. How lovelily the Adriatic whore,
Dress'd in her flames, will shine! Devouring
flames!
Such as shall burn her to the watery bottom,
And hiss in her foundation.
Bed. Now if any
Amongst us, that owns this glorious cause,
Have friends or interest he'd wish to save,
Let it be told: the general doom is seal'd;
But I'd forego the hopes of a world's empire,
Rather than wound the bowels of my friend.
Pier. I must confess, you there have touch'd
my weakness,
I have a friend; hear it! such a friend,
My heart was ne'er shut to him. Nay, I'll tell you:
He knows the very business of this hour;
But he rejoices in the cause, and loves it;
We've chang'd a vow to live and die together,
And he's at hand to ratify it here.
Ren. How! all betray'd!
Pier. No-I've nobly dealt with you;
I've brought my all into the public stock:
I've but one friend, and him I'll share amongst
you:
Receive and cherish him; or if, when seen
And search'd, you find him worthless: as my
tongue
Has lodg'd this secret in his faithful breast,
To ease your fears, I wear a dagger here
Shall rip it out again, and give you rest.
Come forth, thou only good I e'er could boast of.
Enter JAFFIER, with a Dagger.
Bed. His presence bears the show of manly
virtue.
Jaf. I know you'll wonder all, that thus uncall'd,
I dare approach this place of fatal councils;
But I'm amongst you, and by heav'n it glads me
To see so many virtues thus united
To restore justice, and dethrone oppression.
Command this sword, if you would have it quiet,
Into this breast; but, if you think it worthy
To cut the throats of reverend rogues in robes,
Send me into the curs'd assembled senate:
It shrinks not, though I meet a father there.
Would you behold this city flaming? here's
A hand shall bear a lighted torch at noon
To th' arsenal, and set its gates on fire.
Ren. You talk this well, sir.
Jaf. Nay-by heaven I'll do this.
pay for.
My Belvidera. Hoa; my Belvidera!
Bed. What wonder's next?
Jaf. Let me entreat you,
As I have henceforth hopes to call you friends,
That all but the ambassador, and this
Grave guide of councils, with my friend that
owns me,
Withdraw awhile, to spare a woman's blushes.
[Exeunt all but Bedamar, Renault,
Jaffier, and Pierre.
Enter BELVIDERA.
Bed. Pierre, whither will this ceremony lead
us?
Jaf. My Belvidera! Belvidera!
Bel. Who,
Who calls so loud at this late peaceful hour?
That voice was wont to come in gentle whispers,
And fill my ears with the soft breath of love.
Thou hourly image of my thoughts, where
art thou?
Jaf. Indeed 'tis late.
Bel. Alas! where am I? whither is't you
lead me?
Methinks I read distraction in your face,
Something less gentle than the fate you tell me.
You shake and tremble too! your blood runs
cold!
Heav'ns guard my love, and bless his heart
with patience.
Jaf. That I have patience, let our fate bear
witness,
Who has ordain'd it so, that thou and I
(Thou, the divinest good man e'er possess'd,
And I, the wretched'st of the race of man)
This very hour, without one tear, must part.
Bel. Part! must we part? Oh, am I then
forsaken?
Why drag you from me? Whither are you
going?
My dear! my life! my love!
Jaf. Oh, friends!
I
Bel. Speak to me.
Jaf. Take her from my heart,
She'll gain such hold else, I shall ne'er get loose.
charge thee take her, but with tender'st care
Relieve her troubles, and assuage her sorrows.
Ren. Rise, madam, and command amongst
your servants.
Jaf. To you, sirs, and your honours, I be-
queath her;
And with her this; when I prove unworthy-
[Gives a Dagger.

118
[ACT III.
VENICE PRESERVED.
You know the rest-Then strike it to her heart; Thou gav'st last night in parting with me; strike it
And tell her, he who three whole happy years Here to my heart; and as the blood flows from it,
Lay in her arms, and each kind night repeated Judge if it run not pure, as Cato's daughter's.
The passionate vows of still increasing love, Jaf. Oh! Belvidera!
Sent that reward for all her truth and sufferings.
Bel. Nay, take my life, since he has sold it
cheaply.
O! thou unkind one;
Never meet more! have I deserv'd this from you;
Look on me, tell me, speak, thou fair deceiver.
Why am I separated from thy love?
If I am false, accuse me; but if true,
Don't, pr'ythee don't, in poverty forsake me,
But pity the sad heart that's torn with parting.
Yet hear me, yet recall me-
[Exeunt Renault, Bedamar, and Belvidera.
Jaf. Oh! my eyes,
Look not that way, but turn yourselves awhile
Into my heart, and be wean'd altogether.
My friend where art thou?
Pier. Here, my honour's brother.
Jaf. Is Belvidera gone?
Pier. Renault has led her
Back to her own apartment; but, by heav'n,
Thou must not see her more, till our work's over.
Jaf. No!
Pier. Not for your life.
Jaf. Oh, Pierre, wert thou but she,
How I would pull thee down into my heart,
Gaze on thee, till my eye-strings crack'd with
love;
Then, swelling, sighing, raging to be blest,
Come like a panting turtle to thy breast;
On thy soft bosom hovering, bill and play,
Confess the cause why last I fled away;
Own 'twas a fault, but swear to give it o'er,
And never follow false ambition more.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-A Chamber.
Enter BELVIDERA.
[Exeunt.
Bel. I'm sacrific'd! I'm sold! betray'd to
shame!
Inevitable ruin has enclos'd me!
He that should guard my virtue has betray'd it;
Left me! undone me! Oh, that I could hate him!
Where shall I go? Oh, whither, whither,
wander?
Enter JAFFIER.
Jaf. Can Belvidera want a resting-place,
When these poor arms are ready to receive her?
There was a time-
Bel. Yes, yes, there was a time,
When Belvidera's tears, her cries, and sorrows,
Were not despis'd; when, if she chanc'd to sigh,
Or look'd but sad-there was indeed a time,
When Jaffier would have ta'en her in his arms,
Eas'd her declining head upon his breast,
And never left her till he found the cause.
Jaf. Oh, Portia, Portia! What a soul was
thine!
Bel. That Portia was a woman; and when
Brutus,
Big with the fate of Rome, (heav'n guard thy
safety!)
Conceal'd from her the labours of his mind;
She let him see her blood was great as his,
Flow'd from a spring as noble, and a heart
Fit to partake his troubles as his love.
Fetch, fetch that dagger back, the dreadful dower,
Bel. Why was I last night deliver'd to a
villain?
Jaf. Ha! a villain?
Bel. Yes, to a villain! Why at such an hour
Meets that assembly, all made up of wretches?
Why, I in this hand, and in that a dagger,
Was I deliver'd with such dreadful ceremonies?
To you, sirs, and to your honours, Ibequeath her,
And with her this: Whene'er I prove unworthy-
You know the rest-then strike it to her heart.
Oh! why's that rest conceal'd from me? Must I
Be made the hostage of a hellish trust?
For such I know I am; that's all my value.
But, by the love and loyalty I owe thee,
I'll free thee from the bondage of the slaves;
Straight to the senate, tell 'em all I know,
All that I think, all that my fears inform me.
Jaf. Is this the Roman virtue; this the blood
That boasts its purity with Cato's daughter?
Would she have e'er betray'd her Brutus?
Bel. No:
For Brutus trusted her. Wert thou so kind,
What would not Belvidera suffer for thee?
Jaf. I shall undo myself, and tell thee all.
Yet think a little, ere thou tempt me further;
Think I've a tale to tell will shake thy nature,
Melt all this boasted constancy thou talk'st of
Into vile tears and despicable sorrows:
Then if thou shouldst betray me!-
Bel. Shall I swear!
Juf. No, do not swear: I would not violate
Thy tender nature, with so rude a bond:
But as thou hop'st to see me live my days,
And love thee long, lock this within thy breast:
I've bound myself, by all the strictest sacraments,
Divine and human-
Bel. Speak!
Jaf. To kill thy father-
Bel. My father!
Jaf. Nay, the throats of the whole senate
Shall bleed, my Belvidera. He, amongst us,
That spares his father, brother, or his friend,
Is damn'd.
Bel. Oh!
Jaf. Have a care, and shrink not even in
thought:
For if thou dost-
Bel. I know it; thou wilt kill me.
Do, strike thy sword into this bosom: lay me
Dead on the earth, and then thou wilt be safe.
Murder my father! though his cruel nature
Has persecuted me to my undoing;
Driven me to basest wants; can I behold him,
With smiles of vengeance, butcher'd in his age?
The sacred fountain of my life destroy'd?
And canst thou shed the blood that gave me being?
Nay, be a traitor too, and sell thy country?
Can thy great heart descend so vilely low,
Mix with hir'd slaves, bravoes, and common
stabbers,
Nose-slitters, alley-lurking villains! join
With such a crew, and take a ruffian's wages,
To cut the throats of wretches as they sleep?
Jaf. Thou wrong'st me, Belvidera! I've en-
gaged
With men of souls; fit to reform the ills
Of all mankind: there's not a heart amongst them
But's stout as death, yet honest as the nature

SCENE 1.]
119
VENICE PRESERVED.
Of man first made,ere fraud and vice were fashion.
Bel. What's he, to whose curst hands last
night thou gav'st me?
Was that well done? Oh! I could tell a story,
Would rouse thy lion heart out of its den,
And make it rage with terrifying fury.
Jaf. Speak on, I charge thee.
Bel. O my love! If e'er
Thy Belvidera's peace deserv'd thy care,
Remove me from this place. Last night, last night!
Of a whole people, should sneak thus into corners
To ease his fulsome lusts, and fool his mind.
Jaf. May not a man then trifle out an hour
With a kind woman, and not wrong his calling?
Pier. Not in a cause like ours.
Jaf. Then, friend, our cause.
Is in a damn'd condition: for I'll tell thee,
That cankerworm, call'd lechery, has touch'd it;
'Tis tainted vilely. Wouldst thou think it? Renault
(That mortify'd, old, wither'd, winter rogue)
Jaf. Distract me not, but give me all the truth. He visited her last night, like a kind guardian:
Bel. No sooner wert thou gone, and I alone, Faith! she has some temptation, that's the
Left in the pow'r of that old son of mischief;
truth on't.
No sooner was I lain on my sad bed,
But that vile wretch approach'd me, loose, un-
button'd,
Ready for violation: Then my heart
Throbb'd with its fears: Oh, how I wept and
sigh'd,
And shrunk and trembled! wish'd in vain for him
That should protect me! Thou, alas! wert gone.
Jaf. Patience, sweet heav'n, till I make ven-
geance sure.
Bel. He drew the hideous dagger forth, thou
gav'st him,
And with upbraiding smiles, he said, Behold it:
This is the pledge of a false husband's love:
And in my arms then press'd, and would have
clasp'd me;
But with my cries, I scar'd his coward heart,
Till he withdrew, and mutter'd vows to hell.
These are thy friends! with these thy life, thy
honour,
Thy love, all stak'd, and all will go to ruin.
Jaf. No more: I charge thee keep this secret
close.
Clear up thy sorrows; look as if thy wrongs
Were all forgot, and treat him like a friend,
As no complaint were made. No more; retire,
Retire, my life, and doubt not of my honour;
I'll heal its failings, and deserve thy love,
Bel. Oh! should I part with thee, I fear
thou wilt
In anger leave me, and return no more.
Jaf. Return no more! I would not live
without thee
Another night, to purchase the creation.
Bel. When shall we meet again?
Jaf. Anon, at twelve
I'll steal myself to thy expecting arms:
Come like a travell'd dove, and bring thee peace.
Bel. Indeed!
Jaf. By all our loves.
Bel. 'Tis hard to part:
But sure no falsehood ever look'd so fairly.
Farewell; remember twelve.
Jaf. Let heav'n forget me,
[Exit.
When I remember not thy truth, thy love.
Pier. Jaffier.
Enter PIERRE.
Jaf. Who calls?
Pier. A friend, that could have wish'd
T' have found thee otherwise employed. What,
hunt
A wife, on the dull soil! Sure a staunch husband
Of all hounds is the dullest. Wilt thou never,
Never be wean'd from caudles and confections?
What feminine tales hast thou been list'ning to,
Of unair'd shirts, catarrhs and tooth-ach, got
By thin-sol'd shoes? Damnation! that a fellow,
Chosen to be a sharer in the destruction
Pier. He durst not wrong his trust.
Jaf. "Twas something late, though,
To take the freedom of a lady's chamber.
Pier. Was she in bed?
Jaf. Yes, faith, in virgin sheets,
White as her bosom, Pierre, dish'd neatly up,
Might tempt a weaker appetite to taste.
Oh! how the old fox stunk, I warrant thee,
When the rank fit was on him!
Pier. Patience guide me!
He's us'd no violence?
Jaf. No, no; out on't, violence!
Play'd with her neck; brush'd her with his
grey beard;
But not a jot of violence.
Pier. Damn him.
Jaf. Ay, so say I: but hush, no more on't.
All hitherto is well, and I believe
Myself no monster yet: Sure it is near the hour
We all should meet for our concluding orders:
Will the ambassador be here in person?
Pier. No, he has sent commission to that
villain, Renault,
To give the executing charge:
I'd have thee be a man, if possible,
And keep thy temper; for a brave revenge
Ne'er comes too late.
Jaf. Fear not, I am cool as patience.
Pier. He's yonder, coming this way through
the hall;
His thoughts seem full.
Jaf. Pr'ythee retire, and leave me
With him alone: I'll put him to some trial;
See how his rotten part will bear the touching.
Pier. Be careful, then.
[Exit.
Jaf. Nay, never doubt, but trust me.
What! be a dev, take a damning oath
For shedding native blood! Can there be a sin
In merciful repentance? Oh, this villain!
Enter RENAULT.
Ren. Perverse and peevish: What a slave is
man
To let his rebel passions master him!
Dispatch the tool her husband-that were well.
Who's there?
Jaf. A man.
Ren. My friend, my near ally,
The hostage of your faith, my beauteous charge,
is very well.
Jaf. Sir, are you sure of that?
Stands she in perfect health? Beats her pulse even;
Neither too hot nor cold?
Ren. What means that question?
Jaf. Oh, women have fantastic constitutions,
Inconstant in their wishes, always wavering,
And never fix'd. Was it not boldly done,
Even at first sight, to trust the thing I lov'd
(A tempting treasure too) with youth so fierce

120
[ACT III.
VENICE PRESERVED.
And vigo
rous as thine? but thou art honest.
Ren. Who dares accuse me?
Jaf. Curs'd be he that doubts
Thy virtue! I have try'd it, and declare,
Were I to choose a guardian of my honour,
I'd put it in thy keeping: for I know thee.
Ren. Know me!
Jaf. Ay, know thee. There's no falsehood
in thee:
Thou look'st just as thou art. Let us embrace.
Now wouldst thou cut my throat, or I cut thine.
Ren. You dare not do't.
Jaf. You lie, sir.
Ren. How!
Jaf. No more,
'Tis a base world, and must reform, that's all.
Ren. But one thing more, and then farewell,
till fate
Join us again, or sep'rate us for ever.
First let's embrace. Heav'n knows who next
shall thus
Wing ye together; but lets all remember,
We wear no common cause upon our swords:
Let each man think that on his single virtue
Depends the good and fame of all the rest;
Eternal honour, or perpetual infamy.
You droop, sir.
Jaf. No; with most profound attention
I've heard it all, and wonder at thy virtue.
Oh, Belvidera! take me to thy arms,
And show me where's my peace, for I have
[Exit.
Ren. Without the least remorse then, let's
resolve
lost it.
Enter SPINOSA, THEODORE, ELLIOTT, REVILLI-
DO, DURAND, BROMVEIL, and the rest With fire and sword t'exterminate these tyrants;
of the Conspirators.
Under whose weight this wretched country la-
Ren. Spinosa! Theodore!
Spin. The same.
Ren. You are welcome.
Spin. You are trembling, sir.
bours,
The means are only in our hands to crown them.
Pier. And may those pow'rs above that are
propitious
Ren. 'Tis a cold night, indeed, and I am aged; To gallant minds, record this cause and bless it.
Full of decay and natural infirmities:
Re-enter PIERRE
We shall be warm, my friends, I hope, to-
morrow.
Pier. 'Twas not well done; thou shouldst
have strok'd him,
And not have gall'd him.
Jaf. Damn him, let him chew on't.
Heav'n! where am I? beset with cursed fiends,
That wait to damn me! What a devil's man,
When he forgets his nature-hush, my heart.
Ren. My friends, 'tis late; are we assem-
bled all?
To-morrow's rising sun must see you all
Deck'd in your honours. Are the soldiers ready?
Pier. All, all.
Ren. You, Durand, with your thousand
must possess
St. Mark's; you, captain, know your charge
already,
'Tis to secure the ducal palace: You,
Be all this done with the least tumult possible,
'Till in each place you post sufficient guards:
Then sheathe your swords i. every breast you
meet.
Jaf. Oh! reverend cruelty! damn'd bloody
villain!
Ren. During this execution, Durand, you
Must in the midst keep your battalia fast;
And, Theodore, be sure to plant the cannon
That may command the streets;
This done, we'll give the general alarm,
Apply petards, and force the ars'nal gates;
Then fire the city round in several places,
Or with our cannon (if it dare resist)
Batter to ruin. But above all I charge you,
Shed blood enough; spare neither sex nor age,
Name nor condition; if there live a senator
After to-morrow, though the dullest rogue
That e'er said nothing, we have lost our ends.
If possible, let's kill the very name
Of senator, and bury it in blood.
Jaf. Merciless, horrid slave-Ay, blood
enough!
Shed blood enough, old Renault! how thou
charm'st me!
Ren. Thus happy, thus secure of all we
wish for,
Should there, my friends, be found among us one
False to this glorious enterprise, what fate,
What vengeance were enough for such a villain?
Ell. Death here without repentance, hell
hereafter.
Ren. Let that be my lot, if as here I stand,
Listed by fate among her darling sons,
Though I had one only brother, dear by all
The strictest ties of nature; could I have such
a friend
Join'd in this cause, and had but ground to fear
He meant foul play; may this right hand drop
from me,
If I'd not hazard all my future peace,
And stab him to the heart before you. Who,
Who would do less? Wouldst thou not,
Pierre, the same?
Pier. You've singled me, sir, out for this
hard question.
As if it were started only for my sake!
Am I the thing you fear? Here, here's my bosom,
Search it with all your swords. Am I a traitor?
Ren. No: but I fear your late commended
friend
Is little less. Come, sirs, 'tis now no time
To trifle with our safety. Where's this Jaffier?
Spin. He left the room just now, in strange
disorder.
Ren. Nay, there is danger in him: I ob-
serv'd him;
During the time I took for explanation,
He was transported from most deep attention
To a confusion which he could not smother,
His looks grew full of sadness and surprise,
All which betray'd a wavering spirit in him,
That labour'd with reluctancy and sorrow.
What's requisite for safety, must be done
With speedy execution; he remains
Yet in our power: I, for my own part, wear
A dagger-
Pier. Well.
Ren. And I could wish it-
Pier. Where?
Ren. Buried in his heart.
Pier. Away; we're yet all friends,

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
121
VENICE PRESERVED.
No more of this, 'twill breed ill blood among us. Come but to-morrow, all your doubts shall end,)
Spin. Let us all draw our swords, and search And to your loves, me better recommend,
That I've preser'vd your fame, and sav'd my
the house,
Pull him from the dark hole where he sits
brooding
O'er his cold fears, and each man kill his share
of him.
Pier. Who talks of killing?
shed the blood
Who's he'll
friend.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-The Rialto.
[Exeunt
Enter JAFFIER and BELVIDERA.
Jaf. Where dost thou lead me? Every step
I move,
That's dear to me? is't you, or you, or you, sir?
What, not one speak! how you stand gaping all
On your grave oracle, your wooden god there! Methinks I tread upon some mangled limb
Yet not a word! Then, sir, I'll tell you a secret; Of a rack'd friend. Oh, my charming ruin!
Suspicion's but at best a coward's virtue. Where are we wandering?
Ren. A coward!
[To Renault. Bel. To eternal honour.
[Handles his Sword.
Pier. Put up thy sword, old man;
Thy hand shakes at it. Come, let's heal this breach;
I am too hot, we yet may all live friends.
Spin. Till we are safe, our friendship can-
not be so.
Pier. Again! Who's that?
Spin. 'Twas I.
Theo. And I.
Ren. And I.
Omnes. And all.
Ren. Who are on my side?
Spin. Every honest sword.
Let's die like men, and not be sold like slaves.
Pier. One such word more, by heav'n I'll
to the senate,
And hang ye all, like dogs, in clusters.
Why peep your coward swords half out their
shells?
Why do you not all brandish them like mine?
You fear to die, and yet dare talk of killing.
Ren. Go to the senate, and betray us! haste!
Secure thy wretched life; we fear to die
Less than thou dar'st be honest.
Pier. That's rank falsehood.
Fear'st not thou death! Fie, there's a knavish itch
In that salt blood, an utter foe to smarting.
Had Jaffier's wife prov'd kind, he'd still been
true.
Faugh, how that stinks! thou die, thou kill my
friend!
Or thou! or thou! with that lean wither'd face.
Away, disperse all to your several charges,
And meet to-morrow where your honour calls
you.
I'll bring that man, whose blood you so much
thirst for,
And you shall see him venture for you fairly-
Hence! hence, I say. (Exit Renault, angrily.
Spin. I fear we've been to blame,
And done too much.
Theo. 'Twas too far urg'd against the man
you lov'd
Rev. Here, take our swords, and crush them
with your feet.
Spin. Forgive us, gallant friend.
Pier. Nay, now you've found
The way to melt, and cast me as you will.
Whence rose all this discord?
Oh, what a dangerous precipice have we
'scap'd!
How near a fall was all we'd long been building!
What an eternal blot had stain'd our glories,
If one, the bravest and the best of men,
Had fall'n a sacrifice to rash suspicion,
To do a deed shall chronicle thy name
Among the glorious legends of those few
That have sav'd sinking nations. Thy renown
Shall be the future song of all the virgins,
Who by thy piety have been preserv'd
From horrid violation. Every street
Shall be adorn'd with statues to thy honour;
And at thy feet this great inscription written,
Remember him that propp'd the fall of Venice.
Jaf. Rather, remember him, who, after all
The sacred bonds of oaths, and holier friendship,
In fond compassion to a woman's tears,
Forgot his manhood, virtue, truth, and honour,
To sacrifice the bosom that reliev'd him.
Why wilt thou damn me?
Bel. Oh, inconstant man!
How will you promise; how will you deceive!
Do, return back, replace me in my bondage,
Tell all thy friends how dangerously thou
lov'st me,
And let thy dagger do its bloody office.
Or if thou think'st it nobler, let me live,
Till I'm a victim to the hateful lust
Of that infernal devil.
Last night, my love!
Jaf. Name it not again:
It shows a beastly image to my fancy,
Will wake me into madness.
Destruction, swift destruction, fall on my coward
head.
Bel. Delay no longer then, but to the senate,
And tell the dismal'st story ever utter'd:
Tell 'em what bloodshed, rapines, desolations,
Have been prepar'd, how near's the fatal hour.
Save thy poor country, save the reverend blood
Of all its nobles, which to-morrow's dawn
Must else see shed.
Jaf. Oh! think what then may prove my lot:
By all heav'ns powers, prophetic truth dwells
in thee;
For every word thou speak'st, strikes through
my heart;
Just what thou'st made me, take me, Belvidera,
And lead me to the place where I'm to say
This bitter lesson; where I must betray
My truth, my virtue, constancy, and friends.
Must I betray my friend? Ah! take me quickly:
Secure me well before that thought's renew'd;
If I relapse once more, all's lost for ever.
Bel. Hast thou a friend more dear than Bel-
videra?
Jaf. No; thour't my soul itself; wealth,
friendship, honour,
All present joys, and earnest of all future,
Are summ'd in thee.
Butcher'd by those, whose cause he came to Come, lead me forward, now, like a tame lamb
To sacrifice. Thus, in his fatal garlands
cherish!
16

122
[ACT IV.
VENICE PRESERVED.
Deck'd fine and pleas'd, the wanton skips and
plays,
Trots by th' enticing, flatt'ring priestess' side,
And much transported with its little pride,
Forgets his dear companions of the plain;
Till, by her bound, he's on the altar lain,
Yet then too hardly bleats, such pleasure's in)
the pain.
Enter Officer and six Guards.
Offi. Stand! who goes there?
Bel. Friends.
Offi. But what friends are you?
Bel. Friends to the senate, and the state of
Venice.
Offi. My orders are to seize on all I find
At this late hour, and bring 'em to the council,
Who are now sitting.
Unfold the truth, and be restor'd with mercy.
Jaf. Think not, that I to save my life came
hither;
I know its value better; but in pity
To all those wretches whose unhappy dooms
Are fix'd and seal'd. You see me here before you,
The sworn and covenanted foe of Venice:
But use me as my dealings may deserve,
And I may prove a friend.
Duke. The slave capitulates,
Give him the tortures.
Jaf. That you dare not do;
Your fear won't let you, not the longing itch
To hear a story which you dread the truth of:
Truth, which the fear of smart shall ne'er get
from me.
Cowards are scar'd with threat'nings; boys
are whipt
Into confessions: but a steady mind
Jaf. Sir, you shall be obey'd.
Now the lot's cast, and, fate, do what thou Acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel.
wilt. [Exeunt guarded. Give him the tortures! Name but such a thing
Again, by heav'n I'll shut these lips for ever.
SCENE II.-The Senate-house, where appear Not all your racks, your engines, or your
sitting the DUKE of VENICE, PRIULI, and
other Senators.
Duke. Antony, Priuli, senators of Venice,
Speak, why are we assembled here this night?
What have you to inform us of, concerns
The state of Venice, honour, or its safety?
Pri. Could words express the story I've to
tell you,
Fathers, these tears were useless, these sad tears
That fall from my old eyes; but there is cause
We all should weep, tear off these purple robes,
And wrap ourselves in sackcloth, sitting down
On the sad earth, and cry aloud to heav'n:
Heav'n knows, if yet there be an hour to come
Ere Venice be no more.
All Sen. How!
Pri. Nay, we stand
Upon the very brink of gaping ruin.
Within this city's form'd a dark conspiracy,
To massacre us all, our wives and children,
Kindred and friends, our palaces and temples
To lay in ashes: nay, the hour too fix'd;
The swords, for aught I know, drawn e'en
this moment,
wheels,
Shall force a groan away, that you may guess at.
Duke. Name your conditions.
Jaf. For myself full pardon,
Besides the lives of two-and-twenty friends,
Whose names are here enroll'd-Nay, let their
crimes
Be ne'er so monstrous, I must have the oaths
And sacred promise of this reverend council,
That, in a full assembly of the senate
The thing I ask be ratify'd. Swear this,
And I'll unfold the secret of your danger.
Duke. Propose the oath.
Jaf. By all the hopes
Ye have of peace and happiness hereafter,
Swear.-Ye swear?
All Sen. We swear.
Jaf. And, as ye keep the oath,
May you, and your posterity be bless'd,
Or curs'd for ever.
All Sen. Else be curs'd for ever.
Jaf. Then here's the list, and with't the full
disclose
Of all that threatens you. [Delivers a Paper.
Now, fate, thou hast caught me.
Duke. Give order that all diligent search
be made
And the wild waste begun. From unknown hands
I had this warning; but, if we are men,
Let's not be tamely butcher'd, but do something
That may inform the world, in after ages, To seize these men, their characters are public;
Our virtue was not ruin'd, though we were. The paper intimates their rendezvous
[4 Noise without. To be at the house of a fam'd Grecian courtezan,
Room, room, make room for some prisoners-Call'd Aquilina; see that place secur'd.
Enter Officer and Guards.
Duke. Speak, there. What disturbance?
Offi. Two prisoners have the guards seiz'd
in the street,
Who say, they come t'inform this reverend senate
About the present danger.
Enter JAFFIER and Officer.
You, Jaffier, must with patience bear till morning
To be our prisoner.
Jaf. Would the chains of death
Had bound me safe, ere I had known this minute..
Duke. Captain, withdraw your prisoner.
Jaf. Sir, if possible,
Lead me where my own thoughts themselves.
may lose me;
Where I may doze out what I've left of life,
All Sen. Give 'em entrance-Well, who are Forget myself, and this day's guilt and falsehood.
Jaf. A villain,
you?
Would every man, that hears me,
Would deal so honestly, and own his title.
Duke. 'Tis rumour'd, that a plot has been
contriv'd
Against this state; and you've a share in't too.
If you are a villain, to redeem your honour
Cruel remembrance, how shall I appease thee?
(Exit guarded.
Offi. [Without] More traitors; room, room,
room, make room, there.
Duke. How's this? guards!
Where are our guards? Shut up the gates,
the treason's
Already at our doors.

SCENE 2.1
123
VENICE PRESERVED.
Enter Officer.
Seiz'd in the very act of consultation;
Offi. My lords, more traitors,
Pier. Death! honourable death!
Ren. Death's the best thing we ask, or you
can give,
Furnish'd with arms and instruments of mischief. No shameful bonds, but honourable death.
Bring in the prisoners.
Duke. Break up the council. Captain, guard
your prisoners.
Enter PIERRE, RENAULT, THEODORE, ELLIOTT, Jaffier, you're free, but these must wait for
REVILLIDO, and other Conspirators, in
Fetters.
Pier. You, my lords, and fathers
(As you are pleas'd to call yourselves), of Venice;
If you sit here to guide the course of justice,
Why these disgraceful chains upon the limbs
That have so often labour'd in your service?
Are these the wreaths of triumph ye bestow
On those, that bring you conquest home, and
honours?
Duke. Go on; you shall be heard, sir.
Ant. And be hang'd too, I hope.
Pier. Are these the trophies I've deserv'd
for fighting
Your battles with confederated powers?
When winds and seas conspir'd to overthrow
you;
And brought the fleets of Spain to your own
harbours;
When you, great duke, shrunk trembling in
your palace,
And saw your wife, the Adriatic, plough'd,
Like a lewd whore, by bolder prows than yours,
Stepp'd not I forth, and taught your loose Ve-
kes netians
The task of honour, and the way to greatness?
Rais'd you from your capitulating fears
To stipulate the terms of su'd-for peace?
And this my recompense! if I'm a traitor,
Produce my charge; or show the wretch that's
base
And brave enough to tell me I'm a traitor.
Duke. Know you one Jaffier?
judgment.
[Exeunt all the Senators.
Pier. Come, where's my dungeon? Lead me
to my straw:
It will not be the first time I've lodg'd hard
To do the senate service.
Jaf. Hold, one moment.
Pier. Who's he disputes the judgment of
the senate?
Presumptuous rebel-on- [Strikes Jaffier.
Jaf. By heav'n, you stir not!
I must be heard; I must have leave to speak.
Thou hast disgrac'd me, Pierre, by a vile blow:
Had not a dagger done thee nobler justice?
But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me,
For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries:
Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy,
With pity and with charity behold me:
But as there dwells a godlike nature in thee,
Listen with mildness to my supplications.
Pier. What whining monk art thou? what
holy cheat,
That wouldst encroach upon my credulous ears,
And cant'st thus vilely? Hence! I know thee not:
Leave, hypocrite.
Jaf. Not know me, Pierre?
Pier. No, I know thee not! What art thou?
Jaf. Jaffier, thy friend, thy once lov'd, valu'd
friend!
Though now deserv'dly scorn'd, and us'd most
hardly.
Pier. Thou, Jaffier! thou, my once lov'd,
valu'd friend!
[Conspirators murmur. By heav'ns thou liest; the man so call'd, my
Pier. Yes, and know his virtue.
His justice, truth, his general worth, and sufferings
From a hard father, taught me first to love him.
Enter JAFFIER, guarded.
Duke. See him brought forth.
Pier. My friend too bound! nay then
Our fate has conquer'd us, and we must fall.
Why droops the man whose welfare's so much
mine,
They're but one thing? These reverend tyrants,
Jaffier,
Call us traitors. Art thou one, my brother?
Jaf. To thee, I am the falsest, veriest slave,
That e'er betray'd a generous, trusting friend,
And gave up honour to be sure of ruin.
All our fair hopes, which morning was t' have
crown'd,
Has this curs'd tongue o'erthrown.
Pier. So, then all's over:
Venice has lost her freedom, I my life.
No more! Farewell!
Duke. Say; will you make confession
Of your vile deeds, and trust the senate's mercy?
Pier. Curs'd be your senate: curs'd your
constitution:
The curse of growing factions and divisions,
Still vex your councils, shake your public safety,
And make the robes of government you wear
Hateful to you, as these base chains to me.
Duke. Pardon, or death?
friend,
Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant;
Noble in mind, and in his person lovely;
Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart:
But thou, a wretched, base, false, worthless
coward,
Poor, even in soul, and loathsome in thy aspect;
All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee.
Pr'ythee avoid; nor longer cling thus round me,
Like something baneful, that my nature's chill'd at.
Jaf. I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears
I have not.
Pier. Hast thou not wrong'd me? Dar'st
thou call thyself
That once lov'd, valu'd friend of mine,
And swear thou hast not wrong'd me? VVhence
these chains?
Whence the vile death which I may meet this
moment?
Whence this dishonour, but from thee, thou
false one?
Jaf. All's true; yet grant one thing, and
I've done asking.
Pier. What's that?
Jaf. To take thy life, on such conditions
The counsel have propos'd: thou, and thy friends,
May yet live long, and to be better treated.
Pier. Life! ask my life! confess! record myself
A villain, for the privilege to breathe
And carry up and down this cursed city,
A discontented and repining spirit,

124
[ACTIV. SCENE 2.]
VENICE PRESERVED.
Burthensome to itself, a few years longer;
To lose it, may be at last, in a lewd quarrel
For some new friend, treacherous and false
as thou art!
No, this vile world and I have long been jangling,
And cannot part on better terms than now,
When only men, like thee, are fit to live in't.
Jaf. By all that's just-
Pier. Swear by some other powers,
For thou hast broke that sacred oath too lately.
Jaf. Then, by that hell I merit, I'll not
leave thee,
Till, to thyself, at least thou'rt reconcil'd,
However thy resentment deal with me.
Pier: Not leave me!
Jaf. No; thou shalt not force me from thee.
Use me reproachfully, and like a slave;
Tread on me, buffet me, heap wrongs on wrongs
On my poor head; I'll bear it all with patience
Shall weary out thy most unfriendly cruelty:
Lie at thy feet, and kiss 'em, though they spurn me;
Till wounded by my sufferings, thou relent,
And raise me to thy arms, with dear forgiveness.
Pier. Art thou not-
Jaf. What?
Pier. A traitor?
Jaf. Yes.
Pier. A villain?
Jaf. Granted.
Pier. A coward, a most scandalous coward;
Spiritless, void of honour; one who has sold
Thy everlasting fame, for shameless life?
Jaf. All, all and more, much more: my faults
are numberless.
Pier. And wouldst thou have me live on
terms like thine;
Base, as thou art false-
Jaf. No; 'tis to me that's granted:
The safety of thy life was all I aim'd at,
In recompense for faith and trust so broken.
Pier. Iscorn it more, because preserv'd by thee;
And, as when first my foolish heart took pity
On thy misfortunes, sought thee in thy miseries,
Reliev'd thy wants, and rais'd thee from the state
Of wretchedness, in which thy fate had plung'd
thee,
To rank thee in my list of noble friends;
All I receiv'd, in surety for thy truth,
Were unregarded oaths, and this, this dagger,
Giv'n with a worthless pledge, thou since hast
stol'n:
So I restore it back to thee again;
Swearing by all those pow'rs which thou hast
violated,
Never, from this curs'd hour to hold communion,
Friendship, or interest, with thee, though our
years
Were to exceed those limited the world.
Take it-farewell-for now I owe thee nothing.
Jaf. Say thou wilt live then.
Pier. For my life, dispose it
And here's the portion he has left me:
[Holds the Dagger up.
This dagger. Well remember'd! with this dagger,
I gave a solemn vow of dire importance;
Parted with this, and Belvidera together.
Have a care, mem'ry, drive that thought no
further:
No, I'll esteem it as a friend's last legacy;
Treasure it up within this wretched bosom,
Where it may grow acquainted with my heart,
That when they meet, they start not from each
other.
So now for thinking-A blow, call'd a traitor,
villain,
Coward, dishonourable coward; fough!
Oh! for a long sound sleep, and so forget it.
Down, busy devil!
Enter BELVIDERA.
Bel. Whither shall I fly?
Where hide me and my miseries together?
Where's now the Roman constancy I boasted?
Sunk into trembling fears and desperation,
Not daring to look up to that dear face
Which us'd to smile, eve'n on my faults; but,
down,
Bending these miserable eyes on earth,
Must move in penance, and implore much mercy.
Jaf. Mercy! kind heav'n has surely endless
stores,
Hoarded for thee, of blessings yet untasted:
Oh, Belvidera! I'm the wretched'st creature
E'er crawl'd on earth.
My friend too, Belvidera, that dear friend,
Who, next to thee, was all my health rejoic'd in,
Has us'd me like a slave, shamefully us'd me:
'Twould break thy pitying heart to hear the story.
Bel. What has he done?
Jaf. Before we parted,
Ere yet his guards had led him to his prison,
Full of severest sorrows for his sufferings,
With eyes o'erflowing, and a bleeding heart,
As at his feet I kneel'd and su'd for mercy,
With a reproachful hand he dash'd a blow:
He struck me, Belvidera! by heav'n, he struck me!
Buffetted, call'd me traitor, villain, coward.
Am I a coward? Am I a villain? Tell me:
Thou'rt the best judge, and mad'st me, if I am so!
Damnation! Coward!
Bel. Oh! forgive him, Jaffier;
And, if his sufferings wound thy heart already,
What will they do to-morrow?
Jaf. Ah!
Bel. To-morrow,
When thou shalt see him stretch'd in all the
agonies
Of a tormenting and a shameful death;
His bleeding bowels, and his broken limbs,
Insulted o'er, by a vile, butchering villain;
What will thy heart do then? Oh! sure 'twill
stream,
Just as thou wilt, because 'tis what I'm tir'd with. Like my eyes now.
Jaf. Oh, Pierre!
Pier. No more.
Jaf. My eyes won't lose the sight of thee,
But languish after thee, and ache with gazing.
Pier. Leave me-Nay, then thus, thus I
throw thee from me;
And curses, great as is thy falsehood,
Jaf. Amen.
He's gone, my father, friend, preserver,
thee.
Juf. What means thy dreadful story?
Death,and to-morrow! Broken limbs and bowels!
Bel. The faithless senators, 'tis they've de-
creed it:
They say, according to our friends' request,
They shall have death, and not ignoble bondage:
catch Declare their promis'd mercy all has forfeited:
[Exit. False to their oaths, and deaf to intercession,
Warrants are pass'd for public death to-
morrow.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
125
VENICE PRESERVED.
Jaf. Death! doom'd to die! condemn'd un-
heard! unpleaded!
Bel. Nay, cruel'st racks and torments are
preparing
To force confession from their dying pangs.
Oh! do not look so terribly upon me!
How your lips shake, and all your face disorder'd!
What means my love?
Jaf. Leave me, I charge thee, leave me-
Strong temptations
Wake in my heart.
Bel. For what?
Jaf. No more, but leave me.
Bel. Why?
Jaf. Oh! by heav'n, I love thee with that
fondness,
I would not have thee stay a moment longer
Near these curs'd hands: Are they not cold
upon thee?
Witness it, earth, and every being witness:
'Tis but one blow! yet by immortal love,
I cannot longer bear a thought to harm thee.
[He throws away the Dagger and
embraces her.
The seal of Providence is sure upon thee:
And thou wert born for yet unheard-of wonders.
Oh! thou wert either born to save or damn me.
By all the power that's giv'n me o'er my soul,
By thy resistless tears and conquering smiles,
By the victorious love that still waits on thee,
Fly to thy cruel father, save my friend,
Or all our future quiet's lost for ever.
Fall at his feet, cling round his reverend knees,
Speak to him with thy eyes, and with thy tears,
Melt his hard heart, and wake dead nature in him,
Crush him in th' arms, torture him with thy
softness;
Nor till thy prayers are granted, set him free,
[Pulls the Dagger half out of his But conquer him, as thou hast conquer'd me.
Bosom, and puts it back again.
Bel. No, everlasting comfort's in thy arms.
To lean thus on thy breast, is softer ease
ACT V.
[Exeunt.
Than downy pillows, deck'd with leaves of roses. SCENE I.-An Apartment in PRIULI'S House.
Jaf. Alas! thou think'st not of the thorns
'tis fill'd with:
Fly, ere they gall thee. There's a lurking serpent,
Ready to leap and sting thee to the heart:
Art thou not terrified?
Bel. No.
Jaf. Call to mind
Enter PRIULI.
Pri.Why, cruel heav'n, have my unhappy days
Been lengthen'd to this sad one? Oh! dishonour
And deathless infamy is fallen upon me."
Was it my fault? Am I a traitor? No.
But then, my only child, my daughter wedded;
What thou hast done, and whither thou hast There my best blood runs foul, and a disease
Bel. Hah!
brought me.
Jaf. Where's my friend? my friend, thou
smiling mischief!
Nay, shrink not, now 'tis too late; thou shouldst
have fled
When thy guilt first had cause; for dire revenge
Is up, and raging for my friend. He groans!
Hark, how he groans! his screams are in my ears
Already; see, they've fix'd him on the wheel,
And now they tear him-Murder! Perjur'd
senate!
Murder-Oh!-Hark thee, traitress, thou hast
done this!
Thanks to thy tears, and false persuading love.
How her eyes speak! Oh, thou, bewitching
creature!
[Fumbling for his Dagger.
Madness can't hurt thee. Come, thou little
trembler,
Creep even into my heart, and there lie safe:
'Tis thy own citadel-Hah-yet stand off.
Heav'n must have justice, and my broken vows
Will sink me else beneath its reaching mercy.
I'll wink, and then 'tis done-
I
Bel. What means the lord
Of me, my life, and love? What's in thy bosom,
Thou grasp'st at so? Nay, why am I thus treated?
[Draws the Dagger and offers to stab her.
Jaf. Know, Belvidera, when we parted last,
gave this dagger with thee, as in trust,
To be thy portion if I e'er prov'd false.
On such condition, was my truth believ'd:
But now 'tis forfeited, and must be paid for.
[Offers to stab her again.
[Kneeling.
Bel. Oh! Mercy!
Jaf. Nay, no struggling.
Bel. Now then, kill me.
[Leaps on his Neck, and kisses him.
Jaf. I am, I am a coward; witness heav'n,
I
Incurable has seiz'd upon my memory.
Enter BELVIDERA, in a long mourning Veil.
Bel. He's there, my father, my inhuman father,
That for three years has left an only child
Expos'd to all the outrages of fate,
And cruel ruin!-oh-
Pri. What child of sorrow
Art thou, that comes wrapt in weeds of sadness,
And mov'st as if thy steps were tow'rds a grave?
Bel. A wretch who from the very top of
happiness
Am fall'n into the lowest depths of misery,
And want your pitying hand to raise me up again.
Pri. What wouldst thou beg for?
Bel. Pity and forgiveness.
[Throws up her Veil.
By the kind, tender names of child and father,
Hear my complaints, and take me to your love.
Pri. My daughter!
Bel. Yes, your daughter.
Pri. Don't talk thus.
Bel. Yes, I must; and you must hear too.
have a husband.
Pri. Damn him.
Bel. Oh! do not curse him;
He would not speak so hard a word towards you
On any terms, howe'er he deals with me.
Pri. Ha! what means my child?
Bel. Oh! my husband, my dear husband,
Carries a dagger in his once kind bosom,
To pierce the heart of your poor Belvidera.
Pri. Kill thee!
Bel. Yes, kill me. When he pass'd his faith
And covenant against your state and senate,
He gave me up a hostage for his truth:
With me a dagger and a dire commission,
Whene'er he fail'd, to plunge it through this
bosom.
I learnt the danger, chose the hour of love

126
[ACT V.
VENICE PRESERVED.
T'attempt his heart, and bring it back to honour. Jaf. No. I'll bless thee.
Great love prevail'd, and bless'd me with success! I came on purpose, Belvidera,. to bless thee.
He came, confess'd, betray'd his dearest friends 'Tis now, I think, three years, we've liv'd together.
For promis'd mercy. Now they're doom'd to
suffer.
Gall'd with remembrance of what then was
sworn,
If they are lost, he vows t'appease the gods
With his poor life, and make my blood th'
Pri. Heav'ns!
atonement.
Bel. If I was ever then your care, now hear me;
Fly to the senate, save the promis'd lives
Of his dear friends, ere mine be made the sacrifice.
Pri. Oh, my heart's comfort!
Bel. Will you not, my father?
Weep not, but answer me.
Pri. By heav'n I will.
Not one of them but what shall be immortal.
Canst thou forgive me all my follies past?
I'll henceforth be indeed a father; never,
Never more thus expose, but cherish thee,
Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life,
Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o'er thee.
Peace to thy heart. Farewell.
Bel. Go and remember,
'Tis Belvidera's life her father pleads for.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II-A Garden.
Enter JAFFIER.
Jaf. Final destruction seize on all the world.
Bend down ye heav'ns, and shutting round
this earth,
Crush the vile globe into its first confusion!
Enter BELVIDERA.
Bel. My life-
[Meeting him.
Jaf. My plague- [Turning from her.
Bel. Nay, then I see my ruin.
If I must die!
Jaf. Nor let the thoughts of death perplex
thy fancy;
But answer me to what I shall demand,
With a firm temper and unshaken spirit.
Bel. I will, when I've done weeping-
Jaf. Fie, no more on't-
How long is't since that miserable day
We wedded first.
Bel. Oh! hh!
Jaf. Nay, keep in thy tears,
Lest they unman me too.
Bel. Heav'n knows I cannot;
The words you utter sound so very sadly,
The streams will follow-
Jaf. Come, I'll kiss 'em dry then.
Bel. But was't a miserable day?
Jaf. A curs'd one.
Bel. I thought it otherwise; and you've often
sworn,
In the transporting hours of warmest love,
When sure you spoke the truth, you've sworn
you bless'd it.
Jaf. 'Twas a rash oath.
Bel. Then why am I not curs'd too?
Jaf. No, Belvidera; by th' eternal truth,
I dote with too much fondness.
Bel. Still so kind?
Still then do you love me?
Jaf. Man ne'er was blest
Since the first pair met, as I have been.
Bel. Then sure you will not curse me?
Bel. And may no fatal minute ever part us,
Till, reverend grown for age and love, we go
Down to one grave, as our last bed, together;
There sleep in peace, till an eternal morning.
Jaf. Did I not say, I came to bless thee?
Bel. You did.
Jaf. Then hear me, bounteous heav'n:
Pour down your blessings on this beauteous head,
Where everlasting sweets are always springing,
With a continual giving hand: let peace,
Honour, and safety, always hover round her;
Feed her with plenty; let her eyes ne'er see
A sight of sorrow, nor her heart know mourning:
Crown all her days with joy, her nights with rest,
Harmless as her own thoughts; and prop her
virtue,
To bear the loss of one that too much lov'd;
And comfort her with patience in our parting.
Bel. How! Parting, parting!
Jaf. Yes, for ever parting;
I have sworn, Belvidera, by yon heav'n,
That best can tell how much I lose to leave thee,
We part this hour for ever.
Bel. O! call back
Your cruel blessing; stay with me and curse me.
Jaf. Now hold, heart, or never.
Bel. By all the tender days we've liv'd together,
Pity my sad condition; speak, but speak.
Jaf. Oh! hh!
Bel. By these arms, that now cling round
thy neck,
By these poor streaming eyes-
Jaf. Murder! unhold me:
By th' immortal destiny that doom'd me.
[Draws the Dagger.
I'll not live one longer;
or see me fall-
To this curs'd minute,
Resolve to let me go,
Hark, the dismal bell
[Passing-bell tolls.
Tolls out for death! I must attend its call too;
For my poor friend, my dying Pierre, expects me:
He sent a message to require I'd see him
Before he died, and take his last forgiveness.
Farewell, for ever.
Bel. Leave thy dagger with me,
Bequeath me something - Not one kiss at
parting?
Oh! my poor heart, when wilt thou break?
[Going out, looks back at him.
Jaf. Yet stay:
We have a child, as yet a tender infant:
Be a kind mother to him when I'm gone;
Breed him in virtue, and the paths of honour,
But never let him know his father's story;
I charge thee, guard him from the wrongs my fate
May do his future fortune, or his name.
Now-nearer yet- [Approaching each other.
Oh! that my arms were rivetted
Thus round thee ever! But my friend! my oath!
This and no more.
[Kisses her.
Bel. Another, sure another,
For that poor little one you've ta'en such care of.
I'll giv't him truly.
Jaf. So now farewell.
Bel. For ever?
Jaf. Heav'n knows for ever; all good angels
guard thee.
[Exit.
Bel. All ill ones sure had charge of me this
moment.
Curs'd be my days, and doubly curs'd my nights.

SCENE 3. 4.]
127
VENICE PRESERVED
Oh! give me daggers, fire, or water:
How I could bleed, how burn, how drown,
the waves
Huzzing and booming round my sinking head,
Till I descended to the peaceful bottom!
Oh! there's all quiet, here all rage and fury:
The air's too thin, and pierces my weak brain;
I long for thick, substantial sleep; Hell! hell!
Burst from the centre, rage and roar aloud,
If thou art half so hot, so mad as I am. [Exit.
SCENE III-A Scaffold, and a Wheel pre-
pared for the Execution of PIERRE.
Enter Officer, PIERRE, Guards, Executioner,
and a great Rabble.
Pier. My friend not come yet?
Enter JAFFIER.
Jaf. Oh, Pierre!
Pier. Yet nearer.
Dear to my arms, though thou'st undone my
fame,
I can't forget to love thee. Pr'ythee, Jaffier,
Forgive that filthy blow my passion dealt thee;
I'm now preparing for the land of peace,
And fain would have the charitable wishes
Of all good men, like thee, to bless my journey.
Jaf. Good! I am the vilest creature, worse
than e'er
Suffer'd the shameful fate thou'rt going to taste of.
Offi. The time grows short, your friends
are dead already.
Jaf. Dead!
Pier. Yes, dead, Jaffier; they've all died like
men too,
Worthy their character.
Jaf. And what must I do?
Pier. Oh, Jaffier!
Jaf. Speak aloud thy burthen'd soul,
And tell thy troubles to thy tortur'd friend.
Pier. Friend! Couldst thou yet be a friend,
a generous friend,
I might hope comfort from thy noble sorrows.
Heav'n knows, I want a friend.
Jaf. And I a kind one,
That would not thus scorn my repenting virtue,
Or think, when he's to die, my thoughts are idle.
Pier. No! live, I charge thee, Jaffier.
Jaf. Yes, I will live:
But it shall be to see thy fall reveng'd
Be expos'd a common carcass on a wheel?
Jaf. Hah!
Pier. Speak! is't fitting?
Jaf. Fitting!
Pier. Yes; is't fitting?
Jaf. What's to be done?
Pier. I'd have thee undertake
Something that's noble, to preserve my memory
From the disgrace that's ready to attaint it.
Offi. The day grows late, sir.
Pier. I'll make haste. Oh, Jaffier!
Though thou'st betray'd me, do me some way
justice.
I
Jaf. No more of that: thy wishes shall be
satisfied;
have a wife, and she shall bleed: my child too,
Yield up his little throat, and all
T' appease thee- [Going away, Pierre holds
him.
Pier.No-this-no more. [Whispers Jaffier
Jaf. Ha! is't then so?
Pier. Most certainly.
Jaf. I'll do it.
Pier. Remember.
Offi. Sir.
Pier. Come, now I'm ready.
[He and Jaffier ascend the Scaffold.
Captain, you should be a gentleman of honour;
Keep off the rabble, that I may have room
To entertain my fate, and die with decency.
Come. Takes off his Gown, Executioner
prepares to bind him.
You'll think on't.
[To Jaffier.
Jaf. Twon't grow stale before to-morrow.
Pier. Now, Jaffier! now I'm going. Now-
[Executioner having bound him.
Jaf. Have at thee,
Thou honest heart, then-here- [Stabs him.
And this is well too.
[Stabs himself.
Pier. Now thou hast indeed been faithful.
This was done nobly-We have deceiv'd the
Jaf. Bravely.
senate.
Pier. Ha, ha, ha-oh! oh!
Jaf. Now, ye curs'd rulers,
[Dies.
Thus of the blood y'ave shed, I make libation
And sprinkle it mingling. May it rest upon you,
And all your race. Be henceforth peace a stranger
Within your walls; let plagues and famine waste
Your generation-Oh, poor Belvidera!
At such a rate, as Venice long shall groan for. Sir, I have a wife, bear this in safety to her,
Pier. Wilt thou?
Jaf. I will, by heav'n.
Pier. Then still thour't noble,
And I forgive thee. Oh!-yet-shall I trust thee?
Jaf. No; I've been false already.
Pier. Dost thou love me?,
Jaf.Rip up my heart, and satisfy thy doubtings.
Pier. Curse on this weakness. [Weeps.
Jaf. Tears! Amazement! Tears!
I never saw thee melted thus before;
And know there's something labouring in thy
bosom,
That must have vent: Though I'm a villain,
tell me.
Pier. See'st thou that engine?
[Pointing to the Wheel.
Jaf. Why?
Pier. Is't fit a soldier, who has liv'd with
honour,
A token that with my dying breath I bless'd her,
And the dear little infant left behind me.
I'm sick-I'm quiet. [Dies. Scene shuts upon
them.
SCENE. IV. An Apartment at PRIULI'S.
Soft Music. Enter BELVIDERA, distracted, led
by two of her Women; PRIVLI and Servants.
Pri. Strengthen her heart with patience, pi-
tying heav'n.
Bel. Come, come, come, come, come, nay,
come to bed,
Pr'ythee, my love. The winds; hark how they
whistle;
And the rain beats: Oh! how the weather
shrinks me!
You are angry now, who cares? Pish, no indeed,
Choose then; I say you shall not go, you shall not;
Whip your ill nature; get you gone then. Oh!
Fought nation's quarrels, and been crown'd Are you return'd? See, father, here he's come
with conquest
wn'd
again:

128
[ACT I.
THE ORPHAN.
Am I to blame to love him? O, thou dear one,
Why do you fly me? Are you angry still then?
Jaffier, where art thou? father, why do you
do thus?
Stand off, don't hide him from me. He's here
somewhere.
Stand off, I say: What gone? Remember't,
tyrant:
I may revenge myself for this trick, one day.
I'll do't-I'll do't.
Enter Officer.
Pri. News, what news?
[Officer whispers Priuli.
Offi. Most sad, sir;
Jaffier, upon the scaffold, to prevent
A shameful death,stabb'd Pierre, and next himself;
Both fell together.
Pri. Daughter!
Bel. Ha! look there!
My husband bloody, and his friend too! Murder!
Who has done this? Speak to me, thou sad
vision:
On these poor trembling knees I beg it. Va-
nish'd-
Here they went down-Oh, I'll dig, dig the
den up!
You shan't delude me thus. Hoa, Jaffier, Jaff er,
Peep up, and give me but a look. I have him!
I've got him, father: Oh!
My love! my
dear! my blessing! help me!
help me!
They have hold on me, and drag me to the
bottom.
Nay-now they pull so hard-farewell-
[Dies. The Curtain falls slowly to Music.
THE ORPHAN OF CHINA;
OR, The Unhappy Marriage. Tragedy by Thomas Otway. Acted at the Duke's Theatre 1680, The plot is
founded on the history of Brandon, in a novel called English Adventures, published in 1667, The language is truly
poetical, tender, and sentimental, the circumstances are affecting and the catastrophe is distress full. Yet there is some-
what improbable in the particular on which all the distresses are founded; and we must own that we incline to the
opinion of that person, who, on first seeing it, exclaimed, "Oh! what an infinite deal of mischief would a farthing
rushlight have prevented!" We cannot avoid remarking, says the Biographia Dramatica, that the compassion of the
audience has commonly appeared misplaced; it lighting in general on the whining, irresolute Castalio, instead of falling,
where it ought to do, on the more spirited and open-hearted Polydore, who, in consequence of concealments on the
side of his brother, which he could not have any reason to expect, and by which he is really injured, is tempted in
his love and resentment to an act which involves him in greater horror and distress than any of the other characters
can undergo, from the more bloody effects it produces. This partiality has, however, always appeared to us to arise
from some strokes of libertinism thrown into the early parts of Polydore's character, which give an air of looseness to
it, and prejudice the audience against him through the whole play. As Dr. Johnson observes, "it is one of the few
pieces that keep possession of the stage, and has pleased for almost a century, through all the vicissitudes of dra.natic
fashion. Of this play nothing new can easily be said. It is a domestic tragedy drawn from middle life. Its whole
power is upon the affections; for it is not written with much comprehension of thought, or elegance of expression.
But if the heart is interested, many other beauties may be wanting, yet not be missed." Voltaire, who (from his egre-
gious vanity) seldom spoke of an English author but in a strain of ridicule, has sarcastically, yet not without some ap-
pearance of truth, observed of the impetuous Chamont: "There is a brother of Monimia, a soldier of fortune, who, be-
cause he and his sister are cherished and maintained by this worthy family, abuses them all round. Do me justice,
you old Put,' says he to the father, or, damme, I'll set your house on fire.'-'My dear boy,' says the accommodating
old gentleman, you shall have justice.""
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
CASTALIO.
ACASTO.
POLYDORE.
CHAPLAIN.
ERNESTO.
PAGE.
CHAMON
SERINA.
FLORELLA.
MONIMIA.
ACT I.
SCENE I-A Garden.
SCENE. Bohemia.
-
Enter CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and Page.
Cas. POLYDORE, our sport
Has been to-day much better for the danger:
When on the brink the foaming boar I met,
And in his side thought to have lodg'd my spear,
The desperate savage rush'd within my force,
And bore me headlong with him down the rock.
Pol. But then
Cas. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Po-
lydore,
Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed,
Came on, and down the dang'rous precipice
leap'd
To save Castalio.-"Twas a godlike act!
Pol. But when I came, I found you conqueror.
Oh! my heart danc'd, to see your danger past!
The heat and fury of the chase was cold,
And I had nothing in my mind but joy.
Cas. So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war
Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard,
And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then?
Now half the youth of Europe are in arms,
How fulsome must it be to stay behind,
And die of rank diseases here at home!
Pol. No, let me purchase in my youth renown,
To make me lov'd and valu'd when I'm old;
I would be busy in the world, and learn,
Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed,
Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow.
Cas. Our father
Has ta'en himself a surfeit of the world,
And cries, it is not safe that we should taste it.
I own, I have duty very pow'rful in me:
And though I'd hazard all to raise my name,
Yet he's so tender, and so good a father,
I could not do a thing to cross his will.
Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart,
Which you, and only you, can satisfy.
Will you be free and candid to your friend?

SCENE 1.]
129
THE ORPHAN.
Cas. Have I a thought my Polydore should
not know?
What can this niean?
Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too,
By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship,
To show your heart as naked in this point,
As you would purge you of your sins to heav'n.
And should I chance to touch it near, bear it
With all the suff'rance of a tender friend.
Cas. As calmly as the wounded patient bears
The artist's hand, that ministers his cure.
Pol. That's kindly said.-You know our fa-
ther's ward,
The fair Monimia:- is your heart at peace?
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?
Cas. Suppose I should?
Pol. Suppose you should not, brother?
Cas. You'd say, I must not.
Pol. That would sound too roughly
'Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are.
Cas. Is love a fault?
Pol. In one of us it may be-
What, if I love her?
Cas. Then I must inform you
I low'd her first, and cannot quit the claim;
But will preserve the birthright of my passion.
Pol. You will?
Cas. I will.
Pol. No more; I've done.
Cas. Why not?
Pol. I told you I had done.
But you, Castalio, would dispute it.
Cas. No;
Not with my Polydore:-though I must own
My nature obstinate, and void of suff'rance;
I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.
Pol. Yet you will break this friendship!
Cas. Not for crowns.
Pol. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy.
Unjust Castalio!
Cas. Pr'ythee, where's my fault?
Pol. You love Monimia.
Cas. Yes.
Pol. And you would kill me,
If I'm your rival?
Cas. No;-sure we're such friends,
So much one man, that our affections too
Must be united, and the same as we are.
Pol. I dote upon Monimia.
Cas. Love her still;
Win, and enjoy her.
Pol. Both of us cannot.
Cas. No matter
Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't.
Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you?
Cas. Wed her!
No-were she all desire could wish, as fair
As would the vainest of her sex be thought,
With wealth beyond what woman's pride
could waste,
She should not cheat me of my freedom.-Marry!
When I am old and weary of the world,
I may grow desperate,
And take a wife to mortify withal.
Pol. It is an elder brother's duty so
To propagate his family and name.
You would not have yours die, and buried
with you?
Cas. Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all:-
No, let me live at large, and when I die-
Pol. Who shall possess th' estate you leave?
Cas. My friend,
If he survives me; if not, my king,
Who may bestow't again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.
Pol. 'Tis kindly offer'd.
Cas. By yon heaven, I love
My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.
Pol. And, by that heaven, eternally I swear,
To keep the kind Castalio in my heart.
VVhose shall Monimia be?
Cas. No matter whose.
Pol. Were you not with her privately last
night?
Cas. I was; and should have met her here
again.
The opportunity shall now be thine;
But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee,
That no false play be offer'd to thy brother.
Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper;
But wrong not mine.
Pol. By heaven, I will not.
Cas. If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to
conquer
(For thou hast all the arts of soft persuasion),
Trust me, and let me know thy love's success,
That I may ever after stifle mine.
Pol. Though she be dearer to my soul than rest
To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold,
To great men pow'r, or wealthy cities pride;
Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her.
[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore.
Enter MONIMIA.
Mon. Pass'd not Castalio and Polydore
this way?
Page. Madam, just now.
Mon. Sure some ill fate's upon me:
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
And apprehension shocks my tim'rous soul.
Why was not I laid in my peaceful grave
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are?
Instead of that, I'm wand'ring into cares.-
Castalio! O Castalio! thou hast caught
My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
That trusts his plaything to another hand,
I fear its harm, and fain would have it back.
Come hear, Cordelio; I must chide
you, sir.
Page. Why, madam, have I done you any
wrong?
Mon. I never see you now; you have been
kinder;
Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money
for you.
Page. Madam, I'd serve you with my soul.
Mon. Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard
Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets),
Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me?
Page. O madam! very wickedly they have
talk'd!
But I am afraid to name it; for, they say,
Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters'
secrets.
Mon. Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be
known;
For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine.
Polydore cannot be so kind as I.
I'll furnish thee with all thy harmless sports,
With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page.
Page. And truly, madam, I had rather be so.
Methinks you love me better than my lord;
17

130
[ACT I.
THE ORPHAN.
For he was never half so kind as you are.
What must I do?
Mon. Inform me how thou'st heard
Castalio and his brother use my name.
Page. With all the tenderness of love,
You were the subject of their last discourse.
At first I thought it would have fatal prov'd;
But as the one grew hot, the other cool'd,
And yielded to the frailty of his friend;
If softest wishes, and a heart more true
Than ever suffer'd yet for love disdain'd,
Speak an ill nature, you accuse me justly.
Mon. Talk not of love, my lord, I must not
hear it.
Pol. Who can behold such beauty, and be
silent?
Desire first taught us words.
created,
Man, when
At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd-At first alone long wander'd up and down
Mon. What, good Cordelio?
Page. Not to quarrel for you.
Mon. I would not have 'em, by my dearest
hopes;
I would not be the argument of strife.
But surely my Castalio won't forsake me,
And make a mock'ry of my easy love!
Went they together?
Page. Yes, to seek you, madam.
Castalio promis'd Polydore to bring him,
Where he alone might meet you,
And fairly try the fortune of his wishes.
Mon. Am I then grown so cheap, just to
be made
A common stake, a prize for love in jest?
Was not Castalio very loath to yield it?
Or was it Polydore's unruly passion,
That heighten'd the debate?
Page. The fault was Polydore's.
Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd
The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire.
He said, no woman's smiles should buy his
freedom:
[Exit.
Forlorn, and silent as his vassal beasts:
But when a heav'n-born maid, like you, appear'd,
Strange pleasures fill'd his eyes and fir'd his heart,
Unloos'd his tongue, and his first talk was love.
Mon. The first created pair indeed were
bless'd;
They were the only objects of each other,
Therefore he courted her, and her alone;
But in this peopled world of beauty, where
There's roving room, where you may court,
and ruin
A thousand more, why need you talk to me?
Pol. Oh! I could talk to thee for ever. Thus
Eternally admiring, fix, and gaze
On those dear eyes; for every glance they send
Darts through my soul.
Mon. How can you labour thus for my
undoing?
I must confess indeed, I owe you more
Than ever I can hope, or think, to pay.
There always was a friendship 'twixt our
families;
me happy.
And therefore when my tender parents dy'd,
And marriage is a mortifying thing.
Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them,
Mon. Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false, Your father's pity and his bounty took me,
Where is there faith and honour to be found? A poor and helpless orphan, to his care.
Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide Pol. "Twas Heav'n ordain'd it so, to make
The weak, protect and take me to your care.
O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me!
Why was I made with all my sex's fondness,
Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies?
I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods,
Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs;
Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.
Re-enter CASTALIO and POLYDORE.
He comes.
Cas. Madam, my brother begs he may have
leave
To tell you something that concerns you nearly.
I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw.
Mon. My lord Castalio!
Cas. Madam!
Mon. Have you purpos'd
To abuse me palpably? What means this usage?
Why am I left with Polydore alone?
Cas. He best can tell you.
importance
Business
Calls me away: I must attend my father.
Mon. Will you then leave me thus?
Cas. But for a moment.
of
Mon. It has been otherwise: the time has been,
When business might have stay'd, and I been
heard.
Hence with this peevish virtue, 'tis a cheat;
And those who taught it first were bypocrites.
Come, these soft, tender limbs were made for
yielding.
Mon. Here on
my knees, by heav'n's blest
pow'r I swear, [Kneels.
If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you,
But rather wander through the world a beggar,
And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors;
For though to fortune lost, I'll still inherit
My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.
Pol. Intolerable vanity! your sex
Was never in the right; y'are always false,
Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more
Fantastic than your appetites; you think
Of nothing twice; opinion you have none.
To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free;
Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then
glad;
Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know
not why!
I
Mon. Indeed, my lord,
own my sex's follies; I have 'em all;
And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you.
Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high
As most fantastic woman's wish could reach,
And lay all nature's riches at my feet;
I'd rather run a savage in the woods,
[Exit. Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and
deform'd,
Cas. I could for ever hear thee; but this time
Matters of such odd circumstances press me,
That I must go.
Mon. Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever.
Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business, So I might still enjoy my honour safe,
And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes. From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [Exit.
P'ol. If to desire you more than misers wealth, Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man?
Or dying men an hour of added life; I'll y et possess my love, it shall be so. [Exeunt.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
131
THE ORPHAN.
ACT II.
SCENE I-A Saloon.
Enter ACASTO, CASTALIO, POLYDORE, and
Attendants.
Another sister! sure, it must be so;
Though I remember well I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts,
And tel's me, she has claim and interest there.
Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied
war,
Courtship, I see, has been your practice too,
And may not prove unwelcome to my daughter.
Cham. Is she your daughter? then my heart
told true,
Acas. To-day has been a day of glorious sport:
When you, Castalio, and your brother left me,
Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar,
So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high,
They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back; And I'm at least her brother by adoption;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted For you have made yourself to me a father,
Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase, And by that patent I have leave to love her.
Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey!
Till brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high,
With this bold executing arm I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.
Cas. The actions of your life were always
wondrous.
Acas. No flattery, boy! an honest man can't
live by't;
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't,
Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.
Cas. Your lordship's wrongs have been
So great, that you with justice may complain;
But suffer us, whose younger minds ne'er felt
Fortune's deceits, to court her, as, she's fair:
Were she a common mistress, kind to all,
Her worth would cease, and half the world
grow idle.
Methinks I would be busy.
Pol. So would I,
Not loiter out my life at home, and know
No further than one prospect gives me leave.
Acas. Busy your minds then, study arts and
men;
Learn how to value merit, though in rags,
And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd knave in office.
Enter SERINA.
Ser. My lord, my father!
Acas. Blessings on my child!
My little cherub, what hast thou to ask me?
Ser. I bring you, sir, most glad and wel-
come news;
The young Chamont, whom you're so often
wish'd for,
Is just arriv'd, and entering.
Acas. By my soul,
And all my honours, he's most dearly welcome;
Let me receive him like his father's friend.
Enter CHAMONT.
Welcome, thou relict of the best lov'd man!
Welcome from all the turmoils, and the hazards
Of certain danger, and uncertain fortune!
Welcome as happy tidings after fears.
Cham. Words would but wrong the grat-
itude I owe you!
Should I begin to speak, my soul's so full,
That I should talk of nothing else all day.
Enter MONIMIA.
Mon. My brother!
Cham. O my sister, let me hold thee
Long in my arms. I've not beheld thy face
These many days; by night I've often seen thee
In gentle dreams, and satisfy'd my soul
With fancy'd joys, till morning cares awak'd me.
Ser. Monimia, thou hast told me men are false,
Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love:
Is Chamont so? no, sure, he's more than man;
Something that's near divine, and truth dwells
in him.
Acas. Thus happy, who would envy pom-
pous pow'r,
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
Let there be joy through all the house this day!
In ev'ry room let plenty flow at large!
It is the birth-day of my royal master!
You have not visited the court, Chamont,
Since your return?
I
Cham. I have no bus'ness there;
have not slavish temperance enough
T'attend a favourite's heels, and watch his smiles,
Bear an ill office done me to my face,
And thank the lord that wrong'd me for his favour.
Acas. This you could do. [To his Sons.
Cas. I'd serve my prince.
Acas. Who'd serve him?
Cas. I would, my lord.
Pol. And I; both would.
Acas. Away!end
He needs not any servants such as you.
Serve him! he merits more than man can do!
He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth;
So merciful, sure he ne'er slept in wrath!
So just, that, were he but a private man,
He could not do a wrong! How would you
serve him?
Cas. I'd serve him with my fortune here at
home,
And serve him with my person in his wars:
Watch for him, fight for him, bleed for him.
Pol. Die for him,
As ev'ry true-born, loyal subject ought.
Acas. Let me embrace ye both! now, by
the souls
Of my brave ancestors, I'm truly happy!
For this, be ever blest my marriage day!
Blest be your mother's memory, that bore you;
And doubly blest be that auspicious hour
That gave ye birth!
Enter a Servant.
Serv. My lord, th' expected guests are just
arriv'd.
Acas. Go you and give 'em welcome and
reception.
[Exeunt Castalio and Polydore.
Cham. My lord, I stand in need of your
assistance,
In something that concerns my peace and honour.
Acas. Spoke like the son of that brave man
I lov'd!
So freely, friendly, we convers'd together.
Whate'er it be, with confidence impart it;
Thou shalt command my fortune and
my sword.

132
[ACT II.
THE ORPHAN.
Cham. I dare not doubt your friendship, nor
your justice,
Your bounty shown to what I hold most dear,
My orphan sister, must not be forgotten!
Acas. Pr'ythee no more of that, it grates
my nature.
Cham. When our dear parents dy'd, they
dy'd together;
One fate surpris'd'em, and one grave receiv'd'em;
My father, with his dying breath, bequeath'd
Her to my love; my mother, as she lay
Languishing by him, call'd me to her side,
Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and
embrac'd me;
Then press'd me close, and, as she observ'd
my tears,
Kiss'd them away; said she, "Chamont, my son,
By this, and all the love I ever show'd thee,
Be careful of Monimia: watch her youth;
Let not her wants betray her to dishonour;
Perhaps kind heav'n may raise some friend."
Then sigh'd,
Kiss'd me again; so bless'd us, and expir'd.
Pardon my grief.
Acas. It speaks an honest nature.
Cham. The friend heav'n rais'd was
you took her up,
An infant, to the desert world expos'd,
And prov'd another parent.
Acas. I've not wrong'd her.
Cham. Far he it from my fears.
Acas. Then why this argument?
you;
Cham. Then you'll remember too he was
a man
That liv'd up to the standard of his honour,
And priz'd that jewel more than mines of wealth:
He'd not have done a shameful thing but once:
Though kept in darkness from the world, and
hidden,
He could not have forgiv'n it to himself.
This was the only portion that he left us;
And I more glory in't than if possess'd
Of all that ever fortune threw on fools.
'Twas a large trust, and must be manag'd nicely;
Now if, by any chance, Monimia,
You have soil'd this gem, and taken from its value,
How will you account with me?
Mon. I challenge envy,
Malice, and all the practices of hell,
To censure all the actions of my past
Unhappy life, and taint me if they can!
Cham. I'll tell thee, then; three nights ago, as I
Lay musing in my bed, all darkness round me,
A sudden damp struck to my heart, cold sweat
Dew'd all my face, and trembling seiz'd my
limbs:
My bed shook under me, the curtains started,
And to my tortur'd fancy there appear'd
The form of thee, thus beauteous as thou art;
Thy garments flowing loose, and in each hand
A wanton lover, who by turns caress'd thee
With all the freedom of unbounded pleasure.
I snatch'd my sword, and in the very moment
Darted it at the phantom; straight it left me;
Cham. My lord, my nature's jealous, and Then rose, and call'd for lights, when, O dire
Acas. Go on.
you'll bear it.
Cham. Great spirits bear misfortunes hardly;
Good offices claim gratitude; and pride,
Where pow'r is wanting, will usurp a little,
And make us (rather than be thought behind
hand)
Pay over price.
Acas. I cannot guess your drift;
Distrust you me?
Cham. No, but I fear her weakness
May make her pay her debt at any rate:
And to deal freely with your lordship's goodness,
I've heard a story lately much disturbs me.
Acas. Then first charge her; and if th' of-
fence be found
Within my reach, though it should touch my
nature,
In my own offspring, by the dear remembrance
Of thy brave father, whom my heart rejoic'd in,
I'd prosecute it with severest vengeance. [Exit.
Cham. I thank you, from my soul.
Mon. Alas, my brother! What have I done?
My heart quakes in me; in your settled face,
And clouded brow, methinks I see my fate.
You will not kill me?
Cham. Prythee, why dost thou talk so?
Mon, Look kindly on me then; I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me;
My heart's so tender, should you charge me
rough,
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing:
But use me gently, like a loving brother,
And search through all the secrets of my soul.
Cham. Fear nothing, I will show myself
brother,
A tender, honest, and a loving brother.
You've not forgot our father?
Mon. I never shall,
a
omen!
I found my weapon had the arras pierc'd,
Just where that famous tale was interwoven,
How the unhappy Theban slew his father.
Mon. And for this cause my virtue is suspected!
Because in dreams your fancy has been ridden,
I must be tortur'd waking!
Cham. Have a care;
Labour not to be justify'd too fast:
Hear all, and then let justice hold the scale,
What follow'd was the riddle that confounds me.
Through a close lane, as I pursu'd my journey,
And meditating on the last night's vision,
spy'd a wrinkled hag, with age grown double
Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself;
Her eyes with scalding rheum were gall'd
and red:
I
Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd
wither'd,
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd
The tatter'd remnant of an old strip'd hanging,
Which serv'd to keep her carcass from the cold;
So there was nothing of a piece about her.
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd
With diff'rent colour'd rags, black, red, white,
yellow,
And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness.
I ask'd her of my way, which she inform'd me;
Then crav'd my charity, and bade me hasten
To save a sister! At that word I started!
Mon. The common cheat of beggars; every day
They flock about our doors, pretend to gifts
Of prophecy, and telling fools their fortunes.
Cham. Oh! but she told me such a tale,
Monimia,
As in it bore great circumstance of truth;
Castalio and Polydore, my sister.
[fail you?
Mon. Ha!
Cham. What, alter'd? does your courage

SCENE 1.]
133
THE ORPHAN.
Now, by my father's soul, the witch was honest.
Answer me, if thou hast not lost to them
Thy honour at a sordid game?
Mon. I will,
I must, so hardly my misfortune loads me,
That both have offer'd me their love 's most true.
Cham. And 'tis, as true too they have both
undone thee.
Mon. Though they both with earnest vows
Have press'd my heart, if e'er in thought I yielded
To any but Castalio-
Cham. But Castalio!
Mon. Still will you cross the line of my
discourse.
Yes, I confess that he has won my soul
By gen'rous love and honourable vows,
Which he this day appointed to complete,
And make himself by holy marriage mine.
Cham. Art thou then spotless? hast thou
still preserv'd
Thy virtue white, without a blot, untainted?
Mon. When I'm unchaste, may heaven re-
ject my prayers;
Ormore, to make me wretched, may you know it!
Cham. Oh then, Monimia, art thou dearer
to me
Than all the comforts ever yet bless'd man.
But let not marriage bait thee to thy ruin.
Trust not a man; we are by nature false,
Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant;
When a man talks oflove, with caution trust him;
But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee.
I charge thee, let no more Castalio sooth thee;
Avoid it, as thou wouldst preserve the peace
Of a poor brother, to whose soul thou'rt precious.
Mon. I will.
Cas. What means my love? Oh, how have
I deserv'd
This language from the sovereign of my joys?
Stop, stop these tears, Monimia, for they fall
Like baneful dew from a distemper'd sky:
I feel 'em chill me to my very heart.
Mon. Oh, you are false, Castalio, most
forsworn!
Attempt no further to delude my faith;
My heart is fix'd, and you shall shak't no more.
Cas. Who told you so? What hell-bred
villain durst
Profane the sacred business of my love?
Mon. Your brother, knowing on what terms.
I'm here,
Th' unhappy object of your father's charity,
Licentiously discours'd to me of love,
And durst affront me with his brutal passion.
Cas. 'Tis I have been to blame, and only I-;
False to my brother, and unjust to thee.
For, oh! he loves thee too, and this day own'd it,
Tax'd me with mine, and claim'd a right
above me.
Mon. And was your love so very tame to
shrink?
Or, rather than lose him, abandon me?
Cas. I, knowing him precipitate and rash,
Seem'd to comply with his unruly will;
Lest he in rage might have our loves betray'd,
And I for ever had Monimia lost.
Mon. Could you then, did you, can you
own it too?
'Twas poorly done, unworthy of yourself!
And I can never think you meant me fair.
Cas. Is this Monimia? Surely no! till now
I ever thought her dove-like, soft, and kind.
Who trusts his heart with woman's surely lost
You were made fair on purpose to undo us,
When merit begs; then shalt thou see how soon While greedily we snatch th' alluring bait,
His heart will cool, and all his pains grow And ne'er distrust the poison that it hides.
Cham. Appear as cold, when next you meet,
as great ones,
easy.
[Exit.
Mon. Yes, I will try him, torture him severely;
For, O Castalio, thou too much hast wrong'd me,
In leaving me to Polydore's ill usage.
He comes! and now, for once, O love, stand
neuter.
Mon. When love ill-plac'd, would find a
means to break-
Cas. It never wants pretences or excuse.
Mon. Man therefore was a lordlike creature
made,
Rough as the winds, and as inconstant too:
A lofty aspect given him for command;
heart Easily soften'd when he would betray.
Whilst a hard part's perform'd; for I must 'tempt,
Wound his soft nature, though my
aches for't.
Re-enter CASTALIO.
Cas. Monimia, my angel! 'twas not kind
To leave me here alone.
Re-enter POLYDORE, with Page, at the Door.
Pol. Here place yourself, and watch my
brother thoroughly;
Pass not one circumstance without remark.
[Apart to Page, and exit.
Cas. VVhen thou art from me, every place
is desert,
And I, methinks, am savage and forlorn:
Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul.
Mon. O the bewitching tongues of faithless
men!
'Tis thus the false hyena makes her moan,.
To draw the pitying traveller to her den:
Your sex are so, such false dissemblers all;
With sighs and plaints y' entice poor women's
hearts,
And all that pity you are made your prey.
Like conqu'ring tyrants, you our breasts invade;
But soon you find new conquests out, and leave
The ravag'd province ruinate and waste.
If so, Castalio, you have serv'd my heart,
I find that desolation's settled there,
And I shall ne'er recover peace again.
Cas. Who can hear this and bear an equal
mind?
Since you will drive me from you, I must go:
But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me,
No creeping slave, though tractable and dull
As artful woman for her ends would choose,
Shall ever dote as I have done.
Mon. Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find
My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace.
These little quarrels love must needs forgive.
Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue,
I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows,
And listen to the language of thy heart.
Cas. Where am I? Surely Paradise is round
me!
Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow
here,
And every sense is full of thy perfection.

134
[ACT III.
THE ORPHAN.
Sure, framing thee, heaven took unusual care;
As its own beauty it design'd thee fair,
And form'd thee by the best lov'd angel there.
ACT III.
}
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-A Garden.
Enter POLYDORE and Page.
Pol. Were they so kind? Express it to me all
In words; 'twill make me think I saw it too.
Page. At first I thought they had been
mortal foes:
Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd:
Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so
haughty,
They scorn'd submission, though love all the
while
The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain'd.
Pol. But what succeeded?
Page. Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty!
For of a sudden all the storm was past:
A gentle calm of love succeeded it:
Monimia sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore;
As you, my lord, I well remember, did
To my young sister, in the orange grove,
When I was first preferr'd to be your page.
Pol. Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare
your lute.
[Exit Page.
Happy Castalio! now, by my great soul,
My ambitious soul, that languishes to glory,
I'll have her yet; by my best hopes, I will;
She shall be mine, in spite of all her arts.
But for Castalio why was I refus'd?
Has he supplanted me by some foul play?
Traduc'd my honour? Death! he durst not do't.
It must be so we parted, and he met her,
Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd
Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite.
So poachers pick up tired game,
While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey.
Boy!
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er
told!
Pol. The matter?
Serv. Oh! your father, my good master,
As with his guests he sat in mirth rais'd high,
And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board,
A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs;
eyes distorted
distorted grew, his visage pale,
His speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled,
And all his friends are waiting now about him.
His
Enter ACASTO and Attendants.
Acas. Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover.
'Twas but a slip decaying nature made;
For she grows weary near her journey's end.
Where are my sons? Come near, my Polydore!
Your brother-where's Castalio?
Serv. My lord,
I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house!
He and Monimia are not to be found.
Acas. Not to be found? then where are all
my friends?
'Tis well-
I hope they'll pardon an unhappy fault
My unmannerly infirmity has made!
Death could not come in a more welcome hour;
For I'm prepar'd to meet him; and, methinks,
Would live and die with all my friends
about me.
Enter CASTALIO.
Cas. Angels preserve my dearest father's life!
Oh! may he live till time itself decay,
Till good men wish him dead, or I offend him!
Acas. Thank you, Castalio: give me both
your hands.
So now, methinks,
I
appear as great as Hercules himself,
Supported by the pillars he had rais'd.
Enter SERINA.
Ser. My father!
Acas. My heart's darling!
Ser. Let my knees
Fix to the earth. Ne'er let my eyes have rest,
But wake and weep, till heaven restore my father.
Acas. Rise to my arms, and thy kind pray'rs
are answer'd.
For thou'rt a wondrous extract of all goodness;
Born for my joy, and no pain's felt when near
thee.
Chamont!
Enter CHAMONT.
Cham. My lord, may't prove not an unlucky
omen!
Many I see are waiting round about you,
And I am come to ask a blessing too.
Acas. May'st thou be happy!
Cham. Where?
Acas. In all thy wishes.
Cham. Confirm me so, and make this fair one
mine:
I am unpractis'd in the trade of courtship,
And know not how to deal love out with art:
Onsets in love seem best like those in war,
Fierce, resolute, and done with all the force;
So I would open my whole heart at once,
And pour out the abundance of my soul.
Acas. What says Serina? Canst thou love
a soldier?
One born to honour, and to honour bred?'
One that has learn'd to treat e'en foes with
kindness,
To wrong no
good man's fame, nor praise
himself?
Ser. Oh! name not love, for that's ally'd
to joy;
And joy must be a stranger to my heart,
When you're in danger. May Chamont's good
fortune
Render him lovely to some happier maid!
Whilst I, at friendly distance, see him blest,
Praise the kind gods, and wonder at his virtues.
Acas. Chamont, pursue her, conquer, and
possess her,
And, as my son, a third of all my fortune
Shall be thy lot.
Chamont, you told me of some doubts that
press'd you:
Are you yet satisfy'd that I'm your friend?
Cham. My lord, I would not lose that
satisfaction,
For any blessing I could wish for:
As to my fears, already I have lost them:
They ne'er shall vex me more, nor trouble you.
Acas. I thank you.
My friends, 'tis late:
Now my disorder seems all past and over,
And I, methinks, begin to feel new health.
Cas. Would you but rest, it might restore
you quite.

SCENE 1.]
135
THE ORPHAN.
Acas. Yes, I'll to bed; old men must hu-When mirth and kind rejoicing fill'd each room,
mour weakness.
Good night, my friends! Heav'n guard you all!
Good night!
To-morrow early we'll salute the day,
Find out new pleasures, and redeem lost time.
[Exeunt all but Chamont and Chaplain.
Cham. If you're at leisure, sir, we'll waste
an hour:
'Tis yet too soon to sleep, and 'twill be charity
To lend your conversation to a stranger.
Chap. Sir, you're a soldier?
Cham. Yes.
Chap. I love a soldier;
And had been one myself, but that my parents
Would make me what you see me.
Cham. Have you had long dependance on
this family
Chap. I have not thought it so, because my
time's
Spent pleasantly. My lord's not haughty nor
imperious,
Nor I gravely whimsical: he has good nature.
His sons too are civil to me, because
I do not pretend to be wiser than they are;
I meddle with no man's business but my own;
So meet with respect, and am not the jest of
the family.
Cham. I'm glad you are so happy.
A pleasant fellow this, and may be useful. [Aside.
Knew you my father, the old Chamont?
Chap. I did; and was most sorry when we
lost him.
Cham. Why, didst thou love him?
Chap. Ev'ry body lov'd him; besides, he
was my patron's friend.
Cham. I could embrace thee for that very
notion:
If thou didst love my father, I could think
Thou wouldst not be an enemy to me.
Chap. I can be no man's foe.
Cham. Then, pr'ythee, tell me;
As I was walking in the grove I met them.
Cham. What, met them in the grove together?
Chap. I, by their own appointment, met
them there,
Receiv'd their marriage vows, and join'd their
hands.
Cham. How! married?
Chap. Yes, sir.
Cham. Then my soul's at peace:
But why would you so long delay to give it?
Chap. Not knowing what reception it may find
With old Acasto; may be, I was too cautious
To trust the secret from me.
Cham. What's the cause
I cannot guess, though 'tis my sister's honour,
I do not like this marriage,
Huddled i'the dark, and done at too much venture;
The business looks with an unlucky face.
Keep still the secret; for it ne'er shall 'scape me,
Not ev'n to them, the new match'd pair. Farewell!
Believe my truth, and know me for thy friend.
[Exeunt.
Re-enter CASTALIO, with MONIMIA.
Cas. Young Chamont and the chaplain!
sure 'tis they!
No matter what's contriv'd, or who consulted,
Since my Monimia's mine; though this sad look
Seems no good boding omen to our bliss;
Else, pr'ythee, tell me why that look cast down,
Why that sad sigh, as if thy heart was breaking?
Mon. Castalio, I am thinking what we've done:
The heavenly powers were sure displeas'd to-day;
For, at the ceremony as we stood,
And as your hand was kindly join'd with mine,
As the good priest pronounc'd the sacred words,
Passion grew big, and I could not forbear,
Tears drown'd my eyes, and trembling seiz'd
my soul.
What should that mean?
Cas. Oh, thou art tender all!
Think'st thou the lord Castalio loves my sister? Gentle and kind as sympathising nature!
Chap. Love your sister?
Cham. Ay, love her.
Chap. Either he loves her, or he much has
wrong'd her.
Cham. How wrong'd her? have a care; for
this may lay
A scene of mischief to undo us all.
But tell me, wrong'd her, saidst thou?
Chap. Ay, sir, wrong'd her.
Cham. This is a secret worth a monarch's
fortune:
What shall I give thee for't? thou dear physician
Of sickly souls, unfold this riddle to me,
And comfort mine-
Chap. I would hide nothing from you willingly.
Cham. By the reverenc'd soul
Of that great honest man that gave me being,
Tell me but what thou know'st concerns my
honour,
And, if I e'er reveal it to thy wrong,
May this good sword ne'er do me right in battle!
May I ne'er know that blessed peace of mind,
That dwells in good and pious men like thee!
Chap. I see your temper's mov'd, and I will
trust you.
Cham. Wilt thou?
Chap. I will; but if it ever 'scape you-
Cham. It never shall.
[was busy,
Re-enter POLYDORE, unobserved.
But wherefore do I dally with my bliss?
The night's far spent, and day draws on apace;
To bed, my love, and wake till I come thither.
Mon. Twill be impossible:
You know your father's chamber's next to mine,
And the least noise will certainly alarm him.
Cas. No more, my blessing.
What shall be the sign?
When shall I come? for to my joys I'll steal,
As if I ne'er had paid my freedom for them.
Mon. Just three soft strokes upon the cham-
ber door;
And at that signal you shall gain admittance:
But speak not the least word; for, if you should,
'Tis surely heard, and all will be betray'd.
Cas. Oh! doubt it not, Monimia; our joys
Shall be as silent as the ecstatic bliss
Of souls, that by intelligence converse.
Away, my love! first take this kiss. Now haste:
I long for that to come, yet grudge each mi-
nute past. [Exit Monimia.
My brother wand'ring too so late this way!
Pol. Castalio!
Cas. My Polydore, how dost thou?
How does our father? is he well recover'd?
Pol. I left him happily repos'd to rest:
Chap. Then this good day, when all the house He's still as gay as if his life was young.

136
[ACT III.
THE ORPHAN.
But how does fair Monimia?
Cas. Doubtless well:
A cruel beauty, with her conquest pleas'd,
Is always joyful, and her mind in health.
Pol. Is she the same Monimia still she was?
May we not hope she's made of mortal mould?
Cas. She's not woman else:
Though I'm grown weary of this tedious hoping;
We've in a barren desert stray'd too long.
Pol. Yet may relief be unexpected found,
And love's sweet manna cover all the field.
Met ye to-day?
Cas. No: she has still avoided me:
I wish I'd never meddled with the matter;
And would enjoin thee, Polydore-
Pol. To what?
Cas. To leave this peevish beauty to herself.
Pol. What, quit my love? as soon I'd quit
my post
In fight, and like a coward run away.
No, by my stars, I'll chase her till she yields
To me, or meets her rescue in another."
Cas. But I have wondrous reasons on my side,
That would persuade thee, were they known.
Pol. Then speak 'em:
What are they? Came ye to her window here
To learn 'em now? Castalio, have a care;
Use honest dealing with a friend and brother.
Believe me, I'm not with my love so blinded,
But can discern your purpose to abuse me:
Quit your pretences to her.
You say you've reasons: why are they conceal'd?
Cas. To-morrow I may tell you.
Pol. Why not now?
Cas. It is a matter of such consequence,
As I must well consult ere I reveal.
But pr'ythee cease to think I would abuse thee,
Till more be known.
Pol. When you, Castalio, cease
To meet Monimia unknown to me,
And then deny it slavishly, I'll cease
To think Castalio faithless to his friend.
Did I not see you part this very moment?
Cas. It seems you've watch'd me then?
Pol. I scorn the office.
Command, whate'er's your pleasure I'll observe;
Be it to run, or watch, or to convey
A letter to a beauteous lady's bosom;
At least, I am not dull, and soon should learn.
Pol. 'Tis pity then thou shouldst not be
employ'd.
Go to my brother, he's in his chamber now,
Undressing, and preparing for his rest;
Find out some means to keep him up awhile:
Tell him a pretty story, that may please
His ear; invent a tale, no matter what:
If he should ask of me, tell him I'm gone
To bed, and sent you there to know his pleasure,
Whether he'll hunt to-morrow.
But do not leave him till he's in his bed;
Or if he chance to walk again this way,
Follow, and do not quit him, but seem fond
To do him little offices of service.
Perhaps at last it may offend him; then
Retire, and wait till I come in. Away:
Succeed in this, and be employ'd again.
Page. Doubt not, my lord: he has been
always kind
To me; would often set me on his knee,
Then give me sweetmeats, call me pretty boy,
And ask me what the maids talk'd of at nights.
Pol. Run quickly then, and prosp'rous be
thy wishes. [Exit Page.
Here I'm alone, and fit for mischief.
I heard the sign she order'd him to give.
"Just three soft strokes against the chamber door;
But speak not the least word, for if you should,
It's surely heard, and we are both betray'd."
Blest heav'ns, assist me but in this dear hour,
And my kind stars be but propitious now,
Dispose of me hereafter as you please.
Monimia! Monimia!
[Gives the Sign.
Flo. [At the Window] Who's there?
Pol. "Tis I.
Flo. My lord Castalio?
Pol. The same.
How does my love, my dear Monimia?
Flo. Oh!
She wonders much at your unkind delay;
You've staid so long, that at each little noise.
The wind but makes, she asks if you are coming.
Pol. Tell her I'm here, and let the door be
open'd. [Florella withdraws.
Now boast, Castalio, triumph now, and tell
[Exit. Thyself strange stories of a promis'd bliss!
[Exit into the House.
Cas. Pr'ythee avoid a thing thou may'strepent.
Pol. That is, henceforward making leagues
with you.
Cas. Nay, if ye're angry, Polydore, good night.
Pol. Good night, Castalio, if ye're in such haste.
He little thinks I've overheard th' appointment:
But to his chamber's gone to wait awhile,
Then come and take possession of my love.
This is the utmost point of all my hopes;
Or now she must, or never can be mine.
Oh, for a means now how to counterplot,
And disappoint this happy elder brother!
In every thing we do or undertake,
He soars above me, mount what height I can,
And keeps the start he got of me in birth.
Cordelio!
Re-enter Page.
Page. My lord!
Pol. Come hither, boy!
Thou hast a pretty, forward, lying face,
And may'st in time expect preferment. Canst thou
Pretend to secresy, cajole and flatter
Thy master's follies, and assist his pleasures?
Page. My lord, I could do any thing for you,
And ever be a very faithful boy.
Re-enter CASTALIO and Page.
Page. Indeed, my lord, 'twill be a lovely
morning:
Pray let us hunt.
Cas. Go, you're an idle prattler:
I'll stay at home to-morrow; if your lord
Thinks fit, he may command my hounds. Go,
leave me;
I must to bed.
Page. I'll wait upon your lordship,
If you think fit, and sing you to repose.
Cas. No, my kind boy.
Good night: commend me to my brother.
Page. Oh!
You never heard the last new song I learn'd;
It is the finest, prettiest song indeed,
Of my lord and my lady, you know who,
that were caught
Together, you know where. My lord, indeed
it is.
[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
137
THE ORPHAN.

Cas. You must be whipp'd, youngster, if you She says she knows you: you are Polydore,
get such songs as those are. Sent by Castalio, as you were to-day,
T' affront and do her violence again.
Cas. I'll not believe't.
Flo. You may, sir.
What means this boy's impertinence to-night?
[Aside.
Page. Why, what must I sing, pray, my
dear lord?
Cas. Psalms, child, psalms.
Page. O dear me! boys that go to school
learn psalms;
But pages, that are better bred, sing lampoons.
Cas. Well, leave me; I'm weary.
Page. Indeed, my lord, I can't abide to leave
you.
Cas. Curses blast thee!
Flo. Well, 'tis a fine cool ev'ning! and I hope
May cure the raging fever in your blood!
Good night.
Cas. And farewell all that's just in woman!
This is contriv'd, a study'd trick, to abuse
My easy nature, and torment my mind!
'Tis impudence to think my soul will bear it!
Let but to-morrow, but to-morrow come,
And try if all thy arts appease my wrong;
Till when, be this detested place my bed;
[Lies down.
[Aside. Where I will ruminate on woman's ills,
Laugh at myself, and curse th' inconstant sex.
Faithless Monimia! O Monimia !
Cas. Why, wert thou instructed to attend me?
Page. No, no, indeed, my lord, I was not.
But I know what I know.
Cas. What dost thou know?-'Sdeath! what
can all this mean?
Page. Oh! I know who loves somebody.
Cas. What's that to me, boy?
Page. Nay, I know who loves you too.
Cas. That's a wonder! pry'thee tell it me.
Page. 'Tis-'tis-I know who-but will
You give me the horse, then?
Cas. I will, my child.
Page. It is my lady Monimia, look you;
but don't you tell her I told you: she'll give
me no more playthings then. I heard her say
so, as she lay abed, man.
Cas. Talk'd she of me when in her bed,
Cordelio?
Page. Yes; and I sung her the song you
made too; and she did so sigh, and look with
her eyes!
Cas. Hark! what's that noise?
Take this; be gone, and leave me.
You knave, you little flatterer, get you gone.
[Exit Page.
Surely it was a noise, hist!-only fancy;
For all is hush'd, as nature were retir'd.
"Tis now, that guided by my love, I go
To take possession of Monimia's arms.
Sure Polydore's by this time gone to bed.
[Knocks.
She hears me not; sure she already sleeps!
Her wishes could not brook so long delay,
And her poor heart has beat itself to rest.
Once more
[Knocks.
·
Flo. [At the Window] Who's there,
That comes thus rudely to disturb our rest?
Cas. 'Tis I.
Flo. Who are you? what's your name?
Cas. Suppose the lord Castalio.
Flo. I know you not.
The lord Castalio has no business here.
Cas. Ha! have a care! what can this mean?
Whoe'er thou art, I charge thee, to Monimia fly:
Tell her I'm here, and wait upon my doom.
Flo. Whoe'er you are, you may repent this
outrage:
My lady must not be disturb'd. Good night!
Cas. She must! tell her she shall! go, I'm
in haste,
And bring her tidings from the state of love.
Flo. Sure the man's mad!
Cas. Or this will make me so.
Obey me, or, by all the wrongs I suffer,
I'll scale the window and come in by force,
Let the sad consequence be what it will!
This creature's trifling folly makes me mad!
Flo. My lady's answer is, you may depart.
Ern. Either
Enter ERNESTO.
My sense has been deluded, or this way
I heard the sound of sorrow; 'tis late night,
And none, whose mind's at peace, would wander
now.
Cas. Who's there?
Ern. Castalio!-My lord, why in this posture,
Stretch'd on the ground? your honest, true
old servant,
Your poor Ernesto, cannot see you thus.
Rise, I beseech you.
Cas. Oh, leave me to my folly.
Ern. I can't leave you,
And not the reason know of your disorders.
Remember how, when young, I in my arms
Have often borne you, pleas'd you in your
pleasures,
And sought an early share in your affection.
Do not discard me now, but let me serve you.
Cas. Thou canst not serve me.
Ern. Why?
Cas. Because my thoughts
Are full of woman; thou, poor wretch, art
past them.
Ern. I hate the sex.
Cas. Then I'm thy friend, Ernesto! [Rises.
I'd leave the world for him that hates a woman!
Woman, the fountain of all human frailty!
What mighty ills have not been done by woman?
Who was't betray'd the capitol? A woman!
Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman!
Who was the cause of a long ten years war,
And laid at last old Troy in ashes? Woman!
Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
Woman, to man first as a blessing given;
When innocence and love were in their prime,
Happy awhile in Paradise they lay;
But quickly woman long'd to go astray:
Some foolish new adventure needs must prove,
And the first devil she saw, she chang'd her love:
To his temptations lewdly she inclin'd
Her soul, and for an apple damn'd mankind.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-A Chamber.
Enter CASTALIO.
Cas. Wish'd morning's come! And now
upon the plains,
18

138
[ACT IV.
THE ORPHAN.
And distant mountains, where they feed their Mon. My brother!
flocks,
The happy shepherds leave their homely huts,
And with their pipes proclaim the new-born day.
There's no condition sure so curs'd as mine-
Monimia! O Monimia!
Enter MONIMIA and FLORELLA.
Mon. I come!
I fly to my ador'd Castalio's arms,
My wishes' lord. May every morn begin
Like this: and, with our days, our loves renew!
Cas. Oh-
Mon. Art thou not well, Castalio? Come lean
Upon my breast, and tell me where's thy pain.
Cas. 'Tis here-'tis in my head-'tis in my
heart-
'Tis every where: it rages like a madness,
And I most wonder how my reason holds.
No more, Monimia, of your sex's arts:
They're useless all-I'm not that pliant tool;
I know my charter better-I am man,
Obstinate man, and will not be enslav'd!
Mon. You shall not fear't; indeed my na-
ture's easy:
I'll ever live your most obedient wife!
Nor ever any privilege pretend
Cham. Yes, Monimia, if thou think'st
That I deserve the name, I am thy brother.
Mon. O Castalio!
Cham. Ha!
Name me that name again! my soul's on fire
Till I know all! There's meaning in that.
name:
I know he is thy husband; therefore trust me
With all the following truth.
Mon. Indeed, Chamont,
There's nothing in it but the fault of nature:
I'm often thus seiz'd suddenly with grief,
I know not why.
Cham. You use me ill, Monimia;
And I might think, with justice, most severely
Of this unfaithful dealing with your brother.
Mon. Truly I'm not to blame. Suppose I'm
fond,
And grieve for what as much may please another?
Should I upbraid the dearest friend on earth
For the first fault? You would not do so,
would you?
Cham. Not if I'd cause to think it was a friend.
Mon. Why do you then call this unfaithful
dealing?
I ne'er conceal'd my soul from you before:
Beyond your will; for that shall be my law;-Bear with me now, and search my wounds
Indeed I will not.
Cas. Nay, you shall not, madam;
By yon bright heaven, you shall not: all the day
I'll play the tyrant, and at night forsake thee;
Nay, if I've any too, thou shalt be made
Subservient to all my looser pleasures;
For thou hast wrong'd Castalio.
Mon. Oh, kill me here, or tell me my offence!
I'll never quit you else; but on these knees,
Thus follow you all day, till they're worn bare,
And hang upon you like a drowning creature.
Castalio!-
Cas. Away!-Last night! last night!-
Mon. It was our wedding night.
Cas. No more!-Forget it!
Mon. Why! do you then repent?
Cas. I do.
Mon. O heaven!
And will you leave me thus?-Help! help!
Florella!
[Castalio drags her to the Door,
breaks from her, and exit.
Help me to hold this yet lov'd, cruel man!
Castalio!-Oh! how often has he sworn,
Nature should change-the sun and stars grow
dark,
Ere he would falsify his vows to me!
Make haste, confusion, then! Sun, lose thy light!
And stars, drop dead with sorrow to the earth,
For my Castalio's false!
False as the wind, the waters, or the weather!
Cruel as tigers o'er their trembling prey!
I feel him in my breast; he tears my heart,
And at each sigh he drinks the gushing blood!
Must I be long in pain?
Enter CHAMONT.
Cham. In tears, Monimia!.
Mon. Whoe'er thou art,
Leave me alone to my belov'd despair!
Cham. Lift up thy eyes, and see who comes
to cheer thee!
Tell me the story of thy wrongs, and then
See if my soul has rest, till thou hast justice.
no further;
For every probing pains me to the heart.
Cham. 'Tis sign there's danger in't, and
must be prob'd.
Where's your new husband? Still that thought
disturbs you-
What! only answer me with tears?-Castalio!-
Nay, now they stream:-
Cruel, unkind Castalio!-Is't not so?
Mon. I cannot speak;-grief flows so fast
upon me,
It chokes, and will not let me tell the cause.
Oh!-
Cham. My Monimia! to my soul thou'rt dear
As honour to my name!
Why wilt thou not repose within my breast
The anguish that torments thee?
Mon. Oh! I dare not.
[confide
Cham. I have no friend but thee. We must
In one another.-Two unhappy orphans,
Alas, we are! and when I see thee grieve,
Methinks it is a part of me that suffers.
Mon. Could you be secret?
Cham. Secret as the grave.
Mon. But when I've told you, will you keep
your fury
Within its bounds? Will you not do some rash
And horrid mischief? For indeed, Chamont,
You would not think how hardly I've been us'd
From a dear friend-from one that has my soul
A slave, and therefore treats it like a tyrant.
Cham. I will be calm. But has Častalio
wrong'd thee?
Has he already wasted all his love?
What has he done? quickly! for I'm all
trembling
With expectation of a horrid tale!
Mon. Oh! could you think it?
Cham. What?
Mon. I fear he'll kill me!
Cham. Ha!
Mon. Indeed I do: he's strangely cruel to me;
Which, if it last, I'm sure must break my heart.
Cham. What has he done?
SCENE 1.]
139
THE ORPHAN.

Mon. Most barbarously us'd me.
Just as we met, and I, with open arms,
Ran to embrace the lord of all my wishes,
Oh then-
Cham. Go on!
Mon. He threw me from his breast,
Like a detested sin.
Cham. How!
Mon. As I hung too
Upon his knees, and begg'd to know the cause,
He dragg'd me, like a slave, upon the earth,
And had no pity on my cries.
Cham. How! did he'
Dash thee disdainfully away, with scorn?
Mon. He did.
Cham. What! throw thee from him?
Mon. Yes, indeed he did!
Cham. So may this arm
Throw him to th' earth, like a dead dog despis'd.
Lameness and leprosy, blindness and lunacy,
Poverty, shame, pride, and the name of villain,
Light on me, if, Castalio, I forgive thee!
Mon. Nay, now, Chamont, art thou unkind
as he is!
Didst thou not promise me thou wouldst be
calm?
Keep my disgrace conceal'd?
Alas, I love him still; and though I ne'er
Clasp him again within these longing arms,
Yet bless him, bless him, gods, where'er he goes!
Enter ACASTO.
Acas. Sure some ill fate is tow'rds me; in
my house
I only meet with oddness and disorder.
Just this very moment
I met Castalio too-
Cham. Then you met a villain.
Acas. Ha!
Cham. Yes, a villain!
Acas. Have a care, young soldier,
How thou'rt too busy with Acasto's fame.
Cham. Indeed I've been to blame;
For you've been my father-
You've been her father too.
[Takes Monimia by the Hand.
Acas. Forbear the prologue,
And let me know the substance of thy tale.
Cham. You took her up, a little tender flower,
Just sprouted on a bank, which the next frost
Had nipp'd; and with a careful, loving hand,
Transplanted her into your own fair garden,
Where the sun always shines: there long she
flourish'd;
Grew sweet to sense, and lovely to the eye;
Till at the last a cruel spoiler came,
Cropp'd this fair rose, and rifled all its sweetness,
Then cast it like a loathsome weed away,
Acas. You talk to me in parables, Chamont:
You may have known that I'm no wordy man.
Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves,
Or fools, that use them when they want good
But honesty
sense:
Needs no disguise or ornament.
Cham. Your son-
Be plain.
Acas. I've two; and both, I hope, have honour.
Cham. I hope so too; but-
Acas. Speak.
Cham. I must inform you,
Once more, Castalio-
Acas. Still Castalio!
Cham. Yes;
Your son Castalio has wrong'd Monimia!
Acas. Ha! wrong'd her?
Cham. Marry'd her.
Acas. I'm sorry for't.
Cham. Why sorry?
By yon blest heaven, there's not a lord
But might be proud to take her to his heart.
Acas. I'll not deny't.
Cham. You dare not; by the gods,
You dare not. All your family combin'd
In one damn'd falsehood, to outdo Castalio,
I have a sword, my arm's good old acquaint-Dare not deny't.
Villain to thee.
ance:
Cham. Curse on thy scandalous age,
Which hinders me to rush upon thy throat,
And tear the root up of that cursed bramble!
Acas. Ungrateful ruffian! sure my good old
friend
Was ne'er thy father! Nothing of him's in thee!
What have I done, in my unhappy age,
To be thus us'd? I scorn to upbraid thee, boy!
But I could put thee in remembrance
Cham. Do.
Acas. I scorn it.
Cham. No, I'll calmly hear the story;
For I would fain know all, to see which scale
Weighs most. Ha! is not that good old Acasto?
What have I done?-Can you forgive this folly?
Acas. Why dost thou ask it?
Cham. 'Twas the rude o'erflowing
Of too much passion-Pray, my lord, forgive
[Kneels.
Acas. Mock me not, youth! I can revenge
me.
a wrong.
Cham. I know it well-but for this thought
of mine,
Acas. How has Castalio wrong'd her?
Cham. Ask that of him. I say my sister's
wrong'd:
Monimia, my sister, born as high
And noble as Castalio.-Do her justice,
Or, by the gods, I'll lay a scene of blood
Shall make this dwelling horrible to nature.
I'll do't.-Hark you, my lord, your son Castalio,
Take him to your closet, and there teach him
manners.
Acas. You shall have justice.
Cham. Nay, I will have justice!
Who'll sleep in safety that has done me wrong?
My lord, I'll not disturb you to repeat
The cause of this; I beg you (to preserve
Your house's honour) ask it of Castalio. [Exit.
Acas. Farewell, proud boy.-
Monimia!
Mon. My lord.
Acas. You are my daughter.
Mon. I am, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe to
own me.
Acas. When you'll complain to me, I'll
prove a father.
[Exit.
Mon. Now I'm undone for ever! Who on
earth
Pity a madman's frenzy, and forget it.
Acas. I will; but henceforth pr'ythee be more Is there so wretched as Monimia?
[Raises him. First by Castalio cruelly forsaken;
I've lost Acasto now; his parting frowns
kind.
Whence came the cause?

140
[ACT V.
THE ORPHAN.
May well instruct me rage is in his heart.
I shall be next abandon'd to my fortune,
Thrust cut, a naked wand'rer to the world,
And branded for the mischievous Monimia!
What will become of me? My cruel brother
Is framing mischiefs too, for aught I know,
That may produce bloodshed and horrid murder!
I would not be the cause of one man's death,
To reign the empress of the earth; nay, more,
I'd rather lose for ever my Gastalio,
My dear, unkind Castalio.
Enter POLYDORE.
Pol. Monimia weeping!
[Sits down.
I come, my love, to kiss all sorrow from thee.
What mean these sighs, and why thus beats
thy heart?
Mon. Let me alone to sorrow; 'tis a cause
None e'er shall know; but it shall with me die.
Pol. Happy, Monimia, he to whom these sighs,
These tears, and all these languishings are paid!
I know your heart was never meant for me;
That jewel's for an elder brother's price.
Mon. My lord!
Pol. Nay, wonder not; last night I heard
His oaths, your vows, and to my torment saw
Your wild embraces; heard the appointment
made;
I did, Monimia, and I curs'd the sound.
Wilt thou be sworn, my love? wilt thou be ne'er
Unkind again?
Mon. Banish such fruitless hopes!
Have you sworn constancy to my undoing?
Will you be ne'er my friend again?
Pol. What means my love?
Mon. Away! what meant my lord
Last night?
Pol. Is that a question now to be demanded?
Mon. Was it well done
Tassault my lodging at the dead of night,
And threaten me if I deny'd admittance-
You said you were Castalio.
Pol. By those eyes,
It was the same: I spent my time much better.
Mon. Ha!-have a care!
Pol. Where is the danger near me?
Mon. I fear you're on a rock will wreck
your quiet,
And drown your soul in wretchedness for ever.
A thousand horrid thoughts crowd on my mem-
ory.
Will you be kind, and answer me one question?
Pol. I'd trust thee with my life; on that soft
bosom
Breathe out the choicest secrets of my heart,
Till I had nothing in it left but love.
Mon. Nay, I'll conjure you, by the gods and
angels,
By the honour of your name, that's most con-
cern'd,
To tell me, Polydore, and tell me truly,
Where did you rest last night?
Pol. Within thy arms.
Mon. 'Tis done.
[Faints.
Pol. She faints!-no help!-who waits?
A curse
Upon my vanity, that could not keep
The secret of my happiness in silence!
Confusion! we shall be surpris'd anon;
And consequently all must be betray'd.
Monimia!-she breathes!-Monimia!
Mon. Well-
Let mischiefs multiply! let every hour
Of my loath'd life yield me increase of horror!
O let the sun, to these unhappy eyes,
Ne'er shine again, but be eclips'd for ever!
May every thing I look on seem a prodigy,
To fill my soul with terrors, till I quite
Forget I ever had humanity,
And grow a curser of the works of nature!
Pol. What means all this?
Mon. O Polydore! if all
The friendship e'er you vow'd to good Castalio
Be not a falsehood; if you ever lov'd
Your brother, you've undone yourself and me.
Pol. Which way can ruin reach the man
that's rich,
As I am, in possession of thy sweetness?
Mon. Oh! I'm his wife!
Pol. What says Monimia?
Mon. I am Castalio's wife!
Pol. His marry'd, wedded wife?
Mon. Yesterday's sun
Saw it perform'd!
Pol. My brother's wife?
Mon. As surely as we both
Must taste of misery, that guilt is thine.
Pol. Oh! thou may'st yet be happy!
Mon. Couldst thou be
Happy, with such a weight upon thy soul?
Pol. It may be yet a secret.-I'll go try
To reconcile and bring Castalio to thee!
Whilst from the world I take myself away,
And waste my life in penance for my sin.
Mon. Then thou wouldst more undo me:
heap a load
Of added sins upon my wretched head!
Wouldst thou again have me betray thy brother,
And bring pollution to his arms? - Curs'd
thought!
Oh! when shall I be mad indeed!
Pol. Then thus I'll go-
[Exit.
Full of my guilt, distracted where to roam:
I'll find some place where adders nest in winter,
Loathsome and venomous; where poisons hang
Like gums against the walls: there I'll inhabit,
And live up to the height of desperation.
Desire shall languish like a with'ring flower,
Horrors shall fright me from those pleasing harms,
And I'll no more be caught with beauty's
[Exit.
CASTALIO
charms.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-A Garden.
discovered lying on the Ground.
Soft Music.
Cas. See where the deer trot after one another:
No discontent they know; but in delightful
Wildness and freedom, pleasant springs, fresh
herbage,
Calm arbours, lusty health and innocence,
Enjoy their portion:-if they see a man,
How will they turn together all, and gaze
Upon the monster!
Once in a season too they taste of love:
Only the beast of reason is its slave;
And in that folly drudges all the year.
Enter ACASTO.
Acas. Castalio! Castalio!
Cas. Who's there
So wretched but to name Castalio?
Acas. I hope my message may succeed.

SCENE 1.]
141
THE ORPHAN.
Cas. My father!
'Tis joy to see you, though where sorrow's
nourish'd.
Acas. Castalio, you must go along with me,
And see Monimia.
Cas. Sure my lord 'but mocks me:
Go see Monimia?
Acas. I say, no more dispute.
Complaints are made to me that you have
wrong'd her.
Cas. Who has complain'd?
Acas. Her brother to my face proclaim'd
her wrong'd,
And in such terms they've warm'd me.
Cas. What terms? Her brother! Heaven!
Where learn'd he that?
What, does she send her hero with defiance?
He durst not sure affront you?
Acas. No, not much:
But-
Cas. Speak, what said he?
Acas. That thou wert a villain:
Methinks I would not have thee thought a villain.
Cas. Shame on the ill-manner'd brute!
Your age secur'd him; he durst not else have said
Acas. By my sword,
I would not see thee wrong'd, and bear it vilely:
Though I have pass'd my word she shall have
justice.
Cas. Justice! to give her justice would un-
do her.
Think you this solitude I now have chosen,
Wish'd do have grown one piece
With this cold clay, and all without a cause?
Enter CHAMONT.
Cham. Where is the hero, famous and re-
nown'd
With the remembrance of an ancient friendship.
Cas. I am a villain, if I will not seek thee,
Till I may be reveng'd for all the wrongs
Done me by that ungrateful fair thou plead'st for.
Cham. She wrong'd thee? By the fury in
my heart,
Thy father's honour's not above Monimia's;
Nor was thy mother's truth and virtue fairer.
Acas. Boy, don't disturb the ashes of the dead
With thy capricious follies; the remembrance
Of the lov'd creature that once fill'd these arms-
Cham. Has not been wrong'd.
Cas. It shall not.
Cham. No, nor shall
Monimia, though a helpless orphan, destitute
Of friends and fortune, though th' unhappy sister
Of poor Chamont, whose sword is all his portion,
B' oppress'd by thee, thou proud, imperious
traitor!
Cas. Ha! set me free.
Cham. Come both.
Cas. Sir, if you'd have me think
not take
you did
This opportunity to show your vanity,
Let's meet some other time, when by ourselves
We fairly may dispute our wrongs together.
Cham. Till then Tam Castalio's friend. [Exit.
Acas. Would I'd been absent when this
boist'rous brave
Came to disturb thee thus. I'm griev'd I hinder'd
Thy just resentment-But, Monimia-
Cas. Damn her!
For wronging innocence, and breaking vows; It
Whose mighty spirit, and whose stubborn heart,
No woman can appease, nor man provoke?
Acas. I guess, Chamont, you come to seek
Castalio?
Cham. I come to seek the husband of Monimia.
Cas. The slave is here.
Cham. I thought ere now to have found you
Atoning for the ills you've done Chamont:
For you have wrong'd the dearest part of him.
Monimia, young lord, weeps in this heart;
And all the tears thy injuries have drawn
From her poor eyes, are drops of blood from
hence.
Cas. Then you are Chamont?
Cham. Yes, and I hope no stranger
To great Castalio.
Cas. I've heard of such a man,
That has been very busy with my honour.
I own I'm much indebted to you, sir,
And here return the villain back again
You sent me by my father.
Cham. Thus I'll thank you. [Draws.
Acas. By this good sword, who first pre-
sumes to violence,
Makes me his foe. [Draws and interposes.
Cas. Sir, in my younger years with care
you taught me
That brave revenge was due to injur'd honour:
Oppose not then the justice of my sword,
Lest you should make me jealous of your love.
Cham. Into thy father's arms thou fly'st for
safety,
Because thou know'st that place is sanctify'd
Acas. Don't curse her.
Cas. Did I?
Acas. Yes.
Cas. I'm sorry for't.
Acas. Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault's
but small,
might be pardon'd.
Cas. No.
Acas. What has she done?
Cas. That she's my wife, may heaven and
you forgive me!
Acas. Be reconcil'd then.
Cas. No.
Acas. For my sake,
Castalio, and the quiet of my age.
Cas. Why will you urge a thing my na-
ture starts at?
Acas. Pr'ythee forgive her.
Cas. Lightnings first shall blast me!
I tell you, were she prostrate at my feet,
Full of her sex's best dissembled sorrows,
And all that wondrous beauty of her own,
My heart might break, but it should never soften.
Acas. Did you but know the agonies she feels-
She flies with fury over all the house;
Through every room of each apartment, crying,
"Where's my Castalio? Give me my Castalio!"
Except she sees you, sure she'll grow distracted!
Cas. Ha! will she? Does she name Castalio?
And with such tenderness? Conduct mé quickly
To the poor lovely mourner.
Acas. Then wilt thou go? Blessings attend
thy purpose!
Cas. I cannot hear Monimia's soul's in sadness,
And be a man: my heart will not forget her.
Acas. Delay not then; but haste and cheer
thy love.
Cas. Oh! I will throw my impatient arms
about her!
In her soft bosom sigh my soul to peace;

142
[ACT V.
THE ORPHAN.
Till through the panting breast she finds the way (With torment I must tell it thee, Castalio),
To mould my heart, and make it what she will. Ever to be a stranger to thy love,
Monimia! Oh!
[Exeunt. In some far distant country waste my life,
And from this day to see thy face no more.
Cas. Why turn'st thou from me; I'm alone
already.
SCENE II.-A Chamber.
Enter MONIMIA.
Mon. Stand off, and give me room;
I will not rest till I have found Castalio,
My wish's lord, comely as the rising day.
I cannot die in peace till I have seen him.
Enter CASTALIO.
Methinks I stand upon a naked beach,
Sighing to winds, and to the seas complaining,
Whilst afar off the vessel sails away,
Where all the treasure of my soul's embark'd;
Wilt thou not turn?-Oh! could those eyes
but speak,
Cas. Who talks of dying, with a voice so sweet I should know all, for love is pregnant in 'em;
That life's in love with it?
Mon. Hark! 'tis he that answers.
Where art thou?
Cas. Here, my love.
Mon. No nearer, lest. I vanish.
Cas. Have I been in a dream then all this while?
And art thou but the shadow of Monimia?
Why dost thou fly me thus?
Mon. Oh! were it possible that we could
drown
In dark oblivion but a few past, hours,
We might be happy.
Cas. Is't then so hard, Monimia, to forgive
A fault, where humble love, like mine, im-
plores thee?
For I must love thee, though it prove my ruin.
I'll kneel to thee, and weep a flood before thee.
Yet pr'ythee, tyrant, break not quite my heart;
But when my task of penitence is done,
Heal it again, and comfort me with love.
Mon. If I am dumb, Castalio, and want words
To pay thee back this mighty tenderness,
It is because I look on thee with horror,
And cannot see the man I have so wrong'd.
Cas. Thou hast not wrong'd me.
Mon. Ah! alas, thou talk'st
Just as thy poor heart thinks. Have not I
wrong'd thee?
Cas. No.
Mon. Still thou wander'st in the dark, Castalio;
But wilt, ere long, stumble on horrid danger.
Cas. My better angel, then do thou inform me
What danger threatens me, and where it lies;
Why wert thou (pr'y thee smile, and tell me why),
When I stood waiting underneath the window,
Deaf to my cries, and senseless of my pains?
Mon. Did I not beg thee to forbear inquiry?
Read'st thou not something in my face, that
speaks
Wonderful change, and horror from within me?
Cas. If, lab'ring in the pangs of death,
Thou wouldst do any thing to give me ease,
Unfold this riddle ere my thoughts grow wild,
And let in fears of ugly form upon me.
Mon. My heart won't let me speak it; but
remember,
Monimia, poor Monimia, tells you this:
We ne'er must meet again-
Cas. Ne'er meet again?
Mon. No, never.
Cas. Where's the power-
On earth, that dares not look like thee, and say so?
Thou art my heart's inheritance: I serv'd
A long and faithful slavery for thee;
And who shall rob me of the dear - bought
blessing?
Mon. Time will clear all; but now let this
content you:
Heaven has decreed, and therefore I've resolv'd
They swell, they press their beams upon me still:
Wilt thou not speak? If we must part for ever,
Give me but one kind word to think upon,
And please myself withal, whilst my heart's
breaking.
Mon. Ah! poor Castalio!
[Exit.
Cas. What means all this? Why all this
stir to plague
A single wretch? If but your word can shake
This world to atoms, why so much ado
With me? think me but dead, and lay me so.
Enter POLYDORE.
Pol. To live, and live a torment to myself,
What dog would bear't, that knew but his
condition?
We've little knowledge, and that makes us
cowards,
Because it cannot tell us what's to come.
Cas. Who's there?
Pol. Why, what art thou?
Cas. My brother Polydore?
Pol. My name is Polydore.
Cas. Canst thou inform me-
Pol. Of what?
Cas. Of my Monimia?
Pol. No. Good day!
Cas. In haste!
Methinks my Polydore appears in sadness.
Pol. Indeed! and so to me does my Castalio.
Cas. Do I?
Pol. Thou dost.
Cos. Alas, I've wondrous reason!
I'm strangely alter'd, brother, since I saw thee.
Pol. Why?
Cas. I'll tell thee, Polydore; I would repose.
Within thy friendly bosom all my follies;
For thou wilt pardon 'em, because they're mine.
Pol. Be not too credulous; consider first,
Friends may be false. Is there no friendship false?
Cas. Why dost thou ask me that? Does
this appear
Like a false friendship, when, with open arms
And streaming eyes, I run upon thy breast?
Oh! 'tis in thee alone I must have comfort!
Pol. I fear, Castalio, I have none to give thee.
Cas. Dost thou not love me then?
Pol. Oh, more than life;
I never had a thought of my Castalio,
Might wrong the friendship we had vow'd
together.
Hast thou dealt so by me?
Cas. I hope I have.
Pol. Then tell me why this morning, this
disorder?
Cas. O Polydore, I know not how to tell thee;
Shame rises in my face, and interrupts
The story of my tongue.
Pol. I grieve, my friend

SCENE 2.]
143
THE ORPHAN,
Knows any thing which he's asham'd to tell me. Plac'd some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he!
Cas. Oh, much too oft. Our destiny contriv'd
To plague us both with one unhappy love!
Thou, like a friend, a constant, gen'rous friend,
In its first pangs didst trust me with thy passion,
Whilst I still smooth'd my pain with smiles
before thee,
And made a contract I ne'er meant to keep.
Pol. How!
Cas. Still new ways I studied to abuse thee,
And kept thee as a stranger to my passion,
Till yesterday I wedded with Monimia.
Pol. Ah! Castalio, was that well done?
Cas. No; to conceal't from thee was much
a fault.
Pol. A fault! when thou hast heard
The tale I'll tell, what wilt thou call it then?
Cas. How my heart throbs!
Pol. First, for thy friendship, traitor,
I cancel't thus: after this day I'll ne'er
Hold trust or converse with the false Castalio!
This witness, heaven.
Cas. What will my fate do with me?
I've lost all happiness, and know not why!
What means this, brother?
Pol. Perjur'd, treach'rous wretch,
Farewell!
Cas. Thou art my brother still.
Pol. Thou liest!
Cas. Nay, then-
Yet I am calm.
Pol. A coward's always so.
[Draws.
Cas. Ah!-ah!-that stings home! Coward!
Pol. Ay, base-born coward! villain!
Cas. This to thy heart, then, though my
mother bore thee!
[They fight; Polydore drops his Sword,
and runs on Castalio's.
Pol. Now my Castalio is again my friend.
Cas. What have I done? my sword is in
thy breast.
Pol. So would I have it be, thou best of men,
Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend!
Cas. Ye gods! we're taught that all your
works are justice:
Ye're painted merciful, and friends to innocence:
If so, then why these plagues upon my head?
Pol. Blame not the heav'ns, 'tis Polydore
has wrong'd thee;
I've stain'd thy bed; thy spotless marriage joys
Have been polluted by thy brother's lust.
Cas. By thee?
Pol. By me, last night, the horrid deed
Cas. I'll be thy slave, and thou shalt use me Was done, when all things slept but rage
Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.
Pol. Never.
Cas. Oh! think a little what thy heart is
doing:
How, from our infancy, we hand in hand
Have trod the path of life in love together.
One bed has held us, and the same desires,
The same aversions, still employ'd our thoughts.
Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's
Or Polydore a foe that was not mine?
E'en in the womb we embrac'd; and wilt
thou now,
For the first fault, abandon and forsake me?
Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself,
Plung'd in the gulf of grief, and none to help me?
Pol. Go to Monimia; in her arms thou'lt find
Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows.
Cas. What arts?
Pol. Blind wretch! thou husband? there's
a question!
Is she not a-
Cas. What?
Pol. Whore? I think that word needs no
explaining.
Cas. Alas! I can forgive e'en this to thee;
But let me tell thee, Polydore, I'm griev'd
To find thee guilty of such low revenge,
To wrong that virtue which thou couldst not ruin.
Pol. It seems I lie then!
Cas. Should the bravest man
That e'er wore conq'ring sword, but dare to
whisper
What thou proclaim'st, he were the worst of
liars.
My friend may be mistaken.
Pol. Damn the evasion!
Thou mean'st the worst! and he's a base-born
villain
That said I lied!
Cas. A base-born villain!
Pol. Yes! thou never cam'st
From old Acasto's loins: the midwife put
A cheat upon my mother; and, instead
Of a true brother, in the cradle by me
and incest.
Cas. Now, where's Monimia? Oh!
Enter MONIMIA.
Mon. I'm here! who calls me?
Methought I heard a voice
Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains,
When all his little flock's at feed before him.
But what means this? here's blood!
Cas. Ay, brother's blood!
Art thou prepar'd for everlasting pains?
Pol. Oh! let me charge thee, by th' eternal
justice,
Hurt not her tender life!
Cas. Not kill her?
Mon. That task myself have finish'd: I shall die
Before we part: I've drunk a healing draught
For all my cares, and never more shall wrong
thee.
Pol. Oh, she's innocent.
Cas. Tell me that story,
And thou wilt make a wretch of me indeed.
Pol: Hadst thou, Castalio, us'd me like a friend,
This ne'er had happen'd; hadst thou let me know
Thy marriage, we had all now met in joy:
But, ignorant of that,
Hearing th' appointment made, enrag'd to think
Thou hadst undone me in successful love,
I, in the dark, went and supply'd thy place;
Whilst all the night, midst our triumphant joys,
The trembling, tender, kind, deceiv'd Monimia,
Embrac'd, caress'd, and call'd me her Castalio.
[Dies.
Mon. Now, my Castalio, the most dear of men,
Wilt thou receive pollution to thy bosom,
And close the eyes of one that has betray'd thee?
Cas. O, I'm the unhappy wretch, whose
cursed fate
Has weigh'd thee down into destruction with him:
Why then thus kind to me!
Mon. When I'm laid low i'th' grave, and
quite forgotten,
May'st thou be happy in a fairer bride!
But none can ever love thee like Monimia.

144
[ACT V.
THE ORPHAN.
When I am dead, as presently I shall be
(For the grim tyrant grasps my heart already),
Speak well of me: and if thou find ill tongues
Too busy with my fame, don't hear me wrong'd;
"Twill be a noble justice to the memory
Of a poor wretch, once honour'd with thy
[Dies.
love.
Enter CHAMONT and ACASTO.
Cham. Gape, earth, and swallow me to
quick destruction,
If I forgive your house!
Ye've overpower'd me now!
But, hear me, heav'n!-Ah! here's a scene of
death!
My sister, my Monimia, breathless!-Now,
Ye pow'rs above, if ye have justice, strike!
Strike bolts through me, and through the curs'd
Castalio!
Cas. Stand off! thou hot-brain'd, boisterous,
noisy ruffian!
And leave me to my sorrows.
Cham. By the love
More sorrows on thy aged father's head!
Tell me, I beg you, tell me the sad cause
Of all this ruin.
Cas. Thou, unkind Chamont,
Unjustly hast pursu'd me with thy hate,
And sought the life of him that never wrong'd
thee:
Now, if thou wilt embrace a noble vengeance,
Come join with me, and curse-
Cham. What?
Acas. Have patience.
Cas. Patience! preach it to the winds,
To roaring seas, or raging fires! for curs'd
As I am now, 'tis this must give me patience:
Thus I find rest, and shall complain no more.
[Stabs himself.
Chamont, to thee my birthright I bequeath:-
Comfort my mourning father-heal his griefs;
[Acasto faints into the Arms of a Servant.
For I perceive they fall with weight upon him-
And, for Monimia's sake, whom thou wilt find
I never wrong'd, be kind to poor Serina-
Now all I beg is, lay me in one grave
Thus with my love-Farewell! I now am-
nothing.
[Dies.
Cham. Take care of good Acasto, whilst I go
To search the means by which the fates have
plagu'd us.
I bore her living, I will ne'er forsake her;
But here remain till my heart burst with sobbing.
Cas. Vanish, I charge thee! or-
[Draws a Dagger.
Cham. Thou canst not kill me!
That would be kindness, and against thy nature! 'Tis thus that heav'n its empire does maintain:
Acas. What means Castalio? Sure thou wilt It may afflict; but man must not complain.
not pull
[Exeunt.
PHILIP S.
AMBROSE PHILIPS was descended from a very ancient and considerable family of that name in Leicestershire. He
was born about the year 1671, and received his education at St. John's College, Cambridge. During his stay at the uni-
versity he wrote his Pastorals, which acquired him at this time a high reputation. He also, in 1700 published a life of
John Williams, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York, in the reigns of King James
and Charles 1. in which are related some remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state; with an
appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John's College. When he quitted the university, and came to
London, he became a constant attendant at, and one of the wits of, Button's coffee-house, where he obtained the friend-
ship and intimacy of many of the celebrated geniuses of that age, more particularly of Sir Richard Steele, who, in the
first volume of his Tatler, has inserted a little poem of Mr. Philips's, which he calls a Winter Piece, dated from Co-
penhagen, and addressed to the Earl of Dorset, on which he bestows the highest encomiums; and, indeed, so much
justice is there in these his commendations that even Pope himself, who had a fixed aversion for the author, while he
affected to despise his other works, used always to except this from the number. Sir R. Steele intended to produce Mr.
Philips's Pastorals with a critical comparison of them, in favour of Philips, with Pope's; but Pope artfully took the
task upon himself, and, in a paper in The Guardian, by drawing the like comparison, and giving a like preference, but
on principles of criticism apparently fallacious tried to point out the absurdity of such a judgment. A quarrel ensued;
Pope was too much for Philips in wit; and Philips would have been too much for Pope in fisty-cuffs, if he had made
his appearance at Button's, where a rod had been hung up for him by Philips. Pope wisely avoided the argumentum
baculinum. Mr. Philips's circumstances were in general, through his life, not only easy, but rather affluent, in conse-
quence of his being connected, by his political principles with persons of great rank and consequence.
He was, soon
after the accession of King George 1, put into the commission of the peace; and, in 1717, appointed one of the com-
missioners of the lottery; and, on his friend Dr. Boulter's being made primate of Ireland, he accompanied that prelate
across St. George's Channel, where he had considerable preferments bestowed on him, and was elected a member of the
House of Commons there, as representative for the county of Armagh. In Sept. 1734, he was appointed register of the
Prerogative Court in Dublin. At length, having purchased an annuity for life of four hundred pounds, he came over to
England some time in the year 1748, but did not long enjoy his fortune, being struck with a palsy, of which he died
June 18, 1749, in his 78th year, at his lodgings near Vauxhall.
THE DISTREST
MOTHER.
ACTED at Drury Lane, 1719. This play is little more than a translation from the Andromaque of Racine. It is,
however, very well translated, the poetry pleasing, and the incidents of the story so affecting that although it is, like
all the French tragedies, rather too heavy and declamatory, yet it never fails bringing tears into the eyes of a sensible
audience; and will, perhaps, ever continue to be a stock play on the lists of the theatres. The original author, however,
has deviated from history and Philips likewise followed his example in making Hermione kill herself on the body of
Pyrrhus, who had been slain by her instigation; whereas, on the contrary, she not only survived, but became wife to
Orestes. How far the licentia poetica will authorize such oppositions to well-known facts of history, is, however, a
point concerning which we have not time at present to enter into a disquisition. Dr. Johnson observes, that such a
work requires no uncommon powers; but that the friends of Philips exerted every art to promote his interest. Before the
appearance of the play, a whole Spectator, none indeed of the best, was devoted to its praise; while it yet continued to
[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
145
THE DISTREST MOTHER.

be acted, another Spectator was written, to tell what impression it made upon Sir Roger de Coverley; and on the first
night a select audience, says Pope, was called together to applaud it.
PYRRHUS.
PHOENIX.
ORESTES.
PYLADES.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ANDROMACHE.
CEPHISA.
HERMIONE.
CLEONE.
Attendants on Pyrrhus
and Orestes, etc.
SCENE. A great Hall in the Court of PYRRHUS, at BUTHROTOS, the capital City of EPIRUS.
ACT I.
SCENE. I.
His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
Th' avenger of his wrongs, thou saws't my grief,
My torture, my despair; and how I dragg'd,
From sea to sea, a heavy chain of woes.
O Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, press'd with sorrows not thy own,
Still wand'ring with me like a banish'd man,
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.
Enter ORESTES, PYLADES, and Attendants.
Ores. O PYLADES! what's life without a friend!
At sight of thee my gloomy soul cheers up,
My hopes revive, and gladness dawns within me.
After an absence of six tedious moons,
How could I hope to find my Pylades,
My joy, my comfort! on this fatal shore!
Even in the court of Pyrrhus? in these realms, Pyl. Why thus unkind?
These hated realms, so cross to all my wishes. Why will you envy me the pleasing task
O, my brave friend! may no blind stroke of fate Of generous love, and sympathising friendship?
Divide us more, and tear me from myself.
Öres. Thou miracle of truth! But hear me on.
Pyl. O prince! O my Orestes! O my friend! When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
Thus let me speak the welcome of my heart. I thought how the divine Hermione,
[Embraces. Deaf to the vows, regardless of my plaints,
Since I have gain'd this unexpected meeting, Gave up herself, and all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Blest be the powers that barr'd my way to Greece, Thou may'st remember, I abhorr'd her name,
And kept me here! e'er since the unhappy day Strove to forget her, and repay her scorn.
When warring winds (Epirus full in view) I made my friends, and even myself, believe
Sunder'd our barks on the loud stormy main. My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
Ores. It was, indeed, a morning full of horror! That all the malice of my heart was love.
Pyl. A thousand boding cares have rack'd Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
my soul
In Greece I landed; and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarm'd with fears,
In which their common safety seem'd concern'd.
join'd them: for I hop'd that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up.all my thoughts:
And that my shatter'd soul, impair'd with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.
In your behalf. Often, with tears, I mourn'd
The fatal ills, to which your life's involv'd;
And grudg'd you dangers which I could not share.
I fear'd to what extremities the black despair
That prey'd upon your mind, might have be-
tray'd you,
And lest the gods, in pity to your woes,
Should hear your pray'rs, and take the life you
loath'd.
But now with joy I see you!-The retinue,
And numerous followers that surround you here,
Speak better fortunes, and a mind dispos'd
To relish life.
Ores. Alas! my friend, who knows
The destiny to which I stand reserv'd!
I come in search of an inhuman fair;
And live or die, as she decrees my fate.
Pyl. You much surprise me, prince! I thought
you cur'd
Of your unpity'd, unsuccessful passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta?
I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assur'd your
freedom:
Asham'd of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talk'd of her no more:
Prince, you deceiv'd me.
Ores. I deceiv'd myself.
Do not upbraid the unhappy man that loves thee.
Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee;
Thou saw'st it, in its birth, and in its progress;
And when at last the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,
I
Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's
son.
Ores. But see the strange perverseness of
my stars,
Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise giv'n,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope
Of ruin'd Troy; Astyanax, descended
From a long race of kings-great Hector's son.
Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!
But, prince, you'll cease to wonder why the child
Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear the bright Andromache,
His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose!
The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.
Ores. Your tale confirms what I have heard;
and hence
Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injur'd Menelaus, thinks already
His daughter slighted, and th' intended nuptials
Too long delay'd. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find
19

146
[ACT I.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
Th' ungrateful maid neglected in her turn,
And all my wrongs aveng'd in her disgrace.
Pyl. Oh, may you keep your just resent-
ments warm!
Ores. Resentments! O my friend, too soon
I found
They grew not out of hatred. I am betray'd:
I practise on myself, and fondly plot
My own undoing. Goaded on by love,
I canvass'd all the suffrages of Greece;
And here I come, their sworn ambassador,
To speak their jealousies, and claim this boy.
Pyl. Pyrrhus will treat your embassy with
scorn.
Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: will he then be sway'd,
And give to death the son of her he loves?
Ores. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture!-I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!
But tell me, Pylades, how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'd with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravish'd
from me?
Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet.
[Exit Pylades.
Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, and Attendants.
Before I speak the message of the Greeks,
Permit me, sir, to glory in the title
Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son,
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And, by an ill-tim'd pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years' war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandish'd sword,
That fill'd their state with widows and with
orphans ;
For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove?
Who knows
But he may brave us in our ports, and fill'd
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy.
Comply then with the Grecians' just demands;
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.
Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more con-
cern'd
Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hop'd
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatch'd for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renown'd in war,
A race of heroes, join in close, debate,
To plot an infant's death? VVhat right has Greece
To ask his life? Must I, must I alone,
Of all her scepter'd warriors, be deny'd
To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shar'd the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine;
Were mine by lot. And who shall wrest
them from me?
Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far;
The king indeed, cold to the Spartan princess,
Turns all his passion to Andromache,
Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain,
With interwoven love and rage, he sues
The charming captive, obstinately cruel.
Oft he alarms her for her child, confin'd
Apart; and when her tears begin to flow,
As soon he stops them, and recals his threats,
Hermione a thousand times has seen
His ill-requited vows return to her;
And takes his indignation all for love.
What can be gather'd from a man so various?
He may, in the disorder of his soul,
Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;
Wed her he hates, and punish her he loves. Cassandra was your own great father's prize.
Ores. But tell me how the wrong'd Hermione Did I concern myself in what they won?
Brooks her slow nuptials, and dishonour'd Did I send embassies to claim their captives?
charms?
Ores. But, sir, we fear for you, and for our-
selves.
Pol. Hermione would fain be thought to
scorn
Her wavering lover, and disdain his falsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscious beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected charms,
And oft has made me privy to her tears;
Still threatens to be gone, yet still she stays,
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes,
Ores. Ah, were those wishes from her heart,
my friend,
I'd fly in transport- [Flourish within.
Pyl. Hear! The king approaches
To give you audience. Speak your embassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of Greece;
And, in the name of all her kings, require
That Hector's son be given into your hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his love, and win the Trojan dame,
Will make it merit to preserve her son.
But, see: he comes!
Ores. Meanwhile, my Pylades,
Go, and dispose Hermione to see
Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw
Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes-
Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise:
But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.
Ores. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength
of Troy;
Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass;
Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies.
Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all
Confus'd in dust; all mix'd in one wide ruin!
All but a child, and he in bondage held.
What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?
If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race,
Why was their vow for twelve long months
deferr d?
Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?
He should have fall'n among the slaughter'd heaps,
Whelm'd under Troy. His death had then
been just.
My fury then was without bounds; but now,
My wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still?
SCENE 1.]
147
THE DISTREST MOTHER.

I
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity, go to weep a few sad moments with him.
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood? I have not yet to-day embrac'd my child;
An infant's blood? No, prince; go bid the I have not held him in my widow'd arms.
Greeks
Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escap'd from Troy
Shall not be sav'd to perish in Epirus.
Ores. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother sav'd her darling son.
The Greeks do now but urge their former sen-
tence:
Nor is't the boy, but Hector, they pursue;
The father draws their vengeance on the son:
The father, who so oft in Grecian blood
Has drench'd his sword; the father, whom the
Greeks
May seek e'en here. Prevent them, sir, in time.
Pyr. No! let them come; since I was born
to wage
Eternal wars. Let them now turn their arms
On him who conquer'd for them. Let them come;
And in Epirus seek another Troy.
'Twas thus they recompens'd my godlike sire;
Thus was Achilles thank'd. But, prince, re-
member,
Their black ingratitude then cost them dear.
Ores. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in
Pyrrhus?
Pyr. Have I then conquer'd to depend on
Greece?
Ores. Hermione will sway your soul to peace,
And mediate 'twixt her father and yourself.
Her beauty will enforce my embassy.
Pyr. Hermione may have her charms, and 1
May love her still, though not her father's slave.
I may, in time, give proofs that I'm a lover;
But never must forget that I'm a king.
Meanwhile, sir, you may see fair Helen's
daughter:
I know how near in blood you stand ally'd.
That done, you have my answer, prince. The
Greeks,
No doubt, expect your quick return.
[Exit Orestes and Attendant.
Phoe. Sir, do you send your rival to the
princess?
Pyr. I am told that he has lov'd her long.
Phoe. If so,
Have you not cause to fear the smother'd flame
May kindle at her sight, and blaze anew;
And she be wrought to listen to his passion?
Pyr. Ay, let them, Phoenix; let them love
their fill:
Let them go hence; let them depart together:
Together let them sail for Sparta; all my ports
Are open to them both. From what constraint,
What irksome thoughts, should I then be re-
liev'd!
Phoe. But, sir-
Pyr. I shall another time, good Phoenix,
Unbosom to thee all my thoughts: for see,
Andromache appears.
[Exit Phoenix.
Enter ANDROMACHE and CEPHISA.
May I, madam,
Flatter my hopes so far as to believe
You come to seek me here?
Andro. This way, sir, leads
To those apartments where you guard my son.
Since you permit me, once a day, to visit
All I have left of Hector and of Troy,
Pyr. Ah, madam, should the threats of
Greece prevail,
You'll have occasion for your tears indeed.
Andro. Alas! what threats? What can alarm
the Greeks?
There are no Trojans left.-
Pyr. Their hate to Hector
Can never die: the terror of his name
Still shakes their souls, and makes them dread
his son.
Andro. A mighty honour for victorious
Greece,
To fear an infant, a poor friendless child!
Who smiles in bondage, nor yet knows himself
The son of Hector, and the slave of Pyrrhus.
Pyr. Weak as he is, the Greeks demand his life,
And send no less than Agamemnon's son
To 'fetch him hence.
Andro. And, sir, do you comply
With such demands? This blow is aim'd at me.
How should the child avenge his slaughter'd sire?
But, cruel men! they will not have him live
To cheer my heavy heart, and ease my bonds.
I promis'd to myself in him a son,
In him a friend, a husband, and a father.
But I must suffer sorrow heap'd on sorrow,
And still the fatal stroke must come from you.
Pyr. Dry up those tears; I must not see
you weep;
And know, I have rejected their demands.
The Greeks already threaten me with war;
But, should they arm, as once they did for Helen,
And hide the Adriatic with their fleets;
Should they prepare a second ten years' siege,
And lay my towers and palaces in dust;
I am determined to defend your son,
And rather die myself than give him up.
But, madam, in the midst of all these dangers,
Will you refuse me a propitious smile?
Hated of Greece, and press'd on every side,
Let me not, madam, while I fight your cause,
Let me not combat with your cruelties,
And count Andromache amongst my foes.
Andro. Consider, sir, how this will sound
in Greece!
How can so great a soul betray such weakness?
Let not men say, so generous a design
Was but the transport of a heart in love.
Pyr. Your charms will justify me to the world.
Andro. How can Andromache, a captive
queen,
O'erwhelm'd with grief, a burden to herself,
Harbour a thought of love? Alas! what charms
Have these unhappy eyes, by you condemn'd
To weep for ever? Talk of it no more.
To reverence the misfortunes of a foe;
To succour the distress'd; to give the son
To an afflicted mother; to repel
Confederate nations, leagu'd against his life;
Unbrib'd by love, unterrify'd by threats,
To pity, to protect him: these are cares,
These are exploits worthy Achilles' son.
Pyr. Will your resentments, then, endure,
for ever?
Must Pyrrhus never be forgiven? 'Tis true,
My sword has often reek'd in Phrygian blood,
And carry'd havoc through your royal kindred;
But you, fair princess, amply have aveng'd
Old Priam's vanquish'd house! and all the woes

148
[ACT II.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
I brought on them, fall short of what I suffer.
We both have suffer'd in our turns; and now
Our common foes shall teach us to unite.
Andro. Where does the captive not behold
a foe?
Pyr. Forget the term of hatred, and behold
A friend in Pyrrhus. Give me but to hope,
I'll free your son, I'll be a father to him:"
Myself will teach him to avenge the Trojans.
I'll go in person to chastise the Greeks,
Both for your wrongs and mine, Inspir'd by you,
What would I not achieve? Again shall Troy
Rise from its ashes: this right arm shall fix
Her seat of empire, and your son shall reign.
Andro. Such dreams of greatness suit not
my condition:
His hopes of empire perish'd with his father.
No; thou imperial city, ancient Troy,
Thou pride of Asia, founded by the gods!
Never, oh never, must we hope to see
Those bulwarks rise, which Hector could not
guard!
Sir, all I wish for is some quiet exile,
Where far from Greece remov'd, and far from
you,
I may conceal my son, and mourn my husband.
Your love creates me envy. Oh, return!
Return to your betroth'd Hermione.
Pyr. Why do you mock me thus? you
know, I cannot.
You know my heart is yours; my soul hangs
on you;
You take up every wish: my waking thoughts,
And nightly dreams, are all employ'd on you.
'Tis true, Hermione was sent to share
My throne and bed; and would with transport
hear
The vows which you neglect.
Andro. She has no Troy,
No Hector to lament: she has not lost
A husband by your conquests, Such a husband!
(Tormenting thought!) whose death alone has
made
Your sire immortal. Pyrrhus and Achilles
Are both grown great by my calamities.
Groan'd in captivity, and out-liv'd Hector.
Yes, my Astyanax, we'll go together!
Together to the realms of night we'll go!
There to thy ravish'd eyes thy sire I'll show,
And point him out among the shades below.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE 1.
Enter HERMIONE and CLEONE.
Her. Well, I'll be rul'd, Cleone; I will see him:
I have told Pylades that he may bring him;
But trust me, were I left to my own thoughts,
I should forbid him yet.
Cle. And why forbid him?
Is he not, madam, still the same Orestes?
Orestes, whose return you oft have wish'd?
The man whose sufferings you so late lamented,
And often prais'd his constancy and love?
Her. That love, that constancy, so ill requited,
Upbraids me to myself. I blush to think
How I have us'd him, and would shun his
presence.
What will be my confusion when he sees me,
Neglected and forsaken, like himself?
Will he not say, is this the scornful maid,
The proud Hermione, that tyranniz'd
In Sparta's court, and triumph'd in her charms?
Her insolence at last is well repaid.
I cannot bear the thought.
Cle. You wrong yourself
With unbecoming fears. He knows to well
Your beauty and your worth. Your lover
I
comes not
To offer insults, but to repeat his vows,
And breathe his ardent passion at your feet.
But, madam, what's your royal father's will?
What orders do your letters bring from Sparta?
Her. His orders are, if Pyrrhus still delay
The nuptials, and refuse to sacrifice
This Trojan boy, I should with speed embark,
And with their embassy return to Greece.
Cle. What would you more? Orestes comes
in time
To save your honour. Pyrrhus cools apace:
Prevent his falsehood, and forsake him first.
know you hate him; you have told me so.
Her. Hate him! My injur'd honour bids
me hate him.
The ungrateful man, to whom I fondly gave
My virgin heart! the man I lov'd so dearly;
The man I doated on. O, my Cleone!
How is it possible I should not hate him?
Cle. Then give him over, madam. Quit
his court,
And with Orestes-
Pyr. Madam, 'tis well! 'tis very well! I find
Your will must be obey'd; imperious captive,
It shall. Henceforth I blot you from my mind;
You teach me to forget your charms; to hate you:
For know, inbuman beauty, I have lov'd'
Too well to treat you with indifference.
Think well upon it; my disorder'd soul
Wavers between th' extremes of love and rage.
I have been too tame; I will awake to vengeance!
The son shall answer for the mother's scorn.
The Greeks demand him; nor will I endanger
My realms, to pleasure an ungrateful woman. Her. No! I must have time.
Andro. Then he must die! alas, my son To work up all my rage; to meditate
must die!
A parting full of horror! My revenge
Will be but too much quicken'd by the traitor.
Cle. Do you then wait new insults, new
affronts?
He has no friend, no succour left, beside
His mother's tears, and his own innocence.
Pyr. Go, madam, visit this unhappy son.
The sight of him may bend your stubborn heart,
And turn to softness your unjust disdain.
I shall once more expect your answer. Go;
And think, while you embrace the captive boy,
Think, that his life depends on your resolves.
[Exeunt Pyrrhus and Attendants.
Andro. I'll go, and in the anguish of my heart,
Weep o'er my child; if he must die, my life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life,
To draw you from your father! Then to leave you!
In his own court to leave you, for a captive!
If Pyrrhus can provoke you, he has done it.
Her. Why dost thou heighten my distress?
I fear
To search out my own thoughts, and sound
my heart.
Be blind to what thou seest: believe me cur'd:
Flatter my weakness; tell me I have conquer'd:
Think that my injur'd soul is set against him;

SCENE 1.]
149
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
And do thy best to make me think so too.
Cle. Why would you loiter here then?
Her. Let us fly!
Let us be gone! I leave him to his captive!
Let him go kneel, and supplicate his slave.
Let us be gone! But what if he repent?
What, if the perjur'd prince again submit,
And sue for pardon? What, if he renew
His former vows? But, oh, the faithless man!
He slights me; drives me to extremities. However,
I'll stay, Cleone, to perplex their loves:
I'll stay, till, by an open breach of contract,
I make him hateful to the Greeks. Already
Their vengeance have I drawn upon the son;
The second embassy shall claim the mother;
I will redouble all my griefs upon her.
Cle. Ah, madam! whither does your rage
transport you?
Andromache, alas! is innocent.
A woman plung'd in sorrow, dead to love;
And when she thinks on Pyrrhus, 'tis with
horror.
Ores. My embassy
Is at an end; for Pyrrhus has refus'd
To give up Hector's son. Some hidden power
Protects the boy.
Her. Faithless, ungrateful man! [Aside.
Ores. I now prepare for Greece; but ere I go,
Would hear my final doom pronounc'd by you.
What do, I say? I do already hear it!
My doom is fix'd: I read it in your eyes.
Her. Will you then still despair? be still
suspicious?
What have I done? wherein have I been cruel?
'Tis true, you find me in the court of Pyrrhus;
But 'twas my royal father sent me hither.
And who can tell but I have shar'd your griefs?
Have I ne'er wept in secret? never wish'd
To see Orestes?
Ores. Wish'd to see Orestes!
O joy! O ecstasy! My soul's entranc'd!
O charming princess! O transcendant maid!
My utmost wish!-Thus, thus let me express
My boundless thanks!-I never was unhappy.
Her. Would I had done so too! he had Am I Orestes?
not then
Betray'd my easy faith. But I, alas!
Discover'd all the fondness of my soul;
I made no secret of my passion to him,
Nor thought it dangerous to be sincere.
My eyes, my tongue, my actions spoke my heart.
Cle. Well might you speak without reserve,
to one
Her. You are Orestes:
The same, unalter'd, generous, faithful lover;
The prince whom I esteem, whom I lament,
And whom I fain would teach my heart to love.
Ores. Ay, there it is!-I have but your esteem,
While Pyrrhus has your heart.
Her. Believe me, prince,
Were you as Pyrrhus, I should hate you.
Ores. No.
While he neglects your charms, and courts
another.
Her. And who has told you, prince, that
I'm neglected?
Engag'd to you by solemn oaths and treaties.
Her. His ardour, too, was an excuse to mine: I should be blest, I should be lov'd as he is!
With other eyes he saw me then. Cleone, Yet all this while I die by your disdain,
Thou may'st remember, every thing conspir'd
To favour him: my father's wrongs aveng'd;
The Greeks triumphant; fleets of Trojan spoils;
His mighty sire's, his own immortal fame,
His eager love; all, all conspir'd against me.
But I have done; T'll think no more of Pyrrhus:
Orestes wants not merit, and he loves me.
My gratitude, my honour, both plead for him;
And if I've power o'er my own heart, 'tis his.
Cle. Madam, he comes-
Her, Alas! I did not think
He was so near! I wish I might not see him.
Enter ORESTES.
How am I to interpret, sir, this visit?
Is it a compliment of form, or love?
Ores. Madam, you know my weakness.
'Tis my fate
To love unpity'd; to desire to see you;
And still to swear each time shall be the last.
My passion breaks through my repeated oaths,
And every time I visit you I'm perjur'd.
Even now I find my wounds all bleed afresh;
I blush to own it, but I know no cure.
I call the gods to witness, I have tried
Whatever man could do (but tried in vain),
To wear you from my mind. Through stormy
seas,
And savage climes, in a whole year of absence,
I courted dangers, and I long'd for death.
Her. Why will you, prince, indulge this
mournful tale?
It ill becomes the ambassador of Greece
To talk of dying and of love. Remember
The kings you represent: shall their revenge
Be disappointed by your ill-tim'd passion?
Discharge your embassy. "Tis not Orestes
The Greeks desire should die.
Has Pyrrhus said-(Oh, I shall go distracted!)
Has Pyrrhus told you so? or is it you
Who think thus meanly of me?-Sir, perhaps,
All do not judge like you.
Ores. Madam, go on;
Insult me still; I'm us'd to bear your scorn.
Her. Why am I told how Pyrrhus loves
or hates?-
Go, prince, and arm the Greeks against the rebel;
Let them lay waste his country, rase his towns,
Destroy his fleets, his palaces-himself!
Go, prince, and tell me then how much I love him.
Ores. To hasten his destruction, come
yourself;
And work your royal father to his ruin.
Her. Mean while he weds Andromache.
Ores. Ah, princess!
What is't I hear?
Her. What infamy for Greece,
If he should wed a Phrygian, and a captive!
Ores. Is this your hatred, madam?-'Tis in vain
To hide your passion; every thing betrays it:
Your looks, your speech, your anger, nay,
your silence:
Your love appears in all; your secret flame
Breaks out the more, the more you would
conceal it.
Her. Your jealousy perverts my meaning still,
And wrests each circumstance to your disquiet:
My very hate is construed into fondness.
Ores. Impute my fears, if groundless, to my
love.
Her. Then hear me, prince. Obedience to
a father

150
[ACT II.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
First brought me hither; and the same obedience I went to see the mournful interview,
Detains me here, till Pyrrhus drive me hence,
Or my offended father shall recall me.
Tell this proud king that Menelaus scorns
To match his daughter with a foe of Greece:
Bid him resign Astyanax or me.
If he persists to guard the hostile boy,
Hermione embarks with you for Sparta.
[Exeunt Hermione and Cleone.
Ores. Then is Orestes blest! my griefs are fled!
Fled like a dream! - Methinks I tread in air!
Pyrrhus, enamour'd of his captive queen,
Will thank me, if I take her rival hence.
He looks not on the princess with my eyes.
Surprising happiness! unlook'd-for joy!
Never let love despair. The prize is mine!
Be smooth, ye seas, and ye propitious winds,
Breathe from Epirus to the Spartan coasts!
I long to view the sails unfurl'd! -But see!
Pyrrhus approaches in a happy hour.
Enter PYRRHUS and PHOENIX.
Pyr. I was in pain to find you, prince.
My warm,
And found her bath'd in tears and lost in passion.
Wild with distress, a thousand times she call'd
On Hector's name: and when I spoke in comfort,
And promis'd my protection to her son,
She kiss'd the boy, and call'd again on Hector.
Does she then think that I preserve the boy,
To sooth and keep alive her flame for Hector?
Phoe. No doubt she does; and thinks you fa-
vour'd in it;
But let her go, for an ungrateful woman!
Pyr. I know the thoughts of her proud
stubborn heart:
Vain of her charms, and insolent in beauty,
She mocks my rage; and when it threatens
loudest,
Expects 'twill soon be humbled into love.
But we shall change our parts, and she shall find
I can be deaf like her, and steel my heart.
She's Hector's widow; I, Achilles' son!
Pyrrhus is born to hate Andromache.
Phoe. My royal master, talk of her no more;
I do not like this anger. Your Hermione
Should now engross your thoughts. 'Tis time
to see her;
'Tis time you should prepare the nuptial rites,
And not rely upon a rival's care:
It may be dangerous.
Ungovern'd temper would not let me weigh
The importance of your embassy, and hear
You argue for my good. I was to blame.
I since have pois'd your reasons: and I thank
My good allies: their care deserves my thanks.
You have convinc'd me, that the weal of Greece,
My father's honour, and my own repose,
Demand that Hector's race should be destroy'd.
I shall deliver up Astyanax,
And you yourself shall bear the victim hence. What is't to you, be she enrag'd or pleas'd?
Ores. If you approve it, sir, and are content Let her name perish-think of her no more
To spill the blood of a defenceless child, Pyr. No, Phoenix, I have been too gentle
The offended Greeks, no doubt, will be appeas'd.
with her;
Pyr. But tell me, Phoenix,
Dost thou not think the proud Andromache
Will be enrag'd, when I shall wed the princess?
Phoe. Why does Andromache still haunt
your thoughts?
sentment:
She knows not yet to what degree I hate her.
Let us return. I'll brave her to her face:
I'll give my anger its free course against her.
Thou shalt see, Phoenix, how I'll break her pride.
Phoe. Oh, go not, sir! There's ruin in her
eyes!
Pyr. Closer to strain the knot of our alliance, I have check'd my wrath, and stifled my re-
I have determin'd to espouse Hermione.
You come in time to grace our nuptial rites:
In you the kings of Greece will all be present,
And you
have right to personate her father,
As his ambassador and brother's son.
Go, prince, renew your visit; tell Hermione,
To-morrow I receive her from your hands.
Ores. Oh, change of fortune! Oh, undone You do not know your strength. You'll fall
Orestes! [Aside, and exit.
before her,
Pyr. Well, Phoenix! am I still a slave to love? Adore her beauty, and revive her scorn.
What think'st thou now? Am I myself again?
Phoe. 'Tis as it should be; this discovers
Pyrrhus;
Shows all the hero: now you are yourself-
The son, the rival of the great Achilles !
Greece will applaud you, and the world confess
Pyrrhus has conquer'd Troy a second time!
Pyr. Nay, Phoenix, now I but begin to
triumph;
I never was a conqueror till now.
Believe me, a whole host, a war of foes,
May sooner be subdu'd than love. Oh, Phoenix!
What ruin have I shunn'd? The Greeks, enrag'd,
Hung o'er me like a gathering storm, and soon
Had burst in thunder on my head; while I
Abandon'd duty, empire, honour, all,
To please a thankless woman! - One kind look
Had quite undone me!
Phoe. O, my royal master!
The gods, in favour to you, made her cruel.
Pyr. Thou saw'st with how much scorn she
treated me!
When I permitted her to see her son,
I hop'd it might have work'd her to my wishes;
Pyr. That were indeed a most unmanly
weakness!
Thou dost not know me, Phoenix.
Phoe. Ah, my prince!
You are still struggling in the toils of love.
Pyr. Canst thou then think I love this
woman still?
One who repays my passion with disdain!
A stranger, captive, friendless and forlorn;
She and her darling son within my power;
Her life a forfeit to the Greeks: yet I
Preserve her son, would take her to my throne,
Would fight her battles, and avenge her wrongs;
And all this while she treats me as her foe!
Phoe. You have it in your power to be
reveng'd.
Pyr. Yes, and I'll show my power! I'll give
her cause
To hate me! her Astyanax shall die.
What tears will then be shed! How will she then
In bitterness of heart reproach my name!
Then, to complete her woes, will I espouse
Hermione-'twill stab her to the heart!
Phoe. Alas, you threaten like a lover still!

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
151
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
Pyr. Phoenix, excuse this struggle of my soul;
'Tis the last effort of expiring love.
Phoe. Then hasten, sir, to see the Spartan
princess,
And turn the bent of your desires on her.
Pyr. Oh! 'tis a heavy task to conquer love,
And wean the soul from her accustom'd fondness.
But come-a long farewell to Hector's widow.
'Tis with a secret pleasure I look back,
And see the many dangers I have pass'd.
The merchant thus, in dreadful tempests tost,
Thrown by the waves on some unlook'd-for coast,
Oft turns, and sees, with a delighted eye,
Midst rocks and shelves the broken billows fly!
And,while the outrageous winds the deep deform,
Smiles on the tumult, and enjoys the storm.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter PYLADES and ORESTES.
Pyl. For heaven's sake, sir, compose your
ruffled mind,
And moderate your rage!
Ores. No, Pylades,
desperate.
This is no time for counsel. I am deaf.
Talk not of reason. I have been too patient.
Life is not worth my care. My soul grows
I'll bear her off, or perish in th' attempt.
I'll force her from his arms-by heaven, I will!
Pyl. Well, 'tis agreed, my friend- we'll
force her hence:
But still consider we are in Epirus.
The court, the guards, Hermione herself,
The very air we breathe, belongs to Pyrrhus. I
Good gods! what tempted you to seek her here?
Ores. Lost to myself, I knew not what I did;
My purposes were wild. Perhaps I came
To menace Pyrrhus, and upbraid the woman.
Pyl. This violence of temper may prove fatal.
Ores. It must be more than man to bear
these shocks,
These outrages of fate, with temper.
He tells me that he weds Hermione,
And will to-morrow take her from my hand!
My hand shall sooner tear the tyrant's heart.
Pyl. Your passion blinds you, sir; he's not
to blame.
Could you but look into the soul of Pyrrhus,
Perhaps you'll find it tortur'd like your own.
Ores. No, Pylades! 'tis all design. His pride,
To triumph over me, has chang'd his love.
The fair Hermione, before I came,
Pyl. Will then Orestes turn a ravisher,
And blot his embassy?
Ores. O, Pylades!
My grief weighs heavy on me-'twill distract me!
The gods have set me as their mark, to empty
Their quivers on me. Leave me to myself.
Mine be the danger, mine the enterprize.
All I request of thee, is to return,
And in my place convey Astyanax
(As Pyrrhus has consented) into Greece.
Go, Pylades
Pyl. Lead on, my friend, lead on!
Let us bear off Hermione! No toil,
No danger can deter a friend. Lead on!
Draw up the Greeks, summon your num'rous
train;
The ships are ready, and the wind sits fair:
There eastward lies the sea; the rolling waves
Break on those palace-stairs. I know each pass,
Each avenue and outlet of the court.
This very night we'll carry her on board.
Ores. Thou art too good! I trespass on thy
friendship:
But, oh! excuse a wretch, whom no man pities,
Except thyself: one, just about to lose
The treasure of his soul: whom all mankind
Conspire to hate, and one who hates himself.
When will my friendship be of use to thee?
Pyl. The question is unkind.
But now,
remember,
To keep your counsels close, aud hide your
thoughts;
Let not Hermione suspect. No more-
I see her coming, sir.
Ores. Away, my friend;
am advis'd; my all depends upon it.
[Exit Pylades.
Enter HERMIONE and CLEONE.
Madam, your orders are obey'd; I have seen
Pyrrhus, my rival; and have gain'd him for you.
The king resolves to wed you.
Her. So I am told;
And, further, I am inform'd, that you, Orestes,
Are to dispose me for the intended marriage.
Ores. And are you, madam, willing to comply?
Her. What can I do? alas! my faith is
promis'd:
Can I refuse what is not mine to give?
A princess is not at her choice to love;
All we have left us is a blind obedience:
And yet you see how far I had comply'd,
And made my duty yield to your entreaties.
Ores. Ah, cruel maid! you knew-but I
have done.
In all her bloom of beauty, was neglected.
Ah, cruel gods! I thought her all my own!
She was consenting to return to Sparta:
Her heart, divided betwixt rage and love,
Was on the wing to take its leave of Pyrrhus.
She heard my sighs, she pitied my complaints, But, madam, I shall spare you further pain
She prais'd my constancy. The least indifference On this uneasy theme, and take my leave.
From this proud king, had made Orestes happy!
Pyl. So your fond heart believes!
Think not to force her hence;
All have a right to please themselves in love.
I blame you not. 'Tis true, I hop'd- but you
Are mistress of your heart, and I'm content.
Tis fortune is my enemy, not you.
But fly yourself from her destructive charms,
Ores. Talk no more!
I cannot bear the thought! She must be mine!
Did Pyrrhus carry thunder in his hand,
I'd stand the bolt, and challenge all his fury,
Ere I resign Hermione. By force
I'll snatch her hence, and bear her to my ships.
Have we forgot her mother Helen's rape?
[Exit.
Her. Cleone, couldst thou think he'd be so
calm?
Cle. Madam, his silent grief sits heavy on him,
He is to be pitied. His too eager love
Has made him busy to his own destruction.
His threats have wrought this change of mind
in Pyrrhus.
Her. Dost thou think Pyrrhus capable of fear?
Whom should the intrepid Pyrrhus fear? The
Greeks?

152
[ACT III.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
Did he not lead their harass'd troops to conquest,
When they despair'd, when they retir'd from
Troy,
And sought for shelter in their burning fleets?
Did he not then supply his father's place?
No, my Cleone, he is above constraint;
He acts unforc'd; and where he weds, he loves.
Cle. Oh, that Orestes had remain'd in Greece!
I fear to-morrow will prove fatal to him.
Her. Wilt thou discourse of nothing but
Orestes?
Pyrrhus is mine again! Is mine for ever!
Oh, my Cleone, I am wild with joy!
Pyrrhus, the bold, the brave, the godlike Pyrrhus!
Oh, I could tell thee numberless exploits,
And tire thee with his battles. Oh, Cleone-
Cle. Madam, conceal your joy-I see An-
dromache-
She weeps, and comes to speak her sorrows
to you.
Her. I would indulge the gladness of my
heart!
Let us retire-Her grief is out of season.
Enter ANDRO MACHE and CEPHISA.
Andro. Ah, madam! whither, whither do
you fly?
Where can your eyes behold a sight more
pleasing
Phoe. I thought so, sir.
Andro. Thou seest what mighty power my
eyes have on him!
[To Cephisa.
Pyr. What says she, Phoenix?
Andro. I have no hope left!
Phoe. Let us be gone-Hermione expects you.
Ceph. For heaven's sake, madam, break this
sullen silence.
Apart.
Andro. My child's already promis'd. [Apart.
Ceph. But not given,
Andro. No, no!-My tears are vain! - His
doom is fix'd!
[Apart.
Pyr. See if she deigns to cast one look upon us.
Proud woman!
Andro. I provoke him by my presence.
Let us retire.
Pyr. Come, let us satisfy
The Greeks, and give them up this Phrygian boy.
Andro. Ah, sir, recall those words!-What
have you said?
If you give up
You, who so
my son, oh, give up me!
many times have sworn me
friendship,
Oh, heavens! will you not look with pity on me?
Is there no hope? Is there no room for pardon?
Pyr. Phoenix will answer you - my word
is pass'd.
Andro. You, who would brave so many
dangers for me.
Pyr. I was your lover then, I now am free.
favour you, I might have spar'd his life;
But you would ne'er vouchsafe to ask it of me.
Now 'tis too late.
Andro. Oh, sir, excuse
The pride of royal blood, that checks my soul,
And knows not how to be importunate.
You know, alas! I was not born to kneel,
To sue for pity, and to own a master.
Pyr. No, in your heart you curse me! you
disdain
My gen'rous flame, and scorn to be oblig'd.
But I shall leave you to your great resentments.
Let us go, Phoenix, and appease the Greeks.
Andro. Then let me die, and let me go to
Hector.
Than Hector's widow, suppliant and in tears?
I come not an alarm'd, a jealous foe,
To envy you the heart your charms have won-To
The only man I sought to please, is gone;
Kill'd in my sight, by an inhuman hand.
Hector first taught me love; which my fond heart
Shall ever cherish, till we meet in death.
But, oh, I have a son! And you, one day,
Will be no stranger to a mother's fondness:
But heaven forbid that you should ever know
A mother's sorrow for an only son,
Her joy, her bliss, her last surviving comfort!
When every hour she trembles for his life!
Your power o'er Pyrrhus may relieve my fears.
Alas, what danger is there in a child,
Sav'd from the wreck of a whole ruin'd empire?
Let me go hide him in some desert isle:
You may rely upon my tender care
To keep him far from perils of ambition:
All he can learn of me will be to weep!
Her. Madam, 'tis easy to conceive your grief;
But it would ill become me to solicit
In contradiction to my father's will:
"Tis he who urges to destroy your son.
Madam, if Pyrrhus must be wrought to pity,
No woman does it better than yourself.
If you gain him, I shall comply of course.
[Exit with Cleone.
Andro. Didst thou not mind with what
disdain she spoke?
Youth and prosperity have made her vain;
She has not seen the fickle turns of life.
Ceph. Madam, were I as you I'd take her
counsel;
Ceph. But, madam-
Andro. What can I do more? The tyrant
Sees my distraction, and insults my tears.
[To Cephisa.
Behold, how low you have reduc'd a queen!
These eyes have seen my country laid in ashes,
My kindred fall in war, my father slain,
My husband dragg'd in his own blood, my son
Condemn'd to bondage, and myself a slave;
Yet, in the midst of these unheard-of woes,
Twas some relief to find myself your captive;
And that my son, deriv'd from ancient kings,
Since he must serve, had Pyrrhus for his master.
When Priam kneel'd, the great Achilles wept:
I hop'd I should not find his son less noble.
I thought the brave were still the more com-
passionate.
I'll speak my own distress: one look from you Oh, do not, sir, divide me from my child!
Will vanquish Pyrrhus, and confound the If he must die-
Greeks-
See, where he comes. Lay hold on this occasion.
Enter PYRRHUS and PHOENIX.
Pyr. Where is the princess? Did you not
Hermione was here?
[To Phoenix.
inform me
Pyr. Phoenix, withdraw awhile.
[Exit Phoenix.
Rise, madam. Yet you may preserve your son.
I find, whenever I provoke your tears,
I furnish you with arms against myself.
I thought my hatred fix'd before I saw you.
Oh, turn your eyes upon me while I speak!

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
153
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
And see if you discover in my looks
An angry judge, or an obdurate foe.
Why will you force me to desert your cause?
In your son's name I beg we may be friends!
Think, oh think,
Oh, my dead lord! Oh, Priam's royal house!
Oh, my Astyanax! at what a price
Thy mother buys thee!-Let us go.
Ceph. But whither?
And what does your unsettled heart resolve?
Andro. Come, my Cephisa, let us go together
To the sad monument which I have rais'd
To Hector's shade; where, in their sacred urn,
The ashes of my hero lie enclos'd,
(Tis the last time) you both may yet be happy!
I know the ties I break, the foes I arm;
I wrong Hermione; I send her hence;
And with her diadem I bind your brows.
Consider well; for 'tis of moment to you. The dear remains which I have sav'd from Troy;
Choose to be wretched, madam, or a queen. There let me weep, there summon to my aid,
I leave you to your thoughts. When I return, With pious rites, my Hector's awful shade;
We'll to the temple. There you'll find your son; Let him be witness to my doubts, my fears;
And there be crown'd, or give him up for ever. My agonizing heart, my flowing tears:
[Exit. Oh! may he rise in pity from his tomb,
Ceph. I told you, madam, that, in spite of And fix his wretched son's uncertain doom.
[Exeunt.
Greece,
You would o'errule the malice of your fortune.
Andro. Alas, Cephisa, what have I obtain'd?
Only a poor short respite for my son.
Ceph. You have enough approv'd your faith
to Hector;
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Enter HERMIONE and CLEONE.
Cle. This unexpected silence, this reserve,
This outward calm, this settled frame of mind,
After such wrongs and insults, much surprise me!
Pyr-You, who before could not command your rage,
When Pyrrhus look'd but kindly on his captive;
How can you bear unmov'd, that he should
wed her,
To be reluctant still would be a crime.
He would himself persuade you to comply
Andro. How! wouldst thou give me
rhus for a husband?
Ceph. Think you 'twill please the ghost of
your dead husband,
That you should sacrifice his son? Consider,
Pyrrhus once more invites you to a throne;
Turns all his power against the foes of Troy,
Remembers not Achilles was his father,
Retracts his conquests, and forgets his hatred.
Andro. But how can I forget it? how can I
Forget my Hector, treated with dishonour,
Depriv'd of funeral rites, and vilely dragg'd,
A bloody corpse, about the walls of Troy?
Can I forget the good old king, his father,
Slain in my presence- at the altar slain;
Which vainly for protection he embrac'd?
Hast thou forgot that dreadful night, Cephisa,
When a whole people fell? Methinks I see
Pyrrhus, enrag'd and breathing vengeance, enter
Amidst the glare of burning palaces:
I see him hew his passage through my brothers,
And, bath'd in blood, lay all my kindred waste.
Think, in this scene of horror, what I suffer'd!
This is the courtship I receiv'd from Pyrrhus;
And this the husband thou wouldst give me! No,
We both will perish first! I'll ne'er consent.
Ceph. Since you resolve Astyanax shall die,
Haste to the temple, bid your son farewell.
Why do you tremble, madam?
Andro. O Cephisa!
Thou hast awaken'd all the mother in me.
How can I bid farewell to the dear child,
The pledge, the image of my much-lov'd lord!
But, oh! while I deliberate, he dies.
No, no, thou must not die, while I can save thee:
Oh! let me find out Pyrrhus-Oh, Cephisa!
Do you go find him.
Ceph. What must I say to him?
Andro. Tell him I love my son to such
excess
But dost thou think he means the child shall die?
Can love rejected turn to so much rage?
Ceph. Madam, he'll soon be here. Resolve
on something.
Andro. Well then, assure him.
Ceph. Madam, of your love?
Andro. Alas, thou know'st that is not in my
power.
And seat her on a throne which you should fill?
I fear this dreadful stillness in your soul!
Twere better, madam-
Her. Have you call'd Orestes?
Cle. Madam, I have; his love is too impatient
Not to obey with speed the welcome summons.
His love-sick heart o'erlooks his unkind usage:
His ardour's still the same.-Madam, he's here.
Enter ORESTES.
Ores. Ah, madam, is it true? does then Orestes
At length attend you by your own commands?
What can I do?
Her. Orestes, do you love me?
Ores. What means that question, princess?
Do I love you?
My oaths, my perjuries, my hopes, my fears,
My farewell, my return-all speak my love.
Her. Avenge my wrongs, and I'll believe
them all.
Ores. It shall be done. My soul has caught
th' alarm.
We'll spirit up the Greeks; I'll lead them on:
Your cause shall animate our fleets and armies.
Let us return; let us not lose a moment,
But urge the fate of this devoted land:
Let us depart.
Her. No, prince, let us stay here!
I will have vengeance here; I will not carry
This load of infamy to Greece, not trust
The chance of war to vindicate my wrongs.
Ere I depart, I'll make Epirus mourn.
If
you avenge me, let it be this instant;
My rage brooks no delay; haste to the temple,
Haste, prince, and sacrifice him.
Ores. Whom?
Her. Why, Pyrrhus.
Ores. Pyrrhus! Did you say Pyrrhus?
Her. You demur.
Oh, fly! be gone! give me not time to think.
Talk not of laws-he tramples on all laws.
Let me not hear him justified-away!
Ores. You cannot think I'll justify my rival.
Madam, your love has made him criminal,
20

154
[ACT IV.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
too:
You shall have vengeance; I'll have vengeance Charge him to say, Hermione's resentments,
Not those of Greece, have sentenc'd him to death.
Haste, my Cleone! My revenge is lost,
If Pyrrhus knows not that he dies by me!
Cle. I shall obey your orders.-But I see
The king approach.-Who could expect him
But let our hatred be profess'd and open:
Let us alarm all Greece, denounce a war;
Let us attack him in his strength, and hunt
him down
By conquest. Should I turn base assassin,
'Twould sully all the kings I represent.
here?
Her. O fly, Cleone, fly! and bid Orestes
Her.Have not I been dishonour'd, set at nought, Not to proceed a step before I see him.
Expos'd to public scorn?-And will you suffer
The tyrant, who dares use me thus, to live?
Know, prince, I hate him more than once I lov'd
him.
[Exit Cleone.
Enter PYRRHUS.
Pyr. Madam, I ought to shun an injur'd
princess.
The gods alone can tell how once I lov'd him.
Yes, the false, perjur'd man, I once did love him; Your distant looks reproach me; and I come
And, spite of all his crimes and broken vows, Not to defend, but to avow my guilt.
If he should live, I may relapse-who knows Pyrrhus will ne'er approve his own injustice,
But I to-morrow may forgive his wrongs? Nor form excuses while his heart condemns him.
Ores. First let me tear him piecemeal. He
shall die.
But, madam, give me leisure to contrive
The place, the time, the manner of his death:
Yet I'm a stranger in the court of Pyrrhus;
Scarce have I set my foot within Epirus,
When you enjoin me to destroy the prince.
It shall be done this very night.
Her. But now,
This very hour, he weds Andromache;
The temple shines with pomp, the golden throne
Is now prepar'd, the joyful rites begin;
My shame is public-Oh, be speedy, prince!
My wrath's impatient-Pyrrhus lives too long!
Intent on love, and heedless of his person,
He covers with his guards the Trojan boy.
Now is the time; assemble all your Greeks;
Mine shall assist them; let their fury loose:
Already they regard him as a foe.
Be gone, Orestes! kill the faithless tyrant;
My love shall recompense the glorious deed.
Ores. Consider, madam-
Her. You but mock my rage!
Discharge your anger on this perjur'd man!
For I abhor my crime, and should be pleas'd
To hear you speak your wrongs aloud: no terms,
No bitterness of wrath, nor keen reproach,
Will equal half the upbraidings of my heart.
Her. I find, sir, you can be sincere: you scorn
To act your crimes with fear, like other men.
A hero should be bold, above all laws;
Be bravely false, and laugh at solemn ties.
To be perfidious shows a daring mind!
And you have nobly triumph'd o'er a maid!
To court me-to reject me-to return-
Then to forsake me for a Phrygian slave-
To lay proud Troy in ashes; then to raise
The son of Hector, and renounce the Greeks,
Are actions worthy the great soul of Pyrrhus!
Pyr. Madam, go on! Give your resentment
birth,
And pour forth all your indignation on me.
Her. 'Twould please your queen, should I
upbraid your falsehood;
Call you perfidious, traitor, all the names
That injur'd virgins lavish on your sex;
I should o'erflow with tears, and die with grief,
And furnish out a tale to sooth her pride;
But, sir, I would not overcharge her joys.
If you would charm Andromache, recount
Your bloody battles, your exploits, your
slaughters,
I was contriving how to make you happy.
Think you to merit by your idle sighs,
And not attest your love by one brave action?
Go, with your boasted constancy! and leave
Hermione to execute her own revenge.
I blush to think how my too easy faith
Has twice been baffled in one shameful hour! Your great achievements in her father's palace.
Ores. Hear me but speak! - You know I'll She needs must love the man, who fought so
die to serve you!
bravely,
Her. I'll go myself; I'll stab him at the altar; And in her sight slew half her royal kindred!
Then drive the poniard, reeking with his blood, Pyr. With horror I look back on my past
Through my own heart. In death we shall unite.
deeds!
Better to die with him, than live with you! I punish'd Helen's wrongs too far; I shed
Ores. That were to make him blest, and Too much of blood: but, madam, Helen's
me more wretched.
daughter
Madam, he dies by me., Have you a foe,
And shall I let him live? My rival too!
Ere yon meridian sun declines, he dies;
And you shall say that I deserve your love.
Her. Go, prince; strike home! and leave the
rest to me.
Let all your ships stand ready for our flight.
[Exit Orestes.
Cle. Madam, you'll perish in this bold attempt.
Her. Give me my vengeance, I'm content
to perish.
I was to blame to trust it with another:
In my own hands it had been more secure.
Orestes hates not Pyrrhus as I hate him.
Ob, would Orestes, when he gives the blow,
Tell him he dies my victim!-Haste, Cleone,
Should not object those ills the mother caus'd.
However, I'm pleas'd to find you hate me;
I was too forward to accuse myself;
The man who ne'er was lov'd, can ne'er be false.
Obedience to a father brought you hither;
And I stood bound by promise to receive you:
But our desires were different ways inclin'd;
And you, I own, were not oblig'd to love me.
Her.Have I not lov'd you then! perfidious man?
For you I slighted all the Grecian princes;
Forsook my father's house; conceal'd my wrongs,
When most provok'd; would not return to
Sparta,
In hopes that time might fix your wavering heart.
I lov'd you when inconstant; and even now,
Inhuman king! that you pronounce my death

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
155
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
My heart still doubts if I should love or hate you-And call him to this hated light again,
But, oh, since you resolve to wed another,
Defer your cruel purpose till to-morrow,
That I may not be here to grace your triumph!
This is the last request I e'er shall make you.
See, if the barbarous prince vouchsafes an
answer!
To see Andromache in Pyrrhus' arms?
Would Hector, were he living, and I dead,
Forget Andromache, and wed her foe?
Ceph. I cannot guess what drift your thoughts
Go, then, to the lov'd Phrygian; hence! be gone!
And bear to her those vows that once were mine:
Go, in defiance to the avenging gods!
Be gone! the priest expects you at the altar;
But, tyrant, have a care I come not thither. [Exit.
Enter PHOENIX.
pursue;
But, oh, I fear there's something dreadful in it!
Must then Astyanax be doom'd to die,
And you to linger out a life in bondage?
Andro. Know then the secret purpose of
my soul:
Andromache will not be false to Pyrrhus,
Nor violate her sacred love to Hector.
This hour I'll meet the king; the holy priest
Phoe. Sir, did you mind her threats? your Shall join us, and confirm our mutual vows.
life's in danger:
There is no trifling with a woman's rage.
The Greeks that swarm about the court, all
hate you;
Will treat you as their country's enemy,
And join in her revenge: besides, Orestes
Still loves her to distraction. Sir, I beg -
Pyr. How, Phoenix, should I fear a wo-
man's threats?
This will secure a father to my child:
That done, I have no further use for life:
This pointed dagger, this determin'd hand,
Shall save my virtue, and conclude my woes.
Cephisa, thou
Wilt lend a hand to close thy mistress' eyes.
Ceph. Oh, never think that I will stay behind
you!
Andro. No, my Cephisa, I must have thee live.
A nobler passion takes up all my thoughts: I must commit into thy faithful hands
I must prepare to meet Andromache. All that is dear and precious to my soul.
Do thou place all my guards about her son: Live, and supply my absence to my child;
If he be safe, Pyrrhus is free from fear. [Exit. All that remains of Troy; a future progeny
Phoe. Oh, Pyrrhus! oh, what pity 'tis, the gods, Of heroes, and a distant line of kings,
Who fill'd thy soul with every kingly virtue, In him, is all intrusted to thy care.
Form'd thee for empire and consummate Tell him my soul repos'd itself on him,
When I resign'd my son to his protection.
Ceph. Oh, for a spirit to support my grief!
Is there aught more, before you go for ever?
Andro. Oh, my Cephisa! my swoln heart
is full!
I have a thousand farewells to my son-
greatness,
Should leave thee so expos'd to wild desires,
That hurry thee beyond the bounds of reason!
[Flourish.
But see, the queen,
Magnificent in royal pride, appears.
Enter ANDROMACHE and CEPHISA.
Ceph. Madam, once more you look
move a queen.
and
Your sorrows are dispers'd, your charms revive,
And every faded beauty blooms anew.
Andro. Yet all is not as I could wish, Cephisa.
Ceph. You see the king is watchful o'er
I must obey, and guard her son from danger. But tears break in! Grief interrupts my speech!
[Exit. My soul o'erflows in fondness! Let him know
I died to save him-and would die again.
Season his mind with early hints of glory;
Make him acquainted with his ancestors;
Trace out their shining story in his thoughts;
Dwell on the exploits of his immortal father;
And sometimes let him hear his mother's name.
He must be taught to stifle his resentments,
And sacrifice his vengeance to his safety.
Should he prove headstrong, rash, or unadvis'd,
He then will frustrate all his mother's virtue,
Provoke his fate, and I shall die in vain.
Ceph. Alas, I fear I never shall outlive you!
Andro. No more; thy tears, Cephisa, will
betray me;
your son;
Decks him with princely robes, with guards
surrounds him.
Astyanax begins to reign already.
Andro. Pyrrhus is nobly minded; and I fain
Would live to thank him for Astyanax:
'Tis a vain thought. However, since my child
Has such a friend, I ought not to repine.
Ceph. These dark unfoldings of your soul
perplex me.
For heaven's sake, madam, let me know your
griefs.
If you distrust my faith-
Andro. That were to wrong thee.
Oh, my Cephisa! This gay, borrow'd air,
This blaze of jewels, and this bridal dress,
Are but mock trappings, to conceal my woe:
My heart still mourns; I still am Hector's widow.
Ceph. Will you then break the promise
giv'n to Pyrrhus,
Blow up his rage again, and blast your hopes?
Andro. I thought, Cephisa, thou hadst known
thy mistress.
Couldst thou believe I would be false to Hector?
Fall off from such a husband! Break his rest,
Assume a cheerful look. But still remember-
[Flourish within.
Hark how the trumpet, with its sprightly notes,
Proclaims th' appointed hour, and calls us hence:
Hector, I come once more a queen, to join thee!
Thus the gay victim, with fresh garlands crown'd,
Pleas'd with the sacred fife's enlivening sound,
Through gazing crowds,in solemn state proceeds,
And dress'd in fatal pomp magnificently bleeds.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter HERMIONE.
Her. What have I done? Where am I?
Where is Pyrrhus?
Ye gods! what mean these horrors? I'm undone
My soul is on the rack! I cannot bear it
Why do I wander like some guilty ghost?

156
[ACT V.
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
What brought me to this place? What keeps
me here?
Her. No; I'll avenge myself; I'll to the temple;
I'll overturn the altar, stab the priest;
I'll hurl destruction, like a whirlwind, round me!
They must not wed! they must not live! they
shall not!
The court of Pyrrhus has no room for me!
Do I still doubt if I should love or hate him?
Hard-hearted man! how unconcern'd he left me!
Did he once sigh? bestow one pitying look? Let me be gone; I have no time to lose;
Once shed a tear? or speak one soft, kind word? Stand off! hold me not! I am all distraction!
Did he so much as feign one moment's sorrow, O Pyrrhus! tyrant! traitor! thou shalt bleed.
To calm my grief, and mitigate his falsehood?
Why am I still thus anxious for his life?
Why do I start at his impending fate?
Shall he then live? Shall the base traitor live
To laugh at my distress? No, let him perish!
Be quick, Orestes! Execute my orders!
Alas! my orders! Oh, preposterous guilt!
Can I decree the death of him I love?
Was it for this my soul delighted in him?
Was it for this I left my father's court?
Have I then cross'd so many realms and seas
To murder Pyrrhus?
Enter CLEONE.
Oh, Cleone, help me!
What have I done? Is Pyrrhus yet alive?
What say'st thou? Answer me. Where is
the king?
Cle. Madam, I saw the cruel prince set forward,
Triumphant in his looks, and full of joy.
Still as he walk'd, his ravish'd eyes were fix'd
On the fair captive; while through shouting
crowds
Enter ORESTES.
Ores. Madam, 'tis done: your orders are
obey'd:
The tyrant lies expiring at the altar.
Her. Is Pyrrhus slain?
Ores. Even now he gasps in death.
Our Greeks, all undistinguish'd in the crowd,
Flock'd to the temple and dispers'd themselves
On every side the altar: I was there:
Pyrrhus observ'd me with a haughty eye,
And, proud to triumph over Greece in me,
From his own brows he took the diadem,
And bound it on the temples of his captive.
Receive, said he, my crown; receive my faith;
Mine and my people's sovereign reign for ever.
From this blest hour, a father to your son,
I'll scourge his foes: henceforward be he styl'd
The Trojan king: I swear it at the altar,
And call the gods to ratify my vows.
His subjects with loud acclamations shook
The spacious dome! our Greeks enrag'd cry'd out
"Revenge! revenge!" broke through the throng-
ing press,
She pass'd along with a dejected air,
And seem'd to mourn her Hector to the last.
Her. Insulting tyrant! I shall burst with rage! And rush'd tumultuous on the unguarded king.
But say, Cleone, didst thou mark him well? Pyrrhus awhile oppos'd their clashing swords,
Was his brow smooth? Say, did there not appear And dealt his fatal blows on every side
Some shade of grief? some little cloud of sorrow? With manly fierceness; till oppress'd by
Did he not stop? Did he not once look back?
Didst thou approach him? Was he not con- Streaming with blood, all over gash'd with
founded?
Did he not-Oh, be quick, and tell me all!
Cle. Madam, the tumult of his joy admits
No thought but love. Unguarded he march'd on,
'Midst a promiscuous throng of friends and foes,
His cares all turn upon Astyanax,
Whom he has lodg'd within the citadel,
Defended by the strength of all his guards.
Her. Enough! he dies! the traitor! Where's
Orestes?
Cle. He's in the temple, with his whole retinue.
Her. Is he still resolute? Is he still determin'd?
Cle. Madam, I fear
Her. How? Is Orestes false?
Does he betray me too?
Cle. A thousand doubts
Perplex his soul, and wound him with remorse;
His virtue and his love prevail by turns.
He told me Pyrrhus should not fall ignobly;
Pyrrhus, the warlike son of great Achilles,
He dreads the censure of the Grecian states,
Of all mankind, and fears to stain his honour.
Her. Poor tim'rous wretch! 'tis false! he
basely fears
numbers,
wounds,
He reel'd, he groan'd, and at the altar fell.
Haste, madam, let us fly! haste to our ships!
They lie unmoor'd: our friends attend us there.
Her. What have they done?
I
Ores. Madam, forgive their rage.
own your vengeance had been more complete
Had Pyrrhus fall'n by me; and had he known
Hermione chastis'd him by my arm.
Her. Peace, monster, peace! Go tell thy
horrid tale
To savages, and howl it out in deserts.
Wouldst thou impute to me thy barbarous guilt?
Me wouldst thou make th' accomplice of thy
crimes?
Hence, to thy Greeks, and boast thy foul ex-
ploits!
My soul abhors them! I disclaim the deed.
Be gone! I know thee not, thou fell barbarian!
What had he done? What could provoke thy
madness
To assassinate so great, so brave a man?
Who set thee on?
Ores. Oh, grant me patience, heaven!
To cope with dangers, and encounter death! With your own lips did you not curse the tyrant,
'Tis that he fears. Am I bright Helen's daughter? Pronounce his death, and urge me to destroy
To vindicate her wrongs all Greece conspir'd;
For her confederate nations fought, and kings
were slain;
Troy was o'erthrown, and a whole empire fell.
My eyes want force to raise a lover's arm
Against a tyrant that has dar'd to wrong me!
Cle. Madam, like Helen, trust your cause
to Greece.
him?
Her. What if, transported by my boundless
passion,
I could not bear to see him wed another,
Were you t' obey a jealous woman's frenzy?
You should have div'd into my inmost thoughts:
My heart, though full of rage, was free from
malice;

SCENE 1.]
157
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
And all my anger was excess of love.
Why did you take me at my word? You saw
The struggles of my soul; you heard me rave:
You should have question'd me a thousand times,
Yet still have doubted, and have question'd on,
Before you ventur'd on a life so precious.
Ores. Hear me but speak. Heaven knows,
against my will-
Her. Why did you not return? Why not
consult me
A second time? and, undetermin'd still,
Again return, and still find new delays?
What had your rash officious Greeks, dire
bloodhounds!
To do with my revenge? What drew you hither?
To bring on me the vengeful foes that haunt you?
Are these the fruits of your detested love?
Your fatal embassy, your hateful presence
Drove Pyrrhus to my rival, and destroys
Both him and me. He might have lov'd me still,
Had you ne'er interpos'd. Avaunt! be gone!
And leave me in Epirus. I renounce
My friends, my country, Greece, and all
mankind:
But chiefly I renounce thee! monster, thee!
[Exit.
Ores. Am I awake? where am I? Soft,
my soul:
Be not too rash. Was that Hermione?
Why should her anger thunder against me?
Was not this blood shed all by her command?
I am indeed a most outrageous monster!
A ruffian, murderer, a base assassin!
And all to please a false ungrateful woman.
Henceforward let the laws of nature cease;
And let the pale that severs right and wrong,
Things sacred and profane, be broken down;
Gods in their temples, kings upon their thrones,
Are not in safety while Orestes lives.
Oh, never more shall my torn mind be heal'd,
Nor taste the gentle comforts of repose!
A dreadful band of gloomy cares surround me,
And lay strong siege to my distracted soul.
Enter PYLADES, attended by Greeks.
Pyl. Haste, prince; let us be gone: 'tis death
to stay.
Andromache reigns queen: she gives the alarm,
And vows revenge upon the foes of Pyrrhus.
The people arm and muster in the streets:
Our Greeks will not he able long to guard
The palace gates, and to secure our flight.
We must be speedy, sir."
Ores. You may depart,
My friends: Hermione and I remain.
Her cruelty has quite undone me. Go.
Pyl. Alas, unhappy princess! she's no more.
Ores. Hermione no more! O, all ye powers!
Pyl. Full of disorder, wildness in her looks,
With hands expanded, and dishevell'd hair,
Breathless and pale, with shrieks she sought
the temple;
A dreadful instance of your power to punish.
I'm singled out to bear the wrath of heaven.
Pyl. You hazard your retreat by these delays.
The guards will soon beset us. Your complaints
Are vain, and may be fatal.
Ores. True, my friend:
And therefore 'twas I thank'd the bounteous gods.
My fate's accomplish'd; I shall die content.
Oh, bear me hence. Blow winds!
Pyl. Let us be gone.
Ores. The murder'd lovers wait me. Hark!
they call.
Nay, if your blood still reeks, I'll mingle mine;
One tomb will hold us all.
Pyl. Alas! I fear
His raving will return with his misfortunes.
Ores. I am dizzy! Clouds! Quite lost in
utter darkness!
Guide me, some friendly pilot! through the storm.
I shiver! Oh, I freeze! So-light returns;
'Tis the grey dawn. See, Pylades! behold,
I am encompass'd with a sea of blood!
The crimson billows! Oh, my brain's on fire!
Pyl. How is it, sir? Repose yourself on me.
Ores. Pyrrhus, what wouldst thou? How
he glares!
What envious hand has clos'd thy wounds?
Have at thee.
It is Hermione that strikes. Confusion!
She catches Pyrrhus in her arms. Oh, save me!
How terrible she looks! She knits her brow;
She frowns me dead; she frights me into madness.
Where am I? Who are you?
Pyl. Alas, poor prince!
Help to support him. How he pants for breath!
Ores. This is most kind, my Pylades. Oh, why,
Why was I born to give thee endless trouble?
Pyl. All will go well: he settles into reason.
Ores. Who talks of reason? Better to have
none,
Than not enough. Run, some one, tell my Greeks
I will not have them touch the king. Now, now!
I blaze again! See there: look where they come;
A shoal of furies. How they swarm about me!
My terror! Hide me! Oh, their snaky locks!
Hark,how they hiss! See,see their flaming brands!
Now they let drive at me! How they grin,
And shake their iron whips! My ears! what
yelling!
And see, Hermione! she sets them on.
Thrust not your scorpions thus into my bosom!
Oh, I am stung to death! Dispatch me soon!
There-take my heart, Hermione! Tear it out!
Disjoint me! kill me! Oh, my tortur'd soul!
Pyl. Kind heaven, restore him to his wonted
calm!
Oft have I seen him rave, but never thus.
Quite spent! Assist me, friends, to bear him off.
Our time is short: should his strong rage return,
Twould be beyond our power to force him hence.
Away, my friends! I hear the portal open.
[Exeunt.
In the mid-way she met the corpse of Pyrrhus: Enter PHOENIX, attended by Guards.
She startled at the sight; then, stiff with horror, Phoe. All, all are fled! Orestes is not here!
Gaz'd frightful! Waken'd from the dire amaze, Triumphant villains! The hase, giddy rabble,
She rais'd her eyes to heaven with such a look Whose hands should all have been employ'd
As spoke her sorrows, and reproach'd the gods;
with fire,
Then plung'd a poniard deep within her breast, To waste the fleet, flock'd round the dying
And fell on Pyrrhus, grasping him in death.
princess:
Ores. I thank you, gods: I never could expect And, while they stand agaze, the Greeks embark.
To be so wretched! You have been industrious Oh, 'tis too plain! this sacrileg'ous murder
To finish your decrees; to make Orestes Was authoriz'd. The ambassador's escape

158
[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
THE DISTREST MOTHER.
Declares his guilt. Most bloody embassy! Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.
Most unexampled deeds! Where, where, ye gods, Give present orders for the funeral pomp.
Is majesty secure, if in your temples
You give it no protection? See, the queen.
A Flourish of Trumpets. Enter ANDROMACHE
and CEPHISA with Attendants.
Andro. Yes, ye inhuman Greeks! the time
will come
[To Phoenix.
Let him be rob'd in all his regal state;
Place round him every shining mark of honour;
And let the pile that consecrates his ashes,
Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds.
[Exit Phoenix, A Flourish of Trumpets.
Ceph. The sound proclaims th' arrival of
the prince,
When you shall dearly pay your bloody deeds!
How should the Trojans hope for mercy from you,
When thus you turn your impious rage on The guards conduct him from the citadel.
Andro. With open arms I'll meet him!
O Cephisa!
Pyrrhus?
Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league;
The man, whose single valour made you triumph. A springing joy, mix'd with a soft concern,
[4 dead March behind. A pleasure, which no language can express,
An ecstasy that mothers only feel,
Plays round my heart, and brightens up my
Is my child there?
Ceph. It is the corpse of Pyrrhus;
The weeping soldiers bear him on their shields.
Andro. Ill-fated prince! too negligent of life,
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks!
Cut off in the fresh rip'ning prime of manhood,
E'en in the prime of life! thy triumphs new,
And all thy glories in full blossom round thee!
The very Trojans would bewail thy fate.
sorrow,
Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.
Though plung'd in ills, and exercis'd in care,
Yet never let the noble mind despair.
When press'd by dangers, and beset with foes,
The gods their timely succour interpose;
And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with
grief,
Ceph. Alas! then will your sorrows never end?
Andro. Oh, never, never! - While I live, By unforeseen expedients bring relief. [Exeunt.
my tears
ROWE.
NICHOLAS ROWE, son of John Rowe, Esq. sergeant at law, was born at Little Berkford, in Bedfordshire, anno 1673.
His education was begun at a private seminary in Highgate, from whence he was removed to Westminster school, where he
was perfected in classical literature under Doctor Busby. His father, designing him for his own profession, entered him,
at sixteen years of age, a student of the Middle Temple. He soon made considerable progress in the law, and might have
cut a figure in that profession, if the love of poetry and the belles lettres had not to much attracted his attention. At
the age of twenty-five he wrote his first tragedy, The Ambitious Step-mother, the great success of which made him en-
tirely lay aside all thoughts of the law. Dr. Johnson demands: "Whence then has Rowe his reputation? From the reasonableness
and propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pity
or terror, but he often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the ear, and often
improves the understanding." Being a great admirer of Shakspeare, he gave the public an edition of his plays, to which
he prefixed an account of that great man's life. But the most considerable of Mr. Rowe's performances, was a trans-
lation of Lucan's Pharsalia, which he just lived to finish, but not to publish; for it did not appear in print till ten
years after his death. His attachment to the Muses, however, did not entirely unfit him for business; for when the
Duke of Queensberry was secretary of state, he made Mr. Rowe his under-secretary for public affairs; but, after the
Duke's death, the avenues to his preferment being stopped, he passed his time in retirement during the rest of Queen
Anne's reign. On the accession of George I, he was made poet laureat, and one of the land-surveyors of the customs
in the port of London. He was also Clerk of the council to the Prince of Wales, and the Lord Chancellor Parker
made him his secretary for the presentations; but he did not long enjoy these promotions, for he died Dec. 6. 1718 in
the 45th year of his age.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
ACTED at Lincoln's Inn Fields 1703. This, as Dr. Johnson observes, is one of the most pleasing tragedies on the
stage, where it still keeps its turns of appearing, and probably will long keep them; for there is scarcely any work of
any poet at once so interesting by the fable, and so delightful by the language.. The story is domestic, and therefore
easily received by the imagination, and assimilated to common life; the diction is exquisitely harmonious, and soft or
sprightly as occasion requires. The character of Lothario seems to have been expanded by Richardson into Lovelace;
but he has excelled his original in the moral effect of the fiction. Lothario, with gaiety which can not be hated, and
bravery which cannot be despised, retains too much of the spectators kindness. It was in the rower of Richardson alone
to teach us at once esteem and detestation, to make virtuous resentment overpower all the benevolence which wit, and
elegance, and courage, naturally excite; and to loose at last the hero in the villain. In the year 1699 Mr. Powell played
Lothario, and his dresser Warren performed the dead Lothario, unknown to Powell. About the middle of the distress-
ful scene, Powell called aloud for his man, who answered him as loudly from the bier on the stage, "Here, Sir!" Powell
ignorant of the part his man was acting, repeated immediately, "Come here this moment, you rascal! or I'll break all
the bones in your skin." Warren knew his hasty temper; therefore, without any reply, jumped off, with all his sables
about him, which unfortunately were tied fast to the handles of the bier, and dragged it after him. But this was not
all; the laugh and roar began in the audience, till it frightened poor Warren so much, that, with the bier at his tail,
he drew down Calista, and overwhelmed her with the table, lamp, book, bones, together with all the lumber of the
charnel-house. He lugged, till he broke off his trammels, and made his escape; and the play, at once, ended with im-
moderate fits of laughter.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SCIOLTO
ALTAMONT.
HORATIO.
LOTHARIO.
ROSSANO.
CALISTA.
LAVINIA.
LUCILLA.
Servants to Sciolto etc.
SCENE. SCIOLTO's Palace and the Garden, with some Part of the Street near it, in GENOA.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
159
THE FAIR PENITENT.
ACT I.
That kindly grants what nature had deny'd me,
SCENE I-4 Garden belonging to SCIOLTO'S And makes me father of a son like thee.
Palace.
Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO.
Alt. LET this auspicious day be ever sacred,
No mourning, no misfortunes happen on it:
Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings;
Let happy lovers ever make it holy,
Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their
wishes.
Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast,
Pour out the fulness of my soul before you;
Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful thought,
This wondrous goodness stirs. But'tis impossible,
And utterance all is vile; since I can only
Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.
Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I
knew thee,.
Ev'n from that day of sorrow when I saw thee
Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial tears,
The mourner and redeemer of thy father,
I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own:
Thou art my son, ev'n near me as Calista.
Horatio and Lavinia too are mine;
[Embraces Hor.
This happy day, that gives me my Calista.
Hor. Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars
Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee;
Sciolto's noble hand, that rais'd thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave,
Completes its bounty, and restores thy name
To that high rank and lustre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The merit of thy god-like father's arms;
Before that country, which he long had serv'd
In, watchful councils and in winter camps,
Had cast off his white age to want and wretch-And swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's
edness,
And made their court to factions by his ruin.
Alt. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than
father!
All are my children, and shall share my heart.
But wherefore waste we thus this happy day?
The laughing minutes summon thee to joy,
And with new pleasures court thee as they pass;
Thy waiting bride ev'n chides thee for delaying,
haste.
Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought
of Altamont,
One kind remembrance in Calista's breast,
The winds, with all their wings, would be too
slow
bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father!
Amidst the stream of joy that bears me on,
Blest as I am, and honour'd in your friendship,
There is one pain that hangs upon my heart.
Sci. What means my son?
Alt. When, at your intercession,
Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness,
Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows
With rapture on her lips, I found her cold,
As a dead lover's statue on his tomb;
A rising storm of passion shook her breast,
Her eyes a piteous show'r of tears let fall,
And then she sigh'd as if her heart were
breaking.
Let me not live, but at thy very name
My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.
When I forget the vast, vast debt I owe thee-To
Forget! (but 'tis impossible) then let me
Forget the use and privilege of reason,
Be driven from the commerce of mankind,
To wander in the desert among brutes,
To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heav'n!
Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness,
It reach'd even me, because I was thy friend.
When that great man I lov'd, thy noble father,
Bequeath'd thy gentle sister to my arms,
His last dear pledge and legacy of friendship,
That happy tie made me Sciolto's son;
He call'd us his, and with a parent's fondness,
Indulg'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty,
Heal'd all our cares, and sweeten'd love itself.
Alt. By heav'n, he found my fortunes so
abandon'd,
That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em:
My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude,
Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him e'en a grave.
Undone myself, and sinking with his ruin,
I had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him,
But fruitless tears.
Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou didst,
And didst it like a son; when his hard creditors,
Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's father
(Foe to thy house, and rival of their greatness),
By sentence of the cruel law forbade
His venerable corpse to rest in earth,
Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones;
Heav'n, who beheld the pious act, approv'd it,
And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,
To bless thy filial virtue with abundance.
Alt., But see, he comes, the author of my
happiness,
The man who sav'd my life from deadly sorrow,
Who bids my days be blest with peace and plenty,
And satisfies my soul with love and beauty.
Enter SCIOLTO; he runs to ALTAMONT, and
embraces him.
I
With all the tend'rest eloquence of love
begg'd to be a sharer in her grief:
But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze me,
Sadly reply'd, her sorrows were her own,
Nor in a father's power to dispose of.
Sci. Away! it is the coz'nage of their sex;
One of the common arts they practise on us:
To sigh and weep then when their hearts beat high
With expectation of the coming joy.
Thou hast in camps and fighting fields been bred,
Unknowing in the subtleties of women;
The virgin bride, who swoons with deadly fear,
To see the end of all her wishes near,
When blushing from the light and public eyes,
To the kind covert of the night she flies,
With equal fires to meet the bridegroom moves,
Melts in his arms, and with a loose she loves.
[Exeunt.
Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.
Loth. The father, and the husband!
Ros. Let them pass.
They saw us not.
Lot. I care not if they did;
Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face,
And gall 'em with my triumph o'er Calista.
Ros. You lov'd her once.
Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont! Joy to myself! Loth. I lik'd her, would have marry'd her,
Joy to this happy morn, that makes thee mine; But that it pleas'd her father to refuse me,

160
[ACT, 1.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
To make this honourable fool her husband;
For which, if I forget him, may the shame
I mean to brand his name with, stick on mine.
Ros. She, gentle soul, was kinder than her
father.
Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me
-hearing;
Till, by long list'ning to the soothing tale,
At length her easy heart was wholly mine.
Ros. I've heard you oft describe her haughty,
insolent,
And fierce with high disdain: it moves my
wonder,
That virtue thus defended, should be yielded
A prey to loose desires.
Loth. Hear then I'll tell thee:
Once in a lone and secret hour of night,
When ev'ry eye was clos'd, and the pale moon
And stars alone shone conscious of the theft,
Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood,
Hap'ly I stole unheeded to her chamber.
Ros. That minute sure was lucky.
Loth: Oh, 'twas great!
I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid,
Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of wishes;
Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her
honour,
Were charm'd to rest, and love alone was waking.
Within her rising bosom all was calm,
As peaceful seas that know no storms, and only
Are gently lifted up and down by tides.
I snatch'd the glorious, golden, opportunity,
And with prevailing, youthful ardour press'd her;
Till, with short sighs, and murmuring reluctance,
The yielding fair one gave me perfect happiness.
Ev'n all the live-long night we pass'd in bliss,
In ecstasies too fierce to last for ever;
At length the morn and cold indiff'rence came;
When, fully sated with the luscious banquet,
I hastily took leave, and left the nymph
To think on what was past, and sigh alone.
Ros. You saw her soon again?
Loth. Too soon I saw her:
For, oh! that meeting was not like the former:
I found my heart no more beat high with trans-
port,
No more I sigh'd and languish'd for enjoyment;
'Twas past, and reason took her turn to reign,
While ev'ry weakness fell before her throne.
Ros. What of the lady?
Loth. With uneasy fondness
She hung upon me, wept, and, sigh'd and swore
She was undone; talk'd of a priest and marriage;
Of flying with me from her father's pow'r;
Call'd ev'ry saint and blessed angel down,
To witness for her that she was my wife.
I started at that name.
Ros. What answer made you?
Loth. None; but pretendíng sudden pain
and illness,
Escap'd the persecution. Two nights since,
By message urg'd and frequent importunity,
Again I saw her. Straight with tears and sighs,
With swelling breasts, with swooning and
distraction,
With all the subtleties and pow'rful arts
Of wilful woman lab'ring for her purpose,
Again she told the same dull, nauseous tale.
Unmov'd, I begg'd her spare th' ungrateful
subject,
Since I resolv'd, that love and peace of mind
Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us,
Never to load it with the marriage chain:
That I would still retain her in my heart,
My ever gentle mistress and my friend;
But for those other names of wife and husband,
They only meant ill nature, cares, and quarrels.
Ros. How bore she this reply?
Loth. At first her rage was dumb, and
wanted words;
But when the storm found way, 'twas wild and
loud:
Mad as the priestess of the Delphic god,
Enthusiastic passion swell'd her breast,
Enlarg'd her voice, and ruffled all her form.
Proud, and disdainful of the love I proffer'd,
She call'd me villain! monster! base betrayer!
At last, in very bitterness of soul,
With deadly imprecations on herself,
She vow'd severely ne'er to see me more;
Then bid me fly that minute: I obey'd,
And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure.
Ros. She has relented since, else why this
message,
To meet the keeper of her secrets here
This morning?
Loth. See the person whom you nam'd.
Enter LUCILLA.
Well, my ambassadress, what must we treat of?
Come you to menace war and proud defiance,
Or does the peaceful olive grace your message?
Is your fair mistress calmer? Does she soften?
And must we love again? Perhaps she means
To treat in juncture with her new ally,
And make her husband party to th' agreement.
Luc. Is this well done, my lord? Have you
put off
All sense of human nature? Keep a little,
A little pity, to distinguish manhood.
Lest other men,though cruel,should disclaim you,
And judge you to be number'd with the brutes.
Loth. I see thou'st learn'd to rail.
Luc. I've learn'd to weep:
That lesson my sad mistress often gives me:
By day she seeks some melancholy shade,
To hide her sorrows from the prying world;
At night she watches all the long, long hours,
And listens to the winds and beating rain,
With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast.
Then ever and anon she wrings her hands,
And cries, false, false Lothario!
I
Loth. Oh, no more!
swear thou'lt spoil thy pretty face with crying,
And thou hast beauty that may make thy fortune:
Some keeping cardinal shall dote upon thee,
And barter his church treasure for thy freshness.
Luc. What! shall I sell my innocence and
youth,
For wealth or titles, to perfidious man?
To man, who makes his mirth of our undoing!
The base, profess'd betrayer of our sex!
Let me grow old in all misfortunes else,
Rather than know the sorrows of Calista!
I
Loth. Does she send thee to chide in her behalf?
swear thou dost it with so good a grace,
That I could almost love thee for thy frowning,
Luc. Read there, my lord, there, in her own sad
lines, [Giving a Letter.
Which best can tell the story of her woes,
That grief of heart which your unkindness
gives her.
Loth. [Reads] Your cruelty - Obedience
to my father-give my hand to Altamont.

SCENE 1.]
161
THE FAIR PENITENT.
By heav'n, 'tis well! such ever be the gifts And never grace the public with his virtues.-
With which I greet the man whom my soul What if I give this paper to her father?
hates.
[Aside. It follows that his justice dooms her dead,
But to go on-
And breaks his heart with sorrow; hard return
-wish-heart-honour-too faithless-For all the good his hand has heap'd on us!
weakness-to-morrow-last trouble-lost Hold, let me take a moment's thought-
Calista.
Women, I see, can change as well as men.
She writes me here, forsaken as I am,
That I should bind my brows with mournful
willow,
For she has giv'n her hand to Altamont:
Yet tell the fair inconstant-
Luc. How, my lord!
Loth. Nay, no more angry words: say to
Calista,
The humblest of her slaves shall wait her pleasure;
If she can leave her happy husband's arms,
To think upon so lost a thing as I am.
Luc. Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks:
Wound not her heart with this unmanly triumph;
And though you love her not, yet swear you do;
So shall dissembling once be virtuous in you.
Loth. Ha! who comes here?
Luc. The bridegroom's friend, Horatio.
He must not see us here. To morrow early
Be at the garden gate.
Loth. Bear to my love
My kindest thoughts, and swear I will not fail her.
Enter LAVINIA.
Lao. My lord!
Trust me it joys my heart that I have found you.
Inquiring wherefore you had left the company,
Before my brother's nuptial rites were ended,
They told me you had felt some sudden illness.
Hor. It were unjust-No, let me spare my
friend,
Lock up the fatal secret in my breast,
Nor tell him that which will undo his quiet.
Lav. What means my lord?
Hor. Ha! said'st thou, my Lavinia?
Lav. Alas! you know not what you make
me suffer.
Whence is that sigh? And wherefore are your
eyes
Severely rais'd to heav'n? The sick man thus,
Acknowledging the summons of his fate,
Lifts up his feeble hands and eyes for mercy,
And with confusion thinks upon his exit.
Hor. Oh, no! thou hast mistook my sick-
ness quite;
[Lothario putting up the Letter hastily, These pangs are of the soul. Would I had met
drops it as he goes out. Exeunt Lo-Sharpest convulsions, spotted pestilence,
thario and Rossano one Way, Lucilla Or any other deadly foe to life,
another.
Enter HORATIO.
Rather than heave beneath this load of thought!
Lav. Alas! what is it? Wherefore turn you
from me?
Why did you falsely call me your Lavinia,
And swear I was Horatio's better half,
Since now you mourn unkindly by yourself,
And rob me of my partnership of sadness?
Hor. Seek not to know what I would hide
from all,
Hor. Sure 'tis the very error of my eyes;
Waking I dream, or I beheld Lothario;
He seem'd conferring with Calista's woman:
At my approach they started and retir'd.
What business could he have here, and with her?
I know he bears the noble Altamort
Profess'd and deadly hate-What paper's this? But most from thee. I never knew a pleasure,
[Taking up the Letter. Aught that was joyful, fortunate, or good,
Ha! To Lothario!-'Sdeath! Calista's name! But straight I ran to bless thee with the tidings,
[Opens it and reads. And laid up all my happiness with thee:
Your cruelty has at length determined me; But wherefore, wherefore should I give thee
and I have resolo'd this morning to yield
pain?
wishes..
a perfect obedience to my father, and to Then spare me, I conjure thee; ask no further;
give my hand to Altamont, in spite of my Allow my melancholy thoughts this privilege,
weakness for the false Lothario. I could And let 'em brood in secret o'er their sorrows.
almost wish I had that heart and that honour Lav. It is enough; chide not, and all is well!
to bestow with it, which you have robbed Forgive me if I saw you sad, Horatio,
me of:-
And ask'd to weep out part of your misfortunes:
Damnation! to the rest-
I wo'not press to know what you forbid me.
But, oh! I fear, could I retrieve 'em, I Yet, my lov'd lord, yet you must grant me this,
should again be undone by the too faithless, Forget your cares for this one happy day,
yet too lovely Lothario. This is the last Devote this day to mirth, and to
your Altamont;
weakness of my pen, and to-morrow shall For his dear sake, let peace be in your looks.
be the last in which I will indulge my eyes. Ev'n now the jocund bridegroom waits your
Lucilla shall conduct you, if you are kind
enough to let me see you; it shall be the He thinks the
last trouble you shall meet with from the
CALISTA. Till his friend
The lost, indeed! for thou art gone as far
As there can be perdition. Fire and sulphur!
Hell is the sole avenger of such crimes.
Oh, that the ruin were but all thy own!
Thou wilt ev'n make thy father curse his age:
At sight of this black scroll, the gentle Altamont
(For, oh! I know his heart is set upon thee)
Shall droop and hang his discontented head,
Like merit scorn'd by insolent authority,
lost
priest has but half bless'd his
marriage,
hails him with the sound of joy.
Hor. Oh, never, never, never! Thou art
innocent:
Simplicity from ill, pure native truth,
And candour of the mind, adorn thee ever;
But there are such, such false ones, in the world,
Twould fill thy gentle soul with wild amazement
To hear their story told.
Lav. False ones, my lord!
Hor. Fatally fair they are, and in their smiles
21

162
[ACT II.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
The graces, little loves, and young desires inhabit;
But all that gaze upon 'em are undone;
For they are false, luxurious in their appetites,
And all the heav'n they hope for is variety:
One lover to another still succeeds,
Another, and another after that,
And the last fool is welcome as the former;
Till having lov'd his hour out, he gives place,
And mingles with the herd that went before him.
Lav. Can there be such, and have they peace
of mind?
Have they, in all the series of their changing,
One happy hour? If women are such things,
How was I form'd so diff'rent from my sex?
My little heart is satisfy'd with you;
You take up all her room as in a cottage
Which harbours some benighted princely
stranger,
Where the good man, proud of his hospitality,
Yields all his homely dwelling to his guest,
And hardly keeps a corner for himself.
Hor. Oh, were they all like thee, men would
adore 'em,
Luc. Oh, hear me, hear your ever faithful
creature!
By all the good I wish, by all the ill
My trembling heart forebodes, let me entreat you
Never to see this faithless man again;
Let me forbid his coming.
Cal. On thy life
I charge thee no: my genius drives me on;
I must, I will behold him once again:
Perhaps it is the crisis of my fate,
And this one interview shall end my cares.
My lab'ring heart, that swells with indignation,
Heaves to discharge the burden; that once done,
The busy thing shall rest within its cell,
And never beat again.
Luc. Trust not to that:
Rage is the shortest passion of our souls:
Like narrow brooks that rise with sudden show'rs.
It swells in haste, and falls again as soon;
Still as it ebbs the softer thoughts flow in,
And the deceiver, love, supplies its place.
Cal. I have been wrong'd enough to arm
my temper
pity me)
And all the business of their lives be loving; Against the smooth delusion; but, alas!
The nuptial band should be the pledge of peace, (Chide not my weakness, gentle maid, but
And all domestic cares and quarrels cease!
The world should learn to love by virtuous rules,
And marriage be no more the jest of fools.
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-A Hall.
Enter CALISTA and LUCILLA.
Cal. Be dumb for ever, silent as the grave,
Nor let thy fond, officious love disturb
My solemn sadness with the sound of joy.
If thou wilt sooth me, tell some dismal tale
Of pining discontent, and black despair;
For, oh! I've gone around through all my
thoughts,
But all are indignation, love, or shame,
And my dear peace of mind is lost for ever.
Luc. Why do you follow still that wand'-
ring fire,
That has misled your weary steps, and leaves you
Benighted in a wilderness of woe,
That false Lothario? Turn from the deceiver;
Turn, and behold where gentle Altamont,
Sighs at your feet, and woos you to be happy.
Cal. Away! I think not of him. My sad soul
Has form'd a dismal, melancholy scene,
Such a retreat as I would wish to find;
An unfrequented vale, o'ergrown with trees
Mossy and old, within whose lonesome shade
Ravens and birds ill-omen'd only dwell:
No sound to break the silence, but a brook
That bubbling winds among the weeds: no mark
Of any human shape that had been there,
Unless a skeleton of some poor wretch,
Who had long since, like me, by love undone,
Sought that sad place out to despair and die in.
Luc. Alas, for pity!
Cal. There I fain would hide me.
From the base world, from malice, and from
shame;
For 'tis the solemn counsel of my soul
Never to live with public loss of honour:
'Tis fix'd to die, rather than bear the insolence
Of each affected she that tells my story,
And blesses her good stars that she is virtuous.
To be a tale for fools! Scorn'd by the women,
And pity'd by the men! Oh, insupportable!
A woman's softness hangs about me still;
Then let me blush, and tell thee all my folly.
I swear I could not see the dear betrayer
Kneel at my feet and sigh to be forgiv'n,
But my relenting heart would pardon all,
And quite forget 'twas he that had undone me.
[Exit Lucilla.
Ha! Altamont! Calista, now be wary,
And guard thy soul's excesses with dissembling:
Nor let this hostile husband's eyes explore
The warring passions and tumultuous thoughts
That rage within thee, and deform thy reason.
Enter ALTAMONT.
Alt. Be gone, my cares, I give you to the winds,
Far to be borne, far from the happy Altamont;
Calista is the mistress of the year; ?
She crowns the seasons with suspicious beauty,
And bids ev'n all my hours be good and joyful.
Cal. If I were ever mistress of such happiness,
Oh! wherefore did I play th'unthrifty fool,
And, wasting all on others, leave myself
Without one thought of joy to give me comfort?
Alt. Oh, mighty love! Shall that fair face
profane
This thy great festival with frowns and sadness?
I swear it sha'not be, for I will woo thee
With sighs so moving, with so warm a transport,
That thou shalt catch the gentle flame from me,
And kindle into joy.
Cal. I tell thee, Altamont,
Such hearts as ours were never pair'd above:
Ill suited to each other: join'd, not match'd;
Some sullen influence, a foe to both,
Has wrought this fatal marriage to undo us.
Mark but the frame and temper of our minds,
How very much we differ. Ev'n this day,
That fills thee with such ecstacy and transport,
To me brings nothing that should make me
bless it,
Or think it better than the day before,
Or any other in the course of time,
That duly took its turn, and was forgotten.
Alt. If to behold thee as my pledge of
happiness,
To know none fair, none excellent, but thee;

SCENE 2.]
163
THE FAIR PENITENT.
If still to love thee with unweary'd constancy,
Through ev'ry season, ev'ry change of life,
Be worth the least return of grateful love,
Oh, then let my Calista bless this day,
And set it down for happy.
Cal. Tis the day
In which my father gave my hand to Altamont;
As such, I will remember it for ever.
Enter SCIOLTO, HORATIO, and LAVINIA.
Sci. Let mirth go on, let pleasure know
no pause,
Enter HORATIO.
Hor. Still I must doubt some mystery of
mischief,
Some artifice beneath. Lothario's father!
I know him well; he was sagacious, cunning,
Fluent in words, and bold in peaceful counsels,
But of a cold, unactive hand in war;
Yet, with these coward's virtues, he undid
My unsuspecting, valiant, honest friend.
This son, if fame mistakes not, is more hot,
More open and unartful-
Re-enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.
Ha! he's here!
Seeing him.
Loth. Damnation! He again!-This second
time
To-day he has cross'd me like my evil genius.
Hor. I sought you, sir.
But fill up ev'ry minute of this day.
'Tis yours, my children, sacred to your loves;
The glorious sun himself for you looks gay;
He shines for Altamont and for Calista.
Let there be music, let the master touch
The sprightly string and softly-breathing flute,
Till harmony rouse ev'ry gentle passion;
Teach the cold maid to lose her fears in love,
And the fierce youth to languish at her feet.
Begin: ev'n age itself is cheer'd with music; To the earth's utmost verge I would pursue,
It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth, No place, though e'er so holy, should protect him;
Calls back past joys, and warms us into transport. No shape that artful fear e'er form'd should
hide him,
[Music,
Loth. 'Tis well then I am found.
Hor. "Tis well you are. The man who wrongs
my friend
As great a name as this proud city boasts of
Who is this mighty man, then, this Horatio,
That I should basely hide me from his anger,
Lest he should chide me for his friend's dis-
pleasure?
Take care my gates be open, bid all welcome; Till he fair answer made, and did me justice.
All who rejoice with me to-day are friends: Loth. Ha! dost thou know me? that I am
Let ach indulge his genius, each be glad,
Lothario?
Jocund, and free, and swell the feast with mirth;
The sprightly bowl shall cheerfully go round,
None shall be grave, nor too severely wise;
Losses and disappointments, cares and poverty,
The rich man's insolence, and great man's scorn,
In wine shall be forgotten all. To-morrow
Will be too soon to think and to be wretched.
Oh grant, ye pow'rs, that I may see these happy, Just are their thoughts, and open are their
[Pointing to Altamont and Calista.
Completely blest, and I have life enough!
And leave the rest indifferently to fate. [Exeunt.
Hor. What if, while all are here intent on
revelling,
Hor. The brave, 'tis true, do never shun
the light;
Still are they
And heav'n and
tempers,
found in the fair face of day,
men are judges of their actions.
Loth, Such let 'em be of mine; there's not
a purpose
Which my soul e'er fram'd, or my hand acted,
But I could well have bid the world look on,
And what I once durst do, have dar'd to justify.
Hor. Where was this open boldness, this free
spirit,
When but this very morning I surpris'd thee,
In base, dishonest privacy, consulting
And bribing a poor mercenary wretch,
To sell her lady's secrets, stain her honour,
And, with a forg'd contrivance, blast her virtue?--
At sight of me thou fled'st.
I privately went forth, and sought Lothario?
This letter may be forg'd! perhaps the wantonness
Of his vain youth, to stain a lady's fame;
Perhaps his malice to disturb my friend.
Oh, no! my heart forebodes it must be true.
Methought, ev'n now, I mark'd the starts of guilt
That shook her soul; though damn'd dissimulation
Screen'd her dark thoughts, and set to public view
A specious face of innocence and beauty.
With such smooth looks and many a gentle word,
The first fair she beguil'd her easy lord;
Too blind with love and beauty to beware,
He fell unthinking in the fatal snare;
Nor could believe that such a heav'nly face
Had bargain'd with the devil, to damn her A pilferer, descry'd in some dark corner,
[Exit. Who there had lodg'd, with mischievous intent,
SCENE II.-The Garden of SCIOLTO's Palace. To rob and ravage at the hour of rest,
wretched race.
Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO.
Loth. Ha! fled from thee?
Hor. Thou fled'st, and guilt was on thee like
a thief,
And do a midnight murder on the sleepers.
Loth, Slave! villain!
[Offers to draw; Rossano holds him.
Ros. Hold, my lord! think where you are,
Think how unsafe and hurtful to your honour
It were to urge a quarrel in this place,
And shock the peaceful city with a broil.
Loth. Then, since thou dost provoke my
vengeance, know
Loth. To tell thee then the purport of my
thoughts;
The loss of this fond paper would not give me
A moment of disquiet, were it not
My instrument of vengeance on this Altamont;
Therefore I mean to wait some opportunity
Of speaking with the maid we saw this morning.
Ros. I wish you, sir, to think upon the danger I would not, for this city's wealth, for all
Ofbeing seen; to-day their friends are round 'em; Which the sea wafts to our Ligurian shore,
And any eye that lights by chance on you, But that the joys I reap'd with that fond wanton,
Shall put your life and safety to the hazard. The wife of Altamont, should be as public
[Exeunt. As is the noon-day sun, air, earth, or water,

164
[ACT III,
THE FAIR PENITENT.
Or any common benefit of nature.
Think'st thou I meant the shame should be
conceal'd?
Oh, no! by hell and vengeance, all I wanted
Was some fit messenger to bear the news
To the dull doating husband: now I have found
him,
And thou art he.
Hor. I hold thee base enough
To break through law, and spurn at sacred order,
And do a brutal injury like this.
Yet mark me well, young lord; I think Calista
Too nice, too noble, and too great of soul,
To be the prey of such a thing as thou art.
'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man,
To forge a scroll so villanous and loose,
And mark it with a noble lady's name:
These are the mean dishonest arts of cowards,
Who, bred at home in idleness and riot,
Ransack for mistresses th' unwholesome stews,
And never know the worth of virtuous love.
Loth. Think'st thou I forg'd the letter? Think
so still,
Till the broad shame come staring in thy face,
And boys shall hoot the cuckold as he passes.
Hor. Away! no woman could descend so low:
A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are;
Fit only for yourselves, you herd together;
And when the circling glass warms your vain
hearts,
You talk of beauties that you never saw,
And fancy raptures that you never knew.
Loth. But that I do not hold it worth my leisure,
I could produce such damning proof-
Hor. Tis false!
You blast the fair with lies, because they scorn
you,
Hate you like age, like ugliness and impotence:
Rather than make you blest, they would die
virgins,
And stop the propagation of mankind.
Loth. It is the curse of fools to be secure,
And that be thine and Altamont's. Dream on;
Nor think upon my vengeance till thou feel'st it.
Hor. Hold, sir; another word, and then
farewell.
Though I think greatly of Calista's virtue,
And hold it far beyond thy power to hurt;
Yet, as she shares the honour of my Altamont,
That treasure of a soldier, bought with blood,
And kept at life's expense, I must not have
(Mark me, young sir) her very name profan'd.
Learn to restrain the licence of your speech;
'Tis held you are too lavish. When you are met
Among your set of fools, talk of your dress,
Of dice, of whores, of horses, and yourselves;
'Tis safer, and becomes your understandings.
Loth. What if we pass beyond this solemn
order,
And, in defiance of the stern Horatio,
Indulge our gayer thoughts, let laughter loose,
And use his sacred friendship for our mirth?
Hor. 'Tis well, sir, you are pleasant-
Loth. By the joys
Yet scorn to ask the lordly owner's leave.
Hor. What liberty has vain presumptuous
youth,
That thou shouldst dare provoke me unchastis'd?
But henceforth, boy, I warn thee, shun my walks.
If in the bounds of this forbidden place
Again thou'rt found, expect a punishment,
Such as great souls, impatient of an injury,
Exact from those who wrong 'em much, ev'n
death;
Or something worse: an injur'd husband's
vengeance
Shall print a thousand wounds, tear thy fine form,
And scatter thee to all the winds of heav'n.
Loth. Is then my way in Genoa prescrib'd
By a dependent on the wretched Altamont,
A talking sir, that brawls for him in taverns,
And vouches for his valour's reputation?
Hor. Away! thy speech is fouler than thy
manners.
Loth. Or, if there be a name more vile, his
parasite;
A beggar's parasite!
Hor. Now learn humanity,
[Offers to strike him; Rossano interposes.
Since brutes and boys are only taught with blows.
Loth. Damnation!
[They draw,
Ross. Hold, this goes no further here.
Loth. Oh, Rossano!
Or give me way, or thou'rt no more my friend.
Ros. Sciolto's servants, sir, have ta'en th'
alarm;
You'll be oppress'd by numbers. Be advis'd,
Or I must force you hence.
Loth. This wo'not brook delay;
West of the town a mile, among the rocks,
Two hours ere noon, to-morrow, I expect thee,
Thy single hand to mine.
Hor. I'll meet thee there.
Loth. To-morrow, oh, my better stars! to-
morrow
Exert your influence; shine strongly for me;
'Tis not a common conquest I would gain,
Since love as well as arms must grace my triumph,
[Exeunt Lothario and Rossano.
Hor. Two hours ere noon to-morrow! ha!
ere that
He sees Calista! Oh, unthinking fool-
What if I urg'd her with the crime and danger?
If any spark from heav'n remain unquench'd
Within her breast, my breath perhaps may
wake it.
Could I but prosper there, I would not doubt
My combat with that loud vain-glorious boaster.
Were you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye trust,
Did you but think how seldom fools are just.
So many of your sex would not in vain
Of broken vows, and faithless men, complain :
Of all the various wretches love has made,
How few have been by men of sense betray'd?
Convinc'd by reason, they your pow'r confess,
Pleas'd to be happy, as you're pleas'd to bless,
And, conscious of your worth, can never love
you less.
ACT III.
[Exit,
Which my soul yet has uncontrol'd pursu'd,
I would not turn aside from my least pleasure,
Though all thy force were arm'd to bar my way; SCENE I.-An Apartment in SCIOLTO's Palace.
But like the birds, great nature's happy com-
moners,
That haunt in woods, in meads, and flow'ry
gardens,
Enter SCIOLTO and CALISTA.
Sci. Now, by my life, my honour, 'tis too
much!
Rifle the sweets and taste the choicest fruits, Have I not mark'd thee, wayward as thou art

SCENE 1.]
165
THE FAIR PENITENT,
Perverse and sullen all this day of joy?
When every heart was cheer'd and mirth
went round,
Sorrow, displeasure, and repining anguish
Sat on thy brow.
Cal. Is then the task of duty half perform'd?
Has not your daughter given herself to Altamont,
Yielded the native freedom of her will
To an imperious husband's lordly rule,
To gratify a father's stern command?
Sci. Dost thou complain?
Cal. For pity do not frown then,
If in despite of all my vow'd obedience,
A sigh breaks out, or a tear falls by chance:
For, oh! that sorrow which has drawn your
anger,
Is the sad native of Calista's breast.
Hor. Are you not one? Are you not join'd
by heav'n,
Each interwoven with the other's fate?
Then who can give his friendship but to one?
Who can be Altamont's and not Calista's?
Cal. Force, and the wills of our imperious
rulers,
May bind two bodies in one wretched chain;
But minds will still look back to their own choice.
Hor. When souls that should agree to will
the same,
To have one common object for their wishes,
Look different ways, regardless of each other,
Think what a train of wretchedness ensues:
Love shall be banish'd from the genial bed,
The night shall all be lonely and unquiet,
And ev'ry day shall be a day of cares.
Cal. Then all the boasted office of thy
friendship,
Hor. Oh! rather say,
Sci. Now by the sacred dust of that dear saint
That was thy mother; by her wondrous goodness,
Her soft, her tender, most complying sweetness, Was but to tell Calista what a wretch she is.
I swear, some sullen thought that shuns the light, Alas! what needeth that?
Lurks underneath that sadness in thy visage.
But mark me well, though by yon heaven II came to tell her how she might be happy;
To sooth the secret anguish of her soul;
To comfort that fair mourner, that forlorn one,
And teach her steps to know the paths of peace.
Cal. Say, thou, to whom this paradise is
known,
love thee
As much, I think, as a fond parent can;
Yet shouldst thou (which the pow'rs above forbid)
E'er stain the honour of thy name with infamy,
I'll cast thee off, as one whose impious hands
Had rent asunder nature's nearest ties,
Which once divided, never join again.
To-day I've made a noble youth thy husband;
Consider well his worth; reward his love;
Be willing to be happy, and thou art so.
Where lies the blissful region? Mark my way
to it;
For, oh! 'tis sure, I long to be at rest.
Hor. Then to be good is to be happy-
Angels
[Exit. Are happier
Gal. How hard is the condition of our sex,
Through ev'ry state of life the slaves of man!
In all the dear delightful days of youth
A rigid father dictates to our wills,
And deals out pleasure with a scanty hand.
To his, the tyrant husband's reign succeeds;
Proud with opinion of superior reason,
He holds domestic bus'ness and devotion
All we are capable to know, and shuts us,
Like cloister'd idiots, from the world's ac-
quaintance,
And all the joys of freedom. Wherefore are we
Born with high souls, but to assert ourselves,
Shake off this vile obedience they exact,
And claim an equal empire o'er the world?
[She sits down.
Enter HORATIO.
Hor. She's here! yet, oh! my tongue is at a loss.
Teach me, some pow'r, that happy art of speech,
To dress my purpose up in gracious words;
Such as may softly steal upon her soul,
And never waken the tempestuous passions.
By heav'n she weeps!-Forgive me, fair Calista,
[She starts up.
If I presume on privilege of friendship,
To join my grief to yours, and mourn the evils
That hurt your peace, and quench those eyes
in tears.
Cal. To steal unlook'd for, on my private
sorrow,
Speaks not the man of honour, nor the friend,
But rather means the spy.
Hor. Unkindly said!
For, oh! as sure as you accuse me falsely,
I come to prove myself Calista's friend.
Cal. You are my husband's friend, the friend
of Altamont !
than mankind, because they're
better.
Guilt is the source of sorrow; 'tis the fiend,
Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behind
With whips and stings. The blest know none
of this,
But rest in everlasting peace of mind,
And find the height of all their heav'n is goodness.
Cal. And what bold parasite's officious tongue
Shall dare to tax Calista's name with guilt?
Hor. None should; but 'tis a busy, talking
world,
That with licentious breath blows like the wind,
As freely on the palace as the cottage.
Col. What mystic riddle lurks beneath thy
words,
Which thou wouldst seem unwilling to express,
As if it meant dishonour to my virtue?
Away with this ambiguous shuffling phrase,
And let thy oracle be understood.
Hor. Lothario!
Cal. Ha! what wouldst thou mean by him?
Hor. Lothario and Calista! -Thus they join
Two names, which heav'n decreed should never
meet.
Hence have the talkers of this populous city
A shameful tale to tell, for public sport,
Of an unhappy beauty, a false fair one,
Who plighted to a noble youth her faith,
WWhen she had giv'n her honour to a wretch.
Cal. Death and confusion! Have I liv'd to this?
Thus to be treated with unmanly insolence!
To be the sport of a loose ruffian's tongue!
Thus to be us'd! thus! like the vilest creature
That ever was a slave to vice and infamy.
Hor. By honour and fair truth, you wrong
me much;
For, on my soul, nothing but strong necessity
Could urge my tongue to this ungrateful office.

166
[ACT III.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
I came with strong reluctance, as if death
Had stood across my way to save your honour,
Yours and Sciolto's, yours and Altamont's;
Like one who ventures through a burning pile,
To save his tender wife, with all her brood
Of little fondlings, from the dreadful ruin.
Cal. Is this the famous friend of Altamont,
For noble worth and deeds of arms renown'd?
Is this the tale-bearing officious fellow,
That watches for intelligence from eyes;
This wretched Argus of a jealous husband,
That fills his easy ears with monstrous tales,
And makes him toss, and rave, and wreak
at length
Bloody revenge on his defenceless wife,
Who guiltless dies, because her fool ran mad?
Hor. Alas! this rage is vain; for if your fame
Or peace be worth your care, you must be calm,
And listen to the means are left to save 'em.
'Tis now the lucky minute of your fate.
By me your genius speaks, by me it warns you,
Never to see that curs'd Lothario more;
Unless you mean to be despis'd, be shunn'd
By all our virtuous maids and noble matrons;
Unless you have devoted this rare beauty
To infamy, diseases, prostitution-
Cal. Dishonour blast thee, base, unmanner'd
slave!
That dar'st forget my birth, and sacred sex,
And shock me with the rude, unhallow'd sound!
Hor. Here kneel, and in the awful face of
heav'n
Breathe out a solemn vow, never to see,
Nor think, if possible, on him that ruin'd thee;
Or, by my Altamont's dear life, I swear,
This paper; nay, you must not fly-This paper,
[Holding her.
This guilty paper shall divulge your shame.
Cal. What mean'st thou by that paper?
What contrivance
Hast thou been forging to deceive my father;
To turn his heart against his wretched daughter;
That Altamont and thou may share his wealth?
A wrong like this will make me ev'n forget
The weakness of my sex.-Oh, for a sword,
To urge my vengeance on the villain's hand
That forg'd the scroll!
Hor. Behold! Can this be forg'd?
See where Calista's name
[Showing the Letter near.
Col. To atoms thus,
[Tearing it.
Thus let me tear the vile, detested falsehood,
The wicked, lying evidence of shame.
Hor. Confusion!
Cal. Henceforth, thou officious fool,
Meddle no more, nor dare, ev'n on thy life,
To breathe an accent that may touch my virtue.
I am myself the guardian of my honour,
And will not bear so insolent a monitor.
Enter ALTAMONT.
Alt. Where is my life, my love, my charm-
ing bride,
Joy of my heart, and pleasure of my eyes?
Disorder'd!-and in tears!-Horatio too!
My friend is in amaze - What can it mean?
Tell me, Calista, who has done thee wrong,
That my swift sword may
find out the offender,
And do thee ample justice.
Cal. Turn to him.
Alt. Horatio!
Cal. To that insolent.
Alt. My friend!
Could he do this? Have I not found him just,
Honest as truth itself? and could he break
The sanctity of friendship? Could he wound
The heart of Altamont in his Calista?
Cal. I thought what justice I should find
from thee!
Go fawn upon him, listen to his tale,
Thou art perhaps confederate in his mischief,
And wilt believe the legend, if he tells it.
Alt. Oh, impious! what presumptuous wretch
shall dare
To offer at an injury like that?
Priesthood, nor age, nor cowardice itself,
Shall save him from the fury of my vengeance.
Cal. The man who dar'd to do it was Horatio;
Thy darling friend; 'twas Altamont's Horatio.
But mark me well; while thy divided heart,
Dotes on a villain that has wrong'd me thus,
No force shall drag me to thy hated bed.
Nor can my cruel father's pow'r do more
Than shut me in a cloister: there, well pleas'd,
Religious hardships will I learn to bear,
To fast and freeze at midnight hours of pray'r:
Nor think it hard, within a lonely cell,
With melancholy, speechless saints to dwell;
But bless the day I to that refuge ran,
Free from the marriage chain, and from that
tyrant, man.
[Exit.
Alt. She's gone; and as she went, ten thou-
sand fires
Shot from her angry eyes; as if she meant
Too well to keep the cruel vow she made.
Now, as thou art a man, Horatio, tell me,
What means this wild confusion in thy looks;
As if thou wert at variance with thyself,
Madness and reason combating with thee,
And thou wert doubtful which should get the
better?
Hor. I would be dumb for ever; but thy fate
Has otherwise decreed it. Thou hast seen
That idol of thy soul, that fair Calista;
Thou hast beheld her tears.
Alt. I have seen her weep;
I have seen that lovely one, that dear Calista,
Complaining, in the bitterness of sorrow,
That thou, my friend Horatio, thou hast
wrong'd her.
Hor, That I have wrong'd her! Had her
eyes been fed
From that rich stream which warms her heart,
and number'd
For ev'ry falling tear a drop of blood,
It had not been too much; for she has ruin'd
thee,
Ev'n thee, my Altamont. She has undone thee.
Alt Dost thou join ruin with Calista's name?
What is so fair, so exquisitely good?
Is she not more than painting can express,.
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?
Does she not come, like wisdom, or good fortune,
Replete with blessings, giving wealth and
honour?
Hor. It had been better thou hadst liv'd a
beggar,
And fed on scraps at great men's surly doors,
Than to have match'd with one so false, so fatal.
Alt. It is too much for friendship to allow thee.
Because I tamely bore the wrong thou didst her,
Thou dost avow the barb'rous, brutal part,
And urge the injury ev'n to my face.
Hor. I see she has got possession of thy heart,

SCENE 1.]
167
THE FAIR PENITENT.
She has charm'd thee, like a siren, to her bed, Oh, turn your cruel swords upon Lavinia.
With looks of love, and with enchanting sounds: If you must quench your impious rage in blood,
Too late the rocks and quicksands will appear, Behold, my heart shall give you all her store,
When thou art wreck'd upon the faithless shore, To save those dearer streams that flow from
Then vainly wish thou hadst not left thy friend,
To follow her delusion.
Alt. If thy friendship
Does churlishly deny my love a room,
It is not worth my keeping; I disclaim it.
Hor. Canst thou so soon forget what I've
been to thee?
I shar'd the task, of nature with thy father,
And form'd with care thy unexperienc'd youth
To virtue and to arms.
Thy noble father, oh, thou light young man!
Would he have us'd me thus? One fortune
fed us;
For his was ever mine, mine his, and both
Together flourish'd, and together fell.
He call'd me friend, like thee: would he have
left me
Thus for a woman, and a vile one, too?
Alt. Thou canst not, darst not mean it!
Speak again,
Say, who is vile; but dare not name Calista.
Hor. I had not spoke at first, unless compell'd,
And forc'd to clear myself; but since thus urg'd
I must avow, I do not know a viler.
Alt. Thou wert my father's friend; he lov'd
thee well;
A kind of venerable mark of him
Hangs round thee, and protects thee from my
vengeance.
I cannot, dare not lift my sword against thee,
But henceforth never let me see thee more.
[Going out.
Hor. I love thee still, ungrateful as thou art,
And must and will preserve thee from dishonour,
Ev'n in despite of thee.
[Holds him.
Alt. Let go my arm.
Hor. Ifhonour be thy care, if thou wouldst live
Without the name of credulous, wittol husband,
Avoid thy bride, shun her detested bed,
The joys it yields are dash'd with poison -
Alt. Off!
To urge me but a minute more is fatal.
Hor. She is polluted, stain'd-
Alt. Madness and raging!
But hence-
Hor. Dishonour'd by the man you hate-
Alt. I pr'ythee loose me yet, for thy own sake,
If life be worth thy keeping-
Hor. By Lothario.
hood!
yours.
Alt. 'Tis well thou hast found a safeguard;
none but this,
No pow'r on earth, could save thee from my fury.
Hor. Safety from thee!
Away, vain boy! Hast thou forgot the rev'rence
Due to my arm, thy first, thy great example,
Which pointed out thy way to noble daring,
And show'd thee what it was to be a man?
Lav. What busy, meddling fiend, what foe
to goodness,
Could kindle such a discord?
Hor. Ask'st thou what made us foes? 'Twas
base ingratitude,
'Twas such a sin to friendship, as heav'n's
mercy,
That strives with man's untoward, monstrous
wickedness,
Unwearied with forgiving, scarce could pardon.
He who was all to me, child, brother, friend,
With barb'rous, bloody malice, sought my life.
Alt. Thou art my sister, and I would not
make thee
The lonely mourner of a widow'd bed;
Therefore thy husband's life is safe: but warn him,
No more to know this hospitable roof.
He has but ill repaid Sciolto's bounty.
We must not meet; 'tis dangerous. Farewell.
[He is going, Lavinia holds him.
Lav. Stay, Altamont, my brother, stay;
Alt. It cannot, sha'not be-you must not
Lav. Look kindly, then.
[hold me.
Alt. Each minute that I stay,
Is a new injury to fair Calista.
From thy false friendship, to her arms I'll fly;
Then own, the joys which on her charms attend,
Have more than paid me for my faithless friend.
[Breaks from Lavinia, and exit.
Hor. Oh, raise thee, my Lavinia, from the earth.
It is too much; this tide of flowing grief,
This wondrous waste of tears, too much to give
To an ungrateful friend, and cruel brother.
Lav. Is there not cause for weeping? Oh,
Horatio!
A brother and a husband were my treasure,
'Twas all the little wealth that poor Lavinia
Sav'd from the shipwreck of her father's fortunes.
One half is lost already. If thou leav'st me,
If thou shouldst prove unkind to me, as Al-
tamont,
Alt. Perdition take thee, villain, for the false-Whom shall I find to pity my distress,
[Strikes him. To have compassion on a helpless wanderer,
Now, nothing but thy life can make atonement. And give her where to lay her wretched head?
Hor. A blow! thou hast us'd me well Hor. Why dost thou wound me with thy
[Draws.
soft complainings?
Alt. This to thy heart-
Though Altamont be false, and use me hardly,
Hor. Yet hold-By heav'n his father's in his Yet think not I impute his crimes to thee.
Talk not of being forsaken; for I'll keep thee
Next to my heart, my certain pledge of happiness.
face!
Spite of my wrongs, my heart runs o'er with
tenderness,
And I could rather die myself than hurt him.
Alt. Defend thyself; for by much-wrong'd love,
I swear, the poor evasion shall not save thee.
Hor. Yet hold-thou know'st I dare.
[They fight.
Enter LAVINIA, who runs between their
Lao. Then you will love me still, cherish
me ever,
And hide me from misfortune in your bosom?
Hor. But for the love I owe the good Sciolto,
From Genoa, from falsehood and inconstancy,
To some more honest, distant clime I'd go.
Nor would I be beholden to my country,
For aught but thee, the partner of my flight.
Lao. And I would follow thee; forsake, for thee,
Lav. My brother, my Horatio! Is it possible? My country, brother, friends, ev'n all I have
Swords.

168
[ACT IV.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
Though mine's a little all, yet were it more,
And better far, it should be left for thee,
And all that I would keep should be Horatio.
So, when a merchant sees his vessel lost,
Though richly freighted from a foreign coast,
Gladly, for life, the treasure he would give,
And only wishes to escape, and live:
Gold and his gains no more employ his mind;)
But driving o'er the billows with the wind,
Cleaves to one faithful plank, and leaves the)
rest behind.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-A Garden.
LOTHARIO and CALISTA discovered.
Loth. Weep not, my fair; but let the god.
of love
Laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy heart,
Kindle again his torch, and hold it high,
To light us to new joys. Nor let a thought
Of discord, or disquiet past, molest thee;
But to a long oblivion give thy cares,
And let us melt the present hour in bliss.
Cal. Seek not to sooth me with thy false
endearments,
To charm me with thy softness: 'tis in vain:
Thou canst no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.
The hours of folly and of fond delight,
Ev'n now my heart beats high, I languish for thee,
My transports are as fierce, as strong my wishes,
As if thou ne'er hadst bless'd me with thy beauty.
Cal. How didst thou dare to think that I
would live
A slave to base desires and brutal pleasures,
To be a wretched wanton for thy leisure,
To toy and waste an hour of idle time with?
My soul disdains thee for so mean a thought.
Loth. The driving storm of passion will
have way,
And I must yield before it. Wert thou calm,
Love, the poor criminal whom thou hast doom'd,
Has yet a thousand tender things to plead,
To charm thy rage, and mitigate his fate.
Enter ALTAMONT behind.
Alt. Ha! do I live and wake? [Aside.
Cal. Hadst thou been true, how happy had
I been!
Not Altamont, but thou, hadst been my lord.
But wherefore nam'd I happiness with thee?
It is for thee, for thee, that I am curs'd;
For thee my secret soul each hour arraigns me,
Calls me to answer for my virtue stain'd,
My honour lost to thee: for thee it haunts me
With stern Sciolto vowing vengeance on me,
With Altamont complaining for his wrongs-
Alt. Behold him here- [Coming forward.
Cal. Ah!
[Starting.
Are wasted all, and fled; those that remain
Are doom'd to weeping, anguish, and repentance.
Alt. The wretch! whom thou hast made.
I come to charge thee with a long account Curses and sorrows hast thou heap'd upon him,
Of all the sorrows I have known already, And vengeance is the only good that's left.
And all I have to come; thou hast undone me.
[Drawing.
Loth. Unjust Calista! dost thou call it ruin Loth. Thou hast ta'en me somewhat una-
To love as we have done; to melt, to languish,
wares, 'tis true:
To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy,
But love and war take turns, like day and night,
And then be blest ev'n to that wish's height? And little preparation serves my turn,
To die with joy, and straight to live again; Equal to both, and arm'd for either field,
Speechless to gaze, and with tumultuous trans-We've long been foes; this moment ends our
port-
quarrel;
Cal. Oh, let me hear no more; I cannot Earth, heav'n, and fair Calista, judge the combat!
bear it;
"Tis deadly to remembrance. Let that night,
That guilty night, be blotted, from the year;
For 'twas the night that gave me up to shame,
To sorrow, to the false Lothario.
Loth. Hear this, ye pow'rs! mark, how the
fair deceiver
Sadly complains of violated truth;
She calls me false, ev'n she, the faithless she,
Whom day and night, whom heav'n and earth,
have heard
Sighing to vow, and tenderly protest,
Ten thousand times, she would be only mine;
And yet, behold, she has giv'n herself away,
Fled from my arms, and wedded to another,
Ev'n to the man whom most I hate on earth.
Cal. Art thou so base to upbraid me with
a crime,
[They fight; Lothario fulls.
Oh, Altamont! thy genius is the stronger!
Thou hast prevail'd!-My fierce, ambitious soul
Declining droops, and all her fires grow pale;
Yet let not this advantage swell thy pride,
conquer'd in my turn, in love I triumph'd.
Those joys are lodg'd beyond the reach of fate;
That sweet revenge comes smiling to my
thoughts,
I
Adorns my fall, and cheers my heart in dying.
[Dies.
Cal. And what remains for me, beset with
shame,
Encompass'd round with wretchedness? There is
But this one way to break the toil, and 'scape.
[She catches up Lothario's Sword,
and offers to kill herself; Alta-
mont runs to her, and wrests it
from her.
Alt. What means thy frantic rage?
Cal. Off! let me go.
Att. Oh! thou hast more than murder'd me;
yet still,
Which nothing but thy cruelty could cause?
If indignation raging in my soul,
For thy unmanly insolence and scorn,
Urg'd me to do a deed of desperation,
And wound myself to be reveng'd on thee,
Think whom I should devote to death and hell,
Whom curse as my undoer, but Lothario;
Hadst thou been just, not all Sciolto's pow'r,
Not all the vows and pray'rs of sighing Altamont,
Could have prevail'd, or won me to forsake thee. Oh, thou hast known but little of Calista!
Loth. How have I fail'd in justice, or in love? If thou hadst never heard my shame, if only
Burns not my flame as brightly as at first? The midnight moon and silent stars had seen it,
Still art thou here! and my soul starts with horror,
At thought of any danger that may reach thee.
Cal. Think'st thou I mean to live? to be
forgiven?'

SCENE 1.]
169
THE FAIR PENITENT.
I would not bear to be reproach'd by them,
But dig down deep to find a grave beneath,
And hide me from their beams.
Sci. [Within] What, ho! my son!
Cal. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father?
Madness! Confusion! let the storm come on,
Let the tumultuous roar drive all upon me;
Dash my devoted bark, ye surges, break it!
"Tis for my ruin that the tempest rises.
When I am lost, sunk to the bottom low,
Peace shall return, and all be calm again.
Enter SCIOLTO.
Sci. Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the garden
wall-
Ha! death has been among you-Oh, my fears!
Last night thou hadst a diff'rence with thy friend,
The cause thou gav'st me for it, was a damn'd one.
Didst thou not wrong the man who told thee
truth?
Answer me quick-
Alt. Oh! press me not to speak;
Ev'n now my heart is breaking, and the mention
Will lay me dead before you. See that body,
And guess my shame! my ruin! Oh, Calista!
Sci. It is enough! but I am slow to execute,
And justice lingers in my lazy hand;
Thus let me wipe dishonour from my name,
And cut thee from the earth, thou stain to
goodness-
[Offers to kill Calista; Altamont holds him.
Alt. Stay thee, Sciolto, thou rash father, stay,
Or turn the point on me, and through my breast
Cut out the bloody passage to Calista;
So shall my love be perfect, while for her
I die, for whom alone I wish'd to live.
Cal. No, Altamont; my heart, that scorn'd
thy love,
Shall never be indebted to thy pity.
Thus torn, defac'd, and wretched as I seem,
Still I have something of Sciolto's virtue.
Yes, yes, my father, I applaud thy justice;
Strike home, and I will bless thee for the blow;
Be merciful, and free me from my pain;
'Tis sharp, 'tis terrible, and I could curse
The cheerful day, men, earth, and heav'n, and
thee,
Ev'n thee, thou venerable, good, old man,
For being author of a wretch like me.
Sci. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think,
And sav'd me from a crime; then rest, my sword;
To honour have I kept thee ever sacred,
Nor will I stain thee with a rash revenge.
But, mark me well, I will have justice done;
Hope not to bear away thy crimes unpunish'd:
I will see justice executed on thee,
Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, nature,
Or whatsoe'er thou art that plead'st within me,
Be still; thy tender strugglings are in vain.
Cal. Then am I doom'd to live, and bear
your triumph?
To groan beneath your scorn and fierce up-
braiding,
Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery
At morn, at noon, at night, told over to me?
Is this, is this the mercy of a father?
I only beg to die, and he denies me.
Sci. Hence from my sight! thy father cannot
bear thee;
Fly with thy infamy to some dark cell,
Where, on the confines of eternal night,
Mourning, misfortune, cares, and anguish dwell;
Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head,
And death and hell detested rule maintain;
There howl out the remainder of thy life,
And wish thy name may be no more remember'd.
Cal. Yes, I will fly to some such dismal place,
And be more curs'd than you can wish I were;
This fatal form, that drew on my undoing,
Fasting, and tears, and hardships, shall destroy;
Nor light, nor food, nor comfort will I know,
Nor aught that may continue hated life.
Then when you see me meagre, wan,and chang'd,
Stretch'd at my length, and dying in my cave,
On that cold earth I mean shall be my grave,
Perhaps you may relent, and sighing say,
At length her tears have wash'd her stains away;
At length 'tis time her punishment should cease;
Die, thou poor suff'ring wretch, and be at peace.
[Exit.
Sci. Who of my servants wait there?
Enter two or three Servants.
Raise that body, and bear it in. On your lives
Take care my doors be guarded well, that none
Pass out, or enter, but by my appointment.
[Exeunt Servants, with Lothario's Body.
Alt. There is a fatal fury in your visage,
It blazes fierce, and menaces destruction.
I tremble at the vengeance which you meditate
On the poor, faithless, lovely, dear Calista.
Sci. Hast thou not read what brave Virgi-
nius did?
With his own hand he slew his only daughter,
To save her from the fierce Decemvir's lust.
He slew her yet unspotted, to prevent
The shame which she might know. Then what
should I do?
But thou hast ty'd my hand.-I wo'not kill her;
Yet, by the ruin she has brought upon us,
The common infamy that brands us both,
She sha'not 'scape.
Alt. You mean that she shall die then?
Sci. Ask me not what, nor how I have resolv'd,
For all within is anarchy and uproar.
Oh, Altamont! what a vast scheme of joy
Has this one day destroy'd? Well did I hope
This daughter would have bless'd my latter days;
That I should live to see you the world's wonder,
So happy, great, and good, that none were
like you:
While I, from busy life and care set free,
Had spent the evening of my age at home,
Among a little prattling race of yours:
There, like an old man, talk'd awhile, and then
Laid down and slept in peace. Instead of this,
Sorrow and shame must bring me to my grave-
Oh, damn her! damn her!
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Arm yourself, my lord:
Rossano, who but now escap'd the garden,
Has gather'd in the street a band of rioters,
Who threaten you and all your friends with ruin,
Unless Lothario be return'd in safety. [Exit.
Sci. By heav'n, their fury rises to my wish,
Nor shall misfortune know my house alone;
But thou, Lothario, and thy race shall pay me
For all the sorrows which my age is curs'd with.
I think my name as great, my friends as potent,
As any in the state; all shall be summon'd;
I know that all will join their hands to ours,
And vindicate thy vengeance. When our force
Is full and arm'd, we shall expect thy sword
22

170
[ACT V.
THE FAIR PENITENT.
To join with us, and sacrifice to justice. [Exit. By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs to heav'n,
Alt. There is a heavy weight upon my senses; Were little for my fondness to bestow;
A dismal, sullen stillness, that succeeds Why didst thou turn to folly then, and curse me?
The storm of rage and grief, like silent death, Cal. Because my soul was rudely drawn
After the tumult and the noise of life.
from yours,
Would it were death, as sure 'tis wondrous like it,
For I am sick of living; my soul's pall'd,
She kindles not with anger or revenge;
Love was th' informing, active fire within:
Now that is quench'd, the mass forgets to move,
And longs to mingle with its kindred earth.
[Exit.
ACT V.
A poor, imperfect copy of my father;
It was because I lov'd, and was a woman.
Sci. Hadst thou been honest, thou hadst
been a cherubim;
But of that joy, as of a gem long lost,
Beyond redemption gone, think we no more.
Hast thou e'er dar'd to meditate on death?
Cal. I have, as on the end of shame and
sorrow.
Sci. Ha! answer me! Say, hast thou coolly
thought?
SCENE I-A Room hung with black; on one
Side LOTHARIO's Body on a Bier; on
the other a Table, with a Scull and other Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote,
Bones, a Book and a Lamp on it.
The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations,
CALISTA is discovered on a Couch, in black; That can sustain thee in that hour of terror;
her Hair hanging loose and disordered. Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it,
After soft Music she rises and comes But when the trial comes they stand aghast;
forward.
Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it?
Cal. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this How thy account may stand, and what to
pomp of horror,
answer?
Cal. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself,
Where foul offence and shame have laid all
waste;
Sci. 'Tis justly thought, and worthy of that
spirit
go on,
That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome
Was mistress of the world. I would
And tell thee all my purpose; but it sticks
Here at my heart, and cannot find a way.
Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul.
Here's room for meditation ev'n to madness,
Till the mind burst with thinking. This dull flame
Sleeps in the socket. Sure the book was left Therefore my soul abhors the wretched dwelling,
To tell me something;-for instruction then-And longs to find some better place of rest.
He teaches holy sorrow and contrition,
And penitence.-Is it become an art then?
A trick that lazy, dull, luxurious gownmen
Can teach us to do over? I'll no more on't;
[Throwing away the Book.
I have more real anguish in my heart,
Than all their pedant discipline e'er knew.
What charnel has been rifled for these bones?
Fie! this is pageantry;-they look uncouthly.
But what of that, if he or she that own'd 'em
Safe from disquiet sit, and smile to see
The farce their miserable relics play?
But here's a sight is terrible indeed!
Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario,
That dear, perfidious-Ah!-how pale he looks!
And those dead eyes!
Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night,
In all your diff'rent dreadful shapes ascend,
And match the present horror, if you can.
Enter SCIOLTO.
Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of
darkness,
Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose;
And yet distraction and tumultuous jars,
Keep all our frighted citizens awake:
Amidst the gen'ral wreck, see where she stands,
[Pointing to Calista.
Like Helen, in the night when Troy was sack'd,
Spectatress of the mischief which she made.
Cal. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul,
Be strong to bear his fatal indignation,
That he might see thou art not lost so far,
But somewhat still of his great spirit lives
In the forlorn Calista.
Sci. Thou wert once
My daughter.
Cal. Happy were it I had dy'd,
And never lost that name.
Sci. That's something yet;
Thou wert the very darling of my age:
I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee,
Cal. Then spare the telling, if it be a pain,
And write the meaning with your poniard here.
Sci. Oh! truly guess'd-seest thou this tremb-
ling hand?
[Holding up a Dagger.
Thrice justice urg'd-and thrice the slack'ning
sinews
Forgot their office, and confess'd the father.
At length the stubborn virtue has prevail'd;
It must, it must be so-Oh! take it then,
[Giving the Dagger.
And know the rest untaught.
Cal. I understand you.
It is but thus, and both are satisfied.
[She offers to kill herself; Sciolto
catches hold of her arm.
Sci. A moment, give me yet a moment's space.
The stern, the rigid judge has been obey'd;
Now nature, and the father, claim their turns.
I've held the balance with an iron hand,
And put off ev'ry tender human thought,
To doom my child to death; but spare my eyes
The most unnat'ral sight, lest their strings crack,
My old brain split, and I grow mad with horror.
Cal. Ha! is it possible? and is there yet
Some little, dear remain of love and tenderness
For poor, undone Calista, in your heart?
Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took
in thee,
What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy,
Thy sprightly wit, and early blooming beauty;
How have I stood and fed my eyes upon thee,
Then, lifting up my hands and wond'ring
bless'd thee;
By my strong grief, my heart ev'n melts with-
in me;
That all the blessings I could gather for thee, I could curse nature, and that tyrant, honour,

SCENE 1.]
171
THE FAIR PENITENT.
For making me thy father and thy judge;
Thou art my daughter still,
Cal. For that kind word,
Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth,
Weep on your feet, and bless you for this
goodness.
Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch,
This parricide, that murders with her crimes,
Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off,
Ere little more than half his years be number'd.
Sci. Would it were otherwise-but thou
must die.-
Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort;
Death is the privilege of human nature,
And life without it were not worth our taking:
Come then,
Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last,
Charm'd with my father's pity and forgiveness,
More than if angels tun'd their golden viols,
And sung a requiem to my parting soul.
Sci. I'm summon'd hence; ere this
my friends
expect me.
There is I know not what of sad presage,
That tells me I shall never see thee more;
If it be so, this is our last farewell,
And these the parting pangs, which nature feels,
When anguish rends the heartstrings- Oh,
my daughter! [Exit.
That, were I not abandon'd to destruction,
With thee I might have liv'd for ages bless'd,
And died in peace within thy faithful arms.
Enter HORATIO.
Hor. Now mourn indeed, ye miserable pair!
For now the measure of your woes is full.
The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment.
Cal. My father!
Alt. That's a deadly stroke indeed.
Hor. Not long ago, he privately went forth,
Attended but by few, and those unbidden.
I heard which way he took, and straight pur-
su'd him;
But found him compass'd by Lothario's faction,
Almost alone, amidst a crowd of foes.
Too late we brought him aid, and drove them
back:
Ere that, his frantic valour had provok'd
The death he seem'd to wish for from their swords.
Cal. And dost thou bear me yet, thou pa-
tient earth?
Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight?
And you, ye glitt'ring, heav'nly host of stars,
Hide your fair heads in clouds, or I shall blast you;
For I am all contagion, death, and ruin,
And nature sickens at me. Rest, thou world,
This parricide shall be thy plague no more;
Cal. Now think, thou curs'd Calista, now Thus, thus I set thee free. Stabs herself.
behold
The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin,
Thy crimes and fatal folly spread around,
That loudly cry for vengeance on thy head;
Yet heav'n, who knows our weak imperfect
natures,
How blind with passions, and how prone to evil,
Makes not too strict inquiry for offences,
But is aton'd by penitence and pray'r:
Cheap recompense! here 'twould not be receiv'd;
Nothing but blood can make the expiation,
And cleanse the soul from inbred deep pollution.
And see, another injur'd wretch appears,
To call for justice from my tardy hand.
Enter ALTAMONT.
Alt. Hail to you, horrors! hail, thou house
of death!
And thou, the lovely mistress of these shades,
Whose beauty gilds the more than midnight
darkness,
And makes it grateful as the dawn of day.
Oh, take me in, a fellow mourner, with thee,
I'll number groan for groan, and tear for tear;
And when the fountain of thy eyes are dry,
Mine shall supply the stream, and weep for both.
Cal. I know thee well, thou art the injur'd
Altamont!
Thou com'st to urge me with the wrongs I've
done thee;
But know I stand upon the brink of life,
And in a moment mean to set me free
From shame and thy upbraiding.
Alt. Falsely, falsely
Dost thou accuse me! O, forbid me not
To mourn thy loss,
To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves,
And that Calista had been mine, and true.
Cal. Oh, Altamont! 'tis hard for souls like mine,
Haughty and fierce, to yield they've done amiss.
But, oh, behold! my proud, disdainful heart
Bends to thy gentler virtue. Yes, I own,
Such is thy truth, thy tenderness, and love,
Hor. Oh, fatal rashness!
Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported
by Servants.
Cal. Oh, my heart!
Well may'st thou fail; for see, the spring that fed
Thy vital stream is wasted, and runs low.
My father! will you now, at last, forgive me,
If, after all my crimes, and all your suff'rings,
I call you once again by that dear name?
Will you forget my shame, and those wide
wounds?
Lift up your hand and bless me, ere I go
Down to my dark abode!
Sci. Alas, my daughter!
Thou hast rashly ventur'd in a stormy sea,
Where life, fame, virtue, all were wreck'd
and lost.
But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the
anguish,
And smarted with the pain. Then rest in peace:
Let silence and oblivion hide thy name,
And save thee from the malice of posterity;
And may'st thou find with heav'n the same
forgiveness,
As with thy father here.-Die, and be happy.
Cal. Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon
my soul,
And ev'ry pain grows less -Oh, gentle Altamont!
Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone;
But pity me-Had I but early known
Thy wondrous worth, thou excellent young man,
We had been happier both-Now 'tis too late;
And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee;
Thou art their last dear object-Mercy, heav'n!
[Dies.
Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object,
Altamont!
Come near, and let me bless thee ere I die.
To thee and brave Horatio I bequeath
My fortunes-Lay me by thy noble father,
And love my memory as thou hast his;
For thou hast been my son-Oh, gracious heav'n!

172
[ACT I.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Thou that hast endless blessings still in store
For virtue and for filial piety,
And bends him, like a drooping flow'r, to earth.
By such examples are we taught to prove
Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away; The sorrows that attend unlawful love.
But multiply thy mercies on his head. Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide
Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him, The injur'd bridegroom from his guilty bride.
And peace in all his ways-
[Dies. If you would have the nuptial union last,
Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast.
his youth,
[Exeunt.
HUGHES.
THIS amiable man, and elegant author, was the son of a citizen of London, and was born at Marlborough, in Wilt-
shire, on the 29th of Jan. 1677, but received the rudiments of his education in private schools at London. Even in the
very earliest parts of life his genius seemed to show itself equally inclined to each of the three sister arts, music, poe-
try, and design, in all which he made a very considerable progress. To his excellence in these qualifications, his con-
temporary and friend, Sir Richard Steele, bears the following extraordinary testimonial: "He may (says that author)
be the emulation of more persons of different talents than any one I have ever known. His head, hands, or heart,
were always employed in something worthy imitation. His pencil, his bow, or his pen, each of which he used in a
masterly manner, were always directed to raise and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a more cheerful prose-
cution of what is noble and virtuous." Such is the evidence borne to his talents by a writer of the first rank; yet
he seems, for the most part, to have pursued these and other polite studies little further than by the way of agreeable
amusements, under frequent confinement, occasioned by indisposition and a valetudinarian state of health. Mr. Hughes
had, for some time, an employment in the office of ordnance, and was secretary to two or three commissions under
the great seal for the purchase of lands, in order to the better securing the docks and harbours at Portsmouth, Chat-
ham, and Harwich. In the year 1717, the Lord Chancellor Cowper, to whom our author had not long been known,
thought proper, without any previous solicitation, to nominate him his secretary for the commissions of the peace, and
to distinguish him with singular marks of his favour and affection; and, upon his Lordship's laying down the great
seal, he was, at the particular recommendation of this his patron, and with the ready concurrence of his successor the
Earl of Macclesfield, continued in the same employment, which he held till the time of his decease, the 17th, of Feb.
1719, being the very night on which his celebrated tragedy of The Siege of Damascus made its first appearance on the
stage; when, after a life mostly spent in pain and sickness, he was carried off by a consumption having but barely
completed his 42d year, and at a period in which he had just arrived at an agreeable competence, and was advancing,
with rapid steps, towards the pinnacle of fame and fortune. He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel
of St Andrew's church, in Holborn.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
ACTED at Drury Lane 1719. It is generally allowed, that the characters in this tragedy are finely varied and dis-
tinguished; that the sentiments are just and well adapted to the characters; that it abounds with beautiful descriptions,
apt allusions to the manners and opinions of the times wherein the scene is laid, and with noble morals; that the dic-
tion is pure, unaffected and sublime, without any meteors of style or ambitious ornaments; and that the plot is conduct-
ed in a simple and clear manner. When it was offered to the managers of Drury Lane House, in the year 1718, they
refused to act it, unless the author made an alteration in the character of Phocyas, who, in the original, had been pre-
vailed upon to profess himself a Mahometan; pretending that he could not be a hero, if he changed his religion, and
that the audience would not bear the sight of him after it, in how lively a manner soever his remorse and repentance
might be described. The author (being then in a very languishing condition) finding, if he did not comply, his rela-
tions would probably loose the benefit of the play, consented, though with reluctance, to new-model the character of
Phocyas The story on which this play is founded, is amply detailed in Mr. Gibbon's History, vol. V. p. 310. where
we find the real name of Phocyas to have been Jonas. That author says, "Instead of a base renegado, Phocyas serves
the Arabs as an honourable ally; instead of prompting their pursuit, he flies to the succour of his countrymen, and,
after killing Caled and Daran, is himself mortally wounded, and expires in the presence of Eudocia, who professes her
resolution to take the veil at Constantinople.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
CHRISTIANS.
SERGIUS.
EUMENES.
EUDOCIA.
HERBIS.
Officers, Soldiers,
PHOCYAS.
ARTAMON.
Citizens, and At-
tendants.
SARACENS.
RAPHAN.
CALED.
ABUDAH.
DARAN.
SERJABIL.
Officers, Sol-
diers, and
Attendants.
SCENE. The City of DAMASCUS, in SYRIA, and the Saracen Camp before it; and, in
the last Act, a Valley adjacent.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-The City.
As brave men should.-Pity your wives and
children!
Yes, I do pity them, heav'n knows I do,
Enter EUMENES, followed by a Crowd of E'en more than you; nor will I yield them up,
People.
Eum. I'LL hear no more. Be gone!
Or stop your clam'rous mouths, that still are open
To bawl sedition and consume our corn.
If you will follow me, send home your women,
Though at your own request, a prey to ruffians.-
Herbis, what news?
Enter HERBIS.
Her. News!-we're betray'd, deserted;
And follow to the walls; there earn your safety, The works are but half mann'd; the Saracens
3

SCENE 1.2.]
173
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Perceive it, and pour on such crowds, they blunt To leave us desperate. Aids may soon arrive;
Our weapons, and have drain'd our stores of Mean time, in spite of their late bold attack,
death.
What will you next?
Eum. I've sent a fresh recruit.
The valiant Phocyas leads them on-whose
deeds,
In early youth, assert his noble race;
A more than common ardour seems to warm
His breast, as if he lov'd and courted danger.
Her. I fear 'twill be too late.
Eum. I fear it too:
And though I brav'd it to the trembling crowd,
I've caught th' infection, and I dread th'event.
Would I had treated!-but 'tis now too late.
[Aside.
Come, Herbis.
[Exeunt.
A great Shout. Re-enter HERBIS,
Her. So-the tide turns; Phocyas has driv'n
it back.
The gate once more is ours.
Flourish. Re-enter EUMENES, with PHOCYAS,
ARTAMON, etc.
Eum. Brave Phocyas, thanks! mine and the
people's thanks.
Yet, that we may not lose this breathing space,
Hang out the flag of truce. You, Artamon,
Haste with a trumpet to th' Arabian chiefs,
And let them know, that, hostages exchang'd,
I'd meet them now upon the eastern plain.
[Exit Artamon.
Pho. What means Eumenes?
Eum, Phocyas, I would try,
By friendly treaty, if on terms of peace
They'll yet withdraw their pow'rs.
Pho. On terms of peace!
What peace can you expect from bands
robbers?
The city still is ours; their force repell'd,
And therefore weaker: proud of this success,
Our soldiers too have gain'd redoubled courage,
And long to meet them on the open plain.
What hinders then but we repay this outrage,
And sally on their camp?
Eum. No-let us first
Believe th' occasion fair, by this advantage,
To purchase their retreat on easy terms:
That failing, we the better stand acquitted
To our own citizens. However, brave Phocyas,
Cherish this ardour in the soldiery,
And in our absence form what force thou canst;
Then if these hungry bloodhounds of the war
Should still be deaf to peace, at our return
Our widen'd gates shall pour a sudden flood
Of vengeance on them, and chastise their scorn.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-A Plain before the City. A Pros-
pect of Tents at a distance.
Enter CALED, ABUDAH, and DARAN.
Daran. To treat, my chiefs!-What! are
we merchants then,
That only come to traffic with those Syrians,
And poorly cheapen conquest on conditions?
No: we were sent to fight the caliph's battles,
Till every iron neck bend to obedience.
Another storm makes this proud city ours;
What need we treat?-I am for war and plunder.
Caled. Why, so am I; and but to save the
lives
Of mussulmans, not Christians, I would treat.
I hate these Christian dogs; and 'tis our task,
As thou observ'st, to fight; our law enjoins it:
Heaven, too, is promis'd only to the valiant.
of Oft has our prophet said, the happy plains
Above lie stretch'd beneath the blaze of swords.
Abu. Yet Daran's loath to trust that heaven
for pay;
What terms from slaves but slavery?-You know
These wretches fight not at the call of honour,
That sets the princes of the world in arms.
Base-born, and starv'd, amidst their stony deserts,
Long have they view'd from far, with wishing
eyes,
Our fruitful vales, and all the verdant wealth
That crowns fair Lebanon's aspiring brows.
Here have the locusts pitch'd, nor will they leave
These tasted sweets, these blooming fields of
plenty,
For barren sands and native poverty,
Till driv'n away by force,
Eum. What can we do?
Our people in despair; our soldiers harrass'd
With daily toil and constant nightly watch;
Our hopes of succour from the emperor
Uncertain; Eutyches not yet return'd,
That went to ask them; one brave army beaten;
Th' Arabians num'rous, cruel, flush'd with
conquest.
7
Her. Besides, you know what frenzy fires
their minds,
Of their new faith, and drives them on to
danger.
Eum. True:
This earth, it seems, has gifts that please him
more.
Caled. Check not his zeal, Abudah.
Abu. No; I praise it.
Yet I could wish that zeal had better motives.
Has victory no fruits but blood and plunder?
That we were sent to fight, 'tis true; but
wherefore?
For conquest, not destruction. That obtain'd,
The more we spare, the caliph has more subjects,
And heaven is better serv'd.-But see, they come!
[Trumpets.
Enter EUMENES, HERBIS, and ARTAMON.
Caled. Well, Christians, we are met-and
war awhile,
At your request, has still'd his angry voice,
To hear what
you will
purpose.
Eum. We come to know,
After so many troops you've lost in vain,
If you'll draw off in peace, and save the rest?
Her. Or rather to know first- for yet we
know not-
they pretend the gates of Why on your heads you call our pointed
Paradise
Stand ever open to receive the souls
Of all that die in fighting for their cause.
Pho. Then would I send their souls to Paradise,
And give their bodies to our Syrian eagles.
Our ebb of fortune is not yet so low,
arrows,
In our own just defence? What means this visit?
And why see we so many thousand tents
Rise in the air, and whiten all our fields?
Caled. Is that a question now? you had
our summons,

174
[ACT I
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
When first we march'd against you, to surrender.
Two moons have wasted since, and now the third
Is in its wane. 'Tis true, drawn off awhile,
At Aiznadin we met and fought the powers
Sent by your emperor to raise our siege.
Vainly you thought us gone; we gain'd a con-
quest.
You see we are return'd; our hearts, our cause,
Our swords the same.
Her. But why those swords were drawn,
And what's the cause, inform us?
Eum. Speak your wrongs,
Caled. Blasphemer, know, your fields and
towns are ours;
Our prophet has bestow'd them on the faithful,
And heaven itself has ratified the grant.
Eum. Oh! now indeed you boast a noble title!
What could your prophet grant? a hireling slave!
Not e'en the mules and camels which he drove,
Were his to give; and yet the bold impostor
Has canton'd out the kingdoms of the earth,
In frantic fits of visionary power,
To sooth his pride, and bribe his fellow madmen!
Caled. Was is for this you sent to ask a parley,
If wrongs you have receiv'd, and by what means T' affront our faith, and to traduce our prophet?
They may be now repair'd.
Abu. Then, Christians, hear,
And heaven inspire you to embrace its truth!
Not wrongs t' avenge, but to establish right,
Our swords were drawn: for such is heaven's
command
Immutable. By us great Mahomet,
And his successor, holy Abubeker,
Invite you to the faith.
what
Eum. Now, in the name of heaven,
faith is this,
That stalks gigantic forth thus arm'd with terrors,
As if it meant to ruin, not to save;
That leads embattled legions to the field,
And marks its progress out with blood and
slaughter?
Her. Bold, frontless men! that impudently dare
To blend religion with the worst of crimes!
And sacrilegiously usurp that name,
To cover fraud, and justify oppression!
Eum. Where are your priests! What doc-
tors of your law
Have you e'er sent t' instruct us in its precepts,
To solve our doubts, and satisfy our reason,
And kindly lead us through the wilds of error,
To these new tracts of truth?-This would be
friendship,
And well might claim our thanks.
Caled. Friendship like this
ous vices,
Well might we answer you with quick revenge
For such indignities-Yet hear, once more,
Hear this, our last demand; and, this accepted,
We yet withdraw our war. Be Christians still;
But swear to live with us in firm alliance,
To yield us aid, and pay us annual tribute.
Eum. No: should we grant you aid, we
must be rebels;
And tribute is the slavish badge of conquest.
Yet since, on just and honourable terms,
We ask but for our own-Ten silken vests,
Weighty with pearls and
we'll send your
gems,
soldier
caliph;
Two, Caled, shall be thine; two thine, Abudah.
To each inferior captain we decree
A turban spun from our Damascus flax,
White as the snows of heaven; to every
A scymitar. This, and of solid gold
Ten ingots, be the price to buy your absence.
Caled. This, and much more, even all your
shining wealth,
Will soon be ours. Behold our march
O'er half your land, like flame through fields
of harvest;
And, last, view Aiznadin, that vale of blood!
There seek the souls of forty thousand Greeks,
That, fresh from life, yet hover o'er their bodies.
Then think, and then resolve.
Her. Presumptuous men!
With scorn had been receiv'd: your numer-What though you yet can boast successful guilt,
Is conquest only yours? Or dare you hope
Your clashing sects, your mutual rage and strife, That you shall still pour on the swelling tide,
Have driven religion, and her angel guards,Like some proud river that has left its banks,
Like outcasts from among you. In her stead, Nor ever know repulse?
Usurping superstition bears the sway,
Eum. Have you forgot!
And reigns in mimic state, midst idol shows, Not twice seven years are past, since e'en your
And pageantry of power. Who does not mark
prophet,
Your lives, rebellious to your own great prophet, Bold as he was, and boasting aid divine,
Who mildly taught you?-Therefore Mahomet Was by the tribe of Corish forc'd to fly,
Has brought the sword, to govern you by force. Poorly to fly, to save his wretched life,
Eum. O, solemn truths! though from an From Mecca to Medina?
impious tongue! [Aside. Abu. No-forgot!
That we're unworthy of our holy faith,
To heaven, with grief and conscious shame,
we own.
But what are you that thus arraign our vices,
And consecrate your own?
Are you not sons of rapine, foes to peace,
Base robbers, murderers?
Caled. Christians, no.
Eum. Then say,
Why have you ravag'd all our peaceful borders?
[now,
We well remember how Medina screen'd
That holy head, preserv'd for better days,
And ripening years of glory.
Daran. Why, my chiefs,
Will you waste time, in offering terms despis'd,
To these idolaters?-Words are but air,
Blows would plead better.
Caled. Daran, thou say'st true.
Christians, here end our truce. Behold, once
more
sheath'd,
Plunder'd our towns? and by what claim, e'en The sword of heaven is drawn! nor shall be
You tread this ground?
Her. What claim, but that of hunger? But in the bowels of Damascus.
The claim of ravenous wolves, that leave their Eum. That,
dens
Or speedy vengeance and destruction, due
To prowl at midnight round some sleeping village, To the proud menacers, as heaven sees fit!
Or watch the shepherd's folded flock for
prey?
[Exeunt.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
175
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
SCENE III-A Garden.
Enter EUDOCIA.
Eud. All's hush'd around!-No more the
shout of soldiers,
And clash of arms, tumultuous, fill the air.
Methinks this interval of terror seems
Like that, when the loud thunder just has roll'd
O'er our affrighted heads, and, in the heavens,
A momentary silence but prepares
A second and a louder clap to follow.
Enter PHOCYAS.
O no-my hero comes with better omens,
And every gloomy thought is now no more.
Pho. Where is the treasure of my soul?
Eudocia,
Behold me here impatient, like the miser,
That often steals in secret to his gold,
And counts, with trembling joy and jealous
transport,
The shining heaps which he still fears to lose.
Eud. Welcome, thou brave, thou best de-
serving lover!
How do I doubly share the common safety,
Since 'tis a debt to thee!-But tell me, Phocyas,
Dost thou bring peace?-Thou dost, and I am
happy!
Pho. Not yet, Eudocia, 'tis decreed by heaven,
I must do more to merit thy esteem.
Peace, like a frighted dove, has wing'd her flight
To distant hills, beyond these hostile tents;
And through them we must thither force our way,
If we would call the lovely wanderer back
To her forsaken home.
Eud. False, flattering hope!
Vanish'd so soon!-alas, my faithful fears
Return and tell me we must still be wretched!
Pho. Not so, my fair; if thou but gently smile,
Inspiring valour, and presaging conquest,
These barbarous foes to peace and love shall soon
Be chas'd,, like fiends, before the morning light,
And all be calm again,
Eud. Is the truce ended?
Must war, alas! renew its bloody rage,
And Phocyas ever be expos'd to danger?
Pho. Think for whose sake danger itself
has charms.
Dismiss thy fears: the lucky hour comes on
Full fraught with joys, when my big soul no more
Shall labour with this secret of my passion,
To hide it from thy jealous father's eyes.
Just now, by signals from the plain, I've learn'd
That the proud foe refuse us terms of honour;
A sally is resolv'd; the citizens
And soldiers, kindled into sudden fury,
Press all in crowds, and beg I'll lead them on.
O, my Eudocia! if I now succeed-
Did I say, if?-I must, I will; the cause
Is love, 'tis liberty, it is Eudocia!-
What then shall hinder,
But I may boldly ask thee of Eumenes,
Nor fear a rival's more prevailing claim?
Eud. May blessings still attend thy arms!-
Methinks
I've caught the flame of thy heroic ardour;
And now I see thee crown'd with palm and olive;
The soldiers bring thee back, with songs of
triumph,
And loud applauding shouts; thy rescu'd country
Resounds thy praise; our emperor, Heraclius,
Decrees thee honours for a city sav'd;
And pillars rise of monumental brass,
Inscrib'd-"To Phocyas, the deliverer. "
Pho. The honours and rewards, which thou
hast nam'd,
Are bribes too little for my vast ambition.
My soul is full of thee!-Thou art my all,
Of fame, of triumph, and of future fortune.
'Twas love of thee first sent me forth in arms;
My service is all thine, to thee devoted;
And thou alone canst make e'en conquest
pleasing.
Eud. O, do not wrong thy merit, nor re-
strain it
To narrow bounds; but know, I best am pleas'd
To share thee with thy country. Oh, my Phocyas!
With conscious blushes oft I've heard thy vows,
And strove to hide, yet more reveal'd my heart;
But 'tis thy virtue justifies my choice,
And what at first was weakness, now is glory.
Pho. Forgive me, thou fair pattern of all
goodness,
If, in the transport of unbounded passion,
I still am lost to every thought but thee.
Yet sure to love thee thus is every virtue;
Nor need I more perfection.-Hark! I'm call'd.
[Trumpet sounds.
Eud. Then go-and heaven with all its an-
gels guard thee.
Pho. Farewell!-for thee once more I draw
the sword.
Now to the field, to gain the glorious prize;
'Tis victory-the word-Eudocia's eyes!
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.- The Governor's Palace.
Enter EUMENES and HERBIS.
Her. Still I must say 'twas wrong, 'twas
wrong, Eumenes;
And mark th' event!
Eum. What could I less? You saw
'Twas vain t'oppose it, whilst his eager valour,
Impatient of restraint-
Her. His eager valour!
His rashness, his hot youth, his valour's fever!
Must we, whose business 'tis to keep our walls,
And manage warily our little strength;
Must we at once lavish away our blood,
Because his pulse beats high, and his mad courage
Wants to be breath'd in some new enterprize?-
You should not have consented.
Eum. You forget.
'Twas not my voice alone, you saw the people
(And sure such sudden instincts are from heaven!)
Rose all at once to follow him, as if
One soul inspir'd them, and that soul was
Phocyas'.
Her. I had indeed forgot, and ask your
pardon.
I took you for Eumenes, and I thought
That, in Damascus, you had chief command.
Eun. What dost thou mean?
Her. Nay, who's forgetful now?
You say, the people-Yes, that very people,
That coward tribe that press'd you to surrender!
Well may they spurn at lost authority;
Whom they like better, better they'll obey.
Eum. OI could curse the giddy changeful
slaves,
But that the thought of this hour's great event
Possesses all my soul.-If we are beaten!-

176
[ACT II.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Her. The poison works; 'tis well-I'll give How shall thy country pay the debt she owes thee?
Pho. By taking this as earnest of a debt
him more.
[Aside.
True, if we're beaten, who shall answer that? Which I owe her, and fain would better pay.
Shall you, or I?-Are you the governor? Her. In spite of envy I must praise him too.
Or say we conquer, whose is then the praise?
Eum. I know thy friendly fears; that thou
and I
Must stoop beneath a beardless, rising hero!
And in Heraclius' court it shall be said,
Damascus, nay, perhaps the empire too,
Ow'd its deliverance to a boy.-Why be it,
So that he now return with victory;
'Tis honour greatly won, and let him wear it.
Yet I could wish I needed less his service.
Were Eutyches returned-
Her. That, that's my torture.
[Aside.
[Aside.
Phocyas, thou hast done bravely, and 'tis fit
Successful virtue take a time to rest.
Fortune is fickle, and may change: besides,
What shall we gain, if from a mighty ocean
By sluices we draw off some little streams?
If thousands fall, ten thousands more remain.
Nor ought we hazard worth so great as thine,
Against such odds. Suffice what's done already:
And let us now, in hopes of better days,
Keep wary watch, and wait th' expected succours.
Pho. What!-to be coop'd whole months
within our walls?
I sent my son to the emperor's court, in hopes
His merit at this time might raise his fortunes; To rust at home, and sicken with inaction?
But Phocyas-curse upon his froward virtues!
Is reaping all this field of fame alone,
Or leaves him scarce the gleanings of a harvest.
Eum. See Artamon, with hasty strides re-
turning.
He comes alone! Oh! friend, thy fears were just.
What are we now, and what is lost Damascus?
Enter ARTAMON.
Art. Joy to Eumenes!
Eum. Joy!-is't possible?
Dost thou bring news of victory?
Art. The sun
Is set in blood, and from the western skies
Has seen three thousand slaughter'd Arabs fall.
Her. Is Phocyas safe?
Art. He is, and crown'd with triumph.
Her. My fears indeed were just.
[Aside.
Shout, Flourish.
Eum. What noise is that?
Her. The people worshipping their new di-
vinity:
Shortly they'll build him temples.
Eum. Tell us, soldier,
The courage of our men will droop and die,
If not kept up by daily exercise.
Again the beaten foe may force our gates;
And victory, if slighted thus, take wing,
And fly where she may find a better welcome.
Eum. Urge him no more:
I'll think of thy late warning;
And thou shalt see I'll yet be governor.
[Aside to Her.
Enter a Messenger, with a Letter.
Pho. [Looking on it] Tis to Eumenes.
Eum. Ha! from Eutyches.
[Reads] The emperor, awaken'd with the
danger
That threatens his dominions, and the loss
At Aiznadin, has drain'd his garrisons
To raise a second army. In a few hours
We will begin our march. Sergius brings this,
And will inform you further.-
[Aside.
Her. Heaven, I thank thee!
'Twas even beyond my hopes.
Eum. But where is Sergius?
Mes. The letter, fastened to an arrow's head,
Since thou hast shar'd the glory of this action, Whas shot into the town.
Tell us how it began.
Art. At first the foe
Seem'd much surpris'd; but taking soon the
alarm,
Gather'd some hasty troops, and march'd to
meet us.
Eum. I fear he's taken.-
O Phocyas, Herbis, Artamon! my friends!
You all are sharers in this news; the storm
Is blowing o'er that hung like night upon us,
And threaten'd deadly ruin. Haste, proclaim
The welcome tidings loud through all the city.
Let sparkling lights be seen from every turret,
To tell your joy, and spread their blaze to heaven.
Prepare for feasts; danger shall wait at distance,
And fear be now no more. The jolly soldier
And citizen shall meet o'er their full bowls,
Forget their toils, and laugh their cares away,
And mirth and triumphs close this happy day.
[Exeunt Herbis and Artamon.
Pho. And may succeeding days prove yet
more happy!
The captain of these bands look'd wild and fierce,
His head unarm'd, as if in scorn of danger,
And naked to the waist; as he drew near,
He rais'd his arm, and shook a pond'rous lance:
When all at once, as at a signal given,
We heard the tecbir, so these Arabs call
Their shouts of onset, when with loud appeal
They challenge heaven, as if demanding conquest.
The battle join'd, and through the barbarous host
"Fight, fight, and paradise," was all the cry.
At last our leaders met; and gallant Phocyas-Well dost thou bid the voice of triumph sound
But what are words, to tell the mighty wonders Through all our streets; our city calls thee father:
We saw him then perform?- Their chief un- And say, Eumenes, dost thou not perceive
hors'd,
A father's transport rise within thy breast,
Whilst in this act thou art the hand of heaven,
To deal forth blessings, and distribute joy?
Eum. The blessings heaven bestows are
freely sent,
And should be freely shar'd.
The Saracens soon broke their ranks, and fled;
And had not a thick evening fog, arose,
The slaughter had been double. But, behold,
The hero comes!
Enter PHOCYAS, EUMENES meeting him.
Eum. Joy to brave Phocyas!
Eumenes gives him back the joy he sent.
The welcome news has reach'd this place be-
fore thee.
Pho. True-Generous minds
Redoubled feel the pleasure they impart.
For me, if I've deserv'd by arms or counsels,
By hazards, gladly sought and greatly prosper'd,
SCENE 1.]
177
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.

Whate'er I've added to the public stock,
With joy I see it in Eumenes' hands,
And wish but to receive my share from thee.
Eum. I cannot, if I would, withhold thy share.
What thou hast done is thine, the fame thy own:
And virtuous actions will reward themselves.
Pho. Fame-What is that, if courted for
herself?
Less than a vision; a mere sound, an echo,
That calls, with mimic voice, through woods
and labyrinths,
Thou hast already taught my child her duty.
I find the source of all her disobedience,
Her hate of me, her scorn of Eutyches.
Was this the spring of thy romantic bravery,
Thy boastful merit, thy officious service?
Pho. It was-with pride I own it-'twas
Eudocia.
I
have serv'd the in serving her; thou know'st it.
Why wilt thou force me thus to be a braggart,
And tell thec that which thou shouldst tell thyself?
It grates my soul-I am not wont to talk thus.
But I recall my words-I have done nothing,
And would disclaim all merit, but my love.
Eum. Oh, no-say on, that thou hast sav'd
Damascus ;
Her cheated lovers; lost and heard by fits,
But never fix'd: a seeming nymph, yet nothing.
Virtue indeed is a substantial good,
A real beauty; yet with weary steps,
Through rugged ways, by long, laborious service, Is it not so?-Look o'er her battlements,
When we have trac'd, and woo'd, and won See if the flying foe have left their camp!
Why are our gates yet clos'd, if thou hast
freed us?
the dame,
May we not then expect the dower she brings?
Eum. Well-ask that dowry; say, can Da-
mascus pay it?
Her riches shall be tax'd; name but the sum,
Her merchants with some costly gems shall
grace thee;
Nor can Heraclius fail to grant thee honours,
Proportion'd to thy birth and thy desert.
Pho. And can Eumenes think I would be
brib'd
By trash, by sordid gold, to venal virtue?
What! serve my country for the same mean hire,
That can corrupt each villain to betray her?
Why is she sav'd from these Arabian spoilers,
If to be stripp'd by her own sons?-Forgive me
If the thought glows on my cheeks! I know
'Twas mention'd but to prove how much I scorn it.
Yes, Eumenes,
I have ambition-yet the vast reward
That swells my hopes, and equals all my wishes,
Is in thy gift alone-It is Eudocia.
Eum. Eudocia! Phocyas, I am yet thy friend,
And therefore will not hold thee long in doubt.
Thou must not think of her.
Pho. Not think of her!
Impossible. She's ever present to me!
My life, my soul! She animates my being,
And kindles up my thoughts to worthy actions.
And why, Eumenes, why not think of her?
Is not my rank-
Eum. Forbear-What need a herald,
To tell me who thou art?-Yet once again
Since thou wilt force me to a repetition,
I say, thou must not think of her.
My choice has destin'd her to Eutyches!
Pho. And has she then consented to that
'Tis true thou'st fought a skirmish-What of
that?
Had Eutyches been present-
Pho. Eutyches!
Why wilt thou urge my temper with that trifler?
Oh, let him come! that in yon spacious plain
We may together charge the thickest ranks,
Rush on to battle, wounds, and glorious death,
And prove who 'twas that best deserv'd Eudocia.
Eum. That will be seen ere long.-But since
I find
Thou arrogantly wouldst usurp dominion,
Believ'st thyself the guardian genius here,
And that our fortunes hang upon thy sword;
Be that first try'd - for know, that from this
moment,
Thou here hast no command. Farewell!-So
stay,
Or hence and join the foe; thou hast thy
choice.
[Exit.
-
Proud, un-
Pho. Spurn'd and degraded!-
grateful man!
Am I a bubble then, blown up by thee,
And toss'd into the air, to make thee sport?
Hence to the foe! 'Tis well-Eudocia,
Oh, I will see thee, thou wrong'd excellence!
But how to speak thy wrongs, or my disgrace-
Impossible! Oh, rather let me walk,
Like a dumb ghost, and burst my heart in
silence.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-The Garden.
Enter EUDOCIA.
Eud. Why must we meet by stealth, like
guilty lovers?
But 'twill not long be so. What joy 'twill be
Eum. Has she consented?-What is her To own my hero in his ripen'd honours,
Is she not mine?
choice?
consent?
Pho. She is and in that title,
Ev'n kings with envy may behold thy wealth,
And think their kingdoms poor!-And yet,
Eumenes,
Shall she, by being thine, be barr'd a privilege
Which ev'n the meanest of her sex may claim?
Thou wilt not force her?
Eum. Who has told thee so?
I'd force her to be happy.
Pho. That thou canst not.
What happiness subsists in loss of freedom?
Eum. 'Tis well, young man-Why then I'll
learn from thee
To be a very tame, obedient father.
And hear applauding crowds pronounce me
bless'd!
Sure he'll be here. See the fair rising moon,
Ere day's remaining twilight scarce is spent,
Hangs up her ready lamp, and with mild lustre
Drives back the hov'ring shade! Come, Pho-
cyas, come;
This gentle season is a friend to love;
And now methinks I could with equal passion,
Meet thine, and tell thee all my secret soul.
Enter PHOCYAS.
He hears me.
Oh, my Phocyas!What, no
answer!
Art thou not he? or art some shadow?-Speak.
Pho. I am indeed a shadow I am nothing,
23

178
[ACT III.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Eud. What dost thou mean? For now I Now thou shalt see how I will bend my spirit,
know thee, Phocyas.
Pho. And never can be thine!
It will have vent-Oh, barb'rous, curs'd--but
hold-
I had forgot-It was Eudocia's father!
With what soft patience I will bear my wrongs,
Till I have weary'd out thy father's scorn:
Yet I have worse to tell thee-Eutyches-
Eud. Why wilt thou name him?
Pho. Now, ev'n now he's coming!
Oh, could I too forget how he has us'd me! Just hov'ring o'er thee, like a bird of
Eud. I fear to ask thee.
Pho. Dost thou fear?-Alas,
Then thou wilt pity me. Oh, gen'rous maid!
Thou hast charm'd down the rage that swell'd
my heart,
And chok'd my voice; now I can speak to thee.
And yet'tis worse than death what I have suffer'd;
It is the death of honour!-Yet that's little;
'Tis more, Eudocia, 'tis the loss of thee!
Eud. Hast thou not conquer'd? What are
all these shouts,
This voice of gen'ral joy, heard far around?
What are these fires, that cast their glimm'ring
light
Against the sky? Are not all these thy triumphs?
Pho. O name not triumph! Talk no more
of conquest!
It is indeed a night of gen'ral joy;
But not to me! Eudocia, I am come
To take a last farewell of thee for ever.
Eud. A last farewell!
Pho. Yes.-How wilt thou hereafter
Look on a wretch despis'd, revil'd, cashier'd,
Stripp'd of command, like a base, beaten coward?
Thy cruel father-I have told too much;
I should not but for this have felt the wounds
I got in fight for him-now, now they bleed!
But I have done-and now thou hast my story,
Is there a creature so accurs'd as Phocyas?
Eud. And can it be? Is this then thy reward?
O Phocyas! never wouldst thou tell me yet
That thou hadst wounds; now I must feel
them too.
For is it not for me thou hast borne this?
What else could be thy crime? Wert thou
a traitor,
prey:
Thy father vows-for I must tell thee all-
'Twas this that wrung my heart, and rack'd
my brain,
Ev'n to distraction!-vows thee to his bed;
Nay, threaten'd force, if thou refuse obedience.
Eud. Force! threaten'd force!-my father-
where is nature?
Is that too banish'd from his heart?-O then
I have no father-How have I deserv'd this?
[Weeps.
No home, but am henceforth an outcast orphan;
For I will wander to earth's utmost bounds,
Ere give my hand to that detested contract.
O save me, Phocyas! thou hast sav'd my father.
Must I yet call him so, this cruel father.
How wilt thou now deliver poor Eudocia?
Pho. See how we're join'd in exile! How
our fate
Conspires to warn us both to leave this city!
Thou know'st the emperor is now at Antioch;
I have an uncle there, who when the Persian,
As now the Saracen, had nigh o'errun
The ravag'd empire, did him signal service,
And nobly was rewarded. There, Eudocia,
Thou might'st be safe, and I may meet with
justice.
Eud. There-any where, so we may fly
this place.
See, Phocyas, what thy wrongs and mine have
wrought
In a weak woman's frame! for I have courage
To share thy exile now through ev'ry danger.
Danger is only here, and dwells with guilt,
With base ingratitude, and hard oppression.
Pho. Then let us lose no time, but hence
this night.
Hadst thou betray'd us, sold us to the foe-The gates I can command, and will provide
Pho. Would I be yet a traitor, I have leave; The means of our escape. Some five hours hence,
Nay, I am dar'd to it, with mocking scorn. "Twill then be turn'd of midnight, we may meet
My crime indeed was asking thee; that only In the piazza of Honoria's convent.
Has cancell'd all, if I had any merit!
The city now is safe, my service slighted,
And I discarded like a useless thing;
Nay, bid be gone-and if I like that better,
Seek out new friends, and join yon barb'rous
host!
Eud. Hold-let me think awhile.
Though my heart bleed,
[Walks aside.
I would not have him see these dropping tears.
And wilt thou go then, Phocyas?
Pho. To my grave.
Where can I bury else this foul disgrace?
Eud. Art thou sure
Thou hast been us'd thus? art thou quite undone?
Pho. Yes, very sure. What dost thou mean?
Eud. That then it is a time for me-
heav'n! that I
0,
Alone am grateful to this wondrous man!
To own thee, Phocyas, thus-[Gives her Hand]
nay, glory in thee,
And show, without a blush, how much i love.
We must not part!
Pho. Then I am rich again! [Embraces her.
O no, we will not part! Confirm it, heav'n!
Eud. I know it well; the place is most secure,
And near adjoining to this garden wall.
There thou shalt find me.-Oh, protect us, heav'n!
Pho. Fear not; thy innocence will be our
guard:
Some pitying angel will attend thy steps,
Guide thee unseen, and charm the sleeping foe,
Till thou art safe! Oh, I have suffer'd nothing,
Thus gaining thee, and this great gen'rous proof,
How bless'd I am in my Eudocia's love!
My only joy, farewell!
Eud. Farewell, my Phocyas!
I have no friend but thee-yet thee I'll call
Friend, father, lover, guardian!-Thou art all!
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I-CALED'S Tent.
Enter CALED and Attendants. SERGIUS held
by Two Guards, bound with Cords.
Ser. Oh, mercy, mercy!
Caled. Mercy! what's that?-Look yonder
on the field
Of our late fight! Go, talk of mercy there.
Will the dead hear thy voice?

SCENE 1.]
179
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Ser. Oh, spare me yet.
Caled. Thou wretch!-Spare thee? to what?
To live in torture?
Are not thy limbs all bruis'd, thy bones disjointed,
To force thee to confess? And wouldst thou drag,
Like a crush'd serpent, a vile, mangled being?
My eyes abhor a coward-Hence, and die!
Ser. Oh! I have told thee all-When first
pursu'd,
I fix'd my letters on an arrow's point,
And shot them o'er the walls.
Caled. Hast thou told all?
Well, then thou shalt have mercy to requite thee:
Behold I'll send thee forward on thy errand.
Strike off his head; then cast it o'er the gates!
There let thy tongue tell o'er its tale again!
Ser. Oh, bloody Saracens!
the Guards.
Till Mahomet himself there stopp'd their en-
trance,
A jav'lin in his hand, and turn'd them back
Upon the foe; they fought again and conquer'd.
Behold how we may best appease his wrath!
His own example points us out the way.
Abu. Well-be it then resolv'd. Th' indul-
gent hour
Of better fortune is, I hope, at hand.
And yet, since Phocyas has appear'd its champion
How has this city rais'd its drooping head!
As if some charm prevail'd where'er he fought;
Our strength seems wither'd, and our feeble
weapons
Forget their wonted triumph-were he absent-
Caled. I would have sought him out in the
last action,
[Exit Sergius, dragged away by To single fight, and put that charm to proof,
Had not a foul and sudden mist arose
Ere I arriv'd, to have restor'd the combat.
'tis past. We yet may meet,
known whose arm is then the
stronger.
Enter ABUDAH.
Caled. Abudah, welcome!
Abu. Oh, Caled, what an evening was the last!
Caled. Name it no more; remembrance
sickens with it,
And therefore sleep is banish'd from this night;
Nor shall to-morrow's sun open his eye
Upon our shame, ere doubly we've redeem'd it.
Have all the captains notice?
Abu. I have walk'd
The rounds to-night, ere the last hour of pray'r,
From tent to tent, and warn'd them to be ready.
What must be done?
Caled. Thou know'st th' important news
Which we have intercepted by this slave,
Of a new army's march. The time now calls,
While these soft Syrians are dissolv'd in riot,
Fool'd with success, and not suspecting danger,
To form a new attack ere break of day;
So, like the wounded leopard, shall we rush
From out our covers on these drowsy hunters,
And seize them, unprepar'd to 'scape our
But let it be
And 'twill be
Enter DARAN.
Daran. Health to the race of Ismael! and days
More prosp'rous than the last - a Christian
captive
Is fall'n within my watch, and waits his doom.
Caled. Bring forth the slave.-0 thou keen
vulture, death!
Do we then feed thee only thus by morsels!
Whole armies never can suffice thy anger.
[Exit Daran.
Re-enter DARAN, with PHOCYAS.
Whence, and what art thou?-Of Damascus?
-Daran,
Where didst thou find this dumb and sullen
thing,
That seems to lower defiance on our anger?
Daran. Marching in circuit, with the horse
thou gav'st me,
Abu. Great captain of the armies of the Tobserve the city gates, saw from far
vengeance.
faithful!
I know thy mighty and unconquer'd spirit;
Yet hear me, Caled, hear and weigh my doubts,
Our angry prophet frowns upon our vices,
And visits us in blood. Why else did terror,
Unknown before, seize all our stoutest bands?
The angel of destruction was abroad;
The archers of the tribe of Thoal fled,
So long renown'd, or spent their shafts in vain;
The feather'd flights err'd through the boundless
air,
Or the death turn'd on him that drew the bow!
What can this bode?-Let me speak plainer yet;
Is it to propagate th' unspotted law
We fight? 'Tis well; it is a noble cause.
But much I fear infection is among us;
A boundless lust of rapine guides our troops.
We learn the Christian vices we chastise,
And, tempted with the pleasures of the soil,
More than with distant hopes of paradise,
I fear may soon-but ob, avert it, heav'n!
Fall ev'n a prey to our own spoils and conquests.
Caled. No-thou mistak'st; thy pious zeal
deceives thee.
Our prophet only chides our sluggard valour.
Thou saw'st how in the vale of Honan once.
The troops, as now defeated, fled confus'd
Ev'n to the gates of Mecca's holy city?
Two persons issue forth; the one advanc'd,
And ere he could retreat, my horsemen seiz'd him;
The other was a woman, and had fled,
Upon a signal giv'n at our approach,
And got within the gates. Wouldst thou know
more,
Himself, if he will speak, can best inform thee.
Caled. Have I not seen thy face?
Abu. He hears thee not;
His eyes are fix'd on earth; some deep distress
Is at his heart. This is no common captive.
[Apart to Caled.
Caled. A lion in the toils! We soon shall
tame him.
Still art thou dumb?- Nay, 'tis in vain to cast
Thy gloomy looks so oft around this place,
Or frown upon thy bonds-thou canst not 'scape.
Pho. Then be it so-the worst is past already,
And life is now not worth a moment's pause.
Do you not know me yet? Think of the man
You have most cause to curse, and I am he.
Caled. Ha! Phocyas?
Abu Phocyas!-Mahomet, we thank thee!
Now dost thou smile again.
Caled. This is indeed a prize! [Aside.
Is it because thou know'st what slaughter'd
heaps
There yet unbury'd lie without the camp,

180
[ACT III.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Whose ghosts have all this night, passing the Nor shall my peaceful sword henceforth be drawn
Zorat,
Call'd from the bridge of death to thee to follow,
That now thou'rt here to answer to their cry?
Howe'er it be, thou know'st thy welcome.
Pho. Yes,
Thou proud, blood-thirsty Arab!-Well I know
What to expect from thee: I know ye all.
How should the author of distress and ruin
Be mov'd to pity? That's a human passion.
No-in your hungry eyes, that look revenge,
I read my doom. Where are your racks,
your tortures?
In fight, nor break its truce with you for ever.
Caled. No-there's one way, a better, and
but one,
To save thyself, and make some reparation
For all the numbers thy bold hand has slain.
Pho. O, name it quickly, and my soul will
bless thee!
Caled. Embrace our faith, and share with
us our fortunes.
Pho. Then I am lost again!
Caled. What! when we offer,
Not freedom only, but to raise thee high,
I'm ready-lead me to them; I can bear To greatness, conquest, glory, heav'nly bliss?
The worst of ills from you. You're not my friends,
Pho. To sink me down to infamy, perdition,
My countrymen.-Yet were you men, I could Here and hereafter! Make my name a curse
Unfold a story-But no more-Eumenes, To present times, to ev'ry future age
Thou hast thy wish, and I am now-a worm! A proverb and a scorn!-take back thy mercy,
Abu. Leader of armies, hear him! for my mind And know I now disdain it.
Presages good accruing to our cause
By this event.
[Apart to Caled.
Caled. I tell thee then thou wrong'st us,
To think our hearts thus steel'd, or our ears deaf
To all that thou may'st utter. Speak, disclose
The secret woes that throb within thy breast.
Now, by the silent hours of night, we'll hear thee,
And mute attention shall await thy words.
Pho. This is not then the palace in Damascus!
If you will hear, then I indeed have wrong'd you.
How can this be?-When he, for whom I've
fought,
Fought against you, has yet refus'd to hear me!
You seem surpris'd. It was ingratitude
That drove me out, an exile, not a foe.
Abu. Is it possible?
Are these thy Christian friends?
Caled. 'Tis well-we thank them:
They help us to subdue themselves-But who
Was the companion of thy flight?-A woman,
So Daran said-
Pho. 'Tis there I am most wretched-
Oh, I am torn from all my soul held dear,
And my life's blood flows out upon the wound!
That woman-'twas for her-How shall I
speak it?
Eudocia, oh, farewell!-I'll tell you then,
As fast as these heart-rending sighs will let me:
I lov'd the daughter of the proud Eumenes,
And long in secret woo'd her; not unwelcome
To her my visits; but I fear'd her father;
Who oft had press'd her to detested nuptials,
And therefore durst not, till this night of joy,
Avow to him my courtship. Now I thought her
Mine, by a double claim, of mutual vows,
And service yielded at his greatest need:
When, as I mov'd my suit, with sour disdain,
He mock'd my service and forbade my love,
Degraded me from the command I bore,
And with defiance bade me seek the foe.
How has his curse prevail'd! The gen'rous maid
Was won by my distress to leave the city;
And cruel fortune made me thus your prey.
Abu. My soul is mov'd-Thou wert a man,
Oh, prophet!
Forgive, if 'tis a crime, a human sorrow
For injur'd worth, though in an enemy! [Aside.
Pho. Now-since you've heard my story,
set me free,
That I may save her yet, dearer than life,
From a tyrannic father's threaten'd force;
Gold, gems, and purple vests, shall pay my
ransom;
Caled. As thou wilt.
The time's too precious to be wasted longer
In words with thee. Thou know'st thy doom
-farewell.
Abu. Hear me, Caled: grant him some short
space;
Perhaps he will at length accept thy bounty.
Try him, at least.
[Apart to Caled.
Caled. Well-be it so then. Daran,
Guard well thy charge-Thou hast an hour
to live:
If thou art wise, thou may'st prolong that term;
Ifnot-why-Fare thee well, and think of death.
[Exeunt Caled and Abudah. Daran
waits at a distance.
Pho. "Farewell, and think of death!" Was
it not so?
Do murderers then preach morality?-
But how to think of what the living know not,
And the dead cannot, or else may not tell!—
What art thou, oh, thou great mysterious terror!
The way to thee we know! disease, famine,
Sword, fire, and all thy ever open gates,
That day and night stand ready to receive us.
But what's beyond them? - Who will draw
that veil?
Yet death's not there- No, 'tis a point of time,
The verge 'twixt mortal and immortal beings.
It mocks our thoughts! On this side all is life;
And when we have reach'd it, in that very
instant,
'Tis past the thinking of! Oh! if it be
The pangs, the throes, the agonizing struggles
When soul and body part, sure I have felt it,
And there's no more to fear,
Daran. Suppose I now
Dispatch him?-Right-What need to stay
for orders?
I wish I durst!-Yet what I dare, I'll do.
[Aside.
Your jewels, Christian-You'll not need these
trifles. [Searches him.
Pho. I pray thee, slave, stand off-My soul's
too busy
To lose a thought on thee.
Re-enter ABUDAH.
Abu. What's this?-Forbear!
Who gave thee leave to use this violence?
[Takes the Jewels from Daran, and
lays them on a Table.
Daran. Deny'd my booty! curses on his head!
Was not the founder of our law a robber?

SCENE 1.]
181
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
counsels?
[Aside. Why did I conquer in another cause,
Yet now am here?
Why, 'twas for that I left my country's gods, Where is the man can read heav'n's secret
Menaph and Uzza. Better still be Pagan,
Than starve with a new faith.
Abu. What dost thou mutter?
Daran, withdraw, and better learn thy duty.
[Exit Daran.
Phocyas, perhaps thou know'st me not?
Pho. I know
Thy name, Abudah, and thy office here,
The second in command. What more thou art,
Indeed I cannot tell.
Abu. True; for thou yet
Know'st not I am thy friend.
Pho. Is't possible?-
Thou speak'st me fair.
Abu. What dost thou think of life?
Pho. I think not ofit; death was in my thoughts.
On hard condition, life were but a load,
And I will lay it down.
Abu. Art thou resolv'd?
Abu. I'll tell thee: thy good angel
Has seiz'd thy hand unseen, and snatch'd thee out
From swift destruction: know, ere day shall
dawn,
Damascus will in blood lament its fall!
We've heard what army is design'd to march
Too late to save her. Now, e'en now, our force
Is just preparing for a fresh assault.
Now too thou might'st revenge thy wrongs-
so Caled
Charg'd me to say, and more-that he invites
thee;
Thou know'st the terms-to share with him
the conquest.
Pho. Conquest! Revenge!-Hold, let me
think-Oh, horror!
Pho. I am, unless thou bring'st me better terms Revenge! Oh, what revenge? Bleed on, my
Than those I have rejected.
Abu. Think again.
Caled by me once more renews that offer.
Pho. Thou say'st thou art my friend: why
dost thou try
To shake the settled temper of my breast?
My soul has just discharg'd her cumb'rous train
Of hopes and fears, 'prepar'd to take her voyage
To other seats, where she may rest in peace;
And now thou call'st me back, to beat again
The painful road of life-Tempt me no more
To be a wretch, for I despise the offer.
Abu. The gen'ral knows thee brave, and 'tis
for that
He seeks alliance with thy noble virtues.
Pho. He knows me brave!-Why does he
then thus treat me?
wounds,
For thus to be reveng'd, were it not worse
Than all that I can suffer?-But, Eudocia-
Where will she then?-Shield her, ye pity-
ing pow'rs,
And let me die in peace!
Abu. Hear me once more,
'Tis all I have to offer; mark me now!
Caled has sworn Eudocia shall be safe.
Pho. Ha! safe-but how? A wretched cap-
tive too?
Abu. He swears she shall be free, she shall
be thine.
Pho. Then I am lost indeed,
Abu. The time draws near, and I must
quickly leave thee;
But first reflect, that in this fatal night
Slaughter and rapine may be loos'd abroad;
And while they roam with unextinguish'd rage,
Should she thou lov'st-(well may'st thou start)
t-be made,
No, he believes I am so poor of soul,
That, barely for the privilege to live,
I would be bought his slave. But go, tell him
The little space of life, his scorn bequeath'd me,
Was lent in vain, and he may take the forfeit. Perhaps unknown, some barb'rous soldier's prey;
Abu. Why wilt thou wed thyself to misery, Should she then fall a sacrifice to lust,
When our faith courts thee to eternal blessings? Or brutal fury
When truth itself is, like a seraph, come
To loose thy bands?—The light divine, whose
beams
Pierc'd through the gloom of Hera's sacred cave,
And there illumin'd the great Mahomet,
Arabia's morning star, now shines on thee.
Arise, salute with joy the guest from heav'n,
Follow her steps, and be no more a captive.
Pho. But whither must I follow?-Answer that,
Is she a guest from heav'n? What marks divine,
What signs, what wonders, vouch her boast-
ed mission?
Abu. What wonders?-Turn thy eye to
Mecca! mark
How far from Caaba first, that hallow'd temple,
Her glory dawn'd!-then look how swift its
course,
As when the sun-beams, shooting through
cloud,
Drive o'er the meadow's face the flying shades!
Have not the nations bent before our swords,
Like ripen'd corn before the reaper's steel?
Why is all this? Why does success still wait
Upon our laws, if not to show that heav'n
First sent it forth, and owns it still by conquest?
Pho. Dost thou ask why is this?-Oh, why
indeed?
Pho. Oh! this pulls my heart-strings! [Falls.
Earth open-save me, save me from that thought.
Abu. Nay, do not plunge thyself in black
despair;
Look up, poor wretch, thou art not shipwreck'd
yet;
Behold an anchor; am not I thy friend?
Pho. [Rises] Ha! Who, what art thou?
[Raves.
My friend? that's well; but hold-are all friends
honest?
What's to be done?-Hush, hark! what voice
is that?
Abu. There is no voice; 'tis yet the dead.
of night;
The guards without keep silent watch around us.
Pho, Again it calls-'tis she-O,lead me to her!
Abu. Thy passion mocks thee with imagin'd
sounds.
Pho. Sure 'twas Eudocia's voice cry'd out,
Forbear!
What shall I do?-Oh, heav'n!
Abu. Heav'n shows thee what.
Nay, now it is too late; see Caled comes,
With anger on his brow. Quickly withdraw
To the next tent, and there-
Pho. [Rises] What do I see?

182
[ACT IV.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Damascus! conquest! ruin! rapes and murder! Then, as with fresh recover'd force, cry'd out,
Villains! Is there no more?-Oh, save her, "Renounce my faith! Never."-I answer'd, "No,
That now he should not do it."
save her!
[Exeunt Phocyas and Abudah.
Re-enter CALED and DARAN.
Daran. Behold, on thy approach, they shift
their ground.
Caled. 'Tis as thou say'st;
my mercy.
he trifles with
Daran. Speak, shall I fetch his head?
Caled. No, stay you here,
I cannot spare thee yet. Raphan, go thou.
[To an Officer.
But hold-I've thought again-he shall not die.
Go, tell him he shall live till he has seen
Damascus sink in flames, till he behold
That slave, that woman idol he adores,
Or giv'n a prize to some brave Mussulman,
Or slain before his face; then if he sue
For death, as for a boon, perhaps we'll grant it.
[Exit Raphan.
Daran. The captains wait thy orders.
Caled. Are the troops
Ready to march?
Daran. They are.
Caled. Mourn, thou haughty city!
The bow is bent, nor canst thou scape thy doom.
Who turns his back henceforth, our prophet
curse him!
Daran. But who commands the trusty
bands of Mecca?
Thou know'st their leader fell in the last fight.
Caled. 'Tis true; thou, Daran, well deserv'st
that charge;
I've mark'd what a keen hatred, like my own,
Dwells in thy breast against these Christian dogs.
Daran. Thou dost ne right.
Caled. And therefore I'll reward it.
Be that command now thine. And here, this sabre,
Bless'd in the field by Mahomet himself,
At Caabar's prosp'rous fight, shall aid thy arm.
Daran. Thanks, my good chief; with this I'll
better thank thee.
[Takes the Scimitar.
Caled. Myself will lead the troops of the
black standard,
And at the eastern gate begin the storm.
Daran. But why do we not move? 'twill
soon be day.
Methinks I'm cold, and would grow warm
with action.
Caled. Then haste and tell Abudah - O, thou'rt
welcome!
Re-enter ABUDAH.
Thy charge awaits thee. Where's the stub-
born captive?
Abu. Indeed he's brave. I left him for a moment
In the next tent. He's scarcely yet himself.
Caled. But is he ours?
Abu. The threats of death are nothing;
Though thy last message shook his soul, as winds
On the bleak hills bend down some lofty pine;
Yet still he held his root, till I found means,
Abating somewhat of thy first demand,
If not to make him wholly ours, at least
To gain sufficient to our end.
Caled. Say how?
Abu. Oft he inclin'd, oft started back; at last,
When just consenting, for awhile he paus'd,
Stood fix'd in thought, and lift his eyes to heaven;
Caled. How?
Abu. Yet hear;
For since I saw him now so lost in passion,
That must be left to his more temp'rate thoughts.
Mean time I urg'd,conjur'd, at last constrain'd him,
By all he held most dear, nay, by the voice
Of Providence, that call'd him now to save,
With her he lov'd, perhaps the lives of thousands,
No longer to resist his better fate,
But join his arms in present action with us,
And swear he would be faithful.
Caled. What, no more?
Then he's a Christian still!
Abu. Have patience yet;
For if by him we can surprise the city-
Caled. Say'st thou?
Abu. Hear what's agreed; but on the terms
That ev'ry unresisting life be spar'd,
I shall command some chosen, faithful bands;
Phocyas will guide us to the gate, from whence
He late escap'd; nor do we doubt but there
With ease to gain admittance.
Caled. This is something.
And yet I do not like this half ally.
Is he not still a Christian?-But no matter-
Mean time I will attack the eastern gale:
Who first succeeds gives entrance to the rest.
Hear all!-Prepare ye now for boldest deeds,
And know, the prophet will reward your valour.
Think that we all to certain triumph move;
Who falls in fight yet meets the prize above.
There, in the gardens of eternal spring,
While birds of Paradise around you sing,
Each, with his blooming beauty by his side,
Shall drink rich wines, that in full rivers glide;
Breathe fragrant gales o'er fields of spice that
blow,
And gather fruits immortal as they grow;
Ecstatic bliss shall your whole pow'rs employ,
And ev'ry sense be lost in ev'ry joy. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-A great Square in the City be-
fore the Governor's Palace,
Enter ABUDAH, Saracen Captains and Sol-
diers; with EUMENES, HERBIS, and other
Christians, unarmed.
Eum. It must be so-farewell, devoted walls!
To be surprised thus!-Hell, and all ye fiends,
How did ye watch this minute for destruction!
Her. We've been betray'd by riot and debauch.
Curse on the traitor guard.
Eum. The guard above,
Did that sleep too?
Abu. Christians, complain no more,
What you have ask'd is granted. Are ye men,
And dare ye question thus, with bold impatience,
Eternal justice?-Know, the doom from heaven
Falls on your towers, resistless as the bolt
That fires the cedars on your mountain tops.
Be meek, and learn with humble awe to bear
The mitigated ruin. Worse had follow'd,
Had ye oppos'd our numbers. Now you're safe;
Quarter and liberty are giv'n to all;
And little do ye think how much ye owe
To one brave enemy, whom yet ye know not.
Enter ARTAMON, hastily.
Art. All's lost!-Ha!-Who are these?

SCENE 2.]
183
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Eum. All's lost indeed.
Yield up thy sword, if thou wouldst share our
safety.
Thou com'st too late to bring us news.
Art. Oh!-no.
The news I bring is from the eastern guard.
Caled has forc'd the gate, and-but he's here.
[A Cry without, Fly, fly, they follow-
Quarter, mercy, quarter!
Caled. [Without] No quarter! Kill, I say.
Are they not Christians!
More blood! our prophet asks it.
Enter CALED and DARAN.
What, Abudah!
Well met!
But wherefore are the looks of
peace?
Why sleeps thy sword?
Abu. Caled, our task is over.
Behold the chiefs! they have resign'd the palace.
Caled. And sworn t'obey our law?
Abu. No.
Caled. Then fall on.
Abu. Hold yet, and hear me-Heaven by me
has spar'd
The sword its cruel task. On easy terms
We've gain'd a bloodless conquest.
Caled. I renounce it.
Curse on those terms! The city's mine by storm.
Fall on, I say.
Abu. Nay, then I swear ye shall not.
Caled. Ha!-Who am I?
Abu. The general-and I know
What reverence is your due.
[Caled gives Signs to his Men to fall on.
Nay, he who stirs,
First makes his way through me. My honour's
pledg'd;
Rob me of that who dares. [They stop] I know
thee, Caled,
Chief in command; bold, valiant, wise, and
faithful;
But
yet remember I'm a Mussulman;
Nay more, thou know'st, companion of the
prophet;
And what we vow is sacred.
Caled. Thou'rt a Christian,
I swear thou art, and hast betray'd the faith.
Curse on thy new allies!
Abu. No more-this strife
But ill beseems the servants of the caliph,
And casts reproach-Christians, withdraw
awhile:
I pledge my life to answer the conditions-
[Exeunt Eumenes, Herbis, etc.
Why, Caled, do we thus expose ourselves
A scorn to nations that despise our law?
Thou call'st me Christian-What! Is it because
I prize my plighted faith, that I'm a Christian?
Come, 'tis not well, and if-
Caled. What terms are yielded?
Abu. Leave to depart to all that will; an oath
First given no more to aid the war against us,
An unmolested march. Each citizen
To take his goods, not more than a mule's burden;
The chiefs six mules, and ten the governor;
Besides some few slight arms for their defence
Against the mountain robbers.
Caled. Now, by Mahomet,
Thou hast equipp'd an army!
Abu. Canst thou doubt
Receive our law, or pay th'accustomed tribute?
What fear we then from a few wretched bands
Of scatter'd fugitives?-Besides, thou know'st
What towns of strength remain yet unsubdu'd.
Let us appear this once like generous victors,"
So future conquests shall repay this bounty,
And willing provinces ev'n court subjection.
Caled. Well-be it on thy head, if worse
befall!
This once I yield-but see it thus proclaim'd
Through all Damascus, that who will depart,
Must leave the place this instant-Pass, move
[Exit.
on.
SCENE II.-The Outside of a Nunnery.
Enter EUDOCIA.
Eud. Darkness is fled; and yet the morning
light
Gives me more fears than did night's deadly
gloom.
Within, without, all, all are foes-Oh, Phocyas,
Thou art perhaps at rest! would I were too!
[After a Pause.
This place has holy charms! rapine and murder
Dare not approach it, but are aw'd to distance.
I've heard that even these infidels have spar'd
Walls sacred to devotion-World, farewell!
Here will I hide me, till the friendly grave
Opens its arms, and shelters me for ever! [Exit.
Enter PHOCYAS.
Pho. Did not I hear the murmurs of a voice.
This way?-A woman's too!-and seem'd com-
plaining!
Hark!-No-O torture! Whither shall I turn me?
'Twas here last night we met. Dear, dear Eudocia?
Might I once more-[Going out, he meets her.
Eud. Who calls the lost Eudocia?
Sure 'tis a friendly voice!
Pho. 'Tis she-O rapture!
Eud. Is't possible-my Phocyas!
Pho. My Eudocia!
Do I yet call thee mine?
Eud. Do I yet see thee?
Yet hear thee speak? O how hast thou escap'd
From barbarous swords, and men that know
not mercy?
Pho. I've borne a thousand deaths since our
last parting.
But wherefore do I talk of death?-for now,
Methinks I'm rais'd to life immortal,
And feel I'm blest beyond the power of change;
For thee have triumph'd o'er the fiercest foes,
And turn'd them friends.
Eud. Amazement! Friends!
O all ye guardian powers!-Say on-O lead me,
Lead me through this dark maze of providence,
Which thou hast trod, that I may trace thy steps
With silent awe, and worship as I pass.
Pho. Inquire no more-thou shalt know all
hereafter-
Let me conduct thee hence.
Eud. O whither next?
To what far distant home?-But 'tis enough
That, favour'd thus of heaven, thou art my guide.
And as we journey on the painful way,
Say, wilt thou then beguile the passing hours,
And open all the wonders of the story?
Where, is my father?
Pho. Thou heavenly maid!
Know, I've once more, wrong'd as I am,even sav'd
"The greatest part by far will choose to stay, Thy father's threaten'd life: nay, sav'd Damascus

184
[ACT V.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
From blood and slaughter, and from total ruin.
O didst thou know to what deadly gulfs
Of horror and despair I have been driven
This night, ere my perplex'd, bewilder'd soul
Could find its way!-thou saidst that thou wouldst
chide?
I fear thou wilt: indeed I have done that,
I could have wish'd t'avoid-but for a cause
So lovely, so belov'd-
Eud. What dost thou mean?
I'll not indulge a thought that thou couldst do
One act unworthy of thyself, thy honour,
And that firm zeal against these foes of heaven:
Thou couldst not save thy life by means inglorious.
Pho. Alas thou know'st me not-I'm man,
frail man,
Think of the cause-
Eud. The cause! there is no cause-
Not universal nature could afford
A cause for this. What where dominion, pomp,
The wealth of nations, nay of all the world,
If weigh'd with faith unspotted, heavenly truth,
Thoughts free from guilt, the empire of the mind,
And all the triumph of a godlike breast,
Firm and unmov'd in the great cause of virtue?
Pho. No more-Thou waken'st in my tor-
tur'd heart
The cruel, conscious worm, that stings to madness!
Oh, I'm undone! I know it, and can bear
To be undone for thee, but not to lose thee.
Eud. Poor wretch! I pity thee! - but art
thou Phocyas,
But never, never
-
Will I be made the curs'd reward of treason,
To seal thy doom, to bind a hellish league,
And to ensure thy everlasting woe.
Pho. What league ?-'tis ended-I renounce
it-thus
[Kneels.
To error born; and who, that's man, is perfect? The man I lov'd?-I could have dy'd with thee
To save my life! O no, well was it risk'd Ere thou didst this: then we had gone together,
For thee! had it been lost, 'twere not too much, A glorious pair, and soar'd above the stars:
And thou art'safe:--O whatwouldst thou have said,
If I had risk'd my soul to save Eudocia?
Eud. Ha,speak-Oh no,be dumb-it cannot be!
And yet thy looks are chang'd, thy lips grow pale.
Why dost thou shake?-Alas! I tremble too!
Thou couldst not, hast not sworn to Mahomet?
Pho. No-I should first have dy'd-nay, I bend to heaven and thee-0 thou divine,
Thou matchless image of all perfect goodness!
Do thou but pity yet the wretched Phocyas,
Heaven will relent, and all may yet be well.
Eud. No-we must part.
Then do not think
given up thee.
Eud. O Phocyas! was it well to try me thus?
And yet another deadly fear succeeds!
How came these wretches hither? Who reviv'd
Their fainting arms to unexpected triumph?
For while thou fought'st, and fought'st the
Christian cause,
These batter'd walls were rocks impregnable,
Their towers of adamant. But, oh, I fear
Some act of thine-
Pho. No more-I'll tell the all;
I found the wakeful foe in midnight council,
Resolv'd ere day to make a fresh attack,
Keen for revenge, and hungry after slaughter-
Could my rack'd soul bear that, and think of thee?
Nay, think of thee expos'd a helpless prey
To some fierce ruffian's violating arms?
O, had the world been mine, in that extreme
I should have given whole provinces away;
Nay, all-and thought it little for my ransom!
Eud. For this then-Oh, thou hast betray'd
the city!
Distrustful of the righteous powers above,
That still protect the chaste and innocent!
And to avert a feign'd, uncertain danger,
Thou hast brought certain ruin on thy country!
Pho. No, the sword,
Which threaten'd to have fill'd the streets with
blood,
Thy loss in me is worth one drooping tear:
But if thou wouldst be reconcil'd to heaven,
First sacrifice to heaven that fatal passion
Which caus'd thy fall; forget the lost Eudocia.
Canst thou forget her?-Oh! the killing torture,
To think 'twas love, excess of love, divorc'd us!
Farewell for-still I cannot speak that word,
These tears speak for me-O farewell-- [Exit.
Pho. [Raving] For ever!
Return, return and speak it; say, for ever!
She's gone-and now she joins the fugitives.
O hear, all gracious heaven! wilt thou at once
Forgive: and, oh, inspire me to some act
This day, that may in part redeem what's past!
Prosper this day, or let it be my last. [Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I-An open Place in the City.
Enter CALED and DARAN, meeting.
Caled. Soldier, what news? thou look'st as
thou wert angry.
Daran. And, durst I say it so, my chief, I am;
I've spoke-If it offends, my head is thine;
I sheath'd in peace; thy father, thou, and all Take it, and I am silent.
The citizens are safe, uncaptiv'd, free.
Eud. Safe! free! Ó no-life, freedom, every
good,
Turns to a curse, if sought by wicked means!
Yet sure it cannot be! are these the terms
On which we meet?-No, we can never meet
On terms like these; the hand of death itself
Could not have torn us from each other's arms,
Like this dire act!
But, alas!
'Tis thou hast blasted all my joys for ever,
And cut down hope, like a poor, short-liv'd flower,
Never to grow again!
Pho. Cruel Eudocia!
If in my heart's dear anguish I've been forc'd
Awhile from what I was-dost thou reject me?
I
Caled. No, say on.
know thee honest, and perhaps I
What knits thy brows in frowns-
Daran. Is this, my leader,
uess
A conquer'd city?-View yon vale of palms:
Behold the vanquish'd Christian triumph still,
Rich in his flight, and mocks thy barren war.
Caled. The vale of palms?
Daran. Beyond those hills, the place
Where they agreed this day to meet and halt,
To gather all their forces; there disguis'd,
Just now I've view'd their camp-O, I could curse
My eyes for what they've seen.
Caled. What hast thou seen?
Daran. Why, all Damascus :-All its souls,
its life,

SCENE 2.1
185
THE SIEGE OE DAMASCUS,
Its heart blood, all its treasure, piles of plate,
Crosses enrich'd with gems, arras and silks,
And vests of gold, unfolded to the sun,
That rival all his lustre !
Caled. How?
Daran. "Tis true.
The bees are wisely bearing off their honey,
And soon the empty hive will be our own.
Caled. So forward too! curse on this fool-
ish treaty!
Daran. Forward- it looks as if they had
been forewarn'd.
By Mahomet, the land wears not the face
Of war, but trade! and thou wouldst swear its
merchants
Were sending forth their loaded caravans
To all the neighb'ring countries.
Caled. Dogs! infidels! 'tis more than was
allow'd!
Eum. I thank you.
The sun will soon go down upon our sorrows,
And, till to-morrow's dawn, this is our home:
Meanwhile, each, as he can, forget his loss,
And bear the present lot.
3 Offi. Sir, I have mark'd
The camp's extent: 'tis stretch'd quite through
the valley.
I
think that more than half the city's here.
Eum. The prospect gives me much relief. I'm
pleas'd,
My honest countrymen, t' observe your numbers:
And yet it fills my eyes with tears-'Tis said,
The mighty Persian wept, when he survey'd
His numerous army, but to think them mortal;
Yet, he then flourish'd in prosperity.
Alas! what's that?-Prosperity!-a harlot,
That smiles but to betray!
Hear me, all gracious heaven,
Daran. And shall we not pursue them-Let me wear out my small remains of life,
Robbers! thieves!
That steal away themselves, and all they're worth,
And wrong the valiant soldier of his due?
Caled. The caliph shall know this-he shall,
Abudah,
This is thy coward bargain-Irenounce it [Aside.
Daran, we'll stop their march, and search.
Daran And strip-
Caled. And kill.
Daran. That's well. And yet I fear
Abudah's Christian friend.
Caled. If possible,
He should not know of this. No, nor Abudah:
By the seven heavens, his soul's a Christian too!
And 'tis by kindred instinct he thus saves
Their cursed lives, and taints our cause with
mercy.
Daran. I knew my general would not suffer
this,
Therefore I've troops prepar'd without the gate;
Just mounted for pursuit. Our Arab horse
Will in few minutes reach the place; yet still
I must repeat my doubts-that devil, Phocyas,
Will know it soon-I met him near the gate:
My nature sickens at him, and forebodes
I know not what of ill.
Caled. No more; away
With thy cold fears-we'll march this very
instant,
And quickly make this thriftless conquest good:
The sword too has been wrong'd, and thirsts
[Exeunt.
for blood.
Obscure, content with humble poverty,
Or, in affliction's hard but wholesome school,
If it must be-I'll learn to know myself,
And that's more worth than empire. But, O
heaven,
Curse me no more with proud prosperity!
It has undone me!-
Enter HERBIS.
Herbis! where, my friend,
Hast thou been this long hour?
Her. On yonder summit,
To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
Eum. And is it worth a look?
Her. No-I've forgot it.
All our possessions are a grasp of air:
We're cheated, whilst we think we hold them fast:
And when they're gone, we know that they
were nothing:
But I've a deeper wound.
Eum. Poor, good old man!
'Tis true-thy son-there thou'rt indeed unhappy.
Enter ARTAMON.
What, Artamon! art thou here, too?
Arl. Yes, sir.
I never boasted much,
Yet, I've some honour, and a soldier's pride;
I like not these new lords.
Eum. Thou'rt brave and honest.
Nay, we'll not yet despair. A time may come,
When from these brute barbarians we may wrest
SCENE II.-A Valley full of Tents; Baggage The flatterer, hope, is ready with his song,
Once more our pleasant seats.-Alas! how soon
and Harness lying up and down amongst To charm us to forgetfulness!-No more-
them. The Prospect terminating with Palm Let that be left to heaven.-See, Herbis, see,
Methinks we've here a goodly city yet.
Was it not thus our great forefathers liv'd,
In better times-in humble fields and tents,
With all their flocks and herds, their moving
wealth?
Trees and Hills at a Distance.
Enter EUMENES, with Officers and Attendants.
Eum. [Entering] Sleep on-and angels be
thy guard!-soft slumber
Has gently stole her from her griefs awhile;
Let none approach the tent--Are out-guards See, too, where our own Pharphar winds his
On yonder hills?
Offi. They are.
plac'd
[To an Officer.
stream
Through the long vale, as if to follow us;
And kindly offers his cool wholesome draughts,
Eum. [Striking his Breast] Damascus, O-To ease us in our march!-Why, this is plenty.
Still art thou here!-Let me entreat you, friends,
To keep strict order; I have no command,
And can but now advise you.
Offi. You are still
Our head and leader.
We're all prepar'd to follow you.
Enter EUDOCIA.
My daughter!-wherefore hast thou left thy tent?
What breaks so soon thy rest?
Eud. Rest is not there,
Or I have sought in vain, and cannot find it.
24

186
[ACT V.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Oh, no!-we're wanderers, it is our doom;
There is no rest for us.
Eum. Thou art not well.
Eud. I would, if possible, avoid myself.
I'm better now, near you.
Eum. Near me! alas,
The tender vine so wreathes its folded arms
Around some falling elm-It wounds my heart
To think thou follow'st but to share my ruin.
I have lost all but thee.
Eud. O, say not so!
You have lost nothing; no-you have preserv'd
Immortal wealth, your faith inviolate
To heaven and to your country.
Ruin is yonder, in Damascus, now
The seat abhorr'd of cursed infidels.
Infernal error, like a plague, has spread
Contagion through its guilty palaces,
And we are fled from death.
Eum. Heroic maid!
Thy words are balsam to my griefs. Eudocia,
I never knew thee till this day; I knew not
How many virtues I had wrong'd in thee!
Eud. If you talk thus, you have not yet for-
given me.
Eum. Forgiven thee!-Why, for thee it is,
thee only,
I think, heaven yet may look with pity on us;
Yes, we must all forgive each other now.
Poor Herbis, too-we both have been to blame.
O, Phocyas!- but it cannot be recall'd.
Yet, were he here, we'd ask him pardon too.
My child!-I meant not to provoke thy tears.
Eud. O, why is he not here? Why do I see
Thousands of happy wretches, that but seem
Undone, yet still are bless'd in innocence,
And why was he not one?
Enter an Officer.
Offi. Where is Eumenes?
[Aside.
Eum. What means thy breathless haste?
Offi. I fear there's danger:
For, as I kept my watch, I spy'd afar
Thick clouds of dust, and, on a nearer view,
Perceiv'd a body of Arabian horse
Moving this way. I saw them wind the hill,
And then lost sight of them.
Her. I saw them too,
Where the roads meet on t'other side these hills,
But took them for some band of Christian Arabs,
Crossing the country. This way did they move?
Offi. With utmost speed.
Eum. If they are Christian Arabs,
They come as friends; if other, we're secure
By the late terms. Retire awhile, Eudocia,
Till I return.
[Exit Eudocia.
I'll to the guard myself.
Soldier, lead on the way.
Enter another Officer.
2 Offi. Arm! arm! we're ruin'd!
The foe is in the camp.
Eum. So soon?
2 Offi. They've quitted
Their horses, and with sword in hand have forc'd
Our guard; they say they come for plunder.
Eum. Villains!
Sure Caled knows not of this treachery!
Come on-we can fight still. We'll make them
know
What 'tis to urge the wretched to despair.
[Exeunt.
Enter DARAN.
Daran. Let the fools fight at distance-Here's
the harvest.
Reap, reap, my countrymen!-Ay, there-first
clear
Those further tents-
[Looking between the Tents.
What's here? a woman!-fair
She seems, and well attir'd!-It shall be so.
She's my first prize, and then-
[Exit.
Re-enter DARAN, with EUDOCIA.
Eud. [Struggling] Mercy! O, spare me!
spare me!
Heaven, hear my cries!
Daran. Woman, thy cries are vain:
No help is near.
I
Enter PHOCYAS.
Pho. Villain, thou liest! take that,
To loose thy hold-
[Pushing at Daran with his Spear, who falls.
Eudocia!
Eud. Phocyas! O, astonishment!
Then is it thus that heaven has heard my prayers?
tremble still-and scarce have power to ask thee
How thou art here, or whence this sudden
outrage?
Pho. Sure every angel watches o'er thy safety!
Thou seest 'tis death t'approach thee without awe,
And barbarism itself cannot profane thee.
Eud. Whence are these alarms?
Pho. Some stores remov'd, and not allow'd
by treaty,
Have drawn the Saracens to make a search.
Perhaps 'twill quickly be agreed-But, oh!
Thou know'st, Eudocia, I'm a banish'd man,
And 'tis a crime I'm here once more before thee;
Else, might I speak, 'twere better for the present,
If thou wouldst leave this place.
Eud. No-I have a father,
(And shall I leave him?) whom we both have
wrong'd:
And yet, alas!
For this last act how would I thank thee,
Phocyas!-
I've nothing now but prayers and tears to give,
Cold, fruitless thanks!-But 'tis some comfort yet,
That fate allows this short reprieve, that thus
We may behold each other, and once more
May mourn our woes, ere yet again we part-
Pho. For ever!
'Tis then resolv'd-It was thy cruel sentence,
And I am here to execute that doom.
Eud. What dost thou mean?
Pho. [Kneeling] Thus at thy feet-
Eud. O, rise!
Pho. Never-No, here I'll lay my burden down;
I've tried its weight, nor can support it longer.
Take thy last look; if yet thy eyes can bear
To look upon a wretch accurs'd, cast off
By heaven and thee-
Eud. Forbear.
O cruel man! Why wilt thou rack me thus?
Didst thou not mark-thou didst, when last we
parted,
The pangs, the strugglings of my suff'ring soul;
That nothing but the hand of heaven itself
Could ever drive me from thee!- Dost thou now
Reproach me thus? or canst thou have a thought
That I can e'er forget thee?
Pho. [Rises] Have a care!

SCENE 2.]
187
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
I'll not be tortur'd more with thy false pity! Pho. Not know thee?--Yes, too well I know
No, I renounce it. See, I am prepar'd.
thee now,
[Shows a Dagger. O murd'rous fiend! Why all this waste of blood?
Didst thou not promise-
Thy cruelty is mercy now. Farewell!
And death is now but a release from torment!
Eud. Hold-stay thee yet!-0, madness of
despair!
And wouldst thou die? Think, ere thou leap'st
the gulf,
When thou hast trod that dark, that unknown
way,
Canst thou return? What if the change prove
worse?
O think, if then-
Pho. No-thought's my deadliest foe:
And therefore to the grave I'd fly to shun it!
Eud. O, fatal error!-Like a restless ghost,
It will pursue and haunt thee still; even there,
Perhaps, in forms more frightful.
How wilt thou curse thy rashness then! How start,
And shudder, and shrink back! yet how avoid
To put on thy new being?
Pho. I thank thee!
For now I'm quite undone-I gave up all
For thee before; but this, this bosom friend,
My last reserve-There-
[Throws away the Dagger.
Tell me now, Eudocia,
Cut off from hope, deny'd the food of life,
And yet forbid to die, what am I now?
Or what will fate do with me?
Eud. Oh!
[Turns away, weeping.
Pho. Thou weep'st!
Canst thou shed tears, and yet not melt to mercy?
O say, ere yet returning madness seize me,
Is there in all futurity no prospect,
No distant comfort?
[Here they both continue silent for some Time.
Still thou art silent!
Hear then this last,
This only pray'r!-Heav'n will consent to this.
Let me but follow thee, where'er thou go'st,
But see thee, hear thy voice; be thou my angel,
To guide and govern my returning steps,
Till long contrition, and unweary'd duty,
Shall expiate my guilt.
Eud. No more This shakes
My firmest thoughts, and if- [4 Cry is heard.
What shrieks of death!
I fear a treach'rous foe have now
Begun a fatal harvest!-Haste,
Prevent-0, wouldst thou see me more with
comfort,
Caled. Promise!-Insolence!
'Tis well, 'tis well; for now I know thee too.
Perfidious, mongrel slave! Thou double traitor!
False to thy first and to thy latter vows!
Villain!
Pho. That's well-go on-I swear I thank thee.
Speak it again, and strike it through my ear!
A villain! Yes, thou mad'st me so, thou devil!
And mind'st me now what to demand from thee.
Give, give me back my former self, my honour,
My country's fair esteem, my friends, my all-
Thou canst not-O thou robber!-Give me then
Revenge or death! The last I well deserve-
That yielded up my soul's best wealth to thee,
For which accurs'd be thou, and curs'd thy
prophet!
Caled. Hear'st thou this, Mahomet?-Blas-
pheming mouth!
For this thou soon shalt chew the bitter fruit
Of Zacon's tree, the food of fiends below.
Go-speed thee thither-
[Pushes at him with his Lance, which
Phocyas puts by, and kills him.
Pho. Go thou first thyself.
Caled. [Falls] O dog! thou gnaw'st my
heart!-
False Mahomet!
Is this then my reward?-0!-
Pho. Thanks to the gods, I have reveng'd my
country!
[Dies.
[Exit.
Several Parties of Christians and Saracens
pass over the further End of the Stage,
fighting. The former are beaten. At last
EUMENES rallies them, and makes a stand;
then enter ABUDAH, attended.
Abu. Forbear, forbear, and sheathe the bloody
sword.
Eum. Abudah! is this well?
Abu. No-I must own
You've cause.-O Mussulmans,look here! Behold
Where, like a broken spear, your arm of war
Is thrown to earth!
Eum. Ha! Caled?
Abu. Dumb and breathless.
Then thus has heaven chastis'd us in thy fall,
And thee for violated faith! Farewell,
Thou great, but cruel nian!
Eum. This thirst of blood
Fly, save them, save the threaten'd lives of Chris-In his own blood is quench'd.
tians,
Enter CALED.
Caled. So, slaughter, do thy work! These hands
look well.
Abu. Bear hence his clay
My father and his friends!-I dare not stay-Back to Damascus. Cast a mantle first
Heav'n be my guide, to shun this gath'ring ruin! O'er this sad sight: so should we hide his faults.-
[Exit. Now hear, ye servants of the prophet, hear!
A greater death than this demands your tears,
For know, your lord, the caliph, is no more!
Good Abubeker has breath'd out his spirit
To him that gave it. Yet your caliph lives,
Lives now in Omar. See, behold his signet,
Appointing me, such is his will, to lead
His faithful armies warring here in Syria.
Alas!-foreknowledge sure of this event
Guided his choice! Obey me then, your chief.
For you, O Christians; know, with speed I came,
On the first notice of this foul design,
Or to prevent it, or repair your wrongs.
Your goods shall be untouch'd, your persons safe,
Nor shall our troops henceforth, on pain of death,
[Looks on his Hands.
Phocyas! Thou'rt met-But whether thou art here
[Comes forward.
A friend or foe, I know not; if a friend,
Which is Eumenes' tent?
Pho. Hold, pass no further.
Caled. Say'st thou, not pass?
Pho. No-on thy life no further.
Caled. What, dost thou frown too?-Sure,
thou know'st me not!

188
[Acr V.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Molest your march.-If more you ask, 'tis granted. |
Eum. Still just and brave! thy virtues would
adorn
A purer faith! Thou, better than thy sect,
That dar'st decline from that to acts of mercy!
Pardon, Abudah, if thy honest heart
Makes us ev'n wish thee ours.
Abu. O Power Supreme!
That mad'st my heart, and know'st its inmost
frame,
If yet I err, O lead me into truth,
Or pardon unknown error!- Now, Eumenes,
Friends, as we may be, let us part in peace.
[Exeunt severally.
Re-enter ARTAMON and EUDOCIA.
Eud, Alas! but is my father safe?
Art. Heaven knows.
I left him just preparing to engage:
When, doubtful of th' event, he bade me haste
To warn his dearest daughter of the danger,
And aid your speedy flight.
Eud. My flight! but whither?
O no-if he is lost-
Art. I hope not so.
The noise is ceas'd. Perhaps they're beaten off.
We soon shall know;-here's one that can
inform us.
Re-enter first Officer.
Soldier, thy looks speak well;-what says thy
tongue?
1 Offi. The foe's withdrawn. Abudah has
been here,
Pho. No, 'twas a kind one.-Spare thy tears,
Eudocia!
For mine are tears of joy.-
Eud. Is't possible?
Pho. 'Tis done-the powers supreme have
heard my prayer,
And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day:
I've fought once more, and for my friends,
my country.
By me the treach'rous chiefs are slain: awhile
I stopp'd the foe, till, warn'd by me before,
Of this their sudden march, Abudah came.
But first this random shaft had reach'd my breast.
Life's mingled scene is o'er-'tis thus that heaven
At once chastises, and, I hope, accepts me.
Eud. What shall I say to thee, to give thee
comfort?
Pho. Say only thou forgiv'st me-O Eudocia!
No longer now my dazzled eyes behold thee
Through passion's mists; my soul now gazes
on thee,
And sees thee lovelier in unfading charms!
Bright as the shining angel host that stood-
Whilst I-but there it smarts.
Eud. Look down, look down,
Ye pitying powers! and help his pious sorrow!
Eum. "Tis not too late, we hope, to give
thee help.
See! yonder is my tent: we'll lead thee thither;
Come, enter there, and let thy wound be dress'd;
Perhaps it is not mortal.
Pho. No! not mortal?
No flatt'ry now. By all my hopes hereafter,
For the world's empire I'd not lose this death.
And has renew'd the terms. Caled is kill'd-Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath
Art. Hold-first thank heaven for that!
Eud. Where is Eumenes?
1 Offi. I left him well: by his command I came
To search you out: and let you know this news.
I've more; but that-
Art. Is bad, perhaps, so says
A few short moments, till I have conjur'd you,
That to the world you witness my remorse
For my past errors and defend my fame.
For know, soon as this pointed steel's drawn out,
Life follows through the wound.
Eud. What dost thou say?
This sudden pause. Well, be it so; let's know it; O, touch not yet the broken springs of life!
Tis but life's checker'd lot.
1 Offi. Eumenes mourns
A friend's unhappy fall-Herbis is 'slain-
A settled gloom seem'd to hang heavy on him;
'Th' effect of grief, 'tis thought, for his lost son.
When on the first attack, like one that sought
The welcome means of death, with desp'rate
valour
He press'd the foe, and met the fate he wish'd.
Art. See where Eumenes comes! What's
this? He seems
To lead some wounded friend-Alas! 'tis-
[They withdraw to one side of the Stage.
Re-enter EUMENES, leading in PHOCIAS, with
an Arrow in his Breast,
Eum. Give me thy wound! O, I could bear
it for thee!
This goodness melts my heart. What, in a mo-
ment
Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces
T' exchange forgiveness thus!
Pho. Moments are few,
And must not now be wasted. O Eumenes,
Lend me thy helping hand a little further;
O where, where is she? [They advance.
Eum. Look, look here, Eudocia!
Behold a sight that calls for all our tears!
Eud. Phocyas, and wounded!-Oh, what
cruel hand-
A thousand tender thoughts rise in my soul;
How shall I give them words? Oh, till this hour
I scarce have tasted woe!--this is indeed
To part-but, oh!-
Pho. No more-death is now painful!
But say, my friends, whilst I have breath to ask
(For still methinks all your concerns are mine),
Whither have you design'd to bend your
journey?
Eum. Constantinople is my last retreat,
If heaven indulge my wish; there I've resolv'd
To wear out the dark winter of my life,
An old man's stock of days-I hope not many.
Eud. There will I dedicate myself to heaven,
O, Phocyas, for thy sake, no rival else
Shall e'er possess my heart. My father too
Consents to this my vow. My vital flame
There, like a taper on the holy altar,
Shall waste away; till heav'n, relenting, hears
Incessant prayers for thee and for myself,
And wing my soul to meet with thine in bliss.
For in that thought I find a sudden hope,
As if inspir'd, springs in my breast, and tells me
That thy repenting frailty is forgiv'n,
And we shall meet again to part no more.
Pho. [Plucks out the Arrow] Then all is done
-'twas the last pang-at length-
I've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing.
[Dies.
Eum. O Phocyas! Phocyns!

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
189
THE HYPOCRITE.
Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows! A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show;
Yet will I mourn for thee, thou, gallant youth! Tears vainly flow for errors learn'd too late,
As for a son-so let me call thee now. When timely caution should prevent our fate.
A much-wrong'd friend, and an unhappy hero!
COMEDY.
[Exeunt.
HYPOCRITE.
BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
BUSY BODY.
PROVOKED HUSBAND.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
JEALOUS WIFE.
DOUBLE DEALER.
WAY OF THE WORLD.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
WEST INDIAN.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
GOOD NATURED MAN.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
RIVALS.
SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.
A NATIVE of Ireland, and for some time one of the most successful writers for the stage. He was probably born.
about the year 1735, having been appointed one of the pages of Lord Chesterfield, when he was Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland, in 1746. He was once an officer of marines, but left the service with circumstances which do not reflect credit
on him as a man. These circumstances not attacking the reputation of his writings, our readers will assist us in cover-
ing them with the charitable veil of oblivion; and we shall stand excused in the eyes of the feeling world for declin-
ing to conclude his Biography.
THE HYPOCRITE,
COMEDY by Isaac Bickerstaff, Acted at Drury Lane 1768. The general plot of this comedy is borrowed from
the Tartuffe of Molière, and the principal character in it, viz. that of Doctor Cantwell, is a close copy from that great
original. The conduct of the piece, however, is so greatly altered as to render it perfectly English, and the coquet
Charlotte is truly original and most elegantly spirited. The author has strongly pointed out the mischiefs and ruin which
were frequently brought into the most noble and valuable families by the self-interested machinations of those skulking
and pernicious vipers, those wolves in sheep's clothing, who at the troublesome and unsettled period in which this
picce was first written, (by Cibber 1718) covering their private views beneath the mask of public zeal and sanctity,
acted the part of the great serpent of old, first tempting to sin, and then betraying to punishment, It is an alteration of
Cibber's Nonjuror. Scarcely any thing more than the character of Mawworm was written by the present author, who
introduced it for the sake of Weston's comic talents. Few plays have had the advantage of better acting, and, in con-
sequence, few had a greater share of success, It is one of the most valuable characteristics of this play, that while it
severely satirizes hypocrisy, fanatism (as in Mawworm), and outrageous pretensions to sanctity, it carefully distinguishes
between these and rational piety. The play met with great success in the representation, taking a run of eighteen
nights; the subject itself heing its protection, and its enemies not daring to show any more at that time than a few
smiles of silent contempt. The consequence, however, was what the author foresaw; that is to say, the stirring up a
party against him, who would scarcely suffer any thing he wrote afterwards to meet with fair play, and making him
the constant butt of Mist's Journal, and all the Jacobite faction, Nor do we think it by any means an improbable sur-
mise, that the enmity and inveteracy of his antagonist Mr. Pope, and the set of wits who were connected with him,
might have their original foundation traced from the appearance of this play.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SIR JOHN LAMBERT. COLONEL LAMBERT. SEYWARD.
DOCTOR CANTWELL. DARNLEY.
ACT I.
OLD LADY LAMBERT.
CHARLOTTE.
MAWWORM. YOUNG LADY LAMBERT. BETTY,
SCENE. London.
SCENE I-A Hall in SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S
House.
Sir J. So I do, sir, that I am her father,
and will dispose of her as I please.
Col. L. I do not dispute your authority, sir;
but as I am your son too, I think it my duty
Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT and COLONEL to be concerned for your honour. Have not
LAMBERT.
Col. L. PRAY consider, sir.
you countenanced his addresses to my sister?
has not she received them? - Mr. Darnley's

190
[ACT 1.
THE HYPOCRITE.
birth and fortune are well known to you; and but since you think it your duty, as a son, to
I dare swear, he may defy the world to lay be concerned for my errors, I think it as much
a blemish on his character.
mine, as a father, to be concerned for yours.
Sir J. Why then, sir, since I am to be ca- If you think fit to amend them, so; if not,
techised, I must tell you I do not like his take the consequence.
character; he is a world-server, a libertine, and
has no more religion than you have.
Col. L. Well, sir, may I ask you, without
offence, if the reasons you have given me are
Col. L. Sir, we neither of us think it pro- your only reasons for discountenancing Mr.
per to make a boast of our religion; but, if Darnley's addresses to my sister?
you please to inquire, you will find that we Sir J. Are they not flagrant? would you
go to church as orderly as the rest of our have me marry my daughter to a Pagan?1)
neighbours.
Sir J. Oh, you go to church! you go to
church!-Wonderful! wonderful! to bow, and
grin, and cough, and sleep: a fine act of de-
votion indeed.
Col. L. Well but, dear sir-
Sir J. Colonel, you are an Atheist.
Col. L. He intends this morning paying his
respects to you, in hopes to obtain your final
consent; and desired me to be present as a
mediator of articles between you.
Sir J. I am glad to hear it.
Col. L. That's kind indeed, sir.
Sir J. May be not, sir; for I will not be at
Col. L. Pardon me, sir, I am none: it is a home when he comes: and because I will not
character I abhor; and next to that, I abhor tell a lie for the matter, I'll go out this moment.
the character of an enthusiast. 1)
Col. L. Nay, dear sir-
Sir J. And, do you hear-because I will
Sir J. Oh, you do so; an enthusiast!-this
is the fashionable phrase, the bye-word, the not deceive him either, tell him I would not
nick-name, that our pleasure-loving generation have him lose his time in fooling after your
give to those few who have a sense of true sister-In short, I have another man in my
sanctity.
head for her.
[Exit.
Col. L. Say, canting, sir.
Sir J. I tell you what, son, as I have told
you more than once, you will draw some heavy
judgment on your head one day or other.
Col. L. So says the charitable doctor Cant-
well; you have taken him into your house,
and in return he gives over half your family
to the devil.
Sir J. Do not abuse the doctor, colonel; it
is not the way to my favour. I know you
cannot bear him, because he is not one of
your mincing preachers. He holds up the glass
to your enormities, shows you to yourselves
in your genuine colours.
Col. L. I always respect piety and virtue,
sir; but there are pretenders to religion, as
well as to courage; and as we never find the
truly brave to be such as make much noise
about their valour; so, I apprehend, the truly
good seldom or never deal much in grimace.
Sir J. Very well, sir; this is very well,
Col. L. Besides, sir, I would be glad to
know, by what authority the doctor pretends
to exercise the clerical function. 2) It does not
appear clearly to me that he ever was in orders.
Sir J. That is no business of yours, sir. -
But, I am better informed. However, he has
the call of zeal.
Col. L. Zeal!
Col. L. Another man! It would be worth
one's while to know him: pray heaven this
canting hypocrite has not got some beggarly
rascal in his eye for her. I must rid the house
of him at any rate, or all the settlement I can
hope for from my father is a castle in the air.
-My sister may be ruined too-here she comes.
If there be another man in the case, she, no
doubt, can let me into the secret.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Sister, good morrow; I want to speak with you.
Char. Pr'ythee then, dear brother, don't put
on that wise, politic face, as if your regiment
was going to be disbanded, or sent to the
West Indies, and you obliged to follow it.
Col. L. Come, come, a truce with your
raillery: what I have to ask of you is serious,
and I beg you would be so in your answer.
Char. Well, then, provided it is not upon
the subject of love, I will be so-but make
haste too-for I have not had my tea yet.
Col. L. Why it is, and it is not, upon that
subject.
Char. Oh, I love a riddle dearly-Come-
let's hear it.
Col. L. Nay, pshaw! if you will be serious,
say so.
Char. O lard, sir! I beg your pardon- there
Sir J. Why, colonel, you are in a passion. there's my whole form and features, totally
Col. L. I own I cannot see with temper, disengaged and lifeless, at your service; now,
sir, so many religious mountebanks impose on put them in what posture of attention you
the unwary multitude; wretches, who make a think fit.
trade of religion, and show an uncommon
concern for the next world, only to raise their
fortunes with greater security in this.
Sir J. Colonel, let me hear no more; I see
you are too hardened to be converted now:
1) A religious sect, possessing much less of the charity
of christians than any other of the numerous list of
them with which the world is over-run; their
prayers
and sermons, contrary to the church of England, are
all extempore. Mawworm shows them in their most
zealous, Cantwell in their most unfavourable light.
a) The greater part of the preachers as well as auditors
of this sect are tailors, cobblers, and others, who have
had a call as they call it..
[Leans on him awkwardly.
Col. L. Was there ever such a giddy devil!
-Pr'ythee, stand up. I have been talking with
my father, and he declares positively you shall
not receive any further addresses from Mr.
Darnley.
Char. Are you serious?
1) The intoleration of the Methodists, is carried to such a
degree, that, even in their sermons, they most chari-
tably condemn every person of any other persuasion
than theirs, to the most horrible of all the burning fires
of Tartarus; and, as they all'ect a very sanctified way
of living themselves, all persons visiting that devil's
hot-house the theatre, playing at cards, reading novels,
etc., must meet with some still more terrible punish-
ment, if possible.

SCENE 1.]
191
THE HYPOCRITE.
Col. L. He said so this minute, and with
some warmth.
Char. O lud!) O lud! pr'ythee, brother,
don't be so wise; if you had an empty house
Char. I am glad on't, with all my heart. to let, would you be displeased to hear there
Col. L. How! glad!
were two people about it? besides, to be a
Char. To a degree. Do you think a man little serious, Darnley has a tincture of jealousy
has any more charms for me for my father's in his temper, which nothing but a substantial
liking him? no, sir, if Mr. Darnley can make rival can cure.
his way to me now, he is obliged to me, and Col. L. Oh, your servant, madam! now you
to me only. Besides, now it may have the talk reason. I am glad you are concerned
face of an amour indeed, now one has some- enough for Darnley's faults, to think them worth
thing to struggle for; there's difficulty, there's your mending; ha! ha!
danger, there's the dear spirit of contradiction Char. Concerned! why, did I say that?-
in it too-Oh! I like it mightily.
look you, I'll deny it all to him-well, if ever
I'm serious with him again-
Col. L. I am glad this does not make you
think the worse of Darnley-but my father's
consent might have clapped a pair of horses
more to your coach perhaps, and the want of
it may pinch your fortune.
Char. Burn fortune; am not I a fine woman?
and have not I twenty thousand pounds in my
own hands?
Col. L. Yes, sister; but with all your charms,
you have had them in your hands almost these
four years.
Col. L. Here he comes; be as merry with
him as you please.
Enter DARNLEY.
Darn. My dear colonel, your servant.
Col. L. I am glad you did not come sooner;
for in the humour my father left me, 'twould
not have been a proper time for you to have
pressed your affair-I touched upon't-but-
I'll tell you more presently; in the mean time
Char. Pshaw! and have not I had the full lose no ground with my sister.
swing of my own airs and humours these four Darn. I shall always think myself obliged
years? but if I humour my father, I warrant to your friendship, let my success be what it
he'll make it three or four thousand more, will-Madam-your most obedient-what have
with some unlicked lout-a comfortable equi- you got there, pray?
valent, truly! No, no; let him light his pipe
with his consent, if he please. Wilful against
wise for a wager.
Col. L. But pray, sister, has my father ever
proposed any other man to you?
Char. Another man! let me know why you
ask, and I'll tell you.
Col. L. Why, the last words he said to me
were, that he had another man in his head for you.
Char. And who is it? who is it? tell me,
dear brother.
Col. L. Why, you don't so much as seem
surprised.
Char. No: but I'm impatient, and that's as well.
Col. L. Why how now, sister?
Char. Why sure, brother, you know very
little of female happiness, if you suppose the
surprise of a new lover ought to shock a woman
of my temper- don't you know that I am a
coquette?
Col. L. If you are, you are the first that
ever was sincere enough to own her being so.
Char. To a lover, I grant you; but not to
you; I make no more of you than a sister: I
can say any thing to you.
Col. L. I should have been better pleased,
if you had not owned it to me-it's a hateful
character.
Char. Ay, it's no matter for that, it's vio-
lently pleasant, and there's no law against it,
that I know of.
Col. L. Darnley's like to have a hopeful time
with you.
Char. Well, but don't you really know who
it is my father intends me?
Col. L. Not I, really; but I imagined you
might, and therefore thought to advise with
you about it.
Char. Nay, he has not opened his lips to
me yet-are you sure he is gone out?
Col. L. You are very impatient to know,
methinks; what have you to do to concern
yourself about any man but Darnley?
Char. [Reading ]2) "Her lively looks a
sprightly mind disclose;
Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those-"
Darn. Pray, madam, what is't?
Char. "Favours to none, to all she smiles
extends-"
Darn. Nay, I will see.
Char. "Oft she rejects, but never once offends."
Col. L. Have a care: she has dipped into
her own character, and she'll never forgive
you, if you
you don't let her go through with it.
Darn. I beg your pardon, madam.
Char. "Bright as the sun her
as the sun her eyes the gazers
strike,
[Um-um
And like the sun they shine on all alike."
Darn. That is something like indeed.
Col. L. You would say so, if you knew all.
Darn. All what? pray what do you mean?
Col. L. Have a little patience: I'll tell you
immediately.
Char. "If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face-and you'll forget them all."
Is not that natural, Mr. Darnley?
Darn. For a woman to expect, it is indeed.
Char. And can you blame her, when 'tis at
the same time a proof of the poor man's pas-
sion and her power?
Darn. So that you think the greatest con-
pliment a lover can make his mistress, is to
give up his reason to her.
Char. Certainly; for what have your lordly
sex to boast of but your understanding, and
till that's entirely surrendered to her discre-
1) This word lud is a corruption of Lord! we find such
in all languages, where people think to cheat the devil
by substituting a word something similar to the oath
in its original form, and believe; if they do not swear
in the exact word, that the sin is entirely atoned fur.
There are many other éxamples of this sort in En-
glish, where the most abominable oaths are softened
down into a pretty little word, which seems to fit many a
pretty little mouth, if we may judge from the frequency
of their application by the female sex, though it must be
confessed that they are totally ignorant of their meaning.
2) Pope's Rape of the Lock, Canto II. v. 8.

192
[ACT I
THE HYPOCRITE.
tion, while the least sentiment holds out against his reproaches have that greatness of soul-
her, a woman must be downright vain to think the confusion they give is insupportable.-
her conquest completed!
Enter BETTY.
Darn. There we differ, madam; for, in my
opinion, nothing but the most excessive vanity Betty, is the tea ready?
could value or desire such a conquest.
Char. Oh, d'ye hear him, brother? the crea-
ture reasons with me; nay, has the effrontery
to think me in the wrong too! O lud! he'd
make a horrid tyrant-positively I won't have him.
Darn. Well, my comfort is, no other man
will easily know whether you'll have him or not.
Char. Am I not a vain, silly creature, Mr.
Darnley?
Darn. A little bordering upon the baby, I
must own.
Bet. Yes, madam.
Char. Mr. Darnley, your servant.
[Exit Charl. and Betty.
Col. L. So; you have made a fine piece of
work on't, indeed!
Darn. Dear Tom, pardon me if I speak a
little freely; I own the levity of her behaviour,
at this time, gives me harder thoughts than I
once believed it possible to have of her.
Col. L. Indeed, my friend, you mistake her.
Darn. Nay, nay; had she any real concern
Char. Laud!1) how can you love a body for me, the apprehensions of a man's addres-
so then? but I don't think you love me though ses, whom yet she never saw, must have
do you?
alarmed her to some degree of seriousness.
Col. L. Not at all; for let this man be whom
he will, I take her levity as a proof of her
Char. Poor man! he'd fain bring me to reason. resolution to have nothing to say to him.
Darn. I would indeed.-Nay, were it but Darn. And pray, sir, may I not as well
possible to make you serious only when you suspect, that this artful delay of her good na-
should be so, I should think you the most ture to me now, is meant as a provisional
amiable-
Darn. Yes, faith, I do; and so shamefully,
that I'm in hopes you doubt it.
Char. O lud! he's civil-
Darn. Come, come, you have good sense;
use me but with that, and make me what
you please.
Char. Laud! I don't desire to make any
thing of you, not I.
Darn. Come then, be generous, and swear
at least you'll never marry another.
Char. Ah, laud! now you have spoiled all
again:-besides, how can I be sure of that,
before I have seen this other man my brother
spoke to me of?
Darn. What riddle's this?
Col. L. I told you, you did not know all.
To be serious, my father went out but now,
on purpose to avoid you.-In short, he abso-
lutely retracts his promises; says, he would
not have you fool away your time after my
sister; and in plain terms told me, he had
another man in his head for her.
Darn. Another man! who? what is he? did
not he name him?
Col. L. No; nor has he yet spoke of him
to my sister.
Darn. This is unaccountable! - what
have given him this sudden turn?
can
Col. L. Some whim our conscientious doctor
has put in his head, I'll lay my life.
Darn. He! he can't be such a villain; he
professes a friendship for me.
Col. L. So much the worse.
Darn. But on what pretence, what grounds,
what reason, what interest, can he have to
oppose me?
Col. L. Are you really now as unconcerned
as you seem to be?
defence against my reproaches, in case, when
she has seen this man, she should think it
convenient to prefer him.
Col. L. No, no; she's giddy, but not capable
of so studied a falsehood.
Darn. But still, what could she mean by
going away so abruptly?
Col. L. You grew too grave for her.
Darn. Why, who could bear such trifling?
Col. L. You should have laughed at her.
Darn. I can't love at that easy rate.
Col. L. No-if you could, the uneasiness
would lie on her side..
Darn. Do you then really think she has
any thing in her heart for me?
Col. L. Ay, marry, ¹) sir-ah! if
you could
but get her to own that seriously now; Lord!
how you could love her!
Darn. And so I could, by heaven!
Col. L. Well, well, I'll undertake for her;
if my father don't stand in the way, we are
well enough.
Darn. What says my lady? you don't think
she's against us?
She's of so
Col. L. I dare say she is not.
soft, so sweet a disposition-
Darn. Pr'ythee, how came so fine a woman
to marry your father, with such a vast ine-
quality of years?
Col. L. Want of fortune, Frank: she was
poor and beautiful-he, rich and amorous-
she made him happy, and he her-
Darn. A lady-
Col. L. And a jointure-now she's the only
one in the family that has power with our
precise doctor; and, I dare engage, she'll use
it with him to persuade my father from any
Char. You are a strange dunce, brother-thing that is against your interest. By the
you know no more of love than I do of a way, you must know I have some shrewd
regiment-You shall see now how I'll comfort suspicion that this sanctified rogue is in love
him-Poor Darnley, ha, ha, ha!
with her.
Darn. I don't wonder at your good humour,
madam, when you have so substantial an op-
portunity to make me uneasy for life.
Char. Olud! how sentimentious he is! well,
1) Lord.
Darn. In love!
Col. L. You shall judge by the symptoms-
but hush!-here he comes with my grand-
mother-step this way, and I'll tell you.
1) By the Virgin Mary.
[Exeunt.

SCENE 1.]
193
THE HYPOCRITE.
Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL, OLD LADY LAM- will stay and join in the private duties of the
BERT, and SEYWARD.
family.
Dr. C. I warrant, they would go to a play
Dr. C. Charles, step up into my study; Old Lady L. No, doctor, no; it is too
bring down a dozen more of those manuals early; the sun has not risen upon them; but,
of devotion, with the last hymns I composed; I doubt not, the day will come.
and, when he calls, give them to M. Maw-
worm; and, do you hear, if any one inquires
for me, say I am gone to Newgate), and
the Marshalsea 2), to distribute alms.
[Exit Seyward.
amongst us,
now!
Old Lady L. Would they-I am afraid
they would.
Darn. Why, I hope it is no sin, madam;
if I am not mistaken, I have seen your lady-
Old Lady L. Well but, worthy doctor, ship at a play.
why will you go the prisons yourself-cannot
Old Lady L. Me, sir! see me at a play!
you send the money? - ugly distempers
are often catched there-have a care of your you may have seen the prince of darkness,
bealth; let us keep one good man, at least, or some of his imps, in my likeness, perhaps-
Darn. Well but, madam-
Dr. C. Alas, madam, I am not a good would commit murder?
Old Lady L. Mr. Darnley, do you think I
man; I am a guilty, wicked sinner, full of
Dr. C. No, sir, no; these are not the
iniquity; the greatest villain that ever breathed;
every instant of my life is clouded with stains: plants usually to be met with in that rank
it is one continued series of crimes and defile- soil; the seeds of wickedness indeed sprout
ments; you do not know what I am capa-up every where too fast; but a playhouse is
ble of; you indeed take me for a good man; Col. L. And yet, doctor, I have known
but the truth is, I am a worthless creature.
Old Lady L. Have you then stumbled? some of the leaders of your tribe, as scrupu
lous as they are, who have been willing to
alas! if it be so, who shall walk upright?
what horrid crime have you been hurried in-gather fruit there for the use of the brethern
that
the devil's hot-bed-
-as in case of a benefit-
Dr. C. The charity covereth the sin: and
mination to the comfort of the righteous.
it may be lawful to turn the wages of abo-
mination to the comfort of the righteous.
Col. L. Ha, ha, ha!
Dr. C. Reprobate! reprobate!
to, that calls for this severe self-accrimination?
Dr. C. None, madam, that perhaps huma-
nity may call very enormous; yet am I sure,
my thoughts never stray a moment from
celestial contemplations? do they not some-
times, before I am aware, turn to things of
this earth? am I not often hasty, and sur-
prised into wrath? nay, the instance is recent;
for last night, being snarled at and bit by
Minxy, your daughter-in-law's lap-dog, I am
conscious I struck the little beast with a de-know my treatment.
gree of passion, for which I have never been
able to forgive myself since.
Old Lady L. Oh! worthy, humble soul!
this is a slight offence, which your suffering
and mortifications may well atone for.
I
Col. L. What is that you mutter, sirrah?
Old. Lady L. Oh heavens!
Darn. Let him go, colonel.
Col. L. A canting hypocrite!
Dr. C. Very well, sir; your father shall
[Exit.
Old. Lady L. Let me run out of the house;
shall have it fall upon my head, if I stay
among such wicked wretches. O'grandson!
grandson!
[Exit
Darn. Was there ever such an insolent rascal!
Dr. C. No, madam, no; I want to suffer;
I ought to be mortified; and I am obliged to beat his brains out.
Col. L. The dog will one day provoke me
now to tell you, that, for my soul's sake, I Darn. But what the devil is he? whence
must quit your good son's family; I am pam- comes he?-what is his original?-how has
pered too much here, live too much at my ease. he so ingratiated himself with your father, as
Old. Lady L. Good doctor!
Dr. C. Alas, madam! it is not you that
to get footing in the house?
should shed tears; it is I ought to weep; you
are a pure woman.
Col. L. Oh, sir, he is here in quality of
chaplain; he was first introduced by the good
old lady that's just gone out. You know, she
Old Lady L. I pure! who, I? no, no; has been a long time a frequenter of our mo-
sinful, sinful-but do not talk of quitting our dern conventicles, where is seems she got ac-
family; what will become of us-for friendship quainted with this sanctified pastor. His dis-
-for charity-
Dr. C. Enough; say no more, madam; I
submit; while I can do good, it is my duty
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT and DARNLEY.
Col. L. Your ladyship's most humble servant.
Old Lady L. Grandson, how do you?
Darn. Good day to you, doctor!
Dr. C. Mr. Darnley, I am your most humble
servant; I hope you and the good colonel
1) London being formerly encompassed by a wall, had
gates resembling the one at Temple-Bar; besides their
use as a Postern, they were employed as places of
confinement; hence the prisons of Newgate, Ludgate, etc.
2) The Marshalsca is a jail of great antiquity, situated
near St. George's church in the Borough of South-
wark.
ciples believe him a saint; and my poor fa-
ther, who has been for some time tainted
with their pernicious principles, has been led
into the same snare.
Darn. Hah! here's your sister again.
Re-enter CHARLOTTE and DOCTOR CANTWELL.
thus; nor shall your credit with my father
Char. You'll find, sir, I will not be used
protect your insolence to me.
Col. L. What's the matter?
Char. Nothing; pray be quiet.-I don't want
you-stand out of the way-how durst you
bolt with such authority into my chamber,
without giving me notice?
Darn. Confusion!
25

194
[ACT II.
THE HYPOCRITE.
Col. L. Hold-if my father won't resent this,
'tis then time enough for me to do it.
ing sternly at Darnley, takes Charlotte un-
der his arm, and carries her off. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
Dr. C. Compose yourself, madam; I came
by your father's desire, who, being informed
that you were entertaining Mr. Darnley, grew SCENE I. Antichamber at SIR J. LAMBERT'S.
impatient, and gave his positive commands
that you attend him instantly, or he himself, Enter SEYWARD, with a writing in his hand.
he says, will fetch you.
Sey. 'Tis so-I have long suspected where
Darn. Ay, now the storm is rising. his zeal would end, in the making of his pri-
Dr. C. So, for what I have done, madam, vate fortune. But then, to found it on the
I had his authority, and shall leave him to ruin of his patron's children!-I shudder at
answer you.
the villany! What desperation may a son
Char. 'Tis false. He gave you no autho- be driven to, so barbarously disinherited!-
rity to insult me; or, if he had, did you sup- Besides, his daughter, fair Charlotte, too, is
pose I would bear it from you? What is it wronged; wronged in the tenderest point: for
you presume upon? your function? does that so extravagant is this settlement, that it leaves
exempt you from the manners of a gentleman? her not a shilling, unless she marries with
Dr. C. Shall I have an answer to your fa- the doctor's consent: which is intended, by
what I have heard, as an expedient to oblige
her to marry the doctor himself. Now, 'twere
[Exit. but an honest part to let Charlotte know the
snare that's laid for her. This deed's not signed,
ther, lady?
Char. I'll send him none by you.
Dr. C. I shall inform him so.
Char. A saucy puppy!
Col. L. Pray, sister, what has the fellow and may be yet prevented. It shall be so.
done to you?
Char. Nothing.
Darn. I beg you would tell us, madam.
Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT, LADY LAMBERT,
and CHARLOTTE.
Char. Nay, no great matter-but I was
sitting carelessly in my dressing-room-a-a you to transcribe some hymns.
fastening my garter, and this impudent cur
comes bounce in upon me-
Sir. J. Oh! Seyward, your uncle wants
Darn. The rogue must be corrected.
Col. L. Yet, 'egad, I cannot help laughing
at the accident; what a ridiculous figure she
must make-ha! ha!
Char. Hah! you're as impudent as he, I think.
Darn. Now, dear Tom, speak to her be-
fore she goes.
Char. What does he say, brother?
Col. L. Why, he wants to have me speak
to you; and I would have him do it himself.
Char. Ay, come, do, Darnley; I am in
good humour now.
Sey. Sir, I'll wait on him.
[Exit.
Char. A pretty, well-bred fellow, that.
Sir J. Ay, ay; but he has better qualities
than his good breeding.
Char. He's always clean too.
Sir J. I wonder, daughter, when you will
take notice of a man's real merit. Humph-
well bred and clean, forsooth. Would not
one think now she was describing a coxcomb?
When do you hear my wife talk at this rate?
and yet she is as young as your fantastical
ladyship.
a
Lady L. Charlotte is of a cheerful temper,
my dear; but I know you don't think she
Darn. Oh, Charlotte! my heart is bursting-wants discretion.
Char. Well, well; out with it then.
Sir J. I shall try that presently; and you,
Darn. Your father now, I see, is bent on my dear, shall judge between us. In short,
parting us-nay, what's worse perhaps, will daughter, your course of life is but one con-
give you to another-I cannot speak-ima- tinued round of playing the fool to no pur-
gine what I want from you.-
pose; and therefore I am resolved to make
Char. Well-O lud! one looks so silly you think seriously, and marry.
though when one is so serious-O dear,-in
short, I cannot get it out.
Col. L. I warrant you; try again.
Char. That I shall do before I marry, sir,
you may depend upon it.
Sir J. Um-That I am not so sure of; but
Char. O lud-well-if one must be teased, you may depend upon my having thought
then-why, he must hope, I think.
Darn. Is't possible!-thus-
Col. L. Buz-not a syllable; she has done
very well. I bar all heroics; if you press it
too far, I'll hold ¹) six to four she's off again
in a moment.
Darn. I'm silenced.
I
seriously, and that's as well; for the person
intend you is, of all the world, the only
man who can make you truly happy.
Char. And, of all the world, sir, that's the
only man I'll positively marry.
Lady L. You have great courage, Charlotte;
if I had such a game to play, I should be
frightened out of my wits.
Char. Lord! madam, he'll make nothing of
it, depend upon it.
[Aside.
Char. Now am I on tiptoe 2) to know what
dd fellow my father has found out for me.
Darn. I'd give something to know him.
Char. He's in a terrible fuss at your being,
bere, I find.
Col. L. 'Sdeath!5) here he comes.
Char. Now we are all in a fine pickle.
Enter Sir John Lambert hastily; and, look-
1) Hold, lay, or bet a wager are synonymous.
2) To be in great expectation.
5) God's death; meaning "by the death of Christ!"
Sir J. Mind what I say to you. This won-
derful man, I say-first, in his public cha-
racter, is religious, zealous, and charitable.
Char. Very well, sir.
Sir J. In his private character, sober.
Char. I should hate a sot.
Sir J. Chaste.
Char. A hem!
[Stifling a laugh.
Sir J. What is it you sneer at, madam?

SCENE 1,]
195
THE HYPOCRITE.
You want one of your fine gentleman rakes, first insist that you never see young Darnley
I suppose, that are snapping at every woman more; for, in one word, the good and pious
they meet with.
doctor Cantwell's the man I have decreed for
Char. No, no, sir: I am very well satis- your husband.
fied.-I-I should not care for such a sort of Char. Ho! ho! ho!
a man, no more than I should for one that Sir J. 'Tis very well; this laugh you think
every woman was ready to snap at.
becomes you, but I shall spoil your mirth-
no more-give me a serious answer.
Sir J. No, you'll be secure from jealousy;
he has experience, ripeness of years-he is al-
most forty-nine. Your sex's vanity will have
no charms for him.
Char. I ask your pardon, sir; I should not
have smiled indeed, could I suppose it possi-
ble that you were serious.
Sir J. You'll find me so.
Sir J. Name it.
Char. But all this while, sir, I don't find
that he has charms for our sex's vanity. How Char. I'm sorry for it; but I have an ob-
does he look? Is he tall, well made? Does jection to the doctor, sir, that most fathers
he dress, sing, talk, laugh, and dance well? think a substantial one.
Has he good hair, good teeth, fine eyes?
Does he keep a chaise, coach, and vis-a-vis?
Has he six prancing ponies? Does he wear the
prince's uniform, and subscribe to Brookes's? 1)
Sir. J. Was there ever so profligate a crea-
ture? What will this age come to!
Lady L. Nay, Charlotte, here I must be
against you. Now you are blind indeed. A
woman's happiness has little to do with the
pleasure her husband takes in his own person.
Sir J. Right.
Lady L. It is not how he looks, but how
he loves, is the point.
Sir J. Good again.
Lady L. And a wife is much more secure
that has charms for her husband, than when
the husband has only charms for her.
Char. Why, sir, we know nothing of his
fortune; he's not worth a groat.
Sir J. That's more than you know, ma-
dam; I am able to give him a better estate
than I am afraid you'll deserve.
Char. How, sir?
Sir J. I have told you what's my will, and
shall leave you to think on't.
Enter SEYWARD.
Sey. Sir, if you are at leisure, the doctor
desires to speak with you, upon business of
importance.
Sir J. Where is he?
Sey. In his own chamber, sir.
Sir J. I will come to him immediately.-
Sir J. Admirable! go on, my dear. [Exit Seyward.]-Daughter, I am called
Lady L. Do you think a woman of five-away, and therefore have only time to tell
and-twenty may not be much happier with you, as my last resolution, doctor Cantwell
an honest man of fifty, than the finest woman is your husband, or I am no more your fa-
of fifty with a young fellow of five-and-twenty? ther.
[Exit.
Sir J. Mark that!
Char. O madam! I am at my wit's end;
Char. Ay, but when two five-and-twenties not for the little fortune I may lose in disobey-
come together-dear papa, you must allowing my father, but it startles me to find what
they have a chance to be fifty times as plea- a dangerous influence this fellow has over all
sant and frolicsome.
his actions.
Lady L. Here's your brother.
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT.
Col. L. Madam, your most obedient-Well,
sister, is the secret out? Who is this pretty
fellow my father has picked up for you?
Char. Even our agreeable doctor.
Col L. You are not serious?
Lady L. He's the very man, I can assure
you, sir.
Col. L. Confusion! what would the cormo-
rant devour the whole family? Your ladyship
knows he is secretly in love with you too.
Lady L. Fie, fie, colonel.
Sir J. Frolicsome! Why, you sensual idiot,
what have frolics to do with solid happiness?
I am ashamed of you.-Go, you talk worse
than a girl at a boarding-shool. -Frolicsome!
as if marriage was only a license for two
people to play the fool according to law.
Methinks, madam, you have a better example
of happiness before your face. - Here's one
has ten times your understanding, and she,
you find, has made a different choice.
Char. Lord, sir, how you talk! don't
you
consider people's tempers. I don't say my la-
dy is not in the right; but then you know,
papa, she's a prude, and I am a coquette;
she becomes her character very well, I don't Col. L. I ask your pardon, madam, if I
deny it; and I hope you see every thing I do, speak too freely; but I am sure, by what 1
is as consistent with mine. -Your wise people have seen, your ladyship must suspect some-
may talk what they will, but 'tis constitution thing of it.
governs us all; and be assured, you will no Lady L. I am sorry any body else has
more be able to bring me to endure a man seen it; but, I must own, his behaviour to
of forty-nine, than you can persuade my lady me of late, both in private and before com-
to dance in church to the organ.
pany, has been something warmer than I
Sir J. O horrible! My poor sister has ruined thought became him.
her: leaving her fortune in her own hands, Col. L. How are these opposites to be re-
has turned her brain. In short, Charlotte, your conciled? Can the rascal have the assurance
sentiments of life are shameful, and I am re- to think both points are to be carried?
solved upon your instant reformation: there-
fore, as an earnest of your obedience, I shall
1) One of the famous gambling - houses of that time,
called hells.
Char. Truly, one would not suspect the
gentleman to be so termagant.
Col. L. Especially while he pretends to be
so shocked at all indecent amours. In the

196
[ACT II.
THE HYPOCRITE.
country be used to make the maids 'lock up than any one in this house. But you may
the turkey-cocks every Saturday night, for, tell the doctor from me, madam, that he is
fear they should gallant the hens on a Sunday. an impudent coxcomb 1), a puppy, and de-
Lady L. Oh! ridiculous!
serves to have his bones broke.
Col. L. Upon my life, madam, my sister
told me so.
Char. I tell you so, impudent-
Lady L. Fie, Charlotte; he only jests with
you.
Old Lady L. Fie, Charlotte, fie! He speaks
but for your good, and this is the grateful
return you make.
Char. Grateful return, madam!-how can
you be so partial to that hypocrite?- The
Char. How can you be such a monster, to doctor is one of those who start at a feather.
stay playing the fool here, when you have -Poor good man! yet he has his vices of
more reason to be frightened out of your the graver sort-
wits? You don't know perhaps, that my fa-
ther declares he'll settle a fortune upon this
fellow too.
Col. L. What do you mean?
Lady L. 'Tis too true; 'tis not three
nutes since he said so.
Old Lady L. Come, come; I wish you
would follow his precept, whose practice is
conformable to what he teaches.-Virtuous man!
-Above all sensual regards, he considers the
mi- world merely as a collection of dirt and peb-
ble-stones.-How has he weaned me from
eyes temporal connections! My heart is now set
ma- upon nothing sublunary: and, I thank heaven,
I am so insensible to every thing in this vain
Lady L. What is't you propose?
world, that I could see you, my son, my
Col. L. Why, if this fellow, which I'm daughters, my brothers, my grandchildren, all
sure of, is really in love with you, give him expire before me; and mind it no more than
a fair opportunity to declare it, and leave me the going out of so many snuffs of candle.
to make my advantage.
Col. L. Nay then, 'tis time indeed his
were opened; and give me leave to say,
dam, 'tis only in your power.
Char. Upon my word, madam, it is a very
Lady L. I should be loth to do a wrong humane disposition you have been able to ar-
thing-
rive at, and your family is much obliged to
the doctor for his instructions.
Char. Dear madam, it is the only way in
the world to expose him to my father.
Lady L. I'll think of it.
Col. L. Pray do, madam; but in the mean
time I must leave you poor Darnley stays
for me at the Smyrna¹) and will sit upon
thorns till I bring him an account of his new
rival.
Char. Well, well, get you gone then; here
is my grandmother. [Exit Colonel Lambert.
Enter OLD LADY LAMBERT.
Lady L. This is kind, madam; I hope
your ladyship's come to dine with us.
Old Lady L. Well, child, I have nothing
more to say to you at present; heaven mend
you, that's all.
Lady L. But pray, madam, stay and dine
with us.
Old Lady L. No, daughter, I have said it,
and you know I never tell a lie; but here's
my son, if you'll give me leave, I'll stay and
speak to him.
Lady L. Your ladyship's time is your own.
Char. Ay, here's that abominable doctor.
-This fellow puts me beyond my patience.
[Exeunt Lady L. and Char.
Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT and DOCTOR
CANTWELL.
Old. Lady L. No; don't be afraid: only
in my way from Tottenham-court, I just called
to see whether any dreadful accident hap- Sir J. Oh, madam, madam! I'm glad you're
pened to the family since I was here last. here to join me in solicitations to the doctor.
Lady L. Accident! did your ladyship say? -Here is my mother, friend, my mother; a
Old Lady L. I shall be sorry, daughter, pious woman; you will hear her, more worthy
but not surprised, when I hear it; for there to advise you than I am.
are goings on under this roof, that will bring Dr. C. Alas! the dear good lady, I will
temporal punishments along with them. kiss her hand!-but what advice can she give
Lady L. Indeed, madam, you astonish me! me? The riches of this world, sir, have no
Old Lady L. We'll drop the subject; and charms for me; I am not dazzled with their
I beg leave to address myself to you. Miss false glare; and was I, I repeat it, to accept
Charlotte; I see you have a bit of lace upon of the trust you want to repose in me, hea-
your neck; I desire to know what you wear ven knows, it would only be lest the means
it for.
should fall into wicked hands, who would
Char. Wear it for, madam! it's the fashion. not lay it out as I would do, for the glory
Old Lady L. In short, I have been at my of heaven, and the good of my neighbour.
linen draper's to-day, and have bought you Old Lady L. What's the matter, son?
some thick muslin, which I desire you will Dr. C. Nothing, madam; nothing.-But you
make handkerchiefs of for I must tell you were witness how the worthy colonel treated
that slight covering is indecent, and gives me this morning-Not that I speak it on my
much offence.
own account for to be reviled is my portion.
Sir J. O the villain! the villain!
Lady L. Indecent, did your ladyship say?
Old Lady L. Yes, daughter-in-law, doctor
Cantwell complains to me that he can't sit at
table, the sight of her bare neck disturbs him
so; and he's a good man, and knows what
indecency is.
Char. Yes, indeed, I believe he does, better
1) Smyrna coffee house.
1) Coxcomb and Puppy, appellations much used by the
fair sex, to signify their disapprobation of a gentle-
man, from his rudeness, for instance, in addressing
every other female in the company but herself, and
such-like misdemeanours. The gentleman thus deno-
minate the affected and over-dressed of their own sex.
There are an immense number of other terms to ex-
press this idea; they will appear in the course of
these sheets,

SCENE 1.]
197
THE HYPOCRITE
Dr. C. Indeed, I did not think he had so would be glad to be permitted to speak with
hard a nature.
you.
Old Lady L. Ah! your charitable heart Old Lady L. Oh pray, doctor, admit him;
knows not the rancour that is in his.- His I have not seen Mr. Mawworm this great
wicked sister too, has been here this moment, while; he's a pious man, though in an humble
abusing this good man.
estate; desire the worthy creature to walk in.
Enter MAWWORM.
Dr. C. O sir, 'tis plain; 'tis plain; your
whole family are in a combination against me
-your son and daughter hate me; they think -How do you do, M. Mawworm?
I stand between them and your favour: and Maw. Thank your ladyship's axing 1)-I'm
indeed it is not fit I should do so; for, fallen but deadly poorish indeed; the world and I
as they are, they are still your children, and can't agree I got the books, doctor-and Mrs.
I an alien, an intruder, who ought in con- Grunt bid me give her service to you, and
science to retire and heal those unhappy thanks you for the eigtheen-pence.
breaches.
Old Lady L. See; if the good man does
not wipe his eyes!
Dr. C. Oh heavens! the thought of their
ingratitude wounds me to the quick- but I'll
remove this eyesore-here, Charles!
Enter SEYWARD.
Sir J. For goodness sake-
Dr C. Bring me that writing, I gave you
to lay up this morning.
Dr. C. Hush, friend Mawworm! not a word
more; you know I hate to have my little
charities blazed about: a poor widow, madam,
to whom I sent my mite.
Old Lady L. Give her this. [offers a purse
to Mawworm.
Dr. C. I'll take care it shall be given to her.
[takes it.
Old Lady L. But what is the matter with
you, Mr. Mawworm?
Maw. I don't know what's the matter with
me-I'm a breaking my heart-I think it's a
[Exit Seyward. sin to keep a shop.
Sir J. Make haste, good Charles; it shall
be signed this moment.
Dr. C. Not for the world, sir John-every
minute tends to corroborate my last intentions
-I must not, will not take it, with the cur-
ses of your children.
Sir J. But consider, doctor-shall my wich-
ed son then be heir to my lands, before
repentance has entitled him to favour-No,
let him depend upon you, whom he has
wronged; perhaps, in time he may reflect on
his father's justice, and be reconciled to your
rewarded virtues.-If heaven should at last re-
claim him, in you I know he still would find
a fond forgiving father.
Old Lady L. Why if you think it a sin, in-
deed-pray what's your business?
Maw. We deals in grocery, tea, small-beer,
charcoal, butter, brick dust, and the like.
Old Lady L. Well, you must consult with
your friendly director here.
I
Maw. I wants to go a preaching.
Old Lady L. Do you?
Maw. I'm almost sure I have had a call.
Old Lady L. Ay!
Maw. I have made several sermons already;
does them extrumpery, 2) because I can't
write; and now the devils in our alley says,
as how my head's turned.
you mind them.
Dr. C. The imagination of so blest an hour,
softens me to a tenderness I cannot support! Old Lady L. Ay, devils indeed--but don't
Old Lady L. Oh! the dear good man.
Sir J. With regard to my daughter, doc-
tor, you know she is not wronged by it; be-
cause, if she proves not obstinate, she may
still be happy.
Old Lady L. Yes, but the perverse wretch
slights the blessing you propose for her.
Maw. No, I don't-I rebukes them, and
preaches to them, whether they will or not.
We lets our house in lodgings to single men;
and sometimes I gets them together, with one or
two of the neighbours, and makes them all cry.
Old Lady L. Did you ever preach in public?
Dr. C. We must allow, madam, female Maw. I got upon Kennington-common, the
modesty a time, which often takes the like-
ness of distress: the commands of your good
son might too suddenly surprise her-Maids
must be gently dealt with--and might I humbly
advise-
Sir J. Any thing you will: you shall go-
vern me and her.
Dr. C. Then, sir, abate of your authority,
and let the matter rest awhile.
Sir J. Suppose we were to get my wife to
speak to her; women will often hear, from
their own sex, what sometimes, even from
the man they like, will startle them.
I
Dr. C. Then, with your permission, sir,
will take an opportunity of talking to my lady.
Sir J. She's now in her dressing-room;
I'll go and prepare her for it.
[Exit.
Dr. C. You are too good to me, sir-too
bountiful.
Enter SEYWARD.
Sey. Sir, Mr. Mawworm is without, and
last review day; but the boys threw brickbats 3)
at me, and pinned crackers to my tail; and I
have been afraid to mount ever since.
Old Lady L. Do you hear this, doctor? throw
Brickbats at him, and pin crackers to his tail!
can these things be stood by?
Maw. I told them so-says I, I does no-
thing clandecently 4); I stands here contagious 5)
to his majesty's guards, and I charge you upon
your apparels 6) not to mislist ") me.
Old Lady L. And had it no effect?
Maw. No more than if I spoke to so many
postesses ): but if he advises me to go a preach-
ing, and quit my shop, I'll make an excres-
sance further into the country.
Old Lady L. An excursion, you would say.
Maw. I am but a sheep, but my bleatings
shall be heard afar off; and that sheep shall
1) Asking. 2) Extempore. 3) Large stones,
4) Clandestinely. 5) Contiguous. 6) At your peril.
7) Molest. 8) The plural of post, according to the
pronounciation of the common people of London.

198
[ACT II.
THE HYPOCRITE.
become a shepherd: nay, if it be only as it
were a shepherd's dog, to bark the stray lambs
into the fold.
Old Lady L. He wants method, doctor.
Dr. C. Yes, madam; but there is the matter,
and I despise not the ignorant.
Dr. C. Madam, if you please, I will lead you
into the parlour.
Old Lady L. No, doctor, my coach waits at
the door.
Enter SEYWARD.
Maw. He's a saint-till I went after him, I Dr. C. Charles, you may lay those papers
was little better than the devil; my conscience by again, but in some place where you'll easily
was tanned with sin, like a piece of neat's find them; for I believe we shall have occa-
leather, and had no more feeling than the sole sion for them some time this afternoon.
of my shoe; always a roving after fantastical Sey. I'll take care, sir. [Exit Dr. Cant. and
delights: I used to go, every Sunday evening, old Lady Lambert-Occasion for them this
to the Three Hats at Islington! it's a public-afternoon!-Then there's no time to be lost;
house! mayhap, your ladyship may know it: the coast is clear, and this is her chamber.-
I was a great lover of skittles too, but now What's the matter with me? the thought of
I can't bear them.
speaking to her throws me into a disorder.
Old Lady L. What a blessed reformation! There's nobody within; I'll knock again.
Maw. I believe, doctor, you never know'd
as how I was instigated 1) one of the stewards
Enter BETTY.
of the reforming society. I convicted a man Is your lady busy?
of five oaths, as last Thursday was a se'nnight,
Bet. I believe she's only reading, sir.
at the Pewter-platter, in the Borough; and Sey. Will you do me the favour to let her
another of three, while he was playing trap- know, if she's at leisure? I beg to speak with
ball in St. George's-fields: I bought this waist- her upon some earnest business.
coat out of my share of the money.
Old Lady L. But how do you mind
business?
your
Maw. We have lost almost all our custo-
mers; because I keeps extorting 1) them when-
ever they come into the shop.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Char. Who's that?
Bet. She's here.-Mr. Seyward, madam, de-
sires to speak with you.
Char. Oh, your servant, Mr. Seyward.-
Old Lady L. And how do you live? Here, take this odious Homer, and lay him up
Maw. Better than ever we did: while we again; he tires me.-[Exit Betty]-How could
were worldly-minded, my wife and I (for I the blind wretch make such a horrid fuss a-
am married to as likely a woman as you shall bout a fine woman, for so many volumes toge-
see in a thousand) could hardly make things ther, and give us no account of her amours?
do at all; but since this good man has brought you have read him, I suppose, in the Greek,
us into the road of the righteous, we have al- Mr. Seyward?
ways plenty of every thing; and my wife goes
as well dressed as a gentlewoman-we have
had a child too.
Old Lady L. Merciful!
Maw. And between you and me, doctor, I
believe Susy's breeding again.
Dr. C. Thus it is, madam; I am constantly
told, though I can hardly believe it, a blessing
follows wherever I come.
Sey. Not lately, madam.
Char. But do you so violently admire him now?
Sey. The critics say he has his beauties,
madam; but Ovid has been always my favourite.
Char. Ovid-Oh, he is ravishing!
Sey. So art thou, to madness! [Aside.
Char. Lord! how could one do, to learn
Greek!-Were you a great while about it?
Sey. It has been half the business of my
life, madam.
Char. That's cruel, now; then you think one
could not be mistress of it in a month or two?
Sey. Not easily, madam.
Maw. And yet, if you would hear how the
neighbours reviles my wife; saying as how
she sets no store by me, because we have
words now and then; but as I says, if such
was the case, would ever she have cut me Char. They tell me, it has the softest tone
down that there time as I was melancholy, for love of any language in the world-I fan-
and she found me hanging behind the door? cy I could soon learn it. I know two words
I don't believe there's a wife in the parish of it already.
would have done so by her husband.
Dr. C. I believe 'tis near dinner-time; and
sir John will require my attendance.
Sey. Pray, madam, what are they?
Char. Stay-let me see-Oh-ay-Zoe kai
psuche.
Maw. Oh! I am troublesome-nay, I only Sey. I hope you know the English of them,
come to you, doctor, with a message from madam.
Mrs. Grunt. I wish your ladyship heartily and Char. Oh lud! I hope there is no harm in
heartily farewell; doctor, a good day to you. it-I'm sure I heard the doctor say it to my
Old Lady L. Mr. Mawworm, call on me lady-pray, what is it?
some time this afternoon; I want to have a Sey. You must first imagine, madam, a tender
little private discourse with you; and, pray, lover gazing on his mistress; and then indeed
my service to your spouse.
they have a softness in them; as thus-Zoe
Maw. I will, madam; you are a malefactor) kai psuche!-my life! my soul!
to all goodness; I'll wait upon your ladyship; Char. Oh the impudent young rogue! how
I will indeed: [going, returns] Oh, doctor, his eyes spoke too! what the deuce can he
that's true; Susy desired me to give her kind want with me!
[Aside.
love and respects to you.
Sey. I have startled her!-she muses! Aside.
Char. It always run in my head that this
fellow had something in him above his con-
1) Instituted. 2) Exhorting. 3) Benefactor.
[Exit.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.
199
THE HYPOCRITE.
dition; I'll know immediately. [Aside] Well,
but your business with me, Mr. Seyward? you
have something of love in your head, I'll lay
my life on't.
Sey. I never durst own it, madam.
Char. Why; what's the matter?
Sey. My story is too melancholy to enter-
tain a mind so much at ease as yours.
Char. Oh, I love melancholy stories of all
things:-pray how long have you lived with
your uncle, Mr. Seyward?
Sey. With doctor Cantwell, I suppose you
mean, madam?
Char, Ay.
Sey. He's no uncle of mine, madam.
Char. You surprise me! not your uncle?
Sey. No, madam; but that's not the only
character the doctor assumes, to which he has
no right.
Char. Lord! I am concerned for you.
Sey. So you would, madam, if you knew all.
Char. I am already; but if there are any
further particulars of your story, pray let me
hear them; and should any services be in my
power, I am sure you may command them.
Char. Indeed, you can't tell how I pity you;
and depend upon it, if it be possible to serve
you, by getting you out of the hands of this
monster, I will.
Sey. Once more, madam, let me assure you,
that your generous inclination would be a
consolation to me in the worst misfortunes;
and, even in the last moment of painful death,
would give my heart a joy.
Char. Lord! the poor unfortunate boy loves
me too-what shall I do with him? [Aside]
-Pray, Mr. Seyward, what paper's that you
have in your hand?-Is it relative to-
Sey. Another instance of the conscience and
gratitude which animate our worthy doctor.
Char. You frighten me! pray, what is the
purport of it? Is it neither signed nor sealed-
Sey. No, madam; therefore to prevent it,
by this timely notice, was my business here
with you; your father gave it to the doctor
first, to show his counsel ¹); who having ap-
proved it, I understand this evening it will
be executed.
Char. But what is it?
Sey. It grants to doctor Cantwell, in pre-
Sey. You treat me with so kind, so gentle sent, four hundred pounds per annum, of
a hand, that I will unbosom myself to you.- which this very house is part; and, at your
My father, madam, was the younger branch father's death, invests him in the whole re-
of a genteel family in the north; his rame mainder of his freehold estate. For you, in-
Trueman-but dying while I was yet in my deed, there is a charge of four thousand pounds
infancy, I was left wholly dependant on my upon it, provided you marry with the doctor's
mother; a woman really pious and well-mean- consent; if not, 'tis added to my lady's join-
ing, but-In short, madam, doctor Cantwell ture-But your brother, madam, is, without
fatally got acquainted with her, and as he is conditions, utterly disinherited.
now your father's bosom counsellor, soon be-
came her's.
She died, madam, when I was
but eight years old; and then I was, indeed,
left an orphan.
Char. Melancholy!
Char. I am confounded!-What will be-
come of us! my father now I find was serious
-Oh, this insinuating hypocrite!-Let me see
-ay-I will go this minute. Sir, dare you
trust this in my hands for an hour only?
Sey. She left doctor Cantwell her sole heir Sey. Any thing to serve you- [Bell rings.
and executor; but I must do her the justice to Char. Hark! they ring to dinner: pray, sir,
say, I believe it was in the confirmation that step in: say I am obliged to dine abroad; and
he would take care of, and do justice to me: whisper one of the footmen to get a chair
and, indeed, he has so far taken care of me, immediately; then do you take a proper oc-
that he sent me to a seminary abroad; and for casion to slip out after me to Mr. Double's
these three years last past has kept me with him. chambers in the Temple 2); there I shall have
Char. A seminary! Oh, heavens! but why time to talk further with you.
have you not strove to do yourself justice?
Sey. Thrown so young into his power, as
ACT III.
Chairs.
her cloak, etc.
[Exeunt.
Char. Has any one been to speak with me,
Betty?
I was unknown ond friendless, but through SCENE 1.-A Dressing-Room, with Table and
his means, to whom could I apply for suc-
cour? nay, madam, I will confess, that on my
return to England, I was first tainted with his Enter CHARLOTTE, with BETTY, taking off
enthusiastic notions/myself; and, for some time,
as much imposed upon by him, as others;
till, by degrees, as he found it necessary to
make use of, or totally discard me (which last
he did not think prudent to do), he was o-
bliged to unveil himself to me in his proper
colours-And I believe I can inform you of
some parts of his private character, that may
be the means of detecting one of the wickedest
impostors that ever practised upon credulity.
Char. But how has the wretch dared to
treat you?
Sey. In his ill and insolent humours, ma-
dam, he has sometimes the presumption to
tell me, that I am the object of his charity;
and I own, madam, that I am humbled in
my opinion, by his having drawn me into a
connivance at some actions, which I can't look
back on without horror.
Bet. Only Mr. Darnley, madam; he said he
would call again, and bid his servant stay below
to give him notice when you came home.
Char. You don't know what he wanted?
Bet. No, madam; he seemed very uneasy
at your being abroad.
Char. Well, go and lay up those things-
Exit Betty] Ten to one but his wise head
has found out something to be jealous of;
1) Lawyer.
2) The Temple takes its name from having been founded
by the knight Templars. In the 13th century, here
were frequently entertained the king, the pope's nuncio,
foreign ambassadors, and other great personages. The
professors of the common law purchased the building
at the suppression of the knight Templars, and they
were then first converted into inns, where the students
keep their terms.

200
[ACT III.
THE HYPOCRITE.
Enter DARNLEY.
-
if he lets me see it, I shall be sure to make me still-believe the worst you can-'tis all
him infinitely easy-here he comes.
true-I don't justify myself. Why
do you
trouble me with your complaints? if you are
master of that manly reason you have boasted,
give a manly proof of it; at once resume your
liberty; despise me; go off in triumph now,
like a king in a tragedy.
Darn. Your humble servant, madam.
Char. Your servant, sir.
Darn. You have been abroad, I hear.
Char. Yes, and now I am come home, you see.
Darn. Is this the end of all then? and are
Darn. You seem to turn upon my words, those tender protestations you have made me
madam! Is there any thing particular in them? (for such I thought them) when, with a kind reluc-
Char. As much as there is in my being
abroad, I believe.
Darn. Might I not say you had been a-
broad, without giving offence?
Char. And might I not as well say I was come
home, without your being so grave upon't?
Darn. Do you know any thing that should
make me grave?
Char. I know, if you are so, I am the worst
person in the world you can possibly show it to.
Darn. Nay, I don't suppose you do any
thing you won't justify.
Char. Oh, then I find I have done some-
thing you think I can't justify.
Darn. I don't say that neither; perhaps I
am wrong in what I have said; but I have
been so often used to ask pardon for your
being in the wrong, that I am resolved hence-
forth never to rely on the insolent evidence
of my own senses.
Char. You don't know now perhaps that I
think this pretty smart speech of yours is very
dull; but, since that's a fault you can't help,
I will not take it ill; come now, be as sincere
on your side, and tell me seriously- Is not
what real business I had abroad the very thing
you want to be made easy in?
Darn. If I thought you would make me
easy, I would own it.
tance, you gave me something more than hope
-what all-Oh, Charlotte! all come to this?
Char. Oh, lud! I am growing silly; if I hear
on, I shall tell him every thing; 'tis but another
struggle and I shall conquer it. So, you are
not gone, I see.
Darn. Do you then wish me gone, madam?
Char. Your manly reason will direct you.
Darn. This is too much-my heart can bear
no more-What, am I rooted here?
Enter SEXWARD.
Char. At last I am relieved-Well, Mr.
Seyward, is it done?
Sey. I did not stir from the desk till it was
entirely finished.
Char. Where's the original?
Sey. This is it, madam.
Char. Very well; that, you know, you must
keep; but come, we must lose no time; we
will examine this in the next room-now I
feel for him.
[Exit.
Darn. This is not to be borne-Pray, Mr.
Charles, what business have you with that lady?
Sey. Sir!
Darn. I must know, young man.
Sey. Not quite so young,but I can keep a secret,
and a lady's too-you'll excuse me, sir! [Exit.
Darn. 'Sdeath! to be laughed at by every
Char. Now we come to the point.-To-body-I shall run distracted-this young fellow
morrow morning then I give you my word, should repent his pertness, did not this house
to let you know it all; till then, there is a ne- protect him-this is Charlotte's contrivance to
cessity for its being a secret; and I insist distract me-but what? Oh! I have love
upon your believing it.
enough to bear this, and ten times as much.
Darn. But pray, madam, what am I to do
with private imagination in the mean time?
that is not in my power to confine; and sure
you won't be offended, if, to avoid the tor-
tures that may give me, I beg you'll trust me
with the secret now.
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT.
Col. L. What, in raptures!
Darn. Pr'ythee-I am unfit to talk with you.
Col. L. What, is Charlotte in her airs again?
Darn. I know not what she is.
Col. L. Do you know where she is?
Darn. Retired this moment to her chamber
with the young fellow there--the doctor's nephew.
Col. L. Why, you are not jealous of the
doctor, I hope?
Char.Don't press me; for, positively, I will not.
Darn. Will not-can not had been a kinder
term-Is my disquiet of so little moment to you?
Char. Of none, while your disquiet dares
not trust the assurances I have given you. If
you expect I should confide in you for life, Darn. Perhaps she'll be less reserved to you,
don't let me see you dare not take my word and tell you wherein I have mistaken her.
for a days and, if you are wise, you'll think Col, L. Poor Frank! every plot I lay upon
so fair a trial a favour.-Come, come, there's my sister's inclination for you, you are sure
nothing shows so low a mind, as those grave to ruin by your own conduct.
Darn. I own I have too little temper, and
Darn. However, madam, mine you won't too much real passion, for a modish lover.
find so low as you imagine; and since I see Col. L. Come, come! make yourself easy
your tyranny arises from your mean opinion once more; I'll undertake for you: if you'll
and insolent jealousies.
of
me, 'tis time to be myself, and disavow your fetch a cool turn in the Park, upon Constitu-
power; you use it now beyond my bearing; tion hill, in less than half an hour I'll come
not only impose on me to disbelieve my senses, to you, and make you perfectly easy.
but do it with such an imperious air, as if Darn. Dear Tom, you are a friend indeed!
my manly reason were your slave; and this -I have a thousand things-but you shall find
despicable frame that follows you, durst show me there.
[Exit.
no signs of life but what you vouchsafe to give it. Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYWARD.
Cher. You are in the right: go on-suspect Col. L. How now, sister; what have you

SCENE 1.]
201
THE HYPOCRITE.
done to Darnley? the poor fellow looks as if
he had killed your parrot.
Char. Pshaw! you know him well enough!
I've only been setting him a love lesson; it a
little puzzles him to get through it at first, but
he'll know it all by to-morrow-you will be
sure to be in the way, Mr. Seyward.
Sey. Madam, you may depend upon me;
I have my full instructions.
Dr. C. I speak it from my heart: indeed,
indeed, indeed I do.
Lady L. O dear! you hurt my hand, sir.
Lady L. O dear!
Dr. C. Impute it to my zeal, and want of
words for expression: precious soul! I would
not hurt you for the world: no, it would be
the whole business of my life-
Lady L. But to the affair I would speak to
you about.
Dr. C. Ah! thou heavenly woman!
[Exit.
Col. L. O, ho! here's the business then; and
it seems Darnley was not to be trusted with Lady L. Your hand need not be there, sir.
it; ha! ha!-and, pry'thee, what is the mighty Dr. C. I was admiring the softness of this
secret that is transacting between Seyward silk. They are indeed come to prodigious per-
and you?
fection in all manufactures: how wonderful is
Char. That's what he would have known, human art! Here it disputes the prize with na-
indeed; but you must know, I don't think it ture; that all this soft and gaudy lustre should
proper to let you tell him neither, for all your be wrought from the labours of a poor worm!
sly manner of asking.
Lady L. But our business, sir, is upon an-
Col. L. Pray take your own time, dear ma- other subject; sir John informs me, that he
dam; I am not in haste to know, I assure you. thinks himself under no obligations to Mr.
Char. Well, but hold; on second thoughts, Darnley, and therefore resolves to give his
you shall know part of this affair between daughter to you.
Seyward and me; nay, I give you leave to
tell Darnley too, on some conditions; 'tis true,
I did design to have surprised you-but now
my mind's altered, that's enough.
Col. L. Ay, for any mortal's satisfaction-
but here comes my lady.
Enter LADY LAMBERT.
Lady L. Away, away, colonel and Charlotte;
both of you away this instant.
Dr. C. Such a thing has been mentioned,
madam; but, to deal sincerely with you, that
is not the happiness I sigh after; there is a soft
and serious excellence for me, very different
from what your step-daughter possesses.
Lady L. Well, sir, pray be sincere, and
open your heart to me.
Dr. C. Open my heart! can you then, sweet
life been able to inform you of my real thoughts?
lady, be yet a stranger to it? has no action of my
Lady L. Well, sir, I take all this, as I sup-
pose you intend it, for my good and spiritual
welfare.
Dr. C. Indeed, I mean you cordial service.
the low, momentary views of this world.
Lady L. I dare say you do: you are above
Char. What's the matter, madam?
Lady L. I am going to put the doctor to
his trial, that's all. I have considered the pro-
posal you have made me to-day, colonel, and
am convinced it ought not to be delayed an
instant; so just now I told the doctor, in a
Dr. C. Why, I should be so; and yet, alas!
half-whisper, that I should be glad to have a
word in private with him here; and he said like other men's, of sensual flesh and blood,
I find this mortal clothing of my soul is made
he would wait upon me presently: but must and has its frailties.
I play a traitorous part now, and instead of and has its frailties.
persuading you to the doctor, persuade the
doctor against you?
Char. Dear madam, why not? one moment's
truce with the prude, I beg of you; don't startle
at his first declaration, but let him go on, till
he shows the very bottom of his ugly heart.
Lady L. I warrant you, I'll give a good ac-
count of him-but, as I live, here he comes!
Char. Come then, brother, you and I will
be commode, and steal off. [Exeunt Char-
lotte and Col. L. who listens.
Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL.
Dr. C. Here I am, madam, at your ladyship's
command; how happy am I that you think
me worthy-
Lady L. Please to sit, sir.
Lady L. We all have those, but yours are
well corrected by your divine and virtuous
contemplations.
Dr. C. Alas! madam, my heart is not of
stone: I may resist, call all my prayers, my
fastings, tears, and penance, to my aid; but
yet, I am not an angel; I am still but a man;
and virtue may strive, but nature will be up-
permost. I love you then, madam.
let my husband, your benefactor, know the
Lady L. Hold, sir! suppose I now should
favour you design him?
Dr. C. You cannot be so cruel!
Lady L. Nor will, on this condition; that
instantly you renounce all claim and title to
Charlotte, and use your utmost interest with
sir John, to give her, with her full fortune,
to Mr. Darnley.
Dr. C. Well but, dear lady, ha! you can't
conceive the joyousness I feel at this so much
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT
desired interview. Ah! ah! I have a thousand Col. L. Villain! monster! perfidious and un-
friendly things to say to you: and how stands grateful traitor! your hypocrisy, your false zeal,
your precious health? is your naughty cold is discovered; and I am sent here, by the hand
abated yet? I have scarce closed my eyes these of insulted heaven, to lay you open to my
two nights with my concern for you. father, and expose you to the world.
Dr. C. Ha!
Lady L. Your charity is too far concerned
for me.
Dr. C. Ah! don't say so; don't say so; you
merit more than mortal man can do for you.
Lady L. Indeed, you overrate me.
Lady L. O, unthinking colonel!
Col. L. Well, sir, what have you to say for
yourself?
Dr. C. I have nothing to say to you, colonel,
26

202
[ACT IV.
THE HYPOCRITE.
nor for you-but you shall have my prayers. tion of my sister's name! directly, plainly,
Col. L. Why, you profligate hypocrite! do grossly tending to abuse the honour of your bed.
you think to carry off your villany with that Sir J. Villain! this instant leave my sight,
my house, my family, for ever.
sanctified air?
Dr. C. I know not what you mean, sir; I
have been in discourse here with my good
lady, by permission of your worthy father.
Col. L. Dog! did my father desire you to
talk of love to my lady?
Dr. C. Call me not dog, colonel: I hope we
are both brother Christians.-Yes, I will own
I did beg leave to talk to her of love: for,
alas! I am but a man; yet if my passion for
your dear sister, which I cannot control, be
sinful-
Dr. C. Hold, good sir John; I am now
recovered from my surprise; let me then be
an humble mediator-on my account this must
not be-1 grant it possible, your son loves me
not; but you must grant it too as possible,
he might mistake me; to accuse me then,
was but the error of his virtue; you ought to
love him, thank him, for his watchful care.
Sir J. O miracle of charity!
Dr. C. Come, come; such breaches must
not be betwixt so good a son and father; for-
Lady L. Your noise, I perceive, is bringing get, forgive, embrace him, cherish him, and
up sir John; manage with him as you will at let me bless the hour I was the occasion of
present: I will withdraw, for I have an after-so sweet a reconcilement.
game to play, which may yet put this wretch Sir J. Hear this, preverse and reprobate!
effectually into our power.
[Exit. Oh! couldst thou wrong such more than mor-
tal virtue?
Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT.
Sir J. What uproar is this?
Col. L. Nothing, sir, nothing; only a little
broil of the good doctor's here-You are well
Col. L. Wrong him! the hardened impu-
dence of this painted charity-
Sir J. Peace, graceless infidel!
Col. L. No, sir, though I would hazard
rewarded for your kindnesses; and he would life to gain you from the clutches of that
fain pay it back with triple interest to your wretch; could die to reconcile my duty to
wife: in short, I took him here in the very your favour; yet, on the terms his villany of-
fact of making a criminal declaration of love fers, it is merit to refuse it but, sir, I'll trou-
to my lady.
ble you no more; to-day is his, to-morrow
may be mine.
Dr. C. Why, why, sir John, would you not
let me leave your house? I knew some dread-
ful method would be taken to drive me hence
-O, be not angry, good colonel: but indeed,
and indeed, you use me cruelly.
Sir J. Horrible, wicked, creature!-Doctor,
let me hear it from you.
[Exit.
Sir J. Come, my friend, we'll go this in-
stant and sign the settlement: for that wretch
ought to be punished, who I now see is in-
corrigible, and given over to perdition.
Dr. C. And do you think I take your es-
tate with such view?-No, sir-I receive it
Dr. C. Alas, sir, I am in the dark as much that I may have an opportunity to rouse his
as you; but it should seem, for what purpose mind to virtue, by showing him an instance
he best knows, your son hid himself hereabouts; of the forgiveness of injuries; the return of
and while I was talking to my lady, rushed good for evil!-
Dr. C. The will of heaven be done in all
in upon us-you know the subject, sir, on Sir. J. O, my dear friend! my stay and
which I was to entertain her; and I might my guide! I am impatient till the affair is
speak of my love for your daughter with more concluded.
warmth than, perhaps, I ought; which the co-
lonel overhearing, he might possibly imagine
I was addressing my lady herself; for I will
not suspect, no, heaven forbid, I will not
suspect that he would intentionally forge a
falsehood to dishonour me.
things.
Sir J. Poor, dear, man!
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
Sir J. Now, vile detracter of all virtue! is SCENE I-A Parlour at SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S.
your outrageous malice confounded? what he
tells you is true; he has been talking to my
lady by my consent, and what he said was by
my orders-Good man! be not concerned; for
I see through their vile design-Here, thou
curse of my life, if thou art not lost to con-
science and all sense of honour, repair the in-
jury you have attempted, by confessing your
rancour, and throwing yourself at his feet.
Dr. C. Oh, sir John! for my sake-I will
throw myself at the colonel's feet; nay, if
that will please him, he shall tread on my
neck.
Sir J. What, mute, defenceless, hardened
in thy malice?
Enter CHARLOTTE and SEYWARD.
Char. You were a witness, then?
Sey. I saw it signed, sealed, and delivered,
madam.
Char. And all passed without the least
suspicion?
Sey. Sir John signed it with such earnest-
ness, and the doctor received it with such
seeming reluctance, that neither had the cu-
riosity to examine a line of it.
Char. Well, Mr. Seyward, whether it suc-
ceeds to our ends or not, we have still the same
obligations to you. You saw with what friendly
warmth my brother heard your story; and I
don't in the least doubt his being able to do
something for you.
Col. L. I sorn the imputation, sir; and with
the same repeated honesty avow (however Sey. What I have done, my duty bound
cunningly he may have devised this gloss), me to; but pray, madam, give me leave,
that you are deceived-what I tell you, sir, without offence, to ask you one innocent
is true-these eyes, these ears, were witnes- question.
ses of his audacious love, without the men- Char. Freely.

SCENE 1.]
203
THE HYPOCRITE.
Sey. Have you never suspected, that in all notwithstanding your good father's favour, I
this affair, I have had some secret, stronger, am not the man you would desire to be alone
motive than barely duty?
with upon this occasion.
Char. Yes. But have you been in no ap-
prehensions I should discover that motive?
Sey. Pray, pardon me; I see already I have
gone too far.
Char. Your modesty is pleased to be in the
right.
Dr. C. I'm afraid too, notwithstanding all
my endeavours to the contrary, that you en-
tertain a pretty bad opinion of me.
Char. A worse, sir, of no mortal breathing.
Dr. C. Which opinion is immoveable.
Char. No rock so firm.
Char. Not at all; it loses you no merit with
me; nor is it my nature to use any one ill
that loves me, unless I loved that one again:
then, indeed, there might be danger. Come,
don't look grave; my inclinations to another Dr. C. I am afraid then it will be a vain
shall not hinder me paying every one what's pursuit, when I solicit you, in compliance
due to their merit: I shall therefore always with my worthy friend's desire and my own
think myself obliged to treat your misfortunes inclinations, to become my partner in that
and your modesty with the utmost tenderness. blessed estate in which we may be a comfort
Sey. Your good opinion is all I aim at.
Char. Ay; but the more I give it you, the
better you'll think of me still; and then I must
think the better of you again; and then you
the better of me, upon that too; and so at
last I shall seriously, and you'll begin to think
ill of me. But I hope, Mr. Seyward, your
good sense will prevent all this.
Sey. I see my folly, madam, and blush at
my presumption. Madam, I humbly take my
leave.
and support to each other.
Char. I would die rather than consent to it,
Dr. C. In other words, you hate me.
Char. Most transcendently.
Dr. C. Well, there is sincerity at least in
your confession: you are not, I see, totally
deprived of all virtue, though I must say I
never could perceive in you but very little.
Char. Oh, fie! you flatter me.
Dr. C. No, I speak it with sorrow, because
[Exit. you are the daughter of my best friend. But
how are we to proceed now? are we to pre-
serve temper?
Char. Well, he's a pretty young fellow af-
ter all, and the very first, sure, that ever
heard reason against himself with so good an
understanding.
Enter LADY LAMBERT.
Char. Oh! never fear me, sir, I shall not
fly out, being convinced that nothing gives
so sharp a point to one's aversion as good
breeding; as, on the contrary, ill manners
often hide a secret inclination.
Lady L. Dear Charlotte, what will become
of us?-The tyranny of this subtle hypocrite Dr. C. Well then, young lady, be assured
is insupportable. He has so fortified himself so far am I from the unchristian disposition
in sir John's opinion, by this last misconduct of returning injuries, that your antipathy to
of your brother, that I begin to lose my pow-me causes no hatred in my soul towards you;
er with him.
on the contrary, I would willingly make you
Char. Pray explain, madam,
happy, if it may be done according to my
Lady L. In spite of all I could urge, he conscience, with the interest of heaven in
has consented that the doctor shall this mi-view.
nute come, and be his own advocate.
Char. Why, I can't see, sir, how heaven
Char. I'm glad on't; for the beast must can be any way concerned in a transaction
come like a bear to the stake. I'm sure, he between you and me.
knows I shall bait him.
Dr. C. When you marry any other per-
Lady L. No matter for that; he presses it, son, my consent is necessary.
to keep sir John still blind to his wicked de- Char. So I hear, indeed!-but pray, doc-
sign upon me.-Therefore I come to give you tor, how could your modesty receive so in-,
notice, that you might be prepared to re-solent a power, without putting my poor fa-
ceive him.
ther out of countenance with your blushes?
Char. I'm obliged to your ladyship. Our Dr. C. I sought it not; but he would
meeting will be a tender scene, no doubt on't. crowd it among other obligations. He is good
Lady L. But I think I hear the doctor com-natured; and I foresaw it might serve to pious
ing up stairs. My dear girl, at any rate keep purposes.
your temper. I shall expect you in my dressing-
room, to tell me thé particulars of your conduct.
[Exit.
Char. He must have a great deal of impu-
dence, to come in this manner to me.
Enter BETTY.
Char. I don't understand you.
Dr. C. I take it for granted, that you would
marry Mr. Darnley. Am I right?
Char. Once in your life, perhaps, you may.
Dr. C. Nay, let us be plain. Would you
marry him?
Char. You're mighty nice, methinks. Well,
Bet. Doctor Cantwell desires to be admit- I would.
ted, madam.
Char. Let him come in.
Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL.
Dr. C. Then I will not consent.
Char. You won't?
Dr. C. My conscience will not suffer me.
I know you to be both luxurious and worldly
Your servant, sir-Give us chairs, Betty, and minded; and you would squander upon the
leave the room.-[exit Betty.]-Sir, there's vanities of the world, those treasures which
a seat - What can the ugly cur say to me? ought to be better laid out.
-he seems a little puzzled.
Char. Hum!-I believe I begin to conceive
Dr. C. Look ye, young lady, I am afraid, you.—

204
[ACT IV.
THE HYPOCRITE
Darn. Come, you shall not be serious:
Char. Oh! but I am serious.
Dr. C. If you can think of any project to
satisfy my conscience, I am tractable. You you can't be more agreeable.
know there is a considerable moiety of your
fortune which goes to my lady in case of our
disagreement.
Char. That's enough, sir.-You think we
should have a fellow feeling in it. At what
sum do you rate your concurrence to my in-
clinations? that settled, I am willing to strike
the bargain.
Dr. C. What do you think of half?
Char. How! two thousand pounds?
Dr. C. Why, you know you gain two
thousand pounds; and really the severity of
the times for the poor, and my own stinted
pittance, which cramps my charities, will not
suffer me to require less.
Char. But how is my father to be brought
into this?
Dr. C. Leave that to my management.
Char. And what security do you expect
for the money?
Dr. C. Oh! Mr. Darnley is wealthy: when
I deliver my consent in writing, he shall lay
it down to me in bank-bills.
Char. Pretty good security! On one pro-
viso though.
Dr. C. Name it.
Darn. Then I'll be so.-Do you forgive me all?
Char. What?
Darn. Are we friends, Charlotte?
Char. O Lord; but you have told me no-
thing of poor Seyward!
Darn. Must you needs know that, before
you answer me.
Char. Lord! you are never well till you
have talked one out of countenance.
Darn. Come, I won't be too particular;
you shall answer nothing- Give me but your
hand only.
Char. Pshaw! I won't pull off my glove,
not I.
Darn. I'll take it as it is then.
Char. Lord! there, there; eat it, eat it.
Darn. And so I could, by heaven!
Char. Oh, my glove! my glove! my glove!
you are in a perfect storm! Lord! if you
make such a rout with one's hand, what
would you do if you had one's heart?
Darn. That's impossible to tell.-But you
were asking me of Seyward, madam?
Char. Oh, ay! that's true. Well, now
you are very good again.-Come, tell me all
Char. That you immediately tell my father, the affair, and then you shall see-how I will
that you are willing to give up your interest like you.
to Mr. Darnley
Darn. There is not much to tell - only this:
Dr. C. Hum!-stay--I agree to it; but in we met the attorney-general, to whom he
the mean time, let me warn you child, not to has given a very sensible account of himself,
expect to turn that, or what has now passed and the doctor's proceedings. The attorney-
between us, to my confusion, by sinister con- general seems very clear in his opinion, that,
struction, or evil representation to your fa- as the doctor, at the time of the death of
ther. I am satisfied of the piety of my own Seyward's mother, was entrusted with her
intentions, and care not what the wicked whole affairs, the Court of Equity ¹) will
think of them; but force me not to take ad- oblige him to be accountable.
vantage of sir John's good opinion of me, in
order to shield myself from the consequences
of your malice.
Char. Oh! I shall not stand in my own
light: I know your conscience and your pow-
er too well, dear doctor!
Dr. C. Well, let your interest sway you.
Thank heaven, I am actuated by more worthy
motives.
Char. No doubt on't.
Dr. C. Farewell, and think me your friend.
[Exit.
Char. What this fellow's original was, I
know not; but by his conscience and cunning,
he would make an admirable Jesuit.
Enter SERYANT,
Sero. Madam, Mr. Darnley.
Char. Desire him to walk in. [Exit Servant.
Enter DARNLEY.
Darn. To find you thus alone, madam, is
a happiness I did not expect, from the tem-
per of our last parting.
Char. I should have been as well pleased
now, to have been thanked, as reproached,
for my good nature; but you will be in the
right, I find.
Darn. Indeed, you take me wrong. I li-
terally mean that I was afraid you would not
so soon think I had deserved this favour.
Char. Well, but were you not silly
now?
Char. If Seyward does not recover his for-
tune, you must absolutely get him a commis-
sion, and bring him into acquaintance.
Darn. Upon my word I will.
Char. And show him to all the women of
taste; and I'll have you call him my pretty
fellow, too.
Darn. I will, indeed!-but hear me-
Char. You can't conceive how prettily he
makes love.
1) Early in the history of the English jurisprudence, the
administration of justice, by the ordinary courts, ap-
pears to have been incomplete. To supply this defect
the Courts of Equity have obtained their establishment;
assuming the pawer of enforcing the principles upon
which the ordinary courts also decide, when the pow-
ers of those courts, or their modes of proceeding,
are insufficient for that purpose; of preventing those
principles, as literally enforced by the ordinary courts,
from producing decisions contrary to their spirit, and
becoming instruments of actual injustice in particular
cases; and of deciding on principles of universal jus-
tice, where the interference of a court of judicature
is necessary to prevent a wrong, in matters wherein
the positive law is silent. The courts of equity also
administer to the ends of justice, by removing impe-
diments to the fair decision of a question in other
courts; by providing for the safety of property in dis-
pute, pending a legislation; by restraining the asser-
tion of doubtful rights, in a manner productive of ir-
reparable damage: by preventing injury to a third
person from the doubtful title of others; by putting a
bound to vexatious and oppressive litigations, and
preventing unnecessary multiplicity of suits; by com-
pelling, without pronouncing any judgment on the
subject, a discovery which may enable other courts to
give their judgment; and by preserving testimony,
when in danger of being lost before the matter to
which it relates can be made the subject of judicial
investigation.

SCENE I.]
205
THE HYPOCRITE.
Darn. Not so well as you make your de- tea's ready, what have you to do but to drink
fence, Charlotte.
it?-but you, I suppose, expect a lover's heart,
Char. Lord! I had forgot, he is to teach like your lamp, should be always flaming at
me Greek, too.
your elbow; and when it's ready to go out,
Darn. Trifling tyrant! how long, Charlotte, you indolently supply it with the spirit of
do you think you can find new evasions for contradiction.
what I say unto you?
Char. Lord! you are horrid silly; but since
'tis love that makes you such a dunce-poor
Darnley, I forgive you.
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT, unobserved,
Darn. That's kind, however.-But, to com-
plete my joy, be kinder yet-and-
Char. Oh! I can't! I can't!-Lord! did you
never ride a horse-match?
Char. And so you suppose, that your as-
surance has made an end of this matter?
Cal. L. Not till you have given him your
hand upon it.
Char. That then would complete it.
Col. L. Perfectly.
Char. Why then take it, Darnley. Now I
presume you are in high triumph, sir.
Col. L. No, sister; now you are consistent
with that good sense I always thought you
mistress of.
Char. And now I beg we may separate;
Darn. Was ever so wild a question!
Char. Because, if you have, it runs in my
head you galloped a mile beyond the win- for our being seen together, at this critical
ning-post, to make sure on't.
juncture, may give that devil, the doctor, sus-
Darn, Now, I understand you. But since picion of a confederacy, and make him set
you will have me touch every thing so very some engine at work that we are not aware of.
tenderly, Charlotte, how shall I find proper Col. L. It's a very proper caution. Come
words to ask you the lover's last necessary along, Darnley; nay, you must leave her now,
question?
whatever violence you do yourself.
Char. Oh! there's a thousand points to be
adjusted before that's answered.
Col. L. [advances] Name them this moment;
for, positively, this is the last time of asking¹).
Char. Pshaw! who sent for you?
Col. L. I only came to teach you to speak
plain English, my dear.
Char. Lord! mind your own business; can't
Char. Ay, ay, take him with you, brother
or stay, Darnley; if you please, you may
come along with me.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I-A Parlour at SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S.
Enter DARNLEY and CHARLOTTE.
Char. But really, will you stand to the
Col. L. So I will; for I will make you do agreement though, that I have made with the
more of yours in two minutes, than you doctor?
yon!
would have done without me in a twelvemonth. Darn. Why not? you shall not break your
Why, how now!-do you think the man's word upon my account, though he might be
to dangle after your ridiculous airs for ever? a villain you gave it to. Suppose I should
Char. This is mighty pretty!
talk with sir John myself?-'tis true, he has
Col. L. You'll say so on Thursday se'nnight slighted me of late.
for (let affairs take what turn they will in the Char, No matter-here he comes-this may
family), that's positively your wedding-day-open another scene of action to that I believe
Nay, you shan't stir.
my brother's preparing for.
Char. Was ever such assurance!
Darn. Upon my life, madam, I'm out of
countenance! I don't know how to behave myself.
Char. No, no; let him go on only-this is
beyond whatever was known, sure!
Enter SIR JOHN and LADY LAMBERT.
Sir J. Mr. Darnley, I am glad I have met
you here.
Darn. I have endeavoured twice to-day, sir,
Col. L. Ha! ha! if I was to leave you to to pay my respects to you,
yourselves, what a couple of pretty out of Sir J. Sir, I'll be plain with you-I went
countenanced' figures you would make! hum-out to avoid you; but where the welfare of a
ming and hawing 2) upon the vulgar points of child is concerned, you must not take it ill if
jointure and pin-money. Come, come, I know we don't stand upon ceremony-However, since
what's proper on both sides; you shall leave I have reason now to be more in temper than
perhaps I was at that time, I shall be glad to
talk with you.
it to me.
Darn. I had rather Charlotte would name
her own terms to me.
Col. L. Have you a mind to any thing par-
ticular, madam?
Char. Why, sure! what do you think I'm
only to be filled out as you please, and sweet-
ened and sipped up like a dish of tea?
Col. L. Why pray, madam, when your
Darn. I take it as a favour, sir.
Sir J. You must allow, Mr. Darnley, that
conscience is the rule which every honest
man ought to walk by.
Darn. Tis granted, sir.
Sir J. Then give me leave to tell you, sir,
that giving you my daughter would be to act
1) The banns of marriage, when the parties have no licenses, think you an ill liver; and consequently the
against that conscience I pretend to, while I
are given out in the following words: "I publish the
banns of marriage between of and of any same tie obliges me to bestow her on a better
one knowing any just cause or impediment why man-
mony are now to declare it; and this is the first time
these should not be joined together in holy matri- Darn. Well but, sir, come to the point,
of asking;" and so on to the second and third, which Suppose the doctor (whom I presume you
design her for) actually consents to give me
up his interest?
is the last time.
2) Hum and ha interjections, used as verbs,

206
[ACT V.
THE HYPOCRITE.
Sir J. But why do you suppose, sir, he fact, and I shall soon accuse myself, and own
will give up his interest?
my folly equal to his baseness.
Darn. I only judge from what your daughter
tells me, sir.
Sir J. My daughter!
Darn. I appeal to her.
Lady L. Behind that screen you may easily
conceal yourself.
Sir J. Be it so.
Lady L. Mr. Darnley, shall we beg your
Char. And I appeal even to yourself, sir-leave; and you, Charlotte, take the least sus-
Has not the doctor, just now in the garden,
spoke in favour of Mr. Darnley to you? Nay,
pray, sir, be plain; because more depends on
that than you can easily imagine or believe.
Sir J. What senseless insinuation have you
got into your head now?
Char. Be so kind, sir, first to answer me,
that I may be better able to inform you.
Sir J. Well, I own he has declined his in-
terest in favour of Mr. Darnley; but I must
tell you, madam, he did it in so modest, so
friendly, so good natured, so conscientious a
manner, that I now think myself more than
ever bound in honour to espouse him.
Char. But now, sir, only for argument's
sake, suppose I could prove that all this seem-
ing virtue was artificial; that his regard for
Mr. Darnley was neither founded upon mo-
desty, friendship, good nature, nor conscience;
or in short that he has, like a villain, bartered,
bargained to give me to Mr. Darnley, for half
the four thousand pounds you valued his con-
sent at; I say, sir, suppose this could be proved,
where would be his virtue then?
Sir. J. It is impious to suppose it.
Char. Then, sir, from what principle must
you suppose that I accuse him?
Sir J. From an obstinate prejudice to all
that's good and virtuous.
pected way to send the doctor to me directly.
Char. I have a thought will do it, madam.
Sir J. Oh, Charlotte! Oh, Mr. Darnley!
Darn. Have but resolution, sir, and fear
nothing. [Exeunt Durnley and Charlotte.
Lady L. Now, 'sir, you are to consider what
a desperate disease I have undertaken to cure:
therefore, be sure keep close and still; and
when the proof is full, appear at your discretion.
Sir J. Fear not; I will conform myself-
Yet, be not angry, my love, if, in a case like
this, I have also charity enough to hope you
may yet be deceived in what you charge him
with, till the evidence of my own senses as-
sure me of the contrary.
Lady L. 'Tis just.
Sir J. Hark! I think I hear him coming.
Lady L. Now, my dear, remember your
promise to have patience,
Sir J. Rely upon't.
Lady L. To your post then.
[Sir John goes behind the screen.
Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL, with a book.
Dr. C. Madam, your woman tells me, that,
being here and alone, you desired to speak
with me.
Dr. C. I have taken care, madam.
Lady L. But I am afraid I interrupt your
meditation.
Lady L. I did, sir-but that we may be sure
that we are alone, pray shut the outward door
Char. That's too hard, sir. But the worst-another, surprise might ruin us-is all safe?
your opinion can provoke me to, is to marry
Mr. Darnley, without either his consent or yours.
Sir J. What, do you brave me, madam?
Char. No, sir; but I scorn a lie; and will Dr. C. No, madam, no; I was only looking
so far vindicate my integrity, as to insist on over some pious exhortations here, for the use
your believing me; if not, as a child you of a society of chosen brethren.
abandon, I have a right to throw myself into
other arms for protection.
Sir. J. I am confounded. These tears can-
not be counterfeit; nor can this be true.
Lady L. Indeed, my dear, I fear it is. Give
me leave to ask one question. In all our mu-
tual course of happiness, have I ever yet de-
ceived you with a falsehood?
Sir J. Never.
Lady L. Ah, doctor, what have you done
to me? the trouble of my mind since our last
unfortunate conference is not to be expressed
You indeed discovered to me what, perhaps,
for my own peace, 'twere better I had never
been acquainted with; but I had not sufficient
time to lay my heart open to you.
Dr. C. Whither, madam, would you lead me?
Lady L. I have been uneasy too, not know-
Lady L. Would you then believe me, ing how far you might mistake my behaviour
should I accuse him even of crimes which on the last accident that happened, but I was
virtue blushes but to mention?
really so shocked, so terrified, I knew not
Sir J. To what extravagance would you what I was doing: only, had I joined in your
drive me!
defence against the colonel, it would have been
Lady L. I would before have undeceived evident that I was his enemy, and I have uses
you, when his late artifice turned the honest for his friendship. Silence, therefore, was my
duty of
your son into his own reproach and own prudent part: and I knew your credit
ruin; but, knowing then your temper was with sir John needed no support.
inaccessible, I durst not offer it. But sup- Dr. C. Let me presume then to hope, that
pose I should be able to let you see his vil- what I did, you judge was self-defence and
lany, make him repeat his odious love to me pure necessity.
in your own hearing, at once throw off the
mask, and show the barefaced traitor?
Sir J. Is it possible?
Lady L. But then, sir, I must prevail
you to descend to the poor shifts we are
duced to.
Lady L. And perhaps, after all, the accident
was lucky; for sir John, in order to obviate
any ill constructions that may be put upon it,
on insists now that we should be more together,
re-to let the world see his confidence in us both.
This relieves us from restraint; and I now dare
of tell you-but no-I won't-
Sir J. All; to any thing, to ease me
my doubts; make me but a witness of this
Dr. C. But why, madam? let me beseech you-

SCENE 1.]
207
THE HYPOCRITE.
me
Lady L. No-besides-what need you ask of all my follies, which is it tells you, that if
you stay much longer, I shall not be tempted
Dr. C. Ah! do not endeavour to decoy my to wrest you out of the hands of the law, and
foolish heart, too apt to flatter itself. You can- punish you as you deserve?
not sure think kindly of me!
Lady L. Well, well, I would have you
imagine so.
Dr. C. Besides, may I not with reason sus-
pect, that this apparent goodness is but arti-
fice; a shadow of compliance, meant only to
persuade me from your daughter.
Dr. C. Well; but first let me ask you, sir,
who is it you menace? consider your own
condition, and where you are?
Sir J. What would the villain drive at?
leave me. I forgive you: but once more I tell
you, seek some other place; out of my house.
This instant be gone, and see my shameful
Lady L. Methinks, this doubt of me seems face no more.
rather founded on your settled resolution not Dr. C. Nay, then, 'tis my duty to exert my-
to resign her. I am convinced of it. I can self, and let you know that I am master here.
assure you, sir, I should have saved you this Turn you out, sir; this house is mine; and
trouble, had I known how deeply you were now, sir, at your peril, dare to insult me.
engaged to her.
Dr. C. Tears-then I must believe you-fly
but indeed you wrong me. To prove my in-
nocence, it is not an hour since I pressed sir
John to give Charlotte to young Darnley.
Lady L. Mere artifice. You knew that modest
resignation would make sir John warmer in
your interest.
Sir J. O heavens! 'tis true: whither shall I
to hide me from the world?
Lady L. Whither are you going, sir?
Sir J. I know not-but here it seems I am
trespasser-the master of the house has warned
me hence-and, since the right is now in him,
'tis just I should resign it..
a
Lady L. You shall not stir. He dares not
Dr. C. No, indeed, indeed. I had other act with such abandoned insolence. No, sir,
motives, which you may hereafter be made possession still is yours. If he pretends a right,
acquainted with, and will convince you- let him by open course of law maintain it.
Dr. C. Ha! Here! Seyward!
Lady L. Well, sir, now I'll give you reason
to guess the reason why, at our last meeting,
I pressed you so warmly to resign Charlotte.
Dr. C. Ah dear! ah dear!
Lady L. You cannot blame me for having
opposed your happiness, when my own, per-
haps, depended upon it.
Dr. C. Spare me, spare me; you kill me
with this kindness.
[Exit.
Enter OLD LADY LAMBERT and MAWWORM.
Sir J. Who is this fellow? what do you
want, man?
Maw. My lady, come up.
Old Lady L. How now!
Maw. He wants to know who I be.
Old Lady L. The gentleman is a friend of
Lady L. But now that I have discovered my mine, son. I was carrying him in a coach to
weakness, be secret; for the least imprudence-attend, a controversy that's to be held this
Dr. C. It is a vain fear.
evening, at the Rev. Mr. Scruple's, about an
Lady L. Call it not vain; my reputation is affair of simony; and called to take up the
dearer to me than life.
doctor. But what strange tales are these 1
hear below?
Dr. C. Where can it find so sure a guard?
The grave austerities of my life will dumb-
found suspicion, and yours may defy detraction.
Lady L. Well, doctor, 'tis you must answer
for my folly.
Dr. C. I take it all upon myself.
Lady L. But there's one thing still to be
afraid of.
Dr. C. Nothing, nothing.
Lady L. My husband, sir John.
Dr. C. Alas, poor man! I will answer for
him. Between ourselves, madam, your husband
is weak; I can lead him by the nose any where.
Sir J. [Comes forward.] No, caitiff, I'm
to be led no further.
Dr. C. Ah! woman.
Sir J. Is this your sanctity? this your doc-
trine? these your meditations?
Dr. C. Is then my brother in a conspiracy
against me?
Sir J. The doctor's a villain, madam; I have
detected him; detected him in the horrible de-
sign of seducing my wife.
Maw. It's unpossible.
Sir J. What do you say, man?
Maw. I say, it's unpossible. He has been
locked up with my wife for hours together,
morning, noon, and night, and I never found
her the worse for him.
Old Lady L. Ah, son! son!
Sir. J. What is your ladyship going to
say now?
Old Lady L. The doctor is not in fault.
Sir J. 'Slife,1) madam!
Old Lady L. Oh, he swears! he swears!
years in growing good, we become profligate
in a moment. If you swear again, I won't
stay in the house.
Maw. Nor I neither; aren't you ashamed of
Sir J. Your brother! I have been your friend, yourself? have you no commenseration 2) on
indeed, to my shame; your dupe; but your your poor soul?-Ah! poor wicked sinner! I
spell has lost its hold: no more canting; it pity you.
will not serve your turn any longer.
Lady L. Now, heaven be praised.
Dr. C. It seems you wanted an excuse to
part with me.
Sir J. 'Sdeath! and the devil!
Maw. If you swear any more, I'll inform
against you.
Sir. J. Why would you bring this idiot,
madam?
Sir J. Ungrateful wretch! but why do I
reproach you! Had I not been the weakest of Maw. Ay, do despise me, I'm the prouder
mankind, you never could have proved so great for it; I likes to be despised.
a villain. Get out of my sight; leave my house: 1) God's life. 2) Commiseration.

208
[ACT V.
THE HYPOCRITE.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Char. Oh dear papa, I shall faint away;
there's murder doing..
Tip. Yes, sir, for a cheat and impostor.
Old Lady L. What does he say?
Sir J. Dear son, what is this?
Sir J. Who! when! what is it?
Col. L. Only some action of the doctor's,
Char. The doctor, sir, and Seyward, were sir, which I have affidavits in my hand here
at high words just now in the garden; and, to prove, from more than one creditable wit-
upon a sudden, there was a pistol fired be- ness; and I think it my duty to make the pub-
tween them. Oh! I'm afraid poor Seyward lic acquainted with: if he can acquit himself
of them, so; if not, he must take the consequence.
Dr. C. Well, but stay; let the accusations
is killed.
Sir J. How?
Char. Oh, there he comes himself; he'll tell against me be what they will, by virtue of this
you more.
Enter CANTWELL, DARNLEY, SEYWARD, and
Servants.
conveyance I am still master here; and if I
am forced to leave the house myself, I will
shut up the doors-nobody shall remain behind.
Sir J. There! there! indeed, he stings me
Darn. Here, bring in this ruffian; this is to the heart! for that rash act, reproach and
villany beyond example.
Sir J. What means this outrage?
Lady L. I tremble.
Sey. Don't be alarmed, madam-there is no
mischief done: what was intended, the doctor
here can best inform you.
Sir J. Mr. Darnley, I am ashamed to see you.
Maw. So you ought: but this good man is
ashamed of nothing.
endless shame will haunt me!
Char. No, sir!-be comforted.- Even there
too his wicked hopes must leave him; for know,
the fatal deed which you intended to sign is
here, even yet unsealed and innocent!
Sir J. What mean you?
Dr. G. Come, sir; lead me where you please.
[Exit.
Col. L. Secure your prisoner.
Old Lady L. I don't know what to make
Char. I mean, sir, that this deed by accident,
falling into this gentleman's hands, his generous
concern for our family discovered it to me;
Dr. C. Alas! my enemies prevail.
and that in concert we procured that other to
Sey. In short, gentlemen, the affair is cir- be drawn exactly like it; which, in your im-
cumstantially this-The doctor called me out patience to execute, passed unsuspected for the
into the pavilion in the garden; appeared in original. Their only difference is, that wher-
great disorder; told me here was a sudden ever here you read the doctor's name, there
storm raised, which he was not sufficiently you'll find my brother's.
prepared to weather. He said, his dependance
was upon me; and at all events, I must be
ready to swear, when he called upon me, I
had seen him pay sir John several large sums
of money. He talked confusedly about giving of all this.
value for an estate; but I boldly refused to Maw. They'll all go to the devil for what
perjure myself; and told him, on the contrary, they are doing-Come away, my lady, and let
I was satisfied he had fleeced sir John of se- us see after the good dear doctor. Ay, do
veral large sums, under pretence of charitable laugh, you'll go to the devil for all that.-
uses, which he secretly converted to his own. Come,
-This stung him, and he fastened at my throat.
Then, indeed, all temper left me; and, disen-
gaging myself from his hold, with a home-
blow, I struck him down. At this, grown des-
perate, he ran with fury to some pistols that
hung about the chimney: but in the instant he
reached one, I seized upon his wrist; and as
we grappled, the pistol, firing to the ceiling,
alarmed the family.
Old Lady L. This is a lie, young man; I
see the devil standing at your elbow.
Maw. So do I, with a great big pitchfork,
pushing him on.
Dr. C. Well, what have you more against me?
Darn. More, sir, I hope is needless-but if
sir John is yet unsatisfied.
Sir J. Oh! I have seen too much.
Dr. C. I demand my liberty.
Sir J. Let him go.
Enter COLONEL LAMBERT and Attendants.
Col. L. Hold, sir! not so fast; you can't pass.
Dr. C. Who, sir, shall dare to stop me?
Col. L. Within there!
Enter Tipstaff.
Tip. Is your name Cantwell, sir?
Dr. C. What if it be, sir?
Tip. Then, sir, I have my lord chief justice's
warrant against you.
Dr. C. Against me?
my lady, you go first.
[Exeunt Mawworm and old Lady
Lambert.
Char. Now, Darnley, I hope I have made
atonement for your jealousy.
Darn. You've banished it for ever! this was
beyond yourself surprising.
Col. L. Sister-
Char. Come, no set speeches; if I deserve
your thanks, return them in friendship to your
first preserver.
Col. L. The business of my life shall be to
merit it.
Sey. And mine, to speak my sense of ob-
ligations.
Sir J. Oh, my child! for my deliverance I
can only reward you here.-For you, my son,
whose filial virtue I have injured, this honest
deed shall in every article be ratified.-And
for the sake of that hypocritical villain, I de-
clare, that from henceforward I renounce all
pious folks; I will have an utter abhorrence
for every thing that bears the appearance-
Char. Nay now, my dear sir, I must take
the liberty to tell you, you go from one ex-
treme to another.-What, because a worthless
wretch has imposed upon you, under the fal-
lacious show of austere grimace, will you needs
have it every body is like him, confound the
good with the bad, and conclude there are no
truly religious in the world?-Leave, my dear
sir, such rash consequences to fools and liber-

[ACT L SCENE 1.]
209
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
tines. Let us be careful to distinguish between character in life, greater or more valuable than
virtue and the appearance of it. Guard if pos-that of the truly devout-nor any thing more
sible against doing honour to hypocrisy-But, noble or more beautiful, than the fervor of a
at the same time, let us allow there is no sincere piety.
[Exeunt.
SUSANNA CENTLIVRE.
This lady was daughter of one Mr. Freeman, of Holbeach, in Lincolnshire. It is not decided whether she was
born in Ireland or England; but it must have been in the year 1680. Be it as it may, we find her left to the wide
world, by the death of her parents, before she had completed her twelfth year. There is a romantic story told of her
having been met on her journey to London on foot, whither she went to avoid the tyranny of her stepmother, by a
young gentleman from the university of Cambridge, (the afterwards well-known Anthony Hammond), who was so ex-
tremely struck with her youth and beauty, and so affected with the distress which her circumstances naturally declared
in her countenance, that he fell instantly in love with her; and, inquiring into the particulars of her story, soon pre-
vailed on her inexperienced innocence to seize on the protection he offered her, and go with him to Cambridge, where,
equipping her in boy's clothes, he introduced her to his intimates at college as a relation, who was come down to see
the university, and pass some time with him there. If this story is true, it must have happened when she was extreme-
ly young; Whincop, as well as the other writers, acknowledging that she was married in her sixteenth year, to a ne-
phew of Sir Stephen Fox. But that gentleman not living with her above a twelvemonth, her wit and beauty soon
procured her a second husband, whose name was Carrol, and who was an officer in the army; but he having the mis-
fortune to be killed in a duel, within about a year and a half after their marriage, she became a second time a widow.
Such an attachment she seems to have had to the theatre, that she even became herself a performer in 1706 and per-
forming the part of Alexander the Great, in Lee's Rival Queens, at Windsor, where the court then was, she wounded
the heart of one Mr. Joseph Centlivre, yeoman of the mouth to Her Majesty, who soon married her; and after passing
several years happily together, she died at his house in Spring-Gardens, Charing Cross, on the first of December 1723.
-That Mrs. Centlivre was perfectly acquainted with life, and closely read the minds and manners of mankind, no one,
we think, can doubt who reads her comedies; but what appears to us the most extraordinary is, when we consider her
history, the disadvantages she must have laboured under, by being so early left to bustle with the world, and that all
the education she could have had, must have been owing to her own application and assiduity; when, we say, we
consider her as an absolutely self-cultivated genius, it is astonishing to find the traces of so much reading and learning
as we meet with in many of her pieces; since, for the drawing of the various characters she has presented us with, she
must have perfectly well understood the French, Dutch, and Spanish languages, all the provincial dialects of her own,
and somewhat even of the Latin, since all these she occasionally makes use of, and whenever she does so, it is con-
stantly with the utmost propriety and the greatest accuracy.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE,
Was produced at Lincoln's-inn Fields in the year 1718. Mrs. Centlivre was indebted to Mr. Mottley for two scenes
of this comedy. Notwithstanding this piece has been accused by some for its numerous violations of all rule, nature, or
probability, the business is so extremely active, in the course of the whole, that we are not stopped by ennui at any
one scene of the play; but laughingly get' on to the very end. It does not very materially tend to correct any parti
cular vice; but seems to invite us for once to lay aside all our gravity, and open our hearts to playful gaiety and
cheerfulness.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
COLONEL FEIGNWELL.
SIR PHILIP MODELOVE.
PERIWINKLE.
TRADELOVE.
OBADIAH PRIM.
FREEMAN.
SIMON PURE.
SACKBUT.
SCENE.
ANNE LOVELY.
MRS. PRIM.
BETTY.
—
A Tavern.
Stockbrokers,
Gentlemen,
Travellers,
Coachman, etc.
ACT I.
SCENE I-COLONEL FEIGNWELL and FREEMAN
are discovered over a Bottle.
Free. COME, colonel, his majesty's health.
You are as melancholy as if you were in love!
I wish some of the beauties of Bath ¹) han't
snapt your heart.
Col. F. Why, faith 2), Freeman, there is
something in't: I have seen a lady at Bath, who
has kindled such a flame in me, that all the
waters there can't quench.
Free. Is she not to be had, colonel?
Col. F. That's a difficult question to answer;
however, I resolve to try; perhaps you may
1) The seasons, in England, are generally managed by the be able to serve me; you merchants know
great people, so as to produce their different pleasures; one another. The lady told me herself she
for instance, London is overflowing in the Spring, till was under the charge of four
the month of June; then all the families whirl off to
Brighton, Weymouth, or other watering-places till the
summer is passed. In autumn the gentlemen shoot away
their time at their country-seats, while their ladies
are employed yawning over the last novels, rusticating
persons.
Free. Odso!3) 'tis miss Ann Lovely.
Cot. F. The same-do you know her?
condition is more desperate than you imagine:
Free. Know her! ay-Faith, colonel, your
Winter comes to enliven them once more and then
the quiet good-natured people of Bath, are pestered why, she is the talk and pity of the whole
with their routing and disturbance, tile the Spring
sends them off to London again. This, of course, means 2) In faith.
in War-time.
3) From God.
27

210
[ACT I.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
town: and it is the opinion of the learned, nel: her father, my old master, was the most
that she must die a maid.
whimsical, out-of-the-way temper'd man, I
Col. F. Say you so? That's somewhat odd, ever heard of, as you will guess by his last
in this charitable city. She's a woman, I hope? will and testament. This was his ouly child:
Free. For aught I know-but it had been and I have heard him wish her dead a thou-
as well for her, had nature made her any sand times. He died worth thirty thousand
other part of the creation. The man who pounds, which he left to his daughter, pro-
keeps this house served her father; he is a vided she married with the consent of her
very honest fellow, and may he of use to you: guardians; but that she might be sure never
we'll send for him to take a glass with us: to do so, he left her in the care of four men,
he'll give you her whole history, and 'tis as opposite to each other as the four elements:
worth your hearing.
each has his quarterly rule, and three months
in the year she is obliged to be subject to
Col. F. But may one trust him?
Free. With your life: I have obligations each of their humours, and they are pretty
enough upon him, to make him do any thing; different, I assure you.-She is just come from
I serve him with wine.
[Rings.
Col. F. Nay, I know him very well myself.
I once used to frequent a club that was kept
here.
Enter DRAWER.
Draw. Gentlemen, d'ye call?
Free. Ay, send up your master.
Draw. Yes, sir.
Col. F. Do you know any of this
guardian's, Freeman?
Free. I know two of them very well.
Enter SACKBUT.
Bath.
Col. F. Twas there I saw her.
Sack. Ay, sir, the last quarter was her beau
guardian's. She appears in all public places
during his reign.
-
Col. F. She visited a lady who boarded in
the same house with me: I liked her person,
and found an opportunity to tell her so. She
[Exit. replied, she had no objection to mine; but if
lady's I could not reconcile contradictions I must not
think of her, for that she was condemned to
the caprice of four persons, who never yet
agreed in any one thing, and she was obliged
to please them all.
Free. Here comes one will give you an ac- Sack. 'Tis most true, sir: I'll give you a
count of them all.-Mr. Sackbut, we sent for short description of the men, and leave you
you to take a glass with us. 'Tis a maxim to judge of the poor lady's condition. One
among the friends of the bottle, that as long is a kind of virtuoso, a silly half-witted fellow,
as the master is in company, one may be sure but positive and surly, fond of every thing
of good wine.
antique and foreign, and wears his clothes
Sack. Sir, you shall be sure to have as good of the fashion of the last century, dotes upon
wine as you send in. - Colonel, your most travellers, and believes more of sir John Man-
humble servant; you are welcome to town. deville') than he does of the Bible.
Col. F. I thank you, Mr. Sackbut.
Sack. I am as glad to see you as I should
a hundred tun of French claret, custom free.
-My service to you, sir. [Drinks] You don't
look so merry as you used to do; aren't you
well, colonel?
Free. He has got a woman in his head,
landlord: can you help him?
Sack. If 'tis in my power, I shan't scruple
to serve my friend.
Col. F. That must be a rare odd fellow.
Sack. Another is a change-broker: a fellow
that will out-lie the devil for the advantage of
stock, and cheat his father that got him in a
bargain: he is a great stickler for trade, and
hates every man that wears a sword.
Free. He is a great admirer of the Dutch
management, and swears they understand trade
better than any nation under the sun.
Sack. The third is an old beau, that has
Col. F. 'Tis one perquisite of your calling. May in his fancy and dress, but December in
Sack. Ay, at t'other end of the town, where his face and his heels: he admires all new
you officers use, women are good forcers of fashions, and those must be French; loves
trade: a well-customed house, a handsome bar- operas, balls, masquerades, and is always the
keeper, with clean obliging drawers, soon get most tawdry of the whole company on a
the master an estate; but our citizens seldom birth-day 2).
do any thing but cheat within the walls.-
But as to the lady, colonel, point you at par-
ticulars? or have you a good Champaign
stomach? Are you in full pay, or reduced,
colonel?
Col. F. Reduced, reduced, landlord!
Free. To the miserahle condition of a lover!
Sack. Pish! that's perferable to half-pay: a
woman's resolution may break before the peace:
push her home, colonel, there's no parlying
with the fair sex.
Col. F. Were the lady her own mistress,
I have some reasons to believe I should soon
command in chief.
Free. You know miss Lovely, Mr. Sackbut?
Saek. Know her! Ay, poor Nancy: I have
carried her to school many a frosty morning.
Alas! if she's the woman, I pity you, colo-
Col. F. These are pretty opposite one to
another, truly; and the fourth, what is he,
landlord?
Sack. A very rigid quaker, whose quarter
began this day. I saw miss Lovely go in,
not above two hours ago.-Sir Philip set her
1) The Voiage and Travaille of Sir John Mandeville,
knight, which treateth of the way to Hierusalem, and
marvayles of Inde; and it is well known that this
bold seeker, and fearless assertor, of incredible adven-
tures, left England in 1522; visited Tartary about half
a century after Marco Polo; religiously declined mar-
rying the Soldan of Egypt's daughter, because he would
not renounce Christianity, and, after wandering 34
years through the realms of Inde, and being long re-
puted dead, returned to publish his adventures, scrupu
lously qualifying his most astounding relations with
some such words as these:-thei seyne, or men seyne.
but I have not sene it.
a) The king's birth day, at which time all the great peo-
ple pay their court.

SCENE 2.]
211
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
down. What think you now, colonel, is not
the poor lady to be pitied?
Betty. What can you not do, if you will
but give your mind to it? Marry, madam.
Miss L. What! and have my fortune go to
build churches and hospitals?
Col. F. Ay, and rescued too, landlord.
Free. In my opinion that's impossible.
Col. F. There is nothing impossible to a
lover. What would not a man attempt for a
fine woman and thirty thousand pounds?. Be-a
sides, my honour is at stake: I promised to
deliver her, and she bid me win her and wear her.
Sack. That's fair, faith!
Betty. Why, let it go.-If the colonel loves
you, as he pretends, he'll marry you without
fortune, madam; and I assure you a colo-
nel's lady is no despicable thing.
Miss L. So you would advise me to give
up my own fortune, and throw myself upon
Free. If it depended upon knight-errantry, the colonel's!
I should not doubt your setting free the damsel; Betty. I would advise you to make yourself
but to have avarice, impertinence, hypocrisy, easy, madam.
and pride, at once to deal with, requires more
Miss L. That's not the way, I'm sure. No,
cunning than generally attends a man of honour.no, girl, there are certain ingredients to be
Col. F. My fancy tells me I shall come off mingled with matrimony, without which I may
with glory. I resolve to try, however.-Do as well change for the worse as the better.
you know all the guardians, Mr. Sackbut?
Sack. Very well; they all use my house.
Col. F. And will you assist me, if occasion
requires?
Sack. In every thing I can, colonel.
Free. I'll answer for him.
Col. F. First I'll attack my beau guardian:
where lives he?
Sack. 'Faith, somewhere about St. James's;
though to say in what street I cannot; but
any chairman will tell you where sir Philip
Modelove lives.
Free. Oh! you'll find him in the Park at
eleven every day; at least I never pass through
at that hour without seeing him there-But
what do you intend?
When the woman has fortune enough to make
the man happy, if he has either honour or
good manners, he'll make her easy. Love makes
but a slovenly figure in a house, where po
verty keeps the door.
Betty. And so you resolve to die a maid,
do you, madam?
Miss L. Or have it in my power to make
the man I love master of my fortune.
Betty. Then you don't like the colonel so
well as I thought you did, madam, or you
would not take such a resolution.
Miss L. It is because I do like him, Betty,
that I do take such a resolution.
Betty. Why, do you expect, madam, the
colonel can work miracles? Is it possible for
Col. F. To address him in his own way, him to marry you with the consent of all your
and find what he designs to do with the lady. guardians?
Free. And what then?
Col. F. Nay, that I can't tell; but I shall
take my measures accordingly.
Sack. Well, 'tis a mad undertaking, in my
mind; but here's to your success, colonel.
[Drinks.
Col. F. 'Tis something out of the way, I
confess; but fortune may chance to smile, and
succeed.
Bold was the man who ventur'd first to sea,
But the first vent'ring lovers bolder were.
The path of love's dark and dang'rous way,
Without a landmark or one friendly star.
And he that runs the risk deserves the fair.
SCENE II.-An Apartment in PRIM's House,
Enter MISS LOVELY and her maid BETTY.
Betty. Bless me, madam! why do you fret
and teaze yourself so? This is giving them the
advantage, with a witness.
I
Miss L. Or he must not marry me at all;
and so I told him; and he did not seem dis-
pleased with the news. He promised to set
me free; and I, on that condition, promised
to make him master of that freedom.
-
Betty. Well! I have read of enchanted castles,
ladies delivered from the chains of magic, giants
killed, and monsters overcome; so that I shall
be the less surprised if the colonel shall con-
jure you out of the power of your four guar-
dians: if he does, I am sure he deserves your
fortune.
Miss. L. And shall have it, girl, if it were
ten times as much-For I'll ingenuously con-
[Exeunt. fess to thee, that I do love the colonel above
all the men I ever saw:-There's something
all the men I ever saw:
so jantée in a soldier, a kind of je ne scais
quoi air, that makes them more agreeable than
all the rest of mankind. - They command re-
gard, as who shall say, We are your defen-
ders; we preserve your beauties from the in-
Miss L. Must I be condemned all my life sults of rude and unpolished foes, and ought
to the preposterous humours of other people, to be preferred before those lazy indolent mor-
and pointed at by every boy in town!-Oh! tals, who, by dropping into their father's estates,
I could tear my flesh and curse the hour I set up their coaches, and think to rattle them-
was born.-Isn't it monstrously ridiculous that selves into our affections.
they should desire to impose their quaking Betty. Nay, madam, I confess that the army
dress upon me at these years? When I was has engrossed all the prettiest fellows-A laced
a child, no matter what they made me wear; coat and a feather have irresistible charms.
but now-
Miss L. But the colonel has all the beauties
Betty. I would resolve against it, madam; of the mind as well as the body.- O all ye
I'd see 'em hanged before I'd put on the pinch'd powers that favour happy lovers, grant that
cap again.
he may be mine! Thou god of love, if thou
Miss L. Then I must never expect one mo-be'st aught but name, assist my Feignwell!
ment's ease: she has rung such a peal in my
ears already, that I shan't have the right use
of them this month.-VWhat can I do?
Point all thy darts to aid his just design,
And make his plots as prevalent as thine.
[Exeunt.

212
[ACT II.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The Park.
SIR PHILIP MODELOVE discovered upon a
Bench, with a Woman masked.
Sir P. Well but, my dear, are you really
constant to your keeper?
Wom. Yes, really, sir.-Hey-day! who comes
yonder? He cuts a mighty figure.
Sir P. Ha! a stranger, by his equipage keep-
ing so close at his heels. He has the appear-
ance of a man of quality.-Positively French,
by his dancing air.
Wom. He crosses, as if he meant to sit down
here.
Sir P. He has a mind to make love to thee, child.
Enter COLONEL.
barony about five years ago, but I abhorred
the fatigue which must have attended it.-I
could never yet bring myself to join with either
party.
Col. F. You are perfectly in the right, sir
Philip-a fine person should not embark himself
in the slovenly concern of politics: dress and
pleasure are objects proper for the soul of a
fine gentleman.
Sir P. And love-
Col. F. Oh! that's included under the article
of pleasure.
Sir P. Parbleu! c' est un homme d'esprit.
May I crave your name, sir?
Col. F. My name is La Feignwell, sir, at
your service.
Sir P. The La Feignwells are French, I
know; though the name is become very nu-
Wom. It will be to no purpose if he does. merous in Great Britain of late years-I was
Sir P. Are you resolved to be cruel then? sure you was French the moment I laid my
Col. F. You must be very cruel indeed, if eyes upon you; I could not come into the
you can deny any thing to so fine a gentleman, supposition of your being an Englishman: this
madam.
[Takes out his Watch. island produces few such ornaments.
Wom. I never mind the outside of a man.
Col. F. And I'm afraid thou art no judge
of the inside.
Sir P. I am positively of your mind, sir;
for creatures of her function seldom penetrate
beyond the pocket.
Col. F. Are you married, sir Philip?
Sir P. No; nor do I believe I shall ever
enter into that honourable state: I have an.
absolute tendre for the whole sex.
Col. F. That's more than they have for you,
I dare swear. [Aside] I find I was very much
Wom. Coxcombs! [Aside, and exit. mistaken-I imagined you had been married
Sir P. Pray what says your watch? mine to that young lady whom I saw in the chariot
[Pulling out his Watch. with you this morning in Gracechurch-street.
Col. F. I want thirty-six minutes of twelve, sir. Sir P. Who, Nancy Lovely? I am a piece
[Puts up his Watch, and takes out of a guardian to that lady: You must know
is down.
his Snuff-box.
Sir P. May I presume, sir.
Col. F. Sir, you honour me.
[Presenting the Box.
Sir P. He speaks good English-though he
must be a foreigner. [Aside]-This snuff is
extremely good-and the box prodigious fine:
the work is French, I presume, sir.
Col. F. I bought it in Paris, sir.-I do think
the workmanship pretty neat.
her father, I thank him, joined me with three
of the most preposterous old fellows-that,
upon my soul, I am in pain for the poor girl:
she must certainly lead apes, ¹) ha, ha!
Col. F. That's a pity, sir Philip. If the lady
would give me leave, I would endeavour to
avert that curse.
Sir P. As to the lady, she'd gladly be rid
of us at any rate, I believe; but here's the
mischief: he who marries miss Lovely, must
Sir P. Neat! 'tis exquisitely fine, sir. Pray, have the consent of us all four-or not a penny
sir, if I may take the liberty of inquiring of her portion. For my part, I shall never
what country is so happy to claim the birth
of the finest gentleman in the universe?
France, I presume.
Col. F. Then you don't think me an En-
glishman?
Sir P. No, upon my soul, don't I.
Col. F. I am sorry for't.
approve of any but a man of figure-and the
rest are not only averse to cleanliness, but have
each a peculiar taste to gratify. For my part,
declare I would prefer you to all men I ever saw.
Col. F. And I her to all women-
I
Sir P. I assure you, Mr. Feignwell, I am
for marrying her, for I hate the trouble of a
Sir P. Impossible you should wish to be guardian, especially among such wretches; but
an Englishman! Pardon me, sir, this island resolve never to agree to the choice of any
could not produce a person of such alertness. one of them-and I fancy they'll be even with
Col. F. As this mirror shows you, sir. [Puts me, for they never came into any proposal of
up a pocket-glass to Sir Philip's Face] Imine yet.
know not how to distinguish you, sir: but your
mien and address speak you right honourable.
Sir P. Thus great souls judge of others by
themselves-I am only adorned with knight-
hood: that's all, I assure you, sir; my name
is sir Philip Modelove.
a
Col. F. I wish I had leave to try them, sir Philip.
Sir P. With all my soul, sir; I can refuse
person of your appearance nothing.
Col. F. Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you.
Sir P. But do you really like matrimony?
Col. F. I believe I could with that lady.
Sir P. The only point in which we differ.
--But you are master of so many qualifications,
Col. F. One may plainly perceive it-There that I can excuse one fault: for I must think
is a certain gaiety peculiar to my nation (for it a fault in a fine gentleman; and that you
I will own myself a Frenchman) which dis- are such, I'll give it under my hand.
Col. F. Of French extraction?
Sir P. My father was French.
tinguishes us every where.-A person of your
figure would be a vast addition to a coronet.
Sir P. I must own I had the offer of a
1) The inevitable fate of all young ladies dying old maids,
according to the English proverb, is, that they shall
lead apes in hell.

SCENE 2.]
213
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Mrs. P. Tabitha is one of the faithful: he
Col. F. I wish you'd give me your consent servant Tabitha: the evil spirit was at that time
to marry miss Lovely under your hand, sir Philip. too strong, and they both became subject to
Sir P. Pll do't, if you'll step into St. James's its workings-not from any outward provo-
Coffee-house, where we may have pen and ink cation-but from an inward call: he was not
-though I can't foresee what advantage my tainted with the rottenness of the fashions, nor
consent will be to you, without you can find did his eyes take in the drunkenness of beauty.
a way to get the rest of the guardians. - But Miss L. No! that's plainly to be seen.
I'll introduce you, however. She is now at a
quaker's, where I carried her this morning, fell not with a stranger.
when you saw us in Gracechurch-street. -I Miss L. So! then you hold wenching no
assure you she has an odd ragoût of guardians, crime, provided it be within the pale of your
as you will find when you hear the characters, own tribe.-You are an excellent casuist, truly!
which I'll endeavour to give you as we go
along. Hey! Pierre, Jacque, Renno.-Where
are you all, scoundrels?Order the chariot to
St. James's Coffee-house.
Col. F. Le Noir, Le Brun, Le Blanc-Mor-
bleu, où sont ces coquins là? Allons, monsieur
le Chevalier.
Sir P. Ah! Pardonnez moi, monsieur.
Col. F. Not one step upon my soul, sir Philip.
Sir P. The best bred man in Europe, po-
sitively.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-OBADIAH PRIM's House.
Enter MISS LOVELY and MRS. PRIM.
Mrs. P. Then thou wilt not obey me: and
thou dost really think those fallals become thee?
Miss L. I do, indeed.
Enter OBADIAH PRIM,
Obad. Not stripped of thy vanity yet, Anne!
Why dost thou not make her put if off, Sarah?
Mrs. P. She will not do it.
Obad. Verily thy naked bosom troubleth my
outward man: I pray thee hide it, Anne: put
on a handkerchief, Anne Lovely.
Miss L. I hate handkerchiefs when 'tis not
cold weather, Mr. Prim.
Mrs. P. I have seen thee wear a handker-
chief, nay, and a mask to boot,¹) in the middle
of July.
Miss L. Ay, to keep the sun from scorching me.
Obad. If thou couldst not bear the sunbeams,
how dost thou think man can bear thy beams?
Those breasts inflame desire: let them be hid,
Mrs. P. Now will I be judged by all sober I say.
people, if I don't look more like a modest
woman than thou dost, Anne.
Miss L. More like a hypocrite you mean,
Mrs. Prim.
Miss L. Let me be quiet, I say.-Must I be
tormented thus for ever?-Sure no woman's
condition ever equalled mine! Foppery, folly,
avarice, and hypocrisy are, by turns, my con-
Mrs. P. Ah! Anne, Anne, that wicked Philip stant companions-I cannot think my father
Modelove will undo thee. - Satan so fills thy meant this tyranny! No, you usurp an author-
heart with pride, during the three months of ity which he never intended you should take.
his guardianship, that thou becomest a stumb- Obad. Hark thee, dost thou call good counsel
ling-block to the upright.
tyranny? Do I or my wife tyrannise, when
we desire thee in all love to put off thy tempt-
ing attire?
Miss L. Pray who are they? Are the pinched
cap and formal hood the emblems of sanctity?
Does your virtue consist in your dress, Mrs.
Prim?
Miss L. I wish I were in my grave! Kill
me rather than treat me thus.
Mrs. P. It doth not consist in cut hair, Obad. Kill thee! ha, ha! thou thinkest thou
spotted face, ¹) and a bare neck.-Oh the wicked-art acting some lewd play sure:- Kill thee!
ness of the generation! the primitive women Art thou prepared for death, Anne Lovely?
knew not the abomination of hooped petticoats. No, no, thou wouldst rather have a husband,
Miss L. No; nor the abomination of cant Anne:-Thou wantest a gilt coach, with six
neither. Don't tell me, Mrs. Prim, don't.-I lazy fellows behind, to flant it in the ring of
know you have as much pride, vanity, self-vanity, among the princes and rulers of the
conceit, and ambition among you, couched land-who pamper themselves with the fatness
under that formal habit and sanctified coun- thereof; but I will take care that
none shall
tenance, as the proudest of us all; but the squander away thy father's estate; thou shalt
world begins to see your prudery.
marry none such, Anne.
Miss L. Would you marry me to one of
your own canting sect?
I
Mrs. P. Prudery! What! do they invent
new words as well as new fashions? Ah! poor
fantastic age, I pity thee.-Poor deluded Anne, Obad. Yea, verily, no one else shall ever
which dost thou think most resembleth the get my consent, I do assure thee, Anne.
saint, and which the sinner, thy dress or mine?
Thy naked bosom allureth the eye of the by-
stander-encourageth the frailty of human na-
ture and corrupteth the soul with evil longings.
Miss L. And pray who corrupted your son
Tobias with evil longings? Your maid Tabitha
wore a handkerchief, and yet he made the
saint a sinner.
Miss L. And I do assure thee, Obadiah, that
will as soon turn Papist, and die in a convent.
Mrs. P. O wickedness!
Miss L. O stupidity!
Obad. O blindness of heart!
Miss L. Thou blinder of the world, don't
provoke me-lest 1 betray your sanctity, and
leave your wife to judge of your purity?.
Mrs. P. Well, well, spit thy malice. I con- What were the emotions of your spirit-when
fess satan did buffet my son Tobias, and my you squeez'd Mary by the hand last night in
1) The fashions of the times in which that piece was the pantry. When she told you, you bussed
written. Addison, in his Spectator No. 81, gives a very so filthily? Ah! you had no aversion to naked
wilty account of the ladies showing the political party bosoms, when you begged her to show
to which they belonged, by the manner in which they
you a
wore these patches.
1) To boot, signifies, besides.

214
[ACT II.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
little, little, little bit of her delicious bosom-nothing that resembleth Philip Modelove shall
Don't you remember those words, Mr. Prim? I love; mark that therefore, friend Philip,
Mrs. P. What does she say, Obadiah? bring no more of thy own apes under my roof.
Obad. She talketh unintelligibly, Sarah.- Sir P. I am so entirely a stranger to the
Which way did she hear this? This should, monsters of thy breed, that I shall bring none
not have reach'd the ears of the wicked ones: of them I am sure.
-Verily it troubleth me.
Enter Servant.
[Aside. Col. F. I am likely to have a pretty task
by the time I have gone through them all;
but she's a city worth taking, and 'egad I'll
Serv. Philip Modelove, whom they call sir carry on the siege: if I can but blow up the
Philip, is below, and such another with him: out-works, I fancy I am pretty secure of the
shall I send them up?
Obad. Yea.
[Exit Servant.
town.
Enter Servant.
[Aside.
Serv. Toby Periwinkle and Thomas Trade-
Enter SIR PHILIP MODELOVE and COLONEL love demand to see thee. [To Sir Philip.
FEIGNWELL.
Sir P. Bid them come up. [Exit Servant.
Sir P. How dost thou do, friend Prim? Miss L. Deliver me from such an inundation
Odso! my she friend here too! What, are you of noise and nonsense. Oh, Feignwell! whatever
documenting miss Nancy? Reading her a lec-thy contrivance be, prosper it, heaven. [Exit.
ture upon the pinch'd coif, I warrant ye! Sir P. Sic transit gloria mundi!
Mrs. P. I am sure thou didst never read
her any lecture that was good.-My flesh so
Enter PERIWINKLE and TRADELOVE.
riseth at these wicked ones, that prudence ad- These are my brother guardians, Mr. Feign-
viseth me to withdraw from their sight. [Exit. well.-
Col. F. Oh, that I could find means to speak Pr'ythee observe the creatures.
with her! How charming she appears! I wish
I could get this letter into her hand. [Aside.
Sir P. Well, miss, I hope thou hast got
the better of them.
[Aside to Colonel Feignwell.
Trade. Well, sir Philip, I obey your summons.
Per. Pray what have you to offer for the
good of miss Lovely, sir Philip?
Miss L. The difficulties of my life are not Sir P. First I desire to know what you
to be surmounted, sir Philip.-I hate the im- intend to do with that lady? Must she be sent
pertinence of him as much as the stupidity of to the Indies for a venture or live an old maid,
the other.
[Aside. and then be entered amongst your curiosities,
Obad. Verily, Philip, 'thou wilt spoil this and shown for a monster, Mr. Periwinkle?
maiden.
Col. F. Humph, curiosities; that must be
[Aside.
Per. Why what would you do with her?
Sir P. I would recommend this gentleman
Sir P. I find we still differ in opinion; but the virtuoso.
that we may none of us spoil her, pr'ythee,
Prim, let us consent to marry her. I have
sent for our brother guardians to meet me to her for a husband, sir--a person whom I
here about this very thing.-Madam, will you have pick'd out from the whole race of mankind.
give me leave to recommend a husband to you?
-Here's a gentleman, whom, in my mind,
you can have no objection to.
[Presents the Colonel to her; she
looks another Way.
Miss L. Heaven deliver me from the formal
and the fantastic fool!
Obad. I would advise thee to shuffle him
again with the rest of mankind; for I like him not.
Col. F. Pray, sir, without offence to your
formality, what may be your objections?
Obad. Thy person, thy manners, thy dress,
thy acquaintance,-thy every thing, friend.
Sir P. You are most particularly obliging,
friend. Ha, ha.
Trade. What business do you follow,
Col. F. A fine woman-a fine horse, and
fine equipage, are the finest things in the uni-
verse: and if I am so happy to possess you, pray, sir?
madam, I shall become the envy of mankind,
Col. F. Humph, by that question he must
as much as you outshine your whole sex. be the broker. [Aside] Business, sir! the bu-
[As he takes her Hand to kiss it, he en-siness of a gentleman.
deavours to put a Letter into it; she Trade. That is as much as to say, you dress
fine, feed high, lie with every woman you like,
and pay your surgeon's bills better than your
tailor's or your butcher's.
lets it drop-Prim takes it up.
Miss L. I have no ambition to appear con-
spicuously ridiculous, sir. [Turning from him.
Col. F. So fail the hopes of Feignwell.
Miss L. Ha! Feignwell! 'tis he! What have
I done? Prim has the letter, and it will be
discover'd.
[Aside.
Obad. Friend, I know not thy name, so
cannot call thee by it; but thou seest thy letter
is unwelcome to the maiden; she will not read it.
Miss L. Nor shall you; [Snatches the Letter]
I'll tear it in a thousand pieces, and scatter it,
as I will the hopes of all those that any of you
shall recommend to me. [Tears the Letter.
Sir P. Ha! Right woman, 'faith!
Col. F. Excellent woman!
[Aside.
Obad. Friend, thy garb savoureth too much
of the vanity of the age for my approbation;
Col. F. The court is much obliged to yous
sir, for your character of a gentleman.
Trade. The court, sir! What would the
court do without us citizens?
Sir P. Without your wives and daughters,
you mean, Mr. Tradelove.
Per. Have you ever travelled, sir?
Col. F. That question must not be answer'd
now. [Aside] In books I have, sir.
Per. In books! That's fine travelling indeed!
Sir Philip, when you present a person. I
like, he shall have my consent to marry miss
Lovely; till when, your servant.
Exit.
Col. F. I'll make you like me before I have
done with you, or I am mistaken. [4side.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
215
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Trade. And when you can convince me habit pleases me extremely: 'tis very antique,
that a beau is more useful to my country than and for that I like it.
a merchant, you shall have mine; till then you Col. F. 'Tis very antique, sir:-this habit
[Exit once belonged to the famous Claudius Ptole-
Col. F. So much for trade-I'll fit you too. meus, who lived in the year one hundred and
must excuse me.
thirty-five.
[Aside.
Sir P. In my opinion this is very human Sack. If he keeps up to the sample, he shal!
treatment, as to the lady, Mr. Prim.
lie with the devil for a bean-stack, and win
Obad. Thy opinion and mine happen to differ it every straw.
[Aside.
as much as our occupations, friend: business Per. A hundred and thirty-five! why, that's
requireth my presence, and folly thine; and prodigious now!-Well, certainly 'tis the finest
so I must bid thee farewell.
[Exit. thing in the world to be a traveller.
Sir P. Here's breeding for you, Mr. Feign- Col. F. For my part I value none of the
modern fashions a fig-leaf.
well!-'Gad take me.
hit.
Half my estate I'd give to see 'em bit. Per. No more don't I, sir: I had rather be
Col. F. I hope to bite you all, if my plot the jest of a fool than his favourite - I am
[Exeunt. laughed at here for my singularity.-This coat,
you must know, sir, was formerly wore by
that ingenious and very learned person, Mr.
John Tradescant of Lambeth.
ACT III.
SCENE I-A Tavern.
Col. F. John Tradescant! Let me embrace
COLONEL FEIGNWELL is discovered in an you, sir-John Tradescant was my uncle, by
Egyptian Dress, with SACKBUT.
Sack. A lucky beginning, colonel-you have
got the old beau's consent.
my mother's side; and I thank you for the
honour you do his memory: he was a very
curious man indeed.
Cot. F. Ay, he's a reasonable creature; but Per. Your uncle, sir-Nay, then 'tis no
the other three will require some pains. Shall wonder that your taste is so refined; why you
I pass upon him, think you? 'Egad, in my have it in your blood.-My humble service to
mind, I look as antique as if I had been pre- you, sir; to the immortal memory of John
serv'd in the ark.
Tradescant, your never-to-be-forgotten uncle.
Sack. Pass upon him! ay, ay, if you have
assurance enough.
[Drinks.
Col. F. Give me a glass, landlord.
Col. F. I have no apprehension from that Per. I find you are primitive, even in your
quarter; assurance is the cockade of a soldier. wine: Canary was the drink of our wise fore-
Sack. Ay, but the assurance of a soldier fathers; 'tis balsamic, and saves the charge of
differs much from that of a traveller-Can you 'pothecaries cordials-Oh! that I had lived in
lie with a good grace?
your uncle's days! or rather, that he were
Col. F. As heartily, when my mistress is now alive!-Oh! how proud he'd be of such
the prize, as I would meet the foe when my a nephew!
country call'd and king commanded: so don't Sack. Oh pox! that would have spoil'd the
you fear that part: if he don't know me again,
I am safe. I hope he'll come.
Sack. I wish all my debts would come as
sure: I told him you had been a great tra-
veller, had many valuable curiosities, and was
a person of most singular taste: he seem'd
transported, and begg'd me to keep you till
he came.
Col. F. Ay, ay, he need not fear my run-
ning away. Let's have a bottle of sack, land-
lord; our ancestors drank sack.
Sack. You shall have it.
Col. F. And whereabouts is the trap-door
you mentioned?
Sack. There's the conveyance, sir. [Exit.
Col. F. Now, if I should cheat all these ro-
guish guardians, and carry off my mistress in
triumph, it would be what the French call a
grand coup d'éclat.-Odso! here comes Peri-
winkle.-Ah! deuce take this beard; pray Ju-
piter it does not give me the slip and spoil all.
Enter SACKBUT with Wine, and PERIWINKLE
following.
Sack. Sir, this gentleman hearing you have
been a great traveller, and a person of fine
speculation, begs leave to take a glass with
you: he is a man of a curious taste himself.
Col. F. The gentleman has it in his face
and garb; sir, you are welcome.
jest.
[Aside.
Per. A person of your curiosity must have
collected many rarities.
Col. F. I have some, sir, which are not yet
come ashore; as an Egyptian idol.
Per. Pray what may that be?
Col. F. It is, sir, a kind of an ape, which
they formerly worshipp'd in that country: I
took it from the breast of a female mummy.
Per. Ha, ha! our women retain part of their
idolatry to this day; for many an ape lies on
a lady's breast, ha, ha!-
Sack. A smart old thief.
[Aside.
Col. F. Two tusks of an hippopotamus, two
pair of Chinese nut-crackers, and one Egyp-
tian mummy.
Per. Pray, sir, have you never a crocodile?
Col. F. Humph! the boatswain brought one
with a design to show it, but touching at Rot-
terdam, and hearing it was no rarity in Eng-
land, he sold it to a Dutch poet.-Look ye, sir,
do you see this little vial?
Per. Pray you what is it?
Col. F. This is call'd poluflosboio.
Per. Poluflosboio!-It has a rumbling sound.
Col. F. Right, sir; it proceeds from a rum-
bling nature-This water was part of those
waves which bore Cleopatra's vessel when she
sail'd to meet Anthony.
Per. Well, of all that travelled, none had
Per. Sir, I honour a traveller and men of a taste like you.
your inquiring disposition; the oddness of your
Col. F. But here's the wonder of the world.

216
[ACT ill,
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
-This, sir, is called zona, or moros muspho-
non; the virtues of this are inestimable.
Per. Moros musphonon! What in the name
of wisdom can that be?-to me it seems a
plain belt.
Sack. Your's seem'd just the same-'Faith,
I wish this girdle were mine, I'd sell wine no
more. Harkye, Mr. Periwinkle, [Takes him
aside till the Colonel rises again] if he would
sell this girdle, you might travel with great
Col. F. This girdle has carried me all the expedition.
world over.
Per. You have carried it, you mean.
Col. F. But it is not to be parted with for money.
Per. I am sorry for't, sir, because I think
Col. F. I mean as I say, sir.-Whenever I it the greatest curiosity I ever heard of.
am girded with this I am invisible; and by
Col. F. By the advice of a learned physi-
turning this little screw, can be in the court ognomist in Grand Cairo, who consulted the
of the great mogul, the grand signior, and lines in my face, I returned to England, where
king George, in as little time as your cook he told me I should find a rarity in the keep-
can poach an egg.
ing of four men, which I was born to possess
for the benefit of mankind: and, the first of
the four that gave me his consent, I should
present him with this girdle-Till I have found
this jewel, I shall not part with the girdle.
Per. You must pardon me, sir, I can't believe it.
Col. F. If my landlord pleases, he shall try
the experiment immediately.
Sack. I thank you kindly, sir; but I have
no inclination to ride post to the devil.
Col. F. No, no, you shan't stir a foot; I'll
only make you invisible.
Sack. But if you could not make me visible
again.
Per. Come, try it upon me, sir; I am not
afraid of the devil nor all his tricks.-'Sbud, 1)
I'll stand 'em all.
Col. F. There, sir, put it on.-Come, land-
lord, you and I must face the east. [They
turn about] Is it on, sir?
Per. 'Tis on. [They turn about again.
Sack. Heaven protect me! where is he?
Per. Why here, just where I was.
Sack. Where, where, in the name of vir-
tue? Ah, poor Mr. Periwinkle!-'Egad, look
to't, you had best, sir; and let him be seen
again, or I shall have you burnt for a wizard.
Col. F. Have patience, good landlord.
Per. But really don't you see me now?
Sack. No more than I see my grandmother,
that died forty years ago.
Per. Are you sure you don't lie? Methinks
I stand just where I did, and see you as plain
as I did before.
Sack. Ah! I wish I could see you once again.
Col. F. Take off the girdle, sir.
Per. What can this rarity be? Didn't he
name it to you?
Col. F. Yes, sir; he call'd it a chaste, beau-
tiful, unaffected woman,
Per. Pish! women are no rarities; women
are the very gewgaws, of the creation; play-
things for boys, who when they write man
they ought to throw aside.
Sack. A fine lecture to be read to a circle
of ladies!
[Aside.
Per. What woman is there, dress'd in all
the pride and foppery of the times, can boast
of such a foretop as the cockatoo ?
a
Col. F. I must humour him. [Aside] Such
skin as the lizard?
Tbird?
Per. Such a shining breast as the humming-
Col. F. Such a shape as the antelope?
Per. Or, in all the artful mixture of their
various dresses, have they half the beauty of
one box of butterflies?
Col. F. No; that must be allow'd-For my
part, if it were not for the benefit of mankind,
I'd have nothing to do with them; for they
are as indifferent to me as a sparrow or a
flesh-fly.
Per. Pray, sir, what benefit is the world to
reap from this lady?
[He takes it off. Col. F. Why, sir, she is to bear me a son,
Sack. Ah, sir, I am glad to see you with who shall revive the art of embalming, and the
all my heart.
[Embraces him. old Roman manner of burying the dead; and
Per. This is very odd; certainly there must for the benefit of posterity, he is to discover
be some trick in't.-Pray, sir, will you do me the longitude, so long sought for in vain.
the favour to put it on yourself?
Col. F. With all my heart.
Per. But first I'll secure the door.
Col. F. You know how to turn the screw,
Mr. Sackbut.
Per. Od! these are valuable things, Mr.
Sackbut!
Sack. He hits it off admirably; and t'other
swallows it like sack and sugar. [Aside] Cer-
tainly this lady must be your ward, Mr. Peri-
winkle, by her being under the care of four
[They turn; the Co-persons.
Sack. Yes, yes-Come, Mr. Periwinkle, we
must turn full east.
lonel sinks through the Trap-door. Per. By the description it should-'Egad,
Col. F. 'Tis done; now turn. [They turn. if I could get that girdle, I'd ride with the sun,
Per. Ha! mercy upon me; my flesh creeps and make the tour of the world in four-and-
upon my bones. This must be a conjurer,
Mr. Sackbut.
Sack. He's the devil, I think.
Per. Oh, Mr. Sackbut, why do you name
the devil, when perhaps he may be at your
elbow?
Sack. At my elbow! Marry, heaven forbid!
Col. F. Are satisfied?
you
[From under the Stage.
Per. Yes, sir, yes - How hollow his voice
sounds!
1) Corrupted from God's blood.
twenty hours. [Aside] And you are to give
that girdle to the first of the four guardians
that shall give his consent to marry that lady,
say you, sir?
Col. F. I am so order'd, when I can find him.
Per. I fancy I know the very woman-her
name is Anne Lovely.
Col. F. Excellent!-He said, indeed, that the
first letter of her name was L.
-
Per. Did he really? Well, that's prodi-
giously amazing, that a person in Grand Cairo
should know any thing of my ward.

SCENE 1.]
217
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Col. F. Your ward?
hend him, and endeavoured to stop him when
Per. To be plain with you, sir, I am one he went out-But the rogue made but one
of those four guardians.
step from the stairs to the door, call'd a coach,
Col. F. Are you indeed, sir? I am trans- leap'd into it, and drove away like the devil,
ported to find that the man who is to possess as Mr. Freeman can witness, who is at the
this moros musphonon is a person of so cu- bar, and desires to speak with you; he is this
rious a taste-Here is a writing drawn up by minute come to town.
that famous Egyptian, which if you will please Per. Send him in. [Exit Sackbut] What
to sign, you must turn your face full north, a scheme this rogue has laid! How I should
and the girdle is yours.
have been laugh'd at, had it succeeded!
Per. If I live till the boy is born, I'll be
embalm'd, and sent to the Royal Society when
I die.
Col. F. That you shall most certainly.
Enter Drawer.
Draw. Here's Mr. Staytape, the tailor, in-
quires for you, colonel.
Col. F. Who do you speak to, you son of
a whore?
Per. Ha! colonel.
Aside.
Col. F. Confound the blundering dog! [Aside.
Draw. Why to colonel-
Sack. Get you out, you rascal.
[Kicks him out, and goes after him.
Draw. What the devil is the matter?
Col. F. This dog has ruin'd all my schemes,
I see by Periwinkle's looks.
Enter FREEMAN, booted and spurred.
Mr. Freeman, I had like to have been m-
posed on by the veriest rascal-
Free. I am sorry to hear it-The dog flew
for't: he had not 'scap'd me, had I been aware
of him; Sackbut struck at him, but miss'd his
blow, or he had done his business for him.
Per. I believe you never heard of such a
contrivance, Mr. Freeman, as this fellow had
found out.
Free. Mr. Sackbut has told me the whole
story, Mr. Periwinkle; but now I have some-
thing to tell you of much more importance to
yourself-I happen'd to lie one night at Co-
ventry, and knowing your uncle, sir Toby
Periwinkle, I paid him a visit, and, to my
[Aside. great surprise, found him dying.
Per. How finely I should have been choused Per. Dying!
-Colonel, you'll pardon me that I did not Free. Dying, in all appearance; the servants
give you your title before-it was pure igno-weeping, the room in darkness; the 'pothecary,
rance, 'faith it was-Pray-hem-hem! Pray, shaking his head, told me the doctors had given
colonel, what post had this learned Egyptian him over; and then there are small hopes, you
in your regiment?
Čol. F. A pox of your sneer. [Aside] I
don't understand you, sir.
know.
Per. I hope he has made his will-he always
told me he would make me his heir.
Per. No, that's strange! I understand you, Free. I have heard you say as much, and
colonel-An Egyptian of Grand Cairo! ha, ha, therefore resolved to give you notice. I should
ha! I am sorry such a well-invented tale think it would not be amiss if you went down
should do you no more service-We old fel-to-morrow morning.
lows can see as far into a millstone as them
that pick it¹)-I am not to be trick'd out of
my trust-mark that.
Per. It is along journey, and the roads very bad.
Free. But he has a great estate, and the
land very good-Think upon that.
Col. F. The devil! I must carry it off; I Per. Why that's true, as you say; I'll think
wish I were fairly out. [Aside] Lookye, sir, upon it. In the mean time, I give you many
you may make what jest you please-but the thanks for your civility, Mr. Freeman, and
stars will be obey'd, sir; and depend upon't should be glad of your company to dine with me.
I shall have the lady, and you none of the Free. I am obliged to be at Jonathan's Gof-
girdle. Now for Mr. Freeman's part of the fee-house at two, and now it is half an hour
plot.
[Aside. Exit. after one; if I dispatch my business, I'll wait
Per. The stars! ha, ha!-No star has favour'd on you; I know your hour.
you, it seems-The girdle! ha, ha, ha! none
your legerdemain tricks can pass upon me
Why what a pack of trumpery has this
rogue picked up-His pagod, poluflosboio, his
zonos, moros musphonons, and the devil knows
what-But I'll take care-Ha, gone!-Ay, 'twas
time to sneak off. Soho! the house!
of
Enter SACKBUT.
Where is this trickster? Send for a con-
stable; I'll have this rascal before the lord
mayor; I'll Grand Cairo him, with a pox to
him-I believe you had a hand in putting
this imposture upon me, Sackbut.
Sack. Who, I, Mr. Periwinkle? I scorn it.
I perceiv'd he was a cheat, and left the room
on purpose to send for a constable to appre-
1) Masons in preparing the larger stones for building,
pick them, as they call it, into different shapes. The
instrument they use is pointed, or peaked, hence the
word.
Per. You shall be very welcome, Mr. Free-
man, and so your humble servant.
[Exit
Re-enter COLONEL FEIGNWELL and SACKBUT.
Free. Ha, ha, ha! I have done your busi-
ness, colonel; he has swallow'd the bait.
Col. F. I overheard all, though I am a little
in the dark. I am to personate a highwayman,
I suppose-that's a project I am not fond of;
for though I may fright him out of his con-
sent, he may fright me out of my life when he
discovers me, as he certainly must in the end.
Free. No, no; I have a plot for you with-
out danger; but first we must mánage Trade-
love - Has the tailor brought your clothes?
Sack. Yes, pox take the thief.
Free. Well, well, no matter; I warrant we
have him yet-But now you must put on the
Dutch merchant.
Col. F. The deuce of this trading plot-I
wish he had been an old soldier, that I might
28

218
[ACT IV.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
have attack'd him in my own way, heard him more than I can take: will you sell ten thou-
fight over all the battles of the late war-But sand pounds at a half, for any day next week,
for trade, by Jupiter, I shall never do it. except Saturday?
Sack. Never fear, colonel: Mr. Freeman
will instruct you.
Free. You'll see what others do: the coffee-
house will instruct you.
Col. F. I must venture however-But I have
a further plot in my head upon Tradelove,
which you must assist me in, Freeman; you
are in credit with him, I heard you say.
Free. I am, and will scruple nothing to
serve you, colonel.
Col. F. Come along then.- Now for the
Dutchman-Honest Ptolemy, by your leave.
Now must bob-wig and business come in play;
A thirty thousand pound girl leads the way.
[Exeunt
-
ACT IV.
SCENE I. JONATHAN'S COFFEE-HOUSE in
Change Alley. A Crowd of People, with
Rolls of Paper and Parchment in their
Hands; a Bar, Waiters, etc.
Enter TRADELOVE and Stock-jobbers, with
Rolls of Paper and Parchment.
1 Stock. I'll sell it you, Mr. Tradelove.
[Freeman whispers to one of the Gentlemen.
1 Gent. The Spaniards rais'd the siege of Cag-
liari! I don't believe one word of it. [Aside.
2. Gent. Rais'd the siege! as much as you
have rais'd the Monument. 2)
Free. 'Tis rais'd, I assure you, sir.
2 Gent. What will you lay on't?
Free. What you please.
1 Gent. Why I have a brother upon the
spot, in the emperor's service: I am certain
if there were any such thing, I should have
had a letter.
2 Gent. I'll hold you fifty pounds 'tis false.
Free. 'Tis done. 3)
2 Gent. I'll lay you a brace of hundreds
upon the same.
Free. I'll take you.
Trade. I'll lay any man a brace of thousands
the siege is rais'd.
Free. The Dutch merchant is your man to
take in.
[Aside to Tradelove.
Trade. Does he not know the news?
Free. Not a syllable; if he did he would
1 Stock. South-sea at seven-eighths; who buys? bet a hundred thousand pounds as soon as
Trade. Harkye, Gabriel, you'll pay the differ-one penny-he's plaguy rich, and a mighty
ence of that stock we transacted for t'other day? man at wagers.
Gab. Ay, Mr. Tradelove, here's a note for
the money.
Trade. I would fain bite the spark in the
brown coat: he comes very often into the al-
ley, but never employs a broker.
Re-enter COLONEL FEIGNWELL and FREEMAN.
Trade. Mr. Freeman, your servant! Who
is that gentleman?
Free. A Dutch merchant just come to En-
gland; but, harkye, Mr. Tradelove-I have a
piece of news will get you as much as the
French king's death did, if you are expeditious.
[Showing him a Letter] Read there: I re-
ceived it just now from one that belongs to
the emperor's minister.
Trade. [Reads] Sir,-As I have many
obligations to you, I cannot miss any op-
portunity to show my gratitude: this mo-
ment my lord has receiv'd a private express,
that the Spaniards have rais'd their siege
from before Cagliari. If this proves of
any advantage to you, it will answer both
the ends and wishes of, sir, your most ob-
liged humble servant, HENRICUS DUSSELDORP.
P.S. In two or three hours the news
will be public.
May one depend upon this, Mr. Freeman?
[Aside to Freeman.
Free. You may-I never knew this person
send me a false piece of news in my life.
Trade. Sir, I am much obliged to you:
'egad, 'tis rare news. Who sells South-sea
for next week?
Stock. [All together] I sell; I, I, I, I, I sell.
1 Stock. I'll sell five thousand for next week,
at five-eighths.
2 Stock. I'll sell ten thousand, at five-eighths,
for the same time.
Trade. Nay, nay; hold, hold; not all to-
gether, gentlemen: I'll be no bull ¹); I'll buy no
1) Bull and Bear are the names given to persons per-
[To Tradelove.
Trade. Say you so?-'Egad, I'll bite him,
if possible-Are you from Holland, sir?
Col. F. Ya, mynheer.
Trade. Had you the news before you came
away?
Col. F. What believe you, mynheer?
Trade. What do I believe? Why I believe
that the Spaniards have actually rais'd the siege
of Cagliari.
Col. F. What duyvel's news is dat? 'Tis
niet waer, mynheer-'tis no true, sir.
Trade. 'Tis so true, mynheer, that I'll lay
you two thousand pounds on it.
Col. F. Two duysend pound, mynheer, 'tis
gadaen-dis gentleman sal hold de gelt.
[Gives Freeman Money.
Trade. With all my heart-this binds the
wager.
Free. You have certainly lost, mynheer; the
siege is rais'd indeed.
Col. F. Ik geloy't niet, mynheer Freeman,
Ik sal ye dubbled honden, if you please.
Free. I am let into the secret, therefore
won't win your money.
Trade. Ha, ha, ha! I have snapp'd the Dutch-
man, 'faith, ha, ha! this is no ill day's work.
Pray may I crave your name, mynheer?
forming nominal business in the stocks; a sort of gamb-
ling which seems to be very much in vogue at the pre-
sent day in France.
2) It would be father a difficult task to raise the Monu-
ment in London, here alluded to. It is a fluted column
of the Doric order; the diameter at the base is 15 feet,
and the height of the shaft 120 feet; the cone at the
top, with its urn, comprehend 42 feet; and the height
of the massy pedestal is 40 feet. Within the column
is a flight of 345 steps of black marble, and the iron
balcony at the top commands of course a very exten-
sive prospect of the metropolis and the adjacent country.
It is situated about 200 yards north of London-bridge,
and was erected by Sir Christopher Wren, in memory
of the great fire, which, in 1666, broke out at a house
distant 202 feet (the height of the column) eastward
from this spot, and destroyed nearly all the buildings
of the metropolis from the Tower to the Temple Church.
5) Meaning, to accept the wager,

SCENE 2.]
219
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Col. F. Myn naem, mynheer? myn naem Bristol coach, that if you see any such person,
is Jan Van Timtamtirefereletta Heer Van you might contrive to give me notice-
Feignwell.
Free. I will.
[Bell rings.
Trade. Zounds, 'tis a damn'd long name; Sack. Coming, coming!
[Exit.
I shall never remember it-Myn Heer Van, Free. Thou must dispatch Periwinkle first
Tim, Tim, Tim-What the devil is it? -Remember his uncle, sir Toby Periwinkle, is
Free. Oh! never heed: I know the gentle- an old bachelor of seventy-five-that he has
man, and will pass my word for twice the sum. seven hundred a year, most in abbey-land-
Trade. That's enough.
that he was once in love with your mother;
Col. F. You'll hear of me sooner than you shrewdly suspected by some to be your father.
wish, old gentleman, I fancy. [Aside] You'll-That you have been thirty years his steward
come to Sackbut's, Freeman?
-and ten years his gentleman-remember to
improve these hints.
[Aside to Freeman.
Free. Immediately Aside to the Colonel.
Trade. Mr. Freeman, I give you many thanks
for your kindness-
all.
Free. I fear you'll repent when you know
[Aside.
Col. F. Never fear; let me alone for that--
but what's the steward's name?
Free. His name is Pillage.
Col. F. Enough- Now for the country put.
Enter SACKBUT,
Trade. Will you dine with me?
Free. I am engag'd at Sackbut's: adieu. [Exit. Sack. Zounds! Mr. Freeman, yonder is Trade-
Trade. Sir, your humble servant. Now I'll love in the damned'st passion in the world.
see what I can do upon 'Change with my-He swears you are in the house-he says
[Exeunt. you told him you were to dine here.
Free. I did so, ha, ha, ha! he has found
himself bit already.
news.
SCENE II.-The Tavern.
Enter FREEMAN and COLONEL FEIGN WELL.
Free. Ha, ha, ha! The old fellow swallowed
the bait as greedily as a gudgeon.
Col. F. I have him, 'faith, ha, ha, ha! His
two thousand pounds secure-If he would keep
his money, he must part with the lady, ha ha!
Enter SACKBUT.
Sack. Joy, joy, colonel! the luckiest acci-
dent in the world.
Col. F. What say'st thou?
Sack. This letter does your business.
Col. F. [Reads] To Obadiah Prim, hosier,
near the building call'd the Monument, in
London.
Free. A letter to Prim! How came you by it?
Sack. Looking over the letters our post-
woman brought, as I always do, to see what
letters are directed to my house (for she can't
read, you must know), I spy'd this, directed
to Prim, so paid for it among the rest. I have
given the old jade a pint of wine, on purpose
to delay time, till you see if the letter be of
any service; then I'll seal it up again, and
tell her I took it by mistake.-I have read it,
and fancy you'll like the project.-Read, read,
colonel.
Col. F. The devil! he must not see me in
this dress now..
Sack. I told him I expected you here, but
you were not come yet.
Free. Very well-make you haste out, co-
lonel, and let me alone to deal with him:
where is he?
Sack. In the King's-head.
Free. Ay, ay, very well. Landlord, let him
know I am come in-and now, Mr. Pillage,
success attend you.
[Exit Sackbut.
Col. F. Mr. Proteus rather-
From changing shape, and imitating Jove,
I draw the happy omens of my love.
I'm not the first young brother of the blade,
Who made his fortune in a masquerade.
[Exit.
Enter TRADELOVE.
Free. Zounds! Mr. Tradelove, we're bit it
seems.
Trade, Bit, do you call it, Mr. Freeman!
I'm ruin'd.-Pox on your news.
Free. Pox on the rascal that sent it me.
Trade. Sent it you! Why Gabriel Skin-
flint has been at the minister's, and spoke with
him; and he has assured him 'tis every syllable
false; he received no such express.
Col. F. [Reads] Friend Prim, there is ar- Free. I know it: I this minute parted with
rived from Pennsylvania one Simon Pure, my friend, who protested he never sent me
a leader of the faithful, who hath sojourn- any such letter. -Some roguish stock-jobber
ed with us eleven days, and hath been of has done it on purpose to make me lose my
great comfort to the brethren.-He intendeth money, that's certain: I wish I knew who he
for the quarterly meeting in London; I was; I'd make him repent it-I have lost three
have recommended him to thy house. I hundred pounds by it.
oray thee treat him kindly, and let thy wife Trade. What signifies your three hundred
cherish him, for he's of a weakly constitu- pounds to what I have lost? There's two thou-
tion-he will depart from us the third day; sand pounds to that Dutchman with a cursed
which is all from thy friend in the faith, long name, besides the stock I bought: the
AMINADAB HOLDFAST. devil! I could tear my flesh-I must never
show my face upon 'Change more;-for, by
my soul, I can't pay it.
Ha, ha! excellent! I understand you, landlord:
I am to personate this Simon Pure, am I not?
Sack. Don't you like the hint?
Col. F. Admirably well!
Free. 'Tis the best contrivance in the world,
if the right Simon gets not there before you
Col. F. No, no, the quakers never ride post:
and suppose, Freeman, you should wait at the
Free. I am heartily sorry for it! What can
I serve you in? Shall I speak to the Dutch
merchant, and try to get you time for the
payment?
Trade. Time! Ads'heart! I shall never be
able to look up again.

220
[ACT IV.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Per. I pray, sir, what office bore you?
Free. I am very much concerned that I was when I think of my benefactor. - -[Weeps]
the occasion, and wish I could be an instru-Ah! he was a good man--he has not left many
ment of retrieving your misfortune; for my of his fellows, the poor lament him sorely.
own, I value it not. Adso, a thought comes into
my head, that well improv'd, may be of service.
Trade. Ah! there's no thought can be of
any service to me, without paying the money
or running away.
Free. How do ye know? What do you
think of my proposing miss Lovely to him?
He is a single man-and I heard him say he
had a mind to marry an English woman-
nay, more than that, he said somebody told
him you had a pretty ward-he wished you
had betted her instead of your money.
Trade. Ay, but he'd be hanged before he'd
take her instead of the money: the Dutch are
too covetous for that; besides, he did not know
that there were three more of us, I suppose.
Free. So much the better; you may venture
to give him your consent, if he'll forgive you
the wager: It is not your business to tell him
that your consent will signify nothing.
Trade. That's right, as you say; but will
he do it, think you?
Col. F. I was his steward, sir.
Per. I have heard him mention you with
much respect: your name is-
Col. F. Pillage, sir.
Per. Ay, Pillage, I do remember he called
you Pillage,-Pray, Mr. Pillage, when did my
uncle die.
Col. F. Monday last, at four in the morning.
About two he signed his will, and gave it into
my hands, and strictly charg'd me to leave
Coventry the moment he expired; and deliver
it to you with what speed I could: I have
obeyed him, sir, and there is the will.
Gives it to Periwinkle,
Per. 'Tis very well, I'll lodge it in the com-
mons. 2)
Col. F. There are two things which he for-
got to insert, but charged me to tell you, that
he desired you'd perform them as readily as
if you had found them written in the will,
which is to remove his corpse, and bury him
Free. I can't tell that; but I'll try what I by his father at St. Pauls, Covent-garden, and
can do with him. He has promised to meet to give all his servants mourning.
me here an hour hence; I'll feel his pulse, and Per. That will be a considerable charge; a
let you know: If I find it feasible, I'll send pox of all modern fashions. [Aside] Well! it
for you; if not, you are at liberty to take what shall be done, Mr. Pillage, I will agree with
measures you please.
one of death's fashion-monger's, called an un-
Trade. You must extol her beauty, double dertaker, to go down, and bring up the body.
her portion, and tell him I have the entire Col. F. I hope, sir, I shall have the honour
disposal of her, and that she can't marry with- to serve you in the same station I did your
out my consent- and that I am a covetous worthy uncle: I have not many years to stay
rogue, and will never part with her without behind him, and would gladly spend them in
a valuable consideration.
Free. Ay, ay, let me alone for a lie at a pinch.
Trade. Egad, if you can bring this to bear,
Mr. Freeman, I'll make you whole again: I'll
pay the three hundred pounds you lost with
all my soul.
Free. Well, I'll use my best endeavours.-
Where will you be?
the family, where I was brought up.-[Weeps]
He was a kind and tender master to me.
Per. Pray don't grieve, Mr. Pillage, you shall
hold your place, and every thing else which
you held under my uncle-You make me weep
to see you so concern'd. [Weeps] He lived
to a good old age, and we are all mortal.
Col. F. We are so, sir, and therefore I must
Trade. At home: pray heaven you prosper! beg you to sign this lease: You'll find, sir To-
-If I were but the sole trustee now, I should by has taken particular notice of it in his
[Exit. will-I could not get it time enough from the
Exit. lawyer, or he had signed it before he died,
[Gives him a Paper.
not fear it.
Free. Ha, ha, ha!-he has it.
SCENE III. PERIWINKLE'S House,
Enter PERIWINKLE on one side, and a Foot-
man on the other.
Foot. A gentleman from Coventry inquires
for you, sir.
Per. A lease! for what?
Col. F. I rented a hundred a year farm of
sir Toby upon lease, which lease expires at
Lady-day next. I desire to renew for twenty
years-that's all, sir.
Per. From my uncle, I warrant you: bring Per. Let me see [Looks over the Lease
him up. This will save me the trouble, as Very well-Let me see what he says in his will
well as the expense of 'a journey.
Enter COLONEL.
Col. F. Is your name Periwinkle, sir?
Per. It is, sir.
Col. F. I am sorry for the message I bring,
-My old master, whom I served these forty
years, claims the sorrow due from a faithful
servant to an indulgent master. [Weeps.
Per. By this I understand, sir, my uncle,
sir Toby Periwinkle, is dead,
Col. F. He is, sir, and has left you heir to
seven hundred a year, in as good abbey-land
ever paid Peter-pence to Rome.--I wish
you long to enjoy it 1), but my tears will flow
as
1) A graceless young dog who had wasted a great deal of
about it. [Lays the Lease upon the Table,
and looks on the Will] Ho, here it is-
The farm lying-now in possession of Sa-
his father's property, was called, with two of his brothers,
to his father's bedside, just as the old gentleman was
at the point of death, The father addressing himself
to the eldest, told him he had left him 10,000 pounds
in his will; his answer was; "God bless you, my dear
father, and send you health and strength to enjoy it
yourself." The second brother, 10,000, and the same
answer. Then the father told the youngest, that since
de had been such a spendthrift, he would never come
to any good; and so he had left him a shilling to buy
a halter, for him to be hanged with; to which the son
answered like his brothers, "God bless you, my dear
father, and send you health and strength to enjoy it
yourself."
2) Doctor's Commons, where all business relative to
wills, divorce, etc. is performed.

SCENE 4.]
221
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
muel Pillage-suffer him to renew his lease stances, he replied, he would not be the ruin
-at the same rent. Very well, Mr. Pillage, of any man for the world- and immediately
I see my uncle does mention it, and I'll per-made this proposal himself. Let him take
form his will.-Give me the lease.-[Colonel what time he will for the payment, said he;
gives it him, he looks upon it, and lays it or if he'll give me his word, I'll forgive him
upon the Table] Pray you step to the door, the debt.
and call for pen and ink, Mr. Pillage.
Trade. Well, Mr. Freeman, I can but thank
Col. F. I have a pen and ink in my pocket, you. 'Egad you have made a man of me
sir, [Pulls out an Ink-horn] I never go again! and if ever I lay a wager more, may
I rot in gaol.
without that.
Free. I assure you, Mr. Tradelove, I was
Per. I think it belongs to your profession.
-[He looks upon the Pen while the Co- very much concerned, because I was the oc-
lonel changes the Lease and lays down the casion, though very innocently, I protest.
Contract] I doubt this is but a sorry pen, Trade. I dare swear you was, Mr. Freeman.
though it may serve to write my name. [Writes.
Col. F. Little does he think what he signs.
[Aside.
Enter COLONEL FEIGNWELL, dressed as a
.Dutch Merchant.
Per. There is your lease, Mr. Pillage. [Gives Col. F. Ha, mynheer Tradelove, Ik been sor-
him the Paper] Now I must desire you ry voor your troubles-maer Ik sal you easie
to make what haste you can down to Coven-maken, Ik will de gelt nie hebben-
try, and take care of every thing, and I'll send Trade. I shall for ever acknowledge the
down the undertaker for the body; do you obligation, sir.
attend it up, and whatever charge you are at,
I'll repay you.
Col. F. You have paid me already, I thank
you, sir.
[Aside.
Free. But you understand upon what con-
dition, Mr. Tradelove; miss Lovely.
Col. F. Ya, de frow sal al te regt setten,
mynheer.,
Per. Will you dine with me?
Trade. With all my heart, mynheer; you
Col. F. I would rather not: there are some shall have my consent to marry her freely-
of my neighbours which I met as I came along, Free. Well then, as I am a party concerned
who leave the town this afternoon, they told me, between you, mynheer Jan Van Timtamtire-
and I should be glad of their company down. lereletta Heer Van Feignwell shall give you a
Per. Well, well, I won't detain you. I will discharge of your wager under his own hand,
give orders about mourning. [Exit Colonel-and you shall give him your consent to
Seven hundred a year! I wish he had died marry miss Lovely under yours, that is the
seventeen years ago:- What a valuable col-way to avoid all manner of disputes hereafter.
lection of rarities might I have had by this Col. F. Ya, weeragtig.
time?I might have travelled over all the Trade. Ay, ay, so it is, Mr. Freeman: I'll
known parts of the globe, and made my own give it under mine this minute.
closet rival the Vatican at Rome-Odso, I have
a good mind to begin my travels now-let me
see-I am but sixty? My father, grandfather,
and great grandfather reached ninety odd;-
I have almost forty years good:-Let me con-
sider! what will seven hundred a year amount Bid your master come up-I'll see there be
to in-ay; in thirty years, I say but thirty-witnesses enough to the bargain.
thirty times seven, is seven times thirty-that is-
just twenty-one thousand pounds-'tis a great
deal of money-I may very well reserve six-
teen hundred of it for a collection of such
rarities as will make my name famous to pos-
terity-I would not die like other mortals,
forgotten in a year or two, as my uncle will
be-No,
[Sits down to write.
Col. F. And so Ik sal. [Does the same.
Free. So ho, the house!
Enter Drawer.
Enter SACKBUT.
[Aside.
Sack. Do you call, gentlemen?
Free. Ay, Mr. Sackbut, we shall want your.
hand here.-
Trade. There, mynheer, there's my consent
as amply as you can desire; but you must
insert your own name, for I know not how
With nature's curious works I'll raise my fame, to spell it: I have left a blank for it..
That men till doomsday may repeat my name.
Gives the Colonel a Paper.
[Exit. Col, F. Ya Ik sal dat well doen-
Free. Now, Mr. Sackbut, you and I will
witness it.
[They write.
Col. F. Daer, mynheer Tradelove, is your
discharge.
[Gives him a Paper.
Trade. Be pleased to witness this receipt
too, gentlemen.
SCENE IV. A Tavern.
FREEMAN and TRADELOVE discovered over
a Bottle.
Trade. Come, Mr. Freeman, here's Myn-
heer Jan, Van, Tim, Tam, Tam,-I shall never
think of that Dutchman's name
Free. Mynheer Jan Van Timtamtirelereletta
Heer Van Feignwell.
Trade. Ay, Heer Van Feignwell: I never
heard such a confounded name in my life-
here's his health, I say.
Free. With all my heart.
[Freeman and Sackbutput their Hands.
Free. Ay, ay, that we will.
Col. F. Well, mynheer, ye most meer doen,
ye most myn voorsprach to de frow syn.
Free. He means you must recommend him
to the lady.-
Trade. That I will, and to the rest of my
Trade. Faith I never expected to have found brother guardians.
so generous a thing in a Dutchman.
Col. F. Wat voor de duyvel heb you meer
Free. As soon as I told him your circum-guardians.

222
[ACT V.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE,
Trade. Only three, mynheer.
your tyranny, if there be either law or justice
Col. F. What donder heb ye myn betrocken, to be had: -I'll force you to give me up my
mynheer? - Had Ik dat gewoeten, Ik soude liberty.
eaven met you geweest syn.
Mrs. P. Thou hast more need to weep for
Sack. But Mr. Tradelove is the principal, thy sins; Anne-Yea, for thy manifold sins.
and he can do a great deal with the rest, sir. Miss L. Don't think that I'll be still the fool
Free. And he shall use his interest, I pro- which you have made me-No, I'll wear what I
mise you, mynheer.
please-go when and where I please-and keep
Trade. I will say all that ever I can think what company I think fit, and not what you
on to recommend you, mynheer; and if you shall direct-I will.
please, I'll introduce you to the lady.
Trade. For my part, I do think all this very
Col. F. Well, dat is waer-Maer ye must reasonable, miss Lovely-'tis fit you should
first spreken of myn to de frow, and to oudere have your liberty, and for that very purpose
gentlemen.
and then I
I am come.
Free. Ay, that's the best way
and the Heer Feignwell will meet
Trade. I will go this moment,
a Letter in his Hand.
nour Your most obedient humble servant. Per. I have bought some black stockings of
My speaking will do you little good, myn-your husband, Mrs. Prim, but he tells me the
heer: ha, ha! we have bit you, faith: ha, ha! glover's trade belongs to you? therefore I pray
Well-my debts discharged, and as for Nan, you look me out five or six dozen of mourn-
He has my consent-to get her if he can. [Exit. ing gloves, such as are given at funerals, and
Col. F. Ha, ha, ha! this was a master-piece send them to my house.
of contrivance, Freeman.
you there. Enter PERIWINKLE and OBADIAH PRIM, with
upon ho-
Free. He hugs himself with his supposed
good fortune, and little thinks the luck's on
our side!-But come, pursue the fickle goddess,
while she's in the mood-Now for the quaker.
Col. F. That's the hardest task.
Of all the counterfeits perform'd by man,
A soldier makes the simplest puritan.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-An Apartment in PRIM'S House.
Enter MRS. PRIM and MISS LOVELY, in
Quaker's Dresses, meeting.
Mrs. P. So, now I like thee, Anne: art thou
not better without thy monstrous hoop-coat
and patches?--If heaven should make thee so
many black spots upon thy face, would it not
fright thee, Anne?
Obad. My friend Periwinkle has got a good
windfall to-day-seven hundred a year.
Mrs. P. I wish thee joy of it, neighbour.
Trade. What, is Sir Toby dead then?
Per. He is! You'll take care, Mrs. Prim.
Mrs. P. Yea, I will, neighbour,
Obad. This letter recommendeth a speaker;
'tis from Aminadab Holdfast of Bristol: per-
adventure he will be here this night; therefore,
Sarah, do thou take care for his reception-
[Gives her the Letter.
Mrs. P. I will obey thee,
[Exit.
Obad. What art thou in the dumps 1) for,
Anne?
Trade. We must marry her, Mr. Prim.
Obad. Why truly, if we could find a hus-
band worth having, I should be as glad to see
her married as thou wouldst, neighbour.
Per. Well said, there are but few worth having.
Trade. I can recommend you a man now,
Miss L. If it should turn you inside out- that I think you can none of you have an ob-
ward, and show all the spots of your hypo-jection to!
crisy, 'twould fright me worse!
Mrs. P. My hypocrisy! I scorn thy words,
Anne: I lay no baits.
Miss L. If you did, you'd catch no fish.
Mrs. P. Well, well, make thy jests-but I'd
have thee to know, Anne, that I could have
catched as many fish (as thou call'st them) in
my time, as ever thou didst with all thy fool-
traps about thee.
Enter SIR PHILIP MODELOVE.
Per. You recommend? Nay, whenever she
marries, I'll recommend the husband-
Sir P. What must it be a whale, or a rhi-
noceros, Mr. Periwinkle? ha, ha, ha!
Per. He shall be none of the fops at your
end of the town, with full perukes and empty
skulls, -nor yet any of our trading gentry,
Miss L. Is that the reason of your formali- who puzzle the heralds to find arms for their
ty, Mrs. Prim? Truth will out: I ever thought, coaches.-No, he shall be a man famous for
indeed, there was more design than godliness travels, solidity, and curiosity-one who has
in the pinched cap.
searched into the profundity of nature! When
Mrs. P. Go, thou art corrupted with reading heaven shall direct such a one, he shall have
lewd plays, and filthy romances-Ah! I wish thou my consent, because it may turn to the benefit
art not already too familiar with the wicked ones. of mankind.
Miss L. Too familiar with the wicked ones! Miss L. The benefit of mankind! What
Pray, no more of those freedoms, madam-I am would you anatomize me?
familiar with none so wicked as yourself-How
dare you thus talk to me! you, you, you, un-
worthy woman you. [Bursts into tears.
Enter TRADElove.
Sir P. Ay, ay, madam, he would dissect you.
Trade. Or, pore over you through a mi-
croscope, to see how your blood circulates
from the crown of your head to the sole of
your foot-ha, ha! but I have a husband for
Trade. What in tears, Nancy? What have you, a man that knows how to improve your
you done to her, Mrs. Prim, to make her weep? fortune; one that trades to the four corners
Miss L. Done to me! I admire I keep my of the globe.
senses among you; - but I will rid myself of
1) To be in a bad humour.

SCENE 1.]
223
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
Miss L. And would send me for a venture
Enter COLONEL in a Quaker's Habit.
perhaps.
Obad. Friend Pure thou art welcome: how
Trade. One that will dress you in all the is it with friend Holdfast, and all friends in
pride of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America Bristol? Timothy Littleworth, John Slender-
-a Dutch merchant, my girl.
brain, and Christopher Keepfaith?
Sir P. A Dutchman! ha, ha! there's a hus-
Col. F. A goodly company! [Aside] They
band for a fine lady.-Ya frow, will you meet are all in health, I thank thee for them.
myn slapen-ha, ha! he'll learn you to talk Obad. Friend Holdfast writes me word, that
the language of the hogs, madam, ha, ha! thou camest lately from Pennsylvania: how do
Trade. He'll teach you that one merchant all friends there?
is of more service to a nation than fifty cox- Col. F. What the devil shall I say? I know
combs. "Tis the merchant makes the belle.-just as much of Pennsylvania as I do of Bris-
How would the ladies sparkle in the box, with- tol.
out the merchant? The Indian diamond! The Obad. Do they thrive?
French brocade! The Italian fan! The Flan-
ders lace! The fine Dutch holland! How would
they vent their scandal over their tea-tables?
And where would your beaux have Cham-
pagne to toast their mistresses, were it not for
the merchant.
[Aside.
Col. F. Yea, friend, the blessing of their
good works fall upon them.
Enter MRS. PRIM and MISS LOVELY.
Obad. Sarah, know our friend Pure.
Obad. Verily, neighbour Tradelove, thou Mrs. P. Thou art welcome. [He salutes her.
dost waste thy breath about nothing-All that Col. F. Here comes the sum of all my wishes.
thou hast said tendeth only to debauch youth, -How charming she appears even in that dis-
and fill their heads with the pride and luxury guise!
[Aside.
of this world.-The merchant is a very great Obad. Why dost thou consider the maiden
friend to satan, and sendeth as many to his so attentively, friend.
dominions as the pope.
Col. F. I will tell thee: About four days ago
Per. Right; I say knowledge makes the man. I saw a vision-This very maiden, but in vain
Obad. Yea, but not thy kind of knowledge attire, standing on a precipice, and heard a
it is the knowledge of truth-Search thou voice which called me by my name-and bid
for the light within, and not for baubles, friend. me put forth my hand and save her from the
Miss L. Ah, study your country's good, Mr. pit.-I did so, and methought the damsel grew
Periwinkle, and not her insects.-Rid you of unto my side.
your homebred monsters, before you fetch any
from abroad.-I dare swear you have mag-
gots enough in your own brain to stock all
the virtuosos in Europe with butterflies.
Sir P. By my soul, miss Nancy's a wit.
Obad. That is more than she can say of
thee, friend.-Lookye, 'tis in vain to talk, when
I meet a man worthy of her, she shall have
my leave to marry him.
Mrs. P. What can that portend?
Obad. The damsel's conversion-I am per-
suaded.
Miss L. That's false, I'm sure- [Aside.
Obad. Wilt thou use the means, friend Pure?
Col. F. Means! What means? Is she not
thy daughter, already one of the faithful?
Mrs. P. No, alas! she's one of the ungodly.
Obad. Pray thee mind what this good man
will say unto thee: he will teach thee the
way thou shouldst walk, Anne.
Miss L. Provided he be of the faithful-Was
there ever such a swarm of caterpillars to blast
the hopes of a woman! [Aside] Know this, Miss L. I know my way without his in-
that you contend in vain: I'll have no hus-struction: I hop'd to have been quiet when once
band of your choosing, nor shall you lord it I had put on your odious formality here.
over me long. I'll try the power of an Eng- Col. F. Then thou wearest it out of com-
lish senate-Orphans have been redressed and pulsion, not choice, friend?
wills set aside-and none did ever deserve
their pity more.-O Feignwell! where are thy
promises to free me from those vermin? Alas!
the task was more difficult than be imagined!
A harder task than what the poets tell
Of yore, the fair Andromeda befell;
She but one monster fear'd, I've four to fear,
And see no Perseus, no deliv'rer near.
Enter Servant.
Sero. [Whispers to Obad.] The
is mad.
[Exit.
Miss L. Thou art in the right of it, friend-
Mrs. P. Art thou not ashamed to mimic the
good man? Ah! thou stubborn girl.
Col. F. Mind her not; she hurteth not me
-If thou wilt leave her alone with me, I will
discuss some few points with her, that may
perchance soften her stubbornness, and melt
her into compliance.
Obad. Content: I pray thee put it home to
her.-Come, Sarah, let us leave the good man
with her.
Miss. L. [Catching hold of Prim; he breaks
woman loose; exeunt Obad. and Mrs. P.] What,
do you mean to leave me with this old en-
[Exit. thusiastical canter? Don't think because I com-
plied with your formality, to impose your ri-
diculous doctrine upon me.
Sir P. So are you all, in my opinion.
Serv. One Simon Pure inquireth for thee.
[Exit.
Obad. Friend Tradelove, business requireth
my presence.
Trade. Oh, I shan't trouble you-Pox take
him for an unmannerly dog-However, I have
kept my word with my Dutchman, and I'll
introduce him too for all you.
Col. F. I pray thee, young woman, mode-
rate thy passion.
Miss L. I pray thee walk after thy leader,
you will but lose your labour upon me.
These wretches will certainly make me mad!
Col. F. I am of another opinion! the spirit

224
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
[ACT V.
telleth me I shall convert thee, Anne.
Miss L. 'Tis a lying spirit, don't believe it.
Col. F. Say'st thou so? Why then thou shalt
convert me, my angel.
[Catching her in his arms.
Miss L. [Shrieks] Ah! monster, hold off,
or I'll tear thy eyes out.
Col. F. Hush! for heaven's sake-dost thou
not know me? I am Feignwell.
Miss L. Feignwell.
Re-enter OBADIAH PRIM.
Oh, I'm undone! Prim here-I wish with all
my soul I had been dumb.
Obad. What is the matter? Why didst
thou shriek out, Anne?
Enter SERVANT.
Sero. There is another Simon Pure, inqui-
reth for thee, master.
[Aside.
Col. F. The devil there is.
Obad. Another Simon Pure! I do not know
him, is he any relation of thine?
Col. F. No, friend, I know him not.-Pox
take him: I wish he were in Pennsylvania
again, with all my soul.
[Aside.
Miss. L. What shall I do?
Obad. Bring him up.
Col. F. Humph! then one of us must go
down, that's certain-Now impudence assist me.
Enter SIMON PURE.
Obad. What is thy will with me, friend?
Simon. Didst thou not receive a letter from
Obad. Yea, and Simon Pure is already here,
friend.
Col. F. And Simon Pure will stay here,
friend, if it be possible.
[Aside.
Miss. L. Shriek out! I'll shriek and shriek
again, cry murder, thieves, or any thing, to Aminadab Holdfast of Bristol, concerning one
drown the noise of that eternal babbler, if Simon Pure?
you leave me, with him any longer.`
Obad. Was that all? Fie, fie, Anne.
Col. F. No matter, I'll bring down her
stomach, I'll warrant thell-Leave us, I pray thee?
Obad. Fare thee well. Verily, I was afraid
the flesh had got the better of the spirit. [Exit.
Col. F. My charming lovely woman!
[Embraces her.
Miss L. What meanest thou by this disguise,
Feignwell?
Col. F. To set thee free, if thou wilt per-friend, Aminadab Holdfast, wrote to my friend
form thy promise.
Miss L. Make me mistress of my fortune,
and make thy own conditions.
Col. F. This night shall answer all my wishes.
-See here I have the consent of three of thy
guardians already, and doubt not but Prim
will make the fourth. [Obadiah listening.
Obad. I would gladly hear what arguments
the good man useth to bend her. [Aside.
Miss. L. Thy words give me new life, me-
thinks.
Obad. What do I hear?
Simon. That's an untruth, for I am he.
Col. F. Take thou heed, friend, what thou
dost say: I do affirm that I am Simon Pure.
Simon. Thy name may be Pure, friend,
but not that Pure.
Col. F. Yea, that Pure which my good
Prim about: the same Simon Pure that came
from Pennsylvania, and sojourned in Bristol
eleven days: thou wouldst not take my name
from me, wouldst thou?-till I have done
with it.
[Aside.
I
Simon. Thy name! I am astonished!
Col. F. At what? at thy own assurance?
[Going up to him, Simon Pure starts back.
Simon. Avaunt, satan, approach me not:
defy thee, and all thy works.
Miss. L. Oh, he'll out-cant him.-Undone,
undone for ever.
[Aside.
Miss. L. Thou best of men, heaven meant Col. F. Hark thee, friend, thy sham will
to bless me sure, when I first saw thee. not take-Don't exert thy voice, thou art too
Obad. He hath mollified her-O wonderful well acquainted with satan to start at him,
thou wicked reprobate-What can thy design
conversion!
Enter a SERVANT who gives PRIM a Letter.
Obad. One of these must be a counterfeit,
but which I cannot say.
Col. F. [Softly] Ha! Prim listening.-No be here?
more, my love, we are observed: seem to be
edified, and give 'em hopes that thou wilt
turn quaker, and leave the rest to me. [Aloud.
I am glad to find that thou art touched with
what I said unto thee, Anne; another time I
will explain the other article unto thee: in
the mean while be thou dutiful to our friend
Prim.
Miss. L. I shall obey thee in every thing.
[Obadiah comes forward.
Obad. Oh, what a prodigious change is here!
Thou hast wrought a miracle, friend! Anne,
how dost thou like the doctrine he hath
preached?
Col. F. What can that letter be? [Aside.
Simon. Thou must be the devil, friend,
that's certain; for no human power can speak
so great a falsehood.
Obad. This letter sayeth that thou art better
acquainted with that prince of darkness, than
any here--Read that, I pray thee, Simon.
[Gives it to the Colonel.
Col. F. 'Tis Freeman's hand. - [Reads]
There is a design formed to rob your
Miss. L. So well, that I could talk to him house this night, and cut your throat; and
for ever, methinks-I am ashamed of my for-
mer folly, and ask your pardon.
Col. F. Enough, enough, that thou art sorry:
he is no pope, Anne.
for that purpose there is a man disguised
like a quaker, who is to pass for one Si-
mon Pure: the gang, whereof I am one,
though now resolved to rob no more, has
Obad. True, I am no pope, Anne, Verily, been at Bristol: one of them came in the
thou dost rejoice me exceedingly, friend: will coach with the quaker, whose name he hath
it please thee to walk into the next room, and taken; and from what he hath gathered
refresh thyself?-Come, take the maiden by from him, formed that design, and did not
the hand.
doubt but he should impose so far upon
you as to make you turn out the real Si-
Col. F. We will follow thee.

SCENE 1.]
225
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
mon Pure, and keep him with you. Make meaneth this struggling within me? I feel the
the right use of this. Adieu.-Excellent well! spirit resisteth the vanities of this world, but
[Aside. the flesh is rebellious, yea, the flesh-1 greatly
fear the flesh and the weakness thereof
[To Simon Pure. hum-1)
Obad. Dost thou hear this?
Simon. Yea, but it moveth me not: that Obad. The maid is inspir'd. [Aside] Pro-
doubtless is the impostor.
digious! The damsel is filled with the spirit
[Pointing at the Colonel.-Sarah,
Col. F. Ah! thou wicked one-now I con-
sider thy face, I remember thou didst come
up in the leathern conveniency with me-
Enter MRS. PRIM.
Mrs. P. I am greatly rejoiced to see such
thou hadst a black bob-wig on, and a brown a change in our beloved Anne. I came to
camblet coat with brass buttons-Canst thou tell thee that supper stayeth for thee.
deny it, ha?
Simon. Yes, I can, and with a safe
science too, friend.
Obad. Verily, friend, thou art the
impudent villain I ever saw.
Col. F. I am not disposed for thy food;
con- my spirit longeth for more delicious meat!-
fain would I redeem this maiden from the
most tribe of sinners, and break those cords asun-
der wherewith she is bound-hum-
Miss L. Something whispers in my ears,
Miss L. Nay, then, I'll have a fling at him.
[Aside] I remember the face of this fellow methinks that I must be subject to the will
at Bath-Ay, this is he that pick'd my lady of this good man, and from him only must
Raffle's pocket in the grove-Don't you re- hope for consolation-hum-It also telleth me
member that the mob pump'd ¹) you, friend? that I am a chosen vessel to raise up seed
-This is the most notorious rogue-
to the faithful, and that thou must consent
Simon. What does provoke thee to seek my that we two be one flesh according to the
life? Thou wilt not hang me, wilt thou, word-hum-
wrongfully?
Obad. What a revelation is here! This is
Obad. She will do thee no hurt, nor thou certainly part of thy vision, friend; this is
shalt do me none; therefore get thee about the maiden's growing unto thy side: ah! with
thy business, friend, and leave thy wicked what willingness should I give thee my con-
course of life, or thou mayst not come off so sent, could I give thee her fortune too-but
favourably every where. Simon, I pray thee, thou wilt never get the consent of the wicked
put him forth.
ones.
Col. F. Go, friend, I would advise thee, Col. F. I wish I was sure of yours. [Aside.
and tempt thy fate no more.
Obad. Thy soul rejoiceth, yea, rejoiceth, I
Simon. Yes, I will go; but it shall be to say, to find the spirit within thee; for lo, it
thy confusion; I shall clear myself; I will moveth thee with natural agitation-yea, with
return with some proofs that shall convince natural agitation towards this good man-yea,
thee, Obadiah, that thou art highly imposed on, it stirreth, as one may say-yea, verily I say,
[Exit. it stirreth up thy inclination-yea, as one
staying for would stir a pudding,
shall I do? All. Hum!
Col. F. Then there will be no
me, that's certain-what the devil
[Aside. Miss L. I see, I see! the spirit guiding of
Obad. What monstrous works of iniquity thy hand, good Obadiah Prim, and now be-
are there in this world, Simon?
hold thou art signing thy consent--and now
Col. F. Yea, the age is full of vice-'Sdeath, I see myself within thy arms, my friend and
I am so confounded I know not what to say. brother, yea, I am become bone of thy bone,
[Aside. and flesh of thy flesh. [Embracing him]
Obad. Thou art disorder'd, friend,-art thou Hum-
not well?
Mrs. P. The spirit hath greatly moved them
Col. F. My spirit is greatly troubled, and both-friend Prim, thou must consent; there's
something telleth me, that though I have no resisting of the spirit!
wrought a good work in converting this maiden, Obad. Fetch me the pen and ink, Sarah-
this tender maiden, yet my labour will be and my hand shall confess its obedience to
in vain: for the evil spirit fighteth against her: the spirit.
[Exit Mrs. Prim.
and I see, yea I see with the eye of my in-
Col. F. I wish it were over.
ward man, that satan will re-buffet her again, Re-enter MRS. PRIM, with Pen and Ink.
whenever I withdraw myself from her; and
she will, yea, this very damsel will return
Miss L. I tremble lest this quaking rogue
again to that abomination from whence I have should return, and spoil all.
[Aside.
retriev'd her, as it were, yea, as if it were
Obad. Here, friend, do thou write what
out of the jaws of the fiend.-
the spirit prompteth, and I will sign it.
Miss L. I must second him. [Aside] What
1) Any gentleman or other found with his hand in his
neighbour's pocket, or with any thing that he has taken
from the said neighbour's pocket, with an intent to
steal, is forthwith taken to the nearest pump, and held
with his head below the cold stream, which is pumped.
upon him, without intermission, till he, the said pick-
pocket is half drowned. Then all the boys of the parish
assemble together and hunt the poor wretch all through
the streets, till he can find some hole to hide himself.
The English, as in the time of Richard I. seem to like
to take the law into their own hands, witness the fre-
quent boxing-matches in the street.
[Col. L. sits down.
Col. F. [Reads] This is to certify all
1) This hum is intended to express the long sigh, or
rather groan, that is performed by the Quakers, at the
end of a speech to which the spirit has moved them.
The actor makes this irresistibly comic on the stage,
by clasping his hands, sticking his elbows close to his
side, his feet close-joined and completely straight, head
and eyes raised towards the ceiling, and then, in this
position, raises himself on his toes at the beginning of
the word hu-and enforces the emphasis by degrees
coming down again on his heels at the full point-m
his thumbs twirling rapidly in the mean time.
29

226
[ACT. V.
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
whom it may concern, that I do freely Trude. Harkye, miss Lovely, one word with
give all my right and title in Anne Lovely, you.
[Takes hold of her Hand.
to Simon Pure, and my full consent that Col. F. This maiden is my wife, thanks to my
she shall become his wife according to the friend Prim, and thou hast no business with
form of marriage. Witness my hand. her.
[Takes her from him.
Obad. That's enough-give me the pen. Trade. His wife! harkye, Mr. Freeman.
Per. Why you have made a very fine piece
of work of it, Mr. Prim.
[Signs it.
Enter BETTY, running to MISS LOVELY.
Sir P. Married to a quaker! thou art a fine
Betty. Oh! madam, madam, here's the fellow to be left guardian to an orphan truly
quaking man again: he has brought a coach--there's a husband for a young lady!
man, and two or three more.
Miss L. Ruin'd past redemption!
Col. F. When I have put on my beau
clothes, sir Philip, you'll like me better-
Sir P. Thou wilt make a very scurvy beau
[Aside to the Colonel.
Col. F. No, no; one minute sooner had-friend-
spoil'd all; but now-here's company coming,
friend, give me the paper.
Going to Prim hastily.
Obad. Here it is, Simon; and I wish thee
happy with the maiden.
Col. F. I believe I can prove it under your
hand that you thought me a very fine gen-
tleman in the Park t'other day, about thirty-six
minutes after eleven; will you take a pinch,
sir Philip?-One of the finest snuff-boxes you
ever saw. Sabro [Offers him snuff.
Miss L.'Tis done; and now,devil, do thy worst.
Sir P. Ha, ha, ha! I am overjoyed, 'faith I
Enter SIMON PURE, Coachman, and others. am, if thou be'st the gentleman-I own I did
Simon. Look thee, friend, I have brought give my consent to the gentleman I brought
these people to satisfy thee that I am not that here to-day-but whether this is he I can't be
impostor which thou didst take me for: this positive.
is the man that did drive the leathern con- Obad. Canst thou not!-Now I think thou
veniency, and brought me from Bristol-and art a fine fellow to be left guardian to an or-
this is-
phan.-Thou shallow-brain'd shuttlecock,he may
Col. F. Lookye, friend, to save the court be a pickpocket for aught thou dost know.
the trouble of examining witnesses-I plead Per. You would have been two rare fellows
guilty, ha, ha!
to have been entrusted with the sole manage-
Obad. How's this? Is not thy name Pure then? ment of her fortune, would ye not, think ye?
Col. F. No, really, sir; I only made bold But Mr. Tradelove and myself shall take care
with this gentleman's name-but here I give of her portion.-
Free. I did so, and I am sure he will be
here, if you'll have a little patience.
it up safe and sound: it has done the business Trade. Ay, ay, so we will-Didn't you tell
I had occasion for, and now I intend to wear me the Dutch merchant desired me to meet
my own, which shall be at his service upon him here, Mr. Freeman?
the same occasion at any time.-Ha, ha, ha!
Simon. Oh! the wickedness of the age!
[Exit Coachman, etc.
Obad. I am struck dumb with thy impu-
dence, Anne; thou hast deceiv'd me-and per-
chance undone thyself.
Cot. F. What, is Mr. Tradelove impatient?
Nay, then, ib ben gereet voor your, he be,
Jan Van Timtamtirelereletta Heer Van Feign-
well, vergeeten!
Mrs. P. Thou art a dissembling baggage, and Trade. Oh! pox of the name! what have
[Exit. you trick'd me too, Mr. Freeman?
shame will overtake thee.
[Exit.
Simon. I am grieved to see thy wife so much Col. F. Trick'd, Mr. Tradelove! did not I
troubled: I will follow and console her. give you two thousand pounds for your con-
sent fairly? And now do you tell a gentleman
he has trick'd you?
Enter Servant.
Sero. Thy brother guardians inquire for thee:
here is another man with them.
Miss L. Who can that other man be?
[To Col. F.
Col. F. Tis Freeman, a friend of mine, whom
I ordered to bring the rest of the guardians here.
Enter SIR PHILIP MODELOVE, TRADELOVE,
PERIWINKLE, and FREEMAN.
Per. So, so, you are a pretty guardian,
'faith, to sell your charge: what, did you look
upon her as part of your stock?
Obad. Ha, ha, ha! I am glad thy knavery is
found out, however-I confess the maiden over-
reached me, and I had no sinister end at all.
Per. Ay, ay, one thing or other over-reached
you all,-but I'll take care he shall never fin-
ger a penny of her money, I warrant you-
Free. Is all safe? Did my letter do you ser- over-reach'd, quotha! Why I might have been
vice?
[Aside to the Colonel. over-reach'd too, if I had no more wit: I don't
Col F. All, all's safe! ample service. [Aside. know but this very fellow may be him that
Sir P. Miss Nancy, how dost do, child? was directed to me from Grand Cairo t'other
Miss L. Don't call me miss, friend Philip; day. Ha, ha, ha!
my name is Anne, thou knowest.-
Sir P. What, is the girl metamorphos'd?
Miss L. I wish thou wert so metamorphos'd.
Ah! Philip, throw off that gaudy attire, and
wear the clothes becoming thy age.
Col. F. The very same.
Per. Are you so, sir? but your trick would
not pass upon me.
Col. F. No, as you say, at that time it did
not, that was not my lucky hour-but, harkye,
Obad. I am ashamed to see these men. [Aside. sir, I must let you into one secret-you may
Sir P. My age! the woman is possess'd. keep honest John Tradescant's coat on, for
Col. F. No, thou art possess'd rather, friend. your uncle, sir Toby Periwinkle, is not dead

SCENE 1.]
227
A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE.
-so the charge of mourning will be saved, dam, who understands dress and good breed-
ha, ha, ha!-Don't you remember Mr. Pillage, ing. I was resolved she should have one of
your uncle's steward? Ha, ha, ha!
my choosing.
Per. Not dead! I begin to fear I am trick'd too.
Col. F. Don't you remember the signing of
a lease, Mr. Periwinkle?
Trade. A beau! nay, then, she is finely
help'd up.
Miss L. Why beaus are great encouragers
Per. Well, and what signifies that lease, if of trade, sir, ha, ha, ha!
my uncle is not dead?-Ha! I am sure it was
a lease I signed.-
Col. F. Lookye, gentlemen-I am the per-
son who can give the best account of myself;
Col. F. Ay, but it was a lease for life, sir, and I must beg sir Philip's pardon, when I
and of this beautiful tenement, I thank you. tell him, that I have as much aversion to what
[Taking hold of Miss Lovely. he calls dress and breeding, as I have to the
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha! Neighbour's fare. enemies of my religion. I have had the ho-
Free. So then, I find, you are all trick'd, ha, ha! nour to serve his majesty, and headed a regi-
Per. I am certain I read as plain a lease ment of the bravest fellows that ever push'd
as ever I read in my life.
bayonet in the throat of a Frenchman; and
Col. F. You read a lease I grant you; but notwithstanding the fortune this lady brings
you sign'd this contract. [Showing a Paper. me, whenever my country wants my aid, this
Per. How durst you put this trick upon sword and arm are at her service.
me, Mr. Freeman? Didn't you tell me my
uncle was dying?
Free. And would tell you twice as much
to serve my friend, ha, ha!-
Sir. P. What, the learned and famous Mr. Pe-
riwinkle chous'd too!-Ha, ha, ha!-I shall die
with laughing, ha, ha, ha!
Trade. Well, since you have out-witted us
all, pray you what and who are you, sir?
Sir P. Sir, the gentleman is a fine gentle-
man. I am glad you have got a person, ma-
And now, my fair, if thou'lt but deign to smile,
I meet a recompense for all my toil:
Love and religion ne'er admit restraint,
And force makes many sinners, not one saint;
Still free as air the active mind does rove,
And searches proper objects for its love;
But that once fix'd, 'tis past the power of art
To chase the dear idea from the heart:
'Tis liberty of choice that sweetens life,
Makes the glad husband, and the happy wife.
[Exeunt.
THE BUSY BODY,
ACTED at the Theatre Royal in Drurylane 1709. At the rehearsal of it, Mr. Wilks had so mean on opinion of
his part (Sir George Airy) that one morning in a passion he threw it off the stage into the pit, and swore that nobody
would sit to hear such stuff. The poor frighted poetess (Mrs. Centlivre) begged him with tears to take it up again, which
he did mutteringly and about the latter end of April the play was acted for the first time. There had been scarcely any
thing mentioned of it in the town before it came out; but those who had heard of it, were told it was a silly thing
written by a woman; that the players had no opinion of it, etc. and on the first day there was a very poor house, scarce-
ly charges. Under these circumstances it cannot be supposed that the play appeared to much advantage; the audience
only came there for want of another place to go to; but without any expectation of being much diverted. They
were yawning at the beginning of it, but were agreeably surprised, more and more every act, till at last the house rang
with as much applause as was possible to be given by so thin an audience. The next day there was a better house,
and the third crowded for the benefit of the author, and so it continued till the thirteenth. To do justice to the au-
thor, it must be confessed, that although the language of it is very indifferent, and the plot mingled with some im-
probabilities, yet the amusing sprightliness of business, and the natural impertinence in the character of Marplot, make
considerable amends for the above-mentioned deficiencies, and render it even to this hour an entertaining performance.
The dumb scene of Sir George with Miranda, and the history of the garden gate, are both borrowed from Ben Jon-
son's comedy of The Devil's an Ass. This play was dedicated to Lord Somers. Sir Richard Steele, speaking of it,
says, "The plot and the incidents are laid with that subtility of spirit which is peculiar to females of wit, and is very
seldom well performed by those of the other sex, in whom craft in love is an act of intention, and not, as with women,
the effect of nature and instinct."
SIR GEORGE AIRY.
DRAMATIS
CHARLES.
SIR FRANCIS GRIPE. SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK.
PERSONAE.
MARPLOT,
WHISPER.
MIRANDA,
ISABINDA.
PATCH.
SCENTWELL.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-The Park.
Sir G. There are some men, Charles, whom
fortune has left free from inquietudes, who
are diligently studious to find out ways and
means to make themselves uneasy.
Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY, meeting CHARLES
Charles. HA! sir George Airy a birding Charles. Is it possible that any thing in na-
thus early! What forbidden game rous'd you ture can ruffle the temper of a man whom
so soon? for no lawful occasion could invite the four seasons of the year compliment with
a person of your figure abroad at such un- as many thousand pounds; nay, and a father
fashionable hours 1).
at rest with his ancestors?
1) The people of fashion in London, in order to avoid
their aversion, mixing with persons of any other rank
than their own, turn the night into day, and the day
into night; so that noon with them is generally early
in the morning, and in their calculation of time, the
words afternoon and night are entirely left out.

228
[ACT I.
THE BUSY BODY.
Sir G. Why, there it is now! a man that he intend to do with Miranda? Is she to be
wants money thinks none can be unhappy sold in private, or will he put her up by way
that has it; but my affairs are in such a whim- of auction, at who bids most? If so, 'egad I'm
sical posture that it will require a calculation for him; my gold, as you say, shall be sub-
of my nativity to find if my gold will relieve servient to my pleasure.
me or not.
Charles. To deal ingenuously with you, sir
Charles. Ha, ha, ha! never consult the stars George, I know very little of her or home;
about that; gold has a power beyond them. for since my uncle's death, and my return
Then what can thy business be that gold won't from travel, I have never been well with my
serve thee in?
Sir G. Why I'm in love.
Charles. In love!-Ha, ha, ha, ba! in love!
-Ha, ha, ha, ha! with what, pr'ythee?
cherub?
Sir G. No; with a woman.
Charles. A woman! good. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
and gold not help thee?
father; he thinks my expenses too great, and
I his allowance too little; he never sees me
but he quarrels, and to avoid that I shun his
a house as much as possible. The report is he
intends to marry her himself.
Sir G. Can she consent to it?
Charles. Yes, faith, so they say: but I tell
you I am wholly ignorant of the matter. I
Sir G. But suppose I'm in love with two-fancy she plays the mother-in-law already,
Charles. Ay, if thou'rt in love with two and sets the old gentleman on to do mischief.
hundred, gold will fetch 'em, I warrant thee, Sir G. Then I have your free consent to
boy. But who are they? who are they? come. get her?
Sir G. One is a lady whose face I never Charles. Ay, and my helping hand, if oc-
saw, but witty to a miracle; the other beauti-casion be.
ful as Venus-
Charles. And a fool-
Sir G. Poh! yonder's a fool coming this
way; let's, avoid him.
Sir G. For aught I know, for I never spoke Charles. What, Marplot? No, no, he's my
to her; but you can inform me. I am charm'd instrument; there's a thousand conveniences
by the wit of the one, and die for the beauty in him; he'll lend me his money when he has
of the other.
any, run of my errands, and be proud on it;
Charles. And pray which are you in quest in short, he'll pimp for me, lie for me, drink
for me, do any thing but fight for me; and
that I trust to my own arm for.
of now?
Sir G. I prefer the sensual pleasure; I'm
for her I've seen, who is thy father's ward,
Miranda.
Sir G. Nay, then he's to be endured; I ne-
ver knew his qualifications before.
Charles. Nay, then I pity you; for the Jew,
my father, will no more part with her and Enter MARPLOT, with a Patch across his
thirty thousand pounds than he would with a
guinea to keep me from starving.
Sir G. Now you see gold can't do every
thing, Charles.
Charles, Yes; for 'tis her gold that bars my
father's gate against you.
Face.
Mar. Dear Charles, yours-Ha! sir George
Airy! the man in the world I have an am-
bition to be known to! [Aside] Give me thy
hand, dear boy.
Charles. A good assurance! But harkye, how
came your beautiful countenance clouded in
the wrong place?
Sir G. Why, if he be this avaricious wretch,
how cam'st thou by such a liberal education?
Charles. Not a souse out of his pocket, I Mar. I must confess 'tis a little mal-a-pro-
assure you: I had an uncle who defray'd that pos; but no matter for that. A word with
charge; but for some little wildness of youth, you, Charles. Pr'ythee introduce me to sir
though he made me his heir, left dad my George-he is a man of wit, and I'd give ten
guardian till I came to years of discretion, guineas to-
which I presume the old gentleman will never
think I am; and now he has got the estate
into his clutches, it does me no more good
than if it lay in Prester John's ¹) dominions.
Sir G. What, canst thou find no stratagem
to redeem it?
Charles. When you have 'em, you mean.
Mar. Ay, when I have 'em; pugh, pox, you
cut the thread of my discourse-I would give
ten guineas, I say, to be rank'd in his acquain-
tance. But, pr'ythee, introduce me.
ing nose, I will.
Mar. I'll do it.
Charles. Well, on condition you'll give us
Charles. I have made many essays to no a true account how you came by that mourn-
purpose; though want, the mistress of inven-
tion, still tempts me on, yet still the old fox
is too cunning for me.--I am upon my last
project, which if it fails, then for my last re-
fuge, a brown musket. 2)
Sir G. What is't? can I assist thee?
Charles. Not yet; when you can, I have
confidence enough in you to ask it.
Charles. Sir George, here's a gentleman has
a passionate desire to kiss your hand.
Sir G. Oh! I honour men of the sword!
and I presume this gentleman is lately come
from Spain or Portugal-by his scars.
Mar. No really, sir George, mine sprung
Sir G. I am always ready. But what does from civil fury. Happening last night into the
groom porter's-I had a strong inclination to
1) A certain priest of the name of John, is said to have go ten guineas with a sort of a, sort of a-
travelled into the mountains of Thibet, and there to kind of a milksop, as I thought. A pox of the
have founded the religion of Dalai Lama, sometime
in the 11th century. A farther account is to be seen dice! he flung out, and my pockets being
in the History of the Church.
empty, as Charles knows they often are, he
proved a surly North Briton, and broke my
face for my deficiency.
2) The soldiers call their musket, "brown Bess;" i
means here to enlist for a soldier.

SCENE 1.]
229
THE BUSY BODY.
Sir G. What was it, pr'ythee?
Mar. Nay, Charles, now don't expose your
friend,
Sir G. Ha, ha! and did not you draw?
Mar. Draw, sir! why I did but lay my hand
upon my sword to make a swift retreat, and
he roar'd out. Now the deel a ma sal, sir, Charles. Why, you must know I had lent
gin ye touch yer steel I se whip mine through a certain merchant my hunting horses, and
yer wem. 1)
was to have met his wife in his absence. Send-
ing him along with my groom to make the
compliment, and to deliver a letter to the lady
at the same time, what does he do but gives
the husband the letter and offers her the horses!
Sir G. Ha, ha, ha!
Charles. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Safe was the word.
So you walk'd off, I suppose.
Mar. Yes, for I avoid fighting, purely to be
serviceable to my friends, you know-
Mar. Why to be sure I did offer her the
Sir G. Your friends are much obliged to horses, and I remember you was even with
you, sir: I hope you'll rank me in that number. me, for you denied the letter to be yours, and
Mar. Sir George, a bow from the side-box, 2) swore I had a design upon her, which my
or to be seen in your chariot, binds, me ever bones paid for.
yours.
Sir G. Trifles; you may command 'em when
you please.
Charles. Come, sir George, let's walk round
if you are not engaged, for I have sent my
man upon a little earnest business, and I have
ordered him to bring me the answer into the
Park.
Mar. Business! and I not know it! 'Egad
[Aside.
Sir G. I must beg your pardon, Charles, I
am to meet your father.
Charles. Provided he may command you.
Mar. Me! why I live for no other purpose
-Sir George, I have the honour to be cares-
sed by most of the reigning toasts) of the I'll watch him.
town: I'll tell 'em you are the finest gentleman-
Sir G. No, no, pr'ythee let me alone to tell
the ladies-my parts-Can you convey a let-
ter upon occasion, or deliver a message with
an air of business, ha?
Charles. My father!
Sir G. Ay, and about the oddest bargain
perhaps you ever heard of; but I'll not impart
Mar. With the assurance of a page and till I know the success.
the gravity of a statesman.
Sir G. You know Miranda?
Mar. What! my sister ward? why, her
guardian is mine; we are fellow sufferers. Ah,
he is a covetous, cheating, sanctified curmud-
geon: that sir Francis Gripe is a damn'd old
-hypocritical-
Charles. Hold, hold; I suppose, friend, you
forget that he is my father.
Mar. What can his business be with sir
Francis? Now would I give all the world to
know it. Why the devil should not one know
every man's concerns!
[Aside.
Charles. Prosperity to't, whate'er it be: I
have private affairs too: over a bottle we'll
compare notes.
Mar. Charles knows I love a glass as well
as any man; I'll make one; shall it be to-
night? I long to know their secrets. [Aside.
Enter WHISPER.
Mar. I ask your pardon, Charles, but it is
for your sake I hate him. Well, I say, the
world is mistaken in him; his outside piety.
makes him every man's executor, and his in- Whis. Sir, sir, Mrs. Patch says Isabinda's
side cunning makes him every heir's gaoler. Spanish father has quite spoiled the plot, and
'Egad, Charles, I'm half persuaded that thour't she can't meet you in the Park, but he infal-
some ward too, and never of his getting-for libly will go out this afternoon, she says: but
never were two things so unlike as you and I must step again to know the hour.
your father; he scrapes up every thing, and Mar. What did Whisper say now? I shall
thou spend'st every thing; every body is in- go stark mad if I'm not let into the secret.
debted to him, and thou art indebted to every
body.
Charles. You are very free, Mr. Marplot.
Mar. Ay, I give and take, Charles--you may
be as free with me, you know.
Sir G. A pleasant fellow.
Charles. The dog is diverting sometimes,
or there would be no enduring his imperti-
nence. He is pressing to be employed, and
willing to execute; but some ill fate generally
attends all he undertakes, and he oftener spoils
an intrigue than helps it.
Mar. I have always your good word, but
if I miscarry 'tis none of my fault; I follow
my instructions.
Charles. Yes, witness the merchant's wife.
Mar. Pish, pox! that was an accident.
1) Now the devil have my soul, sir, if ye touch your
steel (sword) I will whip (thrust) mine through your
wem (belly).
2) The side-box at the Theatre, where the English belles
and beaux sport their best looks, and dresses.
[Aside.
Charles. Curst misfortune!
Mar. Curst! what's curst, Charles?
Charles. Come along with me, my heart
feels pleasure at her name. Sir George, yours;
we'll meet at the old place, the usual hour.
Sir G. Agreed. I think I see sir Francis
yonder.
[Exit.
Charles. Marplot, you must excuse me; I
am engag'd.
[Exit.
Mar. Engag'd! 'Egad, I'll engage my life
I'll know what your engagement is. [Exit.
Mir. Let the chair wait. My servant that
dogg'd sir George said he was in the Park.
Enter PATCH.
Ha! miss Patch alone! did not you tell me
you had contrived a way to bring Isabinda
to the Park?
Patch. Oh, madam, your ladyship can't
imagine what wretched disappointment we
have met with! Just as I had fetch'd a suit of
3) Ladies who on account of their beauty (sometimes on my clothes for a disguise, comes my old master
account of their philanthropy) used to be toasted (to into his closet, which is right against her
chamber door: this struck us into a terrible
have their healths drunk), in all fashionable societies
of gentlemen after dinner.

230
[ACT I.
THE BUSY BODY.
fright-at length I put on a grave face, and dom make good husbands: in sober sadness
asked him if he was at leisure for his choco-she cannot abide 'em.
late? in hopes to draw him out of his hole; Mir. [Peeping] In sober sadness you are
but he snapp'd my nose off: "No, I shall be mistaken.-What can this mean?
busy here these two hours."
At which my Sir G. Lookye, sir Francis, whether she
poor mistress, seeing no way of escape, or- can or cannot abide young fellows is not the
dered me to wait on your ladyship with the business: will you take the fifty guineas?
Sir F. In good truth I will not-for I knew
sad relation.
Mir. Unhappy Isabinda! was ever any thing thy father, he was a hearty wary man, and I
so unaccountable as the humour of sir Jealous cannot consent that his son should squander
Traffick?
away what he saved to no purpose.
Patch. Oh, madam, it's his living so long Mir. [Peeping] Now, in the name of won-
in Spain; he vows he'll spend half his estate der, what bargain can he be driving about me
but he'll be a parliament man, on purpose to for fifty guineas?
bring in a bill for women to wear veils, and Sir G. Well, sir Francis, since you are
other odious Spanish customs-He swears it so conscientious for my father's sake, then
is the height of impudence to have a woman permit me the favour gratis.
seen barefaced even at church, and scarce be- Sir F. No verily; if thou dost not buy thy
lieves there's a true begotten child in the city. experience thou wilt never be wise; therefore
Mir. Ha, ha, ha! how the old fool torments give me a hundred and try thy fortune.
himself! Suppose he could introduce his rigid Sir G. The scruples arose, I find, from the
rules-does he think we could not match them scanty sum-Let me see a hundred guineas
in contrivance? No, no; let the tyrant man-[Takes the Money out of a Purse, and
make what laws he will, if there's a woman chinks it] Ha! they have a very pretty sound,
under the government, I warrant she finds a and a very pleasing look-But then, Miranda
way to break 'em. Is his mind set upon the-but if she should be cruel-
Spaniard for his son-in-law still?
Sir F. Ay, do consider on't. He, he, he!
Patch. Ay, and he expects him by the next Sir G. No, I'll do't. Come, to the point;
fleet, which drives his daughter to melancholy here's the gold; sum up the conditions.-
and despair. But, madam, I find you retain
the same gay cheerful spirit you had when I
waited on your ladyship.-My lady is mighty
good-humoured too, and I have found a way
to make sir Jealous believe I am wholly in
his interest, when my real design is to serve
her: he makes me her gaoler, and I set her
at liberty.
[Sir Francis pulls out a Paper.
Mir. [Peeping] Ay, for heaven's sake do,
for my expectation is on the rack.
Sir F. Well, at your peril be it.
Sir G. Ay, ay, go on.
Sir F. Imprimis, you are to be admitted
into my house in order to move your suit to
Miranda, for the space of ten minutes, with-
Mir. I knew thy prolific brain would be of out let or molestation, provided I remain in
singular service to her, or I had not parted the same room.
with thee to her father.
Patch. But, madam, the report is that you
are going to marry your guardian.
Mir. It is necessary such a report should
be, Patch.
Patch. But is it true, madam?
Sir G. But out of ear-shot.
Sir F. Well, well, I don't desire to hear
what you say; ha, ha, ha! in consideration I
am to have that purse and a hundred guineas.
Sir G. Take it. [Gives him the Purse]
And this agreement is to be performed to-day.
Mir. That's not absolutely necessary.
Sir F. Ay, ay; the sooner the better. Poor
Patch. I thought it was only the old strain, fool! how Miranda and I shall laugh at him!
coaxing him still for your own, and railing at [Aside]-Well, sir George, ha, ha, ha! take
all the young fellows about town: in my mind the last sound of your guineas, ha, ha, ha!
now you are as ill plagu'd with your guardian,
madam, as my lady is with her father.
[Chinks them. Exit.
Mir. [Peeping] Sure he does not know I
Mir. No, I have liberty, wench; that she am Miranda.
wants: what would she give now to be in Sir G. A very extraordinary bargain I have
this dishabille in the open air, nay, more, in made, truly; if she should be really in love
pursuit of the young fellow she likes? for with this old cuff now - Pshaw! that's morally
that's my case, I assure you.
impossible.-But then, what hopes have I to
Patch. As for that, madam, she's even with succeed? I never spoke to her-
you; for though she can't come abroad, we
have a way to bring him home in spite of
old Argus.
Mir. Now, Patch, your opinion of my
choice, for here he comes-Ha! my guardian
with him! what can be the meaning of this?
I'm sure sir Francis can't know me in this
dress. Let's observe 'em. [They withdraw.
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and SIR GEORGE
AIRY.
Mir. [Peeping] Say you so? then I am safe.
Sir G. What though my tongue never spoke,
my eyes said a thousand things, and my hopes
flattered me her's answer'd 'em. If I'm lucky
-if not, it is but a hundred guineas thrown
away.
[Mir. comes forward.
Mir. Upon what, sir George?
Sir G. Ha! my incognita-upon a woman,
madam.
Mir. They are the worst things you can
deal in, and damage the soonest; your very
breath destroys 'em, and I fear you'll never
see your return, sir George, ha, ha!
Sir F. Verily, sir George, thou wilt repent
throwing away thy money so, for I tell thee
sincerely, Miranda, my charge, does not like Sir G. Were they more brittle than china,
a young fellow; they are all vicious, and sel- and dropped to pieces with a touch, every

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
231
THE BUSY BODY.
atom of her I have ventur'd at, if she is but obey. [Turns his back] Come, madam, begin-
mistress of thy wit, balances ten times the
sum.-Pr'ythee, let me see thy face.
Mir. By no means; that may spoil your
opinion of my sense-
Sir G. Rather confirm it, madam.
Patch. So rob the lady of your gallantry, sir.
Sir G. No child, a dish of chocolate in the
morning never spoils my dinner: the other
lady I design for a set meal; so there's no
meal; so there's no
danger.-
Mir. First, then, it was my unhappy lot to
see you at Paris [Draws back a little way,
and speaks] at a ball upon a birth-day; your
shape and air charm'd my eyes, your wit and
complaisance my soul, and from that fatal
night I lov'd you.
[Drawing back.
And when you left the place grief seiz'd me so,
Nor rest my heart nor sleep my eyes could
know;
Last I resolv'd a hazardous point to try,
Mir. Matrimony! ha, ha, ha! what crimes And quit the place in search of liberty.
have you committed against the god of love,
[Exit, followed by Patch.
that he should revenge 'em so severely, as to Sir G. Excellent-I hope she's handsome-
stamp husband on your forehead?
Well now, madam, to the two other things,
Sir G. For my folly, in having so often your name, and where you live-I am a gentle-
met you here without pursuing the laws of man, and this confession will not be lost upon
nature and exercising her command -But I me-Nay, pr'ythee, don't weep, but go on,
resolve ere we part now to know who you for I find my heart melts in thy behalf-Speak
are, where you live, what kind of flesh and quickly, or I shall turn about-Not yet-Poor
blood your face is; therefore unmask, and lady! she expects I should comfort her, and
don't put me to the trouble of doing it for you. to do her justice, she has said enough to en-
Mir. My face is the same flesh and blood courage me. [Turns about] Ha! gone! the
with my hand, sir George; which if you'll be devil! jilted! Why, what a tale she has in-
so rude to provoke-
vented-of Paris, balls, and birth-days!-'Egad,
I'd give ten guineas to know who the gipsy
is-A curse of my folly-I deserve to lose her.
What woman can forgive a man that turns
Sir G. You'll apply it to my cheek-the la-
dies' favours are always welcome, but I must
have that cloud withdrawn. [Taking hold of
her] Remember you are in the Park, child; his back!
and what a terrible thing would it be to lose
this pretty white hand! 1)
Mir. And how will it sound in a chocolate-
house, that sir George Airy rudely pulled off
a lady's mask, when he had given her his ho-
nour that he never would, directly or indirectly,
endeavour to know her till she gave him leave?
Sir G. But if that lady thinks fit to pursue
The bold and resolute in love and war
To conquer take the right and swiftest way:
The boldest lover soonest gains the fair,
As courage makes the rudest force obey:
Take no denial, and the dames adore ye;
Closely pursue them, and they fall before ye.
ACT II.
[Exit.
and meet me at every turn, like some troubled SCENE I.-A Room in SIR FRANCIS GRIPE'S
spirit, shall I be blamed if I inquire into the
reality? I would have nothing dissatisfied in
a female shape.
Mir. What shall I do?
[Pauses.
Sir G. Ay, pr'ythee, consider, for thou shalt
find me very much at thy service.
Patch. Suppose, sir, the lady should be
love with you.
Sir G. Oh! I'll return the obligation in
moment.
Patch. And marry her?
House.
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MIRANDA.
Sir F. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Mir. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh! I shall die
with laughing-the most romantic adventure
in-Ha, ha, ha! VVhat does the odious young
fop mean? A hundred pieces to talk ten mi-
a nutes with me! ha, ha, ha, ha!
Sir G. Ha, ha, ha! that's not the way to
love her, child.
Sir F. And I am to be by too, there's the
jest; adad, 1) if it had been in private I should
not have car'd to trust the young dog.
Mir. Indeed and indeed but you might,
Gardy-Now methinks there's nobody hand-
somer than you: so neat, so clean, so good-
humoured, and so loving-
Mir. If he discovers me I shall die-Which
way shall I escape? - let me see. [Pauses.
Sir G. Well, madam-
Mir. I have it-Sir George, 'tis fit you should Sir F. Pretty rogue, pretty rogue! and so
allow something; if you'll excuse my face, and thou shalt find me, if thou dost prefer thy
turn your back (if you look upon me I shall Gardy before these caperers of the age: thou
sink, even masked as I am), I will confess why shalt outshine the queen's box on an opera
I have engaged you so often, who I am, and night; thou shalt be the envy of the ring 2)
where I live.
(for I will carry thee to Hyde-park), and thy
equipage shall surpass the-what d'ye call 'em
Sir G. Well, to show you I am a man of
honour, I accept the conditions: let me but ambassador's.
once know those, and the face won't be long
a secret to me.
Patch. What mean you, madam?
Mir. To get off.
Sir G. 'Tis something indecent to turn one's
back upon a
upon a lady; but you command, and I
1) Alluding to a law which condemns a person to lose his
hand, if he draw his sword in the park, it being within
the precincts of the court. Sir George could casily
stretch the meaning to using violence against any one.
Mir. Nay, I am sure the discreet part of
my sex will envy me more for the inside fur-
niture, when you are in it, than my outside
equipage.
Sir F. A cunning baggage, i'faith thou art,
and a wise one too! and to show thee that
1) For "egad," softened from "by God."
2) The ring in Hyde-park, where the fashionables sport
their fine carriages, horses, and liveries, in the spring;
something like the Longchamps in Paris.

232
THE BUSY BODY.
[ACT II.
thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment | Charles. If you please to intrust me with
disinherit my son, and settle my whole estate the management of my estate I shall endeav-
upon thee.
our it, sir.
Mir. There's an old rogue now. [Aside] Sir F. What, to set upon a card, and buy
No, Gardy, I would not have your name be a lady's favour at the price of a thousand pie-
so black in the world-You know my father's ces, to rig out an equipage for a wench, or
will runs that I am not to possess my estate, by your carelessness to enrich your steward,
without your consent, till I am five-and-twenty; to fine for sheriff, 1) or put up for a parlia-
you shall only abate the odd seven years, and ment man?
make me mistress of my estate to-day, and I'll Charles. I hope I should not spend it this
make you master of my person to-morrow. way: however I ask only for what my uncle
Sir F. Humph! that may not be safe No, left me; yours you may dispose of as you
Chargy, I'll settle it upon thee for pin-money, please, sir.
and that will be every bit as well, thou know'st. Sir F. That I shall, out of your reach, I
Mir. Unconscionable old wretch! bribe me assure you, sir. Adad, these young fellows
with my own money!-Which way shall I think old men get estates for nothing but them
get out of his hands?
[Aside. to squander away in dicing, wenching, drink-
Sir F. Well, what art thou thinking on, ing, dressing, and so forth.
my girl, ha? how to banter sir George?
Charles. I think I was born a gentleman,
Mir. I must not pretend to banter; he knows sir; I'm sure my uncle bred me like one.
my tongue too well. [Aside] No, Gardy, I Sir F. From which you would infer, sir,
have thought of a way will confound him more that gaming and wenching are requisites for
than all I could say, if I should talk to him a gentleman.
seven years.
Sir F. How's that? oh! I'm transported, I'm
ravish'd, I'm mad-
[Aside.
Charles. Monstrous! when I would ask him
only for a support he falls into these unman-
nerly reproaches. I must, though against my
Mir. It would make you mad if you knew will, employ invention, and by stratagem re-
all. [Aside] I'll not answer him a word, but lieve myself.
be dumb to all he says.
Sir F. Sirrah, what is it you mutter, sirrah,
Sir F. Dumb! good; ha, ha, ha! Excellent! ha? [Holds up his Cane] I say you shan't
ha, ha, ha, ha! I think I have you now, sir have a groat out of my hands till I please-
George. Dumb! he'll go distracted-well, she's and may be I'll never please; and what's that
the wittiest rogue.-Ha, ha, dumb! I can't but to you?
laugh, ha, ha! to think how damn'd mad he'll Charles. Nay, to be robb'd or have one's
be when he finds he has given his money throat cut is not much-
away for a dumb show! ha, ha, ha!
Mir. Nay, Gardy, if he did but know my
thoughts of him it would make him ten times
madder; ha, ha, ha, ha!
Sir F. Ay, so it would, Chargy, to hold
him in such derision, to scorn to answer him,
to be dumb; ha, ha, ha!
Enter CHARLES.
you
Sir F. How now, sirrah! who let in?
Charles. My necessities, sir.
Sir F. What's that, sirrah? would
you rob
me or cut my throat, you rogue?
Charles. Heaven forbid, sir!-I said no such
thing.
Sir F. Mercy on me! what a plague it is
to have a son of one-and-twenty, who wants
to elbow one out of one's life to edge himself
into the estate!
Enter MARPLOT.
Mar. 'Egad, he's here-I was afraid I had
Sir F. Your necessities are very impertinent, lost him: his secret could not be with his fa-
and ought to have sent before they enter'd.
Charles. Sir, I knew 'twas a word would
gain admittance no where.
Sir F. Then, sirrah, how durst you rudely
thrust that upon your father, which nobody
else would admit?
Charles. Sure the name of a son is a suf-
ficient plea. I ask this lady's pardon, if I have
intruded.
Sir F. Ay, ay, ask her pardon and her
blessing too, if you expect any thing from me.
Mir. I believe yours, sir Francis, in a purse
of guineas, would be more material. Your
son may have business with you; I'll retire.
Sir F. I guess his business, but I'll dispatch
him; I expect the knight every minute: you'll
be in readiness?
Mir. Certainly. My expectation is more
upon the wing than yours, old gentleman.
[Aside, and exit.
Sir F. Well, sir.
Charles. Nay, it is very ill, sir, my cir-
cumstances are, I'm sure.
Sir F. And what's that to me, sir? your
management should have made 'em better.
ther; his wants are public there. - Guardian,
your servant O Charles, are you there? I
know by that sorrowful countenance of thine,
the old man's fist is as close as his strong box
But I'll help thee.
[Aside.
Sir F. So here's another extravagant cox-
comb that will spend his fortune before he
comes to't, but he shall pay swinging interest, 2)
and so let the fool go on.-Well, what does
necessity bring you too, sir?
Mar. You have hit it, Guardian-I want a
hundred pounds.
Sir F. For what?
Mar. Pugh! for a hundred things; I can't
for my life tell you for what.
Charles. Sir, I suppose I have received all
the answer I am like to have?
Mar. Oh, the devil! if he gets out before
me I shall lose him again.
[Aside.
1) All good substantial citizens are subject to be chosen
as sheriff'; but by paying a sum of money as fine, they
are exempt from the fatigues of business, which would
be too great now a days, besides it is wery wulgur to,
have any sort of occupation.
2) Swinging sometimes means, great.

SCENE 1.1
233
THE BUSY BODY.
Sir F. Ay, sir, and you may be marching mind, or would you capitulate? ha, ha, ha!
as soon as you please-I must see a change Look, here are the guineas; [Chinks them]
in your temper, ere you find one in mine. ha, ha, ha!
Mar. Pray, sir, dispatch me; the money, Sir G. Not if they were twice the sum, sir
sir; I'm in mighty haste.
Francis; therefore be brief, call in the lady,
and take your post.
Sir F. Fool, take this and go to the cashier.
I shan't be long plagu'd with thee.
Sir F. Agreed. Miranda!
[Exit.
[Gives him a Note. Sir G. If she's a woman, and not seduc'd
Mar. Devil take the cashier! I shall cer- by witchcraft, to this old rogue, I'll make his
tainly have Charles gone before I come back. heart ache; for if she has but one grain of
[Exit, running. inclination about her, I'll vary a thousand
Charles. Well, sir, I take my leave-but shapes but find it.
remember you expose an only son to all the
miseries of wretched poverty, which too often Re-enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MIRANDA.
lays the plan for scenes of mischief.
Sir G. So from the eastern chambers breaks
Sir F. Stay, Charles! I have a sudden the sun, dispels the clouds, and gilds the vales
thought come into my head, which may prove below.
to thy advantage.
Charles. Ha! does he relent?
Sir F. My lady Wrinkle, worth forty thou-
[Salutes her.
Sir F. Hold, sir; kissing was not in our
agreement.
Sir G. Oh! that's by way of prologue. Pr'y-
sand pounds, sets up for a handsome young thee, old mammon, to thy post.
husband; she prais'd thee t'other day; though Sir F. [Takes out his Watch] Well,
the match-makers can get twenty guineas for young Timon, 'tis now four exactly; ten mi-
a sight of her, I can introduce thee for nothing. nutes, remember, is your utmost limit; not a
Charles. My lady Wrinkle, sir! why, she minute more.
has but one eye.
[vagance, sir.
[Retires to the Bottom of the Stage.
Sir F. Then she'll see but half your extra- Sir G. Madam, whether you'll excuse or
Charles. Condemn me to such a piece of blame my love, the author of this rash pro-
deformity! a toothless, dirty, wry-neck'd. ceeding depends upon your pleasure, as also
hunch-back'd hag!
the life of your admirer; your sparkling eyes
Sir F. Hunch-back'd! so much the better! speak a heart susceptible of love, your vivacity
then she has a rest for her misfortunes, for a soul too delicate to admit the embraces of
thou wilt load her swingingly. Now, I war- decayed mortality. Shake off this tyrant guar-
rant, you think this is no offer of a father; dian's yoke; assume yourself, and dash his
forty thousand pounds is nothing with you. bold, aspiring hopes. The deity of his desires
Charles. Yes, sir, I think it is too much; a is avarice, a heretic in love, and ought to be
young beautiful woman with half the money banished by the queen of beauty. See, madam,
would be more agreeable.-I thank you, sir; a faithful servant kneels, and begs to be ad-
but you choose better for yourself, I find.
your slaves.
Sir F. Out of my doors, you dog! you
pretend to meddle with my marriage, sirrah!
Charles. Sir, I obey you, but-
Sir F. But me no buts-be gone, sir! dare
to ask me for money again-refuse forty
thousand pounds! Out of my doors, I say,
without reply.
[Exit Charles.
Enter MARPLOT, running.
Mar. Ha! gone! is Charles gone, Gardy?
Sir F. Yes, and I desire your wise worship
to walk after him.
after him.
mitted in the number of
[Miranda gives him her Hand to raise him.
Sir F. [Running up] Hold, hold, hold! no
palming; that's contrary to articles-
Sir G. 'Sdeath, sir, keep your distance, or
I'll write another article in your guts.
[Lays his Hand to his Sword.
Sir F. [Going back] A bloody-minded
fellow!
Sir G. Not answer me! perhaps she thinks
my address too grave: I'll be more free. [Aside]
Can you be so unconscionable, madam, to let
me say all these fine things to you without
one single compliment in return?
Mar. Nay, 'egad I shall run, I tell you that.
A pox of the cashier for detaining me so long! Sir F. [Running up with his Watch in
Where the devil shall I find him now? I shall his Hand] There's five of the ten minutes
certainly lose this secret, and I had rather by gone, sir George-Adad, I don't like those
half lose my money-Where shall I find him close conferences-
now-D'ye know where Charles is gone, Gardy? Sir G. More interruptions-you will have
Sir F. Gone to the devil, and you may go it, sir! [Lays his Hand to his Sword.
Sir F. [Going back] No, no; you shan't
Mar. Ay, that I will as fast as I can. [Going, have her neither.
[Aside.
returns] Have you any commands there, Gardy? Sir G. Dumb still-sure this old dog has
[Exit. enjoin'd her silence. I'll try another way.
[Aside] Madam, these few minutes cost me
an hundred pounds-and would you answer
me, I could purchase the whole day so. How-
Sero. Sir George Airy inquires for you, sir. ever, madam, you must give me leave to
Sir F. Desire sir George to walk up.- make the best interpretation I can for my
[Exit Servant]-Now for a trial of skill that money, and take the indication of your silence
will make me happy and him a fool. Ha, ha, for the secret liking of my person; therefore,
ha! In my mind he looks like an ass already. madam, I will instruct you how to keep your
Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY.
word inviolate to sir Francis, and yet answer
Well, sir George, do you hold in the same me to every question: as for example, when
Sir F. What, is the fellow distracted?
Enter Servant.
30

234
[ACT II.
THE BUSY BODY.
I ask any thing to which you would reply in presently; ha, ha, ha, ha! [Exit Miranda.
the affirmative, gently nod your head thus, Sir G. Adsheart, madam, you won't leave
Nods] and when in the negative, thus, me just in the nick, 1) will you?
[Shakes his Head] and in the doubtful, a Sir F. Ha, ha, ha! she has nick'd you, sir
tender sigh thus.
[Sighs. George, I think! ha, ha, ha! Have you any
Mir. How every action charms me-but I'll more hundred pounds to throw away upon
fit him for signs, I warrant him. [Aside. courtship? ha, ha, ha!
Sir G. Was it by his desire that you are Sir G. He, he, he, he! A curse of your
dumb, madam, to all I can say? [Miranda fleering jests!-Yet, however ill I succeeded,
nods] Very well, she's tractable, I find? [Aside] I'll venture the same wager she does not value
And is it possible that you can love him? thee a spoonful of snuff-nay more, though
[Miranda nods] Miraculous! Pardon the you enjoin'd her silence to me, you'll never
bluntness of my questions, for my time is short. make her speak to the purpose with yourself.
May I not hope to supplant him in your es- Sir F. Ha, ha, ha! Did I not tell thee thou
teem? [Miranda sighs] Good! she answers wouldst repent thy money? Did I not say she
me as I could wish. [Aside] You'll not con- hated young fellows? ha, ha, ha!
sent to marry him then? [Miranda sighs] Sir G. And I'm positive she's not in love
How! doubtful in that?-Undone again-with age.
humph! but that may proceed from his power Sir F. Ha, ha, ha! no matter for that, ha,
to keep her out of her estate 'till twenty-five: ha! She's not taken with your youth, nor your
I'll try that. [Aside] Come, madam, I cannot rhetoric to boot; ha, ha!
think you hesitate in this affair out of any Sir G. Whate'er her reasons are for dis-
motive but your fortune-let him keep it till liking of me, I am certain she can be taken
those few years are expired; make me happy with nothing about thee.
with your person, let him enjoy your wealth. Sir F. Ha, ha, ha! how he swells with envy
[Miranda holds up her Hands] Why, what-Poor man! poor man! ha, ha, ha! I must
sign is that now? Nay, nay, madam, except beg your pardon, sir George; Miranda will
you observe my lesson I can't understand your be impatient to have her share of mirth. Ve-
meaning.
rily we shall laugh at thee most egregiously;
Sir F. What a vengeance! are they talking ha, ha, ha!
by signs? 'Ad, I may be fool'd here. [Aside] Sir G. With all my heart, faith-I shall
What do you mean, sir George?
laugh in my turn too-for if you dare marry
her, old Belzebub, you will be cuckolded most
egregiously; remember that, and tremble.
Sir G. To cut your throat, if you dare
mutter another syllable.
Sir F. 'Od, I wish he were fairly out of
my house.
[Exeunt.
[Aside. SCENE II.-SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK'S House.
Sir G. Pray, madam, will you answer me
to the purpose? [Miranda shakes her Head, Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, ISABINDA, and
and points to Sir Francis] What does she
PATCH, following.
mean? She won't answer me to the purpose, Sir J. What, in the balcony again, not-
or is she afraid yon' old cuff should under-withstanding my positive commands to the
stand her signs?-ay, it must be that. [Aside] contrary?-Why don't you write a bill on
I perceive, madam, you are too apprehensive your forehead to show passengers there's some-
of the promise you have made to follow my thing to be let?
rules, therefore I'll suppose your mind, and Isa. What harm can there be in a little
answer for you. - First for myself, madam; fresh air, sir?
"that I am in love with you is an infallible Sir J. Is your constitution so hot, mistress,
truth." Now for you. [Turns on her Side] that it wants cooling, ha? Apply the virtuous
"Indeed, sir! and may I believe it?"-"As Spanish rules; banish your taste and thoughts
certainly, madam, as that 'tis daylight, or that of flesh, feed upon roots, and quench your
I die if you persist in silence."-"Bless me thirst with water.
with the music of your voice, and raise my Isa. That, and a close room, would cer-
spirits to their proper heaven. Thus low let tainly make me die of the vapours.
me entreat ere I'm obliged to quit this place; Sir J. No, mistress, 'tis your high-fed, lusty,
grant me some token of a favourable recep- rambling, rampant ladies-that are troubled
tion to keep my hopes alive." [Arises hastily, with the vapours: 'tis your ratafia, persico,
and turns on her Side] "Rise, sir, and since cinnamon, citron, and spirit of clara, cause
my guardian's presence will not allow me pri- such swimming in the brain, that carries many
vilege of tongue, read that, and rest assur'd a guinea full tide to the doctor: but you are
you are not indifferent to me." [Offers her not to be bred this way: no galloping abroad,
a Letter, she strikes it down] Ha, right wo-no receiving visits at home, for in our loose
man! but no matter; I'll go on.
country the women are as dangerous as the
Sir F. Ha! what's that? a letter! - Ha, ha, men.
ha! thou art balk'd.
Patch. So I told her, sir, and that it was
Sir G. Ha! a letter! oh! let me kiss it with not decent to be seen in a balcony-but she
the same raptures that I would do the dear threatened to slap my chops, and told me I
hand that touch'd it. [Opens it] Now for a was her servant, not her governess.
quick fancy, and a long extempore.
Sir J. Did she so? but I'll make her to
Sir F. [Coming up hastily] The time is know that you are her duenna. Oh, that in-
expired, sir, and you must take your leave. comparable custom of Spain! Why, here's no
There, my girl, there's the hundred pounds depending upon old women in my country
which thou hast won. Go; I'll be with you! 1) The critical moment.

SCENE 3.4.]
235
THE BUSY BODY.
for they are as wanton at eighty as a girl sage for any body there?-O'my conscience
of eighteen; and a man may as safely trust to this is some he baw'd-
Asgil's translation, as to his great grandmo-
ther's not marrying again.
Isa. Or to the Spanish ladies' veils and
duennas for the safeguard of their honour.
Whis. Letter or message, sir?
Sir J. Ay, letter or message, sir?
Whis. No, not I, sir.
Sir J. Sirrah, sirrah! I'll have you set in
the stocks ¹) if you don't tell your business
Sir J. Dare to ridicule the cautious conduct
of that wise nation, and I'll have you lock'd immediately.
up this fortnight, without a peep-hole.
Sir J. Sirrah, don't trifle with me.
Whis. Nay, sir, my business-is no great
Isa. If we had but the ghostly helps in En-matter of business neither, and yet 'tis busi-
gland which they have in Spain, I might de-ness of consequence too.
ceive you if you did--Let me tell you, sir,
confinement sharpens the invention, as want
of sight strengthens the other senses, and is
often more pernicious than the recreation that
innocent liberty allows.
Whis. Trifle, sir! have you found him, sir?
Sir J. Found what, you rascal?
Whis. Why, Trifle is the very lapdog my
lady lost, sir; I fancied I saw him run into
this house. I'm glad you have him-Sir, my
lady will be overjoy'd that I have found him.
Sir J. Who is your lady, friend?
Whis. My lady Lovepuppy, sir.
Sir J. Say you so, mistress! who the devil
taught you the art of reasoning? I assure you
they must have a greater faith than I pretend
to, that can think any woman innocent who
requires liberty; therefore, Patch, to your Sir J. My lady Lovepuppy, sir! then pr'y-
charge I give her; lock her up till I come thee carry thyself to her, for I know of no
back from 'Change. I shall have some saun- other whelp that belongs to her; and let me
tering coxcomb, with nothing but a red coat catch you no more puppy-hunting about my
and a feather, think by leaping into her arms doors, lest I have you press'd into the service,
to leap into my estate - but I'll prevent them; sirrah.
she shall be only signior Babinetto's.
Whis. By no means, sir-Your humble
Patch. Really, sir, I wish you would employ servant.-I must watch whether he goes or no
any body else in this affair; I lead a life like before I can tell my master.
aware of.
think on me, I
[Aside. Exit.
a dog in obeying your commands. Come, Sir J. This fellow has the officious leer of
madam, will you be locked up?
a pimp, and I half suspect a design; but I'll
Isa. Ay, to enjoy more freedom than he is be upon them before they
[Aside. Exit with Patch. warrant 'em.
Sir J. I believe this wench is very true to
my interest: I am happy I met with her, if I
can but keep my daughter from being blown
upon till signior Babinetto arrives, who shall
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-CHARLES's Lodgings.
Enter CHARLES and MARPLOT.
Charles. Honest Marplot, I thank thee for
marry her as soon as he comes, and carry this supply. I expect my lawyer with a thou-
her to Spain as soon as he has married her. sand pounds I have ordered him to take up,
She has a pregnant wit, and I'd no more have and then you shall be repaid.
her an English wife than the grand signior's Mar. Pho, pho! no more of that. Here
[Exit. comes sir George Airy,
mistress.
SCENE III.-Outside of SIR JEALOUS TRAF-
FICK'S House.
Enter WHISPER.
Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY.
cursedly out of humour at his disappointment.
See how he looks! ha, ha, ha!
Sir G. Ah, Charles! I am so humbled in
Whis. So, there goes sir Jealous: where my pretensions to plots upon women, that I
shail I find Mrs. Patch, now?
Enter PATCH.
Patch. Oh, Mr. Whisper! my lady saw
you out of the window, and order'd me to
bid you fly and let your master know she's
now alone.
Whis. Hush! speak softly! I go, I go! But
harkye, Mrs. Patch, shall not you and I have
a little confabulation, when my master and
your lady are engag'd?
Patch. Ay, ay; farewell.
[Goes in and shuts the Door. Whisper
peeps after her through the Key-hole.
Re-enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, meeting
WHISPER.
Sir J. Sure, whilst I was talking with Mr.
Tradewell, I heard my door clap. [Seeing
Whisper] Ha! a man lurking about my house!
Who do you want there, sir?
Whis. Want-want-a pox! Sir Jealous!
What must I say now?
believe I shall never have courage enough to
attempt a chambermaid again-I'll tell thee-
Charles. Ha, ha! I'll spare you the relation
by telling you-Impatient to know your bu-
siness with my father, when I saw you enter
I slipp'd back into the next room, where I
overheard every syllable.
Mar. Did you, Charles? I wish I had been
with you.
Sir G. That I said-but I'll be hang'd if
you heard her answer-But pr'ythee tell me,
Charles, is she a fool?
Charles. I never suspected her for one; but
Marplot can inform you better, if you'll allow
him a judge.
Mar. A fool! I'll justify she has more wit
than all the rest of her sex put together. Why,
she'll rally me till I han't a word to say for
myself.
1) The stocks are now the punishment of the poor coun-
try-fellows for getting tipsey, swearing etc, towns and
cities are too refined for these things, and now the
It would
seem as if these inventions came from China, if we
are to believe Goldsmith's geography.
tread-mill generally employs the wicked.
[Aside.
Sir J. Ay, want! Have you a letter or mes-

236
[ACT III.
THE BUSY BODY.
Charles. A mighty proof of her wit, truly-here? Except I find out that, I am as far from
Mar. There must be some trick in't, sir knowing his business as ever. 'Gad, I'll watch;
George; 'egad, I'll find it out, if it cost me it may be a bawdy-house, and he may have
the sum you paid for't.
his throat cut. If there should be any mischief,
I can make oath he went in. Well, Charles,
Sir G. Do, and command me-
Mar. Enough: let me alone to trace a secret-in spite of your endeavours to keep me out
of the secret, I may save your life for aught
Master.
Enter WHISPER, and speaks aside to his I know. At that corner I'll plant myself;
there I shall see whoever goes in or comes
The devil! he here again! damn that fellow, out. 'Gad, I love discoveries.
[Exit.
he never speaks out. Is this the same, or a
new secret? [Aside] You may speak out, SCENE II.-4 Chamber in the House of SIR
here are none but friends.
JEALOUS TRAFFICK.
Charles. Pardon me, Marplot, 'tis a secret.
Mar. A secret! ay, or ecod¹) I would not
give a farthing for it. Sir George, won't you
ask Charles what news Whisper brings?
Sir G. Not I, sir; I suppose it does not
relate to me.
Mar. Lord, Lord! how little curiosity some
people have! Now my chief pleasure is in
knowing every body's business.
Sir G. I fancy, Charles, thou hast some
engagement upon thy hands?
Mar. Have you, Charles?
Sir G. I have a little business too.
Mar. Have you, sir George?
CHARLES, ISABINDA, and PATCH discovered.
Isa. Patch, look out sharp; have a care of
dad 1).
Patch. I warrant you.
Isa. Well, sir, if I may judge your love
by your courage, I ought to believe you sin-
cere; for you venture into the lion's den when
you come to see me.
Charles. If you'll' consent whilst the furious
beast is abroad, I'd free you from the reach
of his paws.
Isa. That would be but to avoid one danger
by running into another, like poor wretches
Sir G. Marplot, if it falls in your way to who fly the burning ship, and meet their fate
bring me any intelligence from Miranda, you'll in the water. Come, come, Charles, I fear, if
find me at the Thatch'd-house at six-
Mar. You do me much honour.
Charles. You guess right, sir George;
me success.
I consult my reason, confinement and plenty
is better than liberty and starving. I know
wish you would make the frolic pleasing for a little
time, by saying and doing a world of tender
things; but when our small substance is ex-
hausted, and a thousand requisites for life are
wanting, love, who rarely dwells with poverty,
would also fail us.
Sir G. Better than attended me. Adieu. [Exit.
Charles. Marplot, you must excuse me-
Mar. Nay, nay; what need of any excuse
amongst friends? I'll
go with
you.
Charles. Indeed you must not..
Mar. No! then I suppose 'tis a duel; and I
will go to secure you,
Charles. Well, but 'tis no duel, consequently
no danger; therefore pr'ythee be answer'd.
my
Charles. 'Faith, I fancy not; methinks
heart has laid up a stock will last for life, to
back which I have taken a thousand pounds
upon my uncle's estate; that surely will sup-
port us till one of our fathers relent.
Mar, What, is't a mistress then?-Mum- Isa. There's no trusting to that, my friend;
you know I can be silent upon occasion. I doubt your father will carry his humour to
Charles. I wish you could be civil too: I the grave, and mine till he sees me settled in Spain.
tell you, you neither must nor shall go with Charles. And can you then cruelly resolve
me. Farewell.
you.
[Exit. to stay till that curs'd don arrives, and suffer
Mar. Why then-I must and will follow that youth, beauty, fire, and wit to be sacri-
[Exit. fic'd to the arms of a dull Spaniard, to be
immured, and forbid the sight of any thing
that's human?
ACT III.
SCENE I-A Street.
Enter CHARLES.
Isa. No; when it comes to that extremity,
and no stratagem can relieve us, thou shalt
list for a soldier, and I'll carry thy knapsack
after thee.
Charles. Well, here's the house which holds
the lovely prize, quiet and serene: here no
noisy footmen throng to tell the world that Charles. Bravely resolv'd! the world cannot
beauty dwells within, no ceremonious visit be more savage than our parents, and fortune
makes the lover wait, no rival to give my generally assists the bold, therefore consent
heart a pang.
Who would not scale the now: why should she put it to a future ha-
window at midnight without fear of the jea-zard? who knows when we shall have another
lous father's pistol, rather than fill up the train opportunity?
of a coquette, where every minute he is jostled
out of place? [Knocks softly] Mrs. Patch!
Mrs. Patch!
Enter PATCH,
Patch. Oh, are you come, sir? All's safe.
Charles. So in, in then. [They go in.
Enter MARPLOT.
Mar. There he goes! Who the devil lives
1) Ecod for "by God."
Isa. Oh, you have your ladder of ropes, I
suppose, and the closet window stands just
where it did; and if you han't forgot to write
in characters, Patch will find a,way for our
assignations. Thus much of the Spanish con-
trivance my father's severity has taught me; I
thank him: though I hate the nation, 1 ad-
I
mire their management in these affairs.
1) Dad for father, as pronounced by children learning to
speak.

SCENE 3.]
237
-THE BUSY BODY.
Enter PATCH.
Patch. Oh, madam! I see my master coming
up the street.
Charles. Oh, the devil! 'would I had my
ladder now! I thought you had not expected
him till night. Why, why, why, why, what
shall I do, madam?
der! murder!-[Charles drops down upon
him from the Balcony] Charles! faith, I'm
glad to see thee safe out, with all my heart!
Charles. A pox of your bawling! how the
devil came you here?
Mar. 'Egad, it's very well for you that I
was here; I have done you a piece of service:
Isa. Oh! for heaven's sake, don't go that I told the old thunderbolt that the gentleman
way; you'll meet him full in the teeth. that was gone in was-
unlucky moment!
Oh,
Charles. 'Adsheart! can you shut me into
no cupboard, nor ram me into a chest, ha?
Patch. Impossible, sir; he searches every
hole in the house.
Charles. Was it you that told him, sir?
[Laying hold of him] 'Sdeath! I could crush
thee into atoms.
[Exit.
Mar. What! will you choke me for my
kindness?-Will my inquiring soul never leave
Isa. Undone for ever! If he sees you I searching into other people's affairs till it gets
shall never see you more.
squeez'd out of my body? I dare not follow
Patch. I have thought on it; run you to him now for my blood, he's in such a pas-
your chamber, madam; and, sir, come you sion.-I'll go to Miranda; if I can discover
along with me; I'm certain you may easily aught that may oblige sir George, it may be
get down from the balcony.
a means to reconcile me again to Charles.
Charles. My life! adieu-Lead on, guide, Sir J. [Within] Look about! search, find
[Exeunt Patch and Charles. him out!
Isa. Heavens preserve him.
SCENE III.-The Street.
[Exit.
Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, followed by
MARPLOT.
Sir J. I don't know what's the matter, but
I have a strong suspicion all is not right within;
Mar. Oh, the devil! there's old Crabstick
again.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-A Hall in the House of SIR
JEALOUS TRAFFICK.
Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK and his Ser-
vants.
Serv. Yes, from the top of the house to the
that fellow's sauntering about, my door, and Sir J. Are you sure you have search'd every
his tale of a puppy, had the face of a lie, where?
methought. By St. Jago, If I should find a
man in the house I'd make mince-meat of him-bottom.
Mar. Mince-meat! Ah, poor Charles! how
I sweat for thee! 'Egad, he's old-I fancy I
might bully him, and make Charles have an
opinion of my courage. 'Egad, I'll pluck up,
and have a touch with him.
Sir J. My own key shall let me in; I'll give
them no warning. [Feeling for his Key.
Mar. What's that you say, sir?
[Going up to Sir Jealous.
Sir. J. What's that to you, sir?
[Turns quick upon him.
Mar. Yes, 'tis to me, sir; for the gentleman
you threaten is a very honest gentleman. Look
to't; for if he comes not as safe out of your house
as he went in-
Sir J. Under the beds and over the beds?
Serv. Yes, and in them too, but found no-
body, sir.
Sir J. Why, what could this rogue mean?
Enter ISABINDA and PATCH.
Patch. Take courage, madam; I saw him
safe out.
[Aside to Isabinda.
Isa. Bless me! what's the matter, sir?
Sir J. You know best-Pray where's the
man that was here just now?
Isa. What man, sir? I saw none.
Patch. Nor I, by the trust you repose in
me. Do you think I would let a man come
within these doors when you are absent?
Sir J. What, is he in then?
Sir J. Ah, Patch! she may be too cunning
Mar. Yes, sir, he is in then; and I say if for thy honesty: the very scout that he had
he does not come out, I have half a dozen set to give warning discovered it to me--and
myrmidons hard by shall beat your house about threatened me with half a dozen myrmidons
-but I think I maul'd the villain. These af-
flictions you draw upon me, mistress.
your ears.
Sir J. Ah! a combination to undo me-I'll
myrmidon you, ye dog, you-Thieves! thieves!
[Beats Marplot.
Mar. Murder, murder! I was not in your
house, sir.
Enter Servant.
Serv. What's the matter, sir?
Sir J. The matter, rascal! you have let a
man into my house, but I'll flay him alive.
Follow me; I'll not leave a mouse-hole un-
search'd. If I find him, by St. Iago, I'll equip
him for the opera 1).
Mar. A deuce of his cane! there's no trust-
ing to age-What shall I do to relieve Charles?
'egad, I'll raise the neighbourhood. - Mur-
1) By giving a man a good dressing is meant, a good
beating; and its being necessary to be full dressed to
go to the opera in London, the pun explains itself.
Isa. Pardon me, sir, 'tis your own ridicu-
lous humour draws you into these vexations,
and gives every fool pretence to banter you.
Sir J. No, 'tis your idle conduct, your co-
quettish flirting into the balcony -Oh! with
what joy shall I resign thee into the arms of
don Diego Babinetto!
Isa. And with what industry shall I avoid
him.
[Aside.
Sir J. Certainly that rogue had a message
from somebody or other, but being balk'd by
my coming popp'd that sham ¹) upon me.
1) This is one of those elegunt expressions which comes
under the denomination of slang, or flash; the language
of the fashionables in London, the gentlemen boxers,
pick-pockets, and murderers, as also of the lowest vul-
gar. This language is rendered immortal by Mr. Egan
in his "Life in London," and description of fights in
the Observer news-paper. This slang has been so much

238
[ACT III.
THE BUSY BODY.
Come along, ye sots, let's see if we can find Mir. Ay, and a parson too, if you please.
the dog again. Patch, lock her up, d'ye hear? Ha, ha, ha! I can't help laughing to think how
[Exeunt Sir Jealous and Servants. all the young coxcombs about town will be
Patch. Yes, sir-Ay, walk till your heels mortified when they hear of our marriage.
ache, you'll find nobody, I promise you. Sir F. So they will, so they will! ha, ha, ha!
Mir. Well, I fancy I shall be so happy with
my Gardy-
Isa. Who could that scout be he talks of?
Patch. Nay, I can't imagine, without it was
Whisper.
Sir F. If wearing pearls and jewels, or eat-
Isa. Well, dear Patch! let's employ all our ing gold, as the old saying is, can make thee
thoughts how to escape this horrid don Diego; happy, thou shalt be so, my sweetest, my love-
my very heart sinks at his terrible name. ly, my charming, my-verily I know not what
Patch. Fear not, madam; don Carlo shall to call thee.
be the man, or I'll lose the reputation of con- Mir. You must know, Gardy, that I am so
triving; and then what's a chambermaid good eager to have this business concluded, that I have
for?
[Exeunt. employed my woman's brother, who is a lawyer
in the Temple, to settle matters just to your
liking; you are to give your consent to my
marriage, which is to yourself you know: but,
mum, you must take no notice of that. So
then I will, that is, with your leave,. put my
writings into his hands; then to-morrow we
come slap 1) upon them with a wedding that
nobody thought on, by which you seize me
and my estate, and I suppose make a bonfire
of your own act and deed.
SCENE V. SIR FRANCIS GRIPE'S House.
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MIRANDA.
Mir. Well, Gardy, how did I perform the
dumb scene.
Sir. F. To admiration - Thou dear little
rogue! let me buss thee for it: nay, adad I will,
Chargy, so muzzle, and tuzzle, and hug thee;
I will, i'faith, I will.
[Hugging and kissing her.
Mir. Nay, Gardy, don't be so lavish, Who
would ride post when the journey lasts for life?
Sir F. Oh, I'm transported! When, when,
my dear! wilt thou convince the world of the
happy day? when shall we marry, ha?
Mir. There's nothing wanting but your con-
sent, sir Francis.
Sir F. My consent! what does my charmer
mean?
Mir. Nay, 'tis only a whim; but I'll have
every thing according to form-therefore when
you sign an authentic paper, drawn up by an
able lawyer, that I have your leave to marry,
the next day makes me yours, Gardy.
Sir F. Ha, ha, ha! a whim indeed! why, is
it not demonstration I give my leave when I
marry thee?
Mir. Not for your reputation, Gardy; the
malicious world will be apt to say you trick
me into marriage, and so take the merit from
my choice: now I will have the act my own,
to let the idle fops see how much I perfer a
man loaded with years and wisdom.
Sir F. Humph! Pr'ythee leave out years,
Chargy! I'm not so old, as thou shalt find.
Adad, I'm young: there's a caper for ye! [Jumps.
Mir. Oh, never excuse it; why I like you
the better for being old-but I shall suspect
you don't love me if you refuse me this for-
mality.
Sir F. Nay but, Chargy, if-
Mir. Nay, Gardy, no ifs.--Have I refus'd
three northern lords, two British peers, and
half a score knights, to have put in your ifs?
Sir F. So thou hast indeed, and I will trust
to thy management. 'Od, I'm all of a fire.
Mir. 'Tis a wonder the dry stubble does
not blaze.
[Aside.
Enter MARPLOT.
Sir F. How now, who sent for you, sir?
What is the hundred pounds gone already?
Mar. No, sir; I don't want money now, Gardy,
Sir F. No, that's a miracle! but there's one
thing you want, I'm sure.
Mar. Ay, what's that?
Sir F. Manners! What, had I no servants
without?
Mar. None that could do my business, guar-
dian, which is at present with this lady.
Mir. With me, Mr. Marplot? what is it, I
beseech you?
Sir F. Ay, sir, what is it? any thing that
relates to her, may be delivered to me.
Mar. I deny that.
Mir. That's more than I do, sir.
Mar. Indeed, madam! Why then to pro-
ceed: Fame says, you know best whether she
tells truth or not, that you and my most con-
scionable guardian here design'd, contriv'd,
plotted, and agreed to chouse a very civil,
honest, honourable gentleman out of a hundred
pounds: guilty or not?
Sir F. Not love thee, Chargy! Adad, I do
love thee better than, than, than, better than
-what shall I say? 'egad, better than money; Mir. That I contriv'd it!
'faith I do-
Mir. That's false, I'm sure. [Aside] To prove
it do this then.
Sir F. Well, I will do it, Chargy, provided
I bring a licence at the same time.
derstand the conversation of gentlemen without some
Mar. Ay, you-you said never a word
against it; so far you are guilty.
Sir F. Pray tell that civil, honest, honour-
able gentleman, that if he has any more such
sums to fool away, they shall be received like
the last; ha, ha, ha! Chous'd, quotha! But,
used of late in London, that it is very difficult to un-harkye, let him know at the same time, that
knowledge of it; and thus the country gentleman is if he dare to report I trick'd him of it, I shall
often at a loss in London. Mixed with a number of recommend a lawyer to him, who shall show
expressions the most vile and abominable that ever could him a trick for twice as much 2). D'ye hear?
be used, there are some highly poetical ones. The lan-
guage itself is famous for Onomatopoeia, such as, flimsy
for a bank-note; and it is derived from all the know'n
languages in the world, enriched with sea-terms, and
expressions from Botany-bay, etc. To pop a sham,
means, to deceive by false pretences
tell him that.
1) Slang; to come slap upon a person, means suddenly.
2) Siang; to show a trick for twice as much, or a trick
worth two, which is the most general expression, means,
to be an over-match for a person.

SCENE 5. 6.]
239
THE BUSY BODY.
Mar. So, and this is the way you use a eight, as he us'd to do, he shall be saluted
gentleman, and my friend!
Mir. Is the wretch thy friend?
Mar. The wretch! lookye, madam, don't
call names; 'egad, I won't take it.
Mir. Why, you won't beat me, will you?
Ha, ha!
with a pistol or a blunderbuss.
Sir F. Oh, monstrous! Why, Chargy, did
he use to come to the garden-gate?
Mir. The gardener describ'd just such an-
other man that always watch'd his coming out,
and fain would have brib'd him for his en-
trance-Tell him he shall find a warm reception
Mar. I don't know whether I will or no.
Sir F. Sir, I shall make a servant show you if he comes this night.
out at the window if you are saucy.
Mar. Pistols and blunderbusses!
'Egad, a
Mar. I am your most humble servant, guar-warm reception indeed! I shall take care to
dian; I design to go out the same way I came inform him of your kindness, and advise him
in. I would only ask this lady one question. to keep further off.
Don't you think he's a fine gentleman?
Sir F. Who's a fine gentleman?
Mar. Not you, Gardy, not you! Don't you
think, in your soul, that sir George Airy is a
very fine gentleman?
Mir. He dresses well.
Mir. I hope he will understand my meaning
better than to follow your advice. [Aside.
Sir F. Thou hast sign'd, seal'd and ta en pos-
session of my heart for ever, Chargy, ha, ha,
ha! and for you, Mr. Saucebox, let me have
no more of your messages, if ever you design
Sir F. Which is chiefly owing to his tailor to inherit your estate, gentleman.
and valet de chambre.
Mar. Why, there 'tis now. Sure I shall
Mar. Well! and who is your dress owing be out of your clutches one day-Well, guar-
to, ha? There's a beau, ma'am-do but look dian, I say no more: but if you be not as ar-
at him!
rant a cuckold as e'er drove bargain upon the
Exchange, or paid attendance to a court, I am
the son of a whetstone; and so your humble
Mir. Mr. Marplot, don't forget the message:
ha, ha, ha!
Sir F. Sirrah!
Mir. And if being a beau be a proof of his
being a fine gentleman, he may be so.
servant.
Mar. He may be so! Why, ma'am, the ju-
dicious part of the world allow him wit, cou-ha,
rage, gallantry, ay, and economy too, though
I think he forfeited that character when he
flung away a hundred pounds upon your
dumb ladyship.
Mar. Nang, nang, nang!
[Exit.
Sir F. I am so provok'd-'tis well he's gone.
Mir. Oh, mind him not, Gardy, but let's
sign articles, and then-
Sir F. Does that gall him? Ha, ha, ha! Sir F. And then-Adad, I believe I am me-
Mir. So, sir George, remaining in deep dis- tamorphos'd, my pulse beats high, and my blood
content, has sent you, his trusty squire, to ut-boils, methinks [Kissing and hugging her.
ter his complaint. Ha, ha, ha!
Mir. Oh, fie, Gardy! be not so violent: con-
Mar. Yes, madam! and you, like a cruel sider the market lasts all the year.-Well, I'll
hard-hearted Jew, value it no more-than I in, and see if the lawyer be come: you'll follow.
would your ladyship, were I sir George; you
you, you-
[Exit.
Sir F. Ay, to the world's end, my dear!
Mir. Oh, don't call names: I know you love Well, Frank, thou art a lucky fellow in thy
to be employed, and I'll oblige you, and you old age to have such a delicate morsel, and
shall carry him a message from me.
thirty thousand pounds, in love with thee. I
Mar. According as I like it. What is it? shall be the envy of bachelors, the glory of
Mir. Nay, a kind one, you may be sure-married men, and the wonder of the town.
First, tell him I have chose this gentleman, Some guardians would be glad to compound
to have and to hold ¹) and so forth.
for part of the estate at dispatching an heiress,
but I engross the whole. O! mihi praeteritos
referet si Jupiter annos.
SIR
[Exit.
SCENE VI.-A Tavern.
GEORGE AIRY and CHARLES discovered,
with Wine, Pens, Ink, and Paper on
the Table. WHISPER waiting.
Sir G. Nay, pr'ythee, don't be grave, Charles:
[Taking the Hand of Sir F.
Mar. Much good may he do you!
Sir F. Oh, the dear rogue! how I dote on
her!
[Aside.
Mir. And advise his impertinence to trouble
me no more, for I prefer sir Francis for a
husband before all the fops in the universe.
Mar. Oh Lord, oh Lord! she's bewitched,
that's certain. Here's a husband for eighteen misfortunes will happen. Ha, ha, ha! 'tis
-here's a tit-bit for a young lady-here's a some comfort to have a companion in our suf-
shape, an air, and a grace-here's bones ratt-ferings.
ling in a leathern bag-[Turning Sir Fran- Charles. I am only apprehensive for Isa-
cis about] here's buckram and canvass to binda; her father's humour is implacable; and
scrub you to repentance.
Sir F. Sirrah, my cane shall teach you re-
pentance presently.
how far his jealousy may transport him to
her undoing, shocks my soul to think.
Sir G. But since you escap'd undiscover'd
by him, his rage will quickly lash into a calm,
Mar. No, faith, I have felt its twin brother
from just such a wither'd hand too lately. never fear it.
Mir. One thing more; advise him to keep Charles. But who knows what that unlucky
from the garden-gate on the left hand, for if dog, Marplot, told him; nor can I imagine
he dare to saunter there, about the hour of what brought him thither: that fellow is ever
doing mischief; and yet, to give him his due,
he never designs it. This is some blundering
adventure wherein he thought to show his
1) These words are employed in the marriage-contract,
and law-terms, like other heterogenea, make an odd
appearance in friendly conversation,

240
[ACT IV.
THE BUSY BODY.
friendship, as he calls it! a curse on him! omen. My dear Marplot! let me embrace thee;
Sir G. Then you must forgive him. What
said he?
Charles. Said! nay, I had more mind to
cut his throat, than to hear his excuses.
Sir G. Where is he?
Whis. Sir, I saw him go into sir Francis
Gripe's, just now.
Charles. Oh! then he's upon your business,
sir George: a thousand to one but he makes
some mistake there too.
Sir G. Impossible, without he huffs the la-
dy, and makes love to sir Francis.
Enter Drawer.
Draw. Mr. Marplot is below, gentlemen,
and desires to know if he may have leave to
wait upon ye.
Charles. How civil the rogue is when he
has done a fault!
Sir G. Ho! desire him to walk up. [Exit
Drawer] Pr'ythee, Charles, throw off this cha-
grin, and be good company.
Charles. Nay, hang him, I'm not angry with
him.
Enter MARPLOT.
Do but mark his sheepish look, sir George.
Mar. Dear Charles! don't overwhelm a man
already under insupportable affliction. I'm sure
I always intend to serve my friends; but if
my malicious stars deny the happiness, is the
fault mine?
Sir G. Never mind him, Mr. Marplot; he's
eat up with spleen. But tell me what says
Miranda?
Mar. Says!-nay, we are all undone there too.
Charles. I told you so; nothing prospers
that he undertakes.
Mar. Why, can I help her having chose
your father for better for worse?
Charles. So; there's another of fortune's
strokes. I suppose I shall be edged out of
my estate with twins every year, let who will
get 'em.
Sir G. What! is the woman really possess'd?
Mar. Yes, with the spirit of contradiction:
she railed at you most prodigiously.
Sir G. That's no ill sign.
Mar. You'd say it was no good sign if you
knew all.
Sir G. Why, pr'ythee?
thou art my friend, my better angel.
Mar. What do you mean, sir George?
Sir G. No matter what I mean. Here, take
bumper to the garden-gate,you dear rogue, you!
Mar. You have reason to be transported,
sir George; I have sav'd your life.
a
Sir G. My life! thou hast sav'd my soul,
man. Charles, if thou dost not pledge this
health, may'st thou never taste the joys of love.
Charles. Whisper, be sure you take care
how you deliver this. [Gives him a Letter
Bring me the answer to my lodgings.
Whis. I warrant you, sir.
Mar. Whither does that letter go? Now
dare I not ask for my blood-That fellow
knows more secrets than I do.-Aside. Fol-
lowing Whisper as he is going]-Whisper!
Whisper!
Whis. Sir.
Mar. Whisper, here's half a crown for you.
Whis. Thank ye, sir.
[Exit.
Mar. Now where is that letter going?
Whis. Into my pocket, sir.
Charles. Now I'm for you.
Sir G. To the garden-gate at the hour of
eight, Charles: allons; huzza!
Charles. I begin to conceive you.
Mar. That's more than I do, 'egad-To the
garden-gate, huzza! [Drinks] But I hope you
design to keep far enough off on't, sir George.
Sir G. Ay, ay, never fear that; she shall see
despise her frowns; let her use the blunder-
buss against the next fool; she shan't reach
me with the smoke, I warrant her; ha, ha, ha!
I
Mar. Ah, Charles! if you could receive a
disappointment thus en cavalier, one should
have some comfort in being beat for you.
Charles. The fool comprehends nothing.
Sir G. Nor would I have him. Pr'ythee,
take him along with thee.
Charles. Enough.
Sir G. I kiss both your hands- And now
for the garden-gate.
It's beauty gives the assignation there,
And love too powerful grows t'admit of
fear.
[Exit.
Charles. Come, you shall go home with me.
Mar. Shall I! and are we friends, Charles?
I am glad of it.
Charles. Come along.
[Exit.
Mar. Hark'e, sir George, let me warn you; Mar. 'Egad, Charles's asking me to go home
pursue your old haunt no more; it may be with him gives me a shrewd suspicion there's
dangerous. [Charles sits down to write. more in the garden-gate than I comprehend.
Sir G. My old haunt! what do you mean? Faith, I'll give him the drop 1), and away to
Mar. Why, in short then, since you will Gardy's and find it out.
have it, Miranda vows if you dare approach
the garden-gate at eight o'clock, as you us'd,
you shall meet with a warm reception.
Sir G. A warm reception!
Mar, Ay, a very warm reception-you shall
be saluted with a blunderbuss, sir. These were
her very words: nay, she bid me tell you so too.
Sir G. Ha! the garden-gate at eight, as I
us'd to do! There must be meaning in this.
Is there such a gate, Charles?
Mar. Is there such a gate, Charles?
Charles. Yes, yes, it opens into the Park:
I suppose her ladyship has made many a
scamper through it.
Sir G. It must be an assignation then. Ha!
my heart springs for joy; 'tis a propitious
ACT. IV.
[Exil.
SCENE I.-The outside of SIR JEALOUS TRAF-
FICK'S House; PATCH peeping out of the
Door.
Enter WHISPER.
Whis. Ha! Mrs. Patch, this is a lucky mi-
nute, to find you so readily; my master dies
with impatience.
Patch. My lady imagin'd so, and by her
orders I have been scouting this hour in search
of you, to inform you that sir Jealous has in-
vited some friends to supper with him to-night,
1)
I'll
for, I'll get away from him.
give him the drop; I'll give him the slip, is slang

SCENE 2.]
241
THE BUSY BODY.
which gives an opportunity to your master to
make use of his ladder of ropes. The closet
window shall be open, and Isabinda ready to
receive him. Bid him come immediately.
SCENE II.-ISABINDA'S Chamber.
ISABINDA and PATCH discovered.
Isa. Are you sure nobody saw you speak
to Whisper?
Whis. Excellent! he'll not disappoint, I war- Patch. Yes, very sure, madam; but I heard
rant him. But hold, I have a letter here which sir Jealous coming down stairs, so clapped
I'm to carry an answer to. I cannot think his letter into my pocket. [Feels for the Letter.
what language the direction is.
Isa. A letter! give it me quickly.
Patch. Pho! 'tis no 'language, but a cha- Patch. Bless me! what's become on't-I'm
racter which the lovers invented to avert dis- sure I put it-
[Searching still.
covery-Ha! I hear my old master coming Isa. Is it possible thou couldst be so care-
down stairs; it is impossible you should have less?-Oh, I'm undone for ever if it be lost.
an answer: away, and bid him come himself Patch. I must have dropp'd it upon the stairs.
for that. Be gone, we're ruin'd if you're seen, But why are you so much alarm'd? if the
for he has doubled his care since the last accident. worst happens nobody can read it, madam,
Whis. I go, I go.
[Exit. nor find out whom it was design'd for.
Patch. There, go thou into my pocket. [Puts Isa. If it falls into my father's hands the
it aside, and it falls down] Now I'll up the very figure of a letter will produce ill conse-
back stairs lest I meet him-Well, a dextrous quences. Run and look for it upon the stairs
chambermaid is the ladies' best utensil, I say. this moment.
[Exit. Patch. Nay, I'm sure it can be no where
Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, with a Letter
in his Hand.
else-
Enter Butler.
How now, what do you want?
[Going.
But. My master ordered me to lay the cloth
here for supper.
Isa. Ruin'd past redemption- [Aside.
Patch. You mistake, sure. What shall we do?
Isa. I thought he expected company to-night
Oh, poor Charles! oh, unfortunate Isabinda!
But. I thought so too, madam; but I sup-
pose he has altered his mind.
Sir J. So, this is some comfort; this tells
me that signior don Diego Babinetto is safely
arriv'd. He shall marry my daughter the mi-
nute he comes-Ha, ha! what's here? [Takes
up the Letter Patch dropped] A letter! I
don't know what to make of the superscrip-
tion. I'll see what's withinside. [Opens it]
Humph-'tis Hebrew, I think. What can this
mean?-There must be some trick in it. This
was certainly design'd for my daughter; but
[Lays the Cloth, and exit.
I don't know that she can speak any language Isa. The letter is the cause. This heedless
but her mother tongue. No matter for that; action has undone me. Fly and fasten the
this may be one of love's hieroglyphics; and closet window, which will give Charles notice
I fancy I saw Patch's tail sweep by: that to retire. Ha! my father! oh, confusion!
wench may be a slut, and instead of guarding
my honour betray it. I'll find it out, I'm re-
solv'd-Who's there?
Enter Servant.
What answer did you bring from the gentle-
men I sent you to invite?
Serv. That they'd all wait on you, sir, as I
told you before; but I suppose you for-
got, sir.
Sir J. Did I so, sir? but I shan't forget to
break your head if any of them come, sir.
Serv. Come, sir! why, did not you send me
to desire their company, sir?
Sir J. But I send you now to desire their
absence. Say I have something extraordinary
fallen out, which calls me abroad contrary to
expectation, and ask their pardon; and, d'ye
hear, send the butler to me.
Serv. Yes, sir.
Enter Butler.
[Exit.
Sir J. If this paper has a meaning I'll find
it-Lay the cloth in my daughter's chamber,
and bid the cook send supper thither pre-
sently.
But. Yes, sir.-Hey-day! what's the matter
now?
[Exit.
Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK
Sir J. Hold, hold, Patch;
going? I'll have nobody stir
till after supper.
whither are you
out of the room
Patch. Sir, I was going to reach your easy
chair-oh, wretched accident!
[Aside.
I
Sir J. I'll have nobody stir out of the room.
don't want my easy chair.
Isa. What will be the event of this? [Aside.
Sir J. Harkye, daughter, do you know this
hand?
you
Isa. As I suspected [Aside]-Hand, do
call it, sir? 'tis some schoolboy's scrawl.
Patch. Oh, invention! thou chambermaid's
best friend, assist me!
[Aside.
Sir J. Are you sure you don't understand it?
[Patch feels in her Bosom, and
shakes her Coats.
I
Isa. Do you understand it, sir?
Sir J. I wish I did.
Isa. Thank heav'n you do not [Aside] Then
know no more of it than you do, indeed, sir!
Patch. O Lord, O Lord! what have you
done, sir? why, the paper is mine; I dropp'd
out of my bosom. [Snatching it from him.
Sir J. Ha! yours, mistress?
Patch. Yes, sir, it is.
it
Str J. What is it? speak.
Sir J. He wants the eyes of Argus that has
a young handsome daughter in this town; but Patch. Yes, sir, it is a charm for the tooth-
my comfort is I shall not be troubled long ache-I have worn it these seven years; 'twas
with her. He that pretends to rule a girl once given me by an angel for aught I know, when
in her teens had better be at sea in a storm, I was raving with the pain, for nobody knew
and would be in less danger.
[Exit. from whence he came nor whither he went.
ve
31

242
[ACT IV.
THE BUSY BODY.
He charged me never to open it, lest some Sir J. Hey, hey! why, you are a-top of the
dire vengeance befall me, and heaven knows house, and you are down in the cellar. What
what will be the event. Oh, cruel misfortune! is the meaning of this? is it on purpose to
that I should drop it and you should open it cross me, ha?
-If you had not open'd it-
Sir J. Pox of your charms and whims for I cannot reach that note, I fear.
me! if that be all 'tis well enough: there,
there, burn it, and I warrant you no vengeance
will follow.
Patch. Pray, madam, take it a little lower;
Isa. Well, begin-Oh, Patch, we shall be
discover'd.
[Aside.
Patch. I sink with apprehension, madam.
[Aside]-Humph, humph.
[Sings. Charles opens the Closet door.
Charles. Music and singing! Death! her
Patch. So all's right again thus far. [Aside.
Isa. I would not lose Patch for the world
-I'll take courage a little. [Aside] Is this
usage for your daughter, sir? must my virtue father there! [The Women shriek] Then I
and conduct be suspected for every trifle? must fly-
You immure me like some dire offender here,
and deny me all the recreations which my
sex enjoy, and the custom of the country and
modesty allow; yet not content with that, you
make my confinement more intolerable by your
mistrusts and jealousies. Would I were dead,
so I were free from this.
Sir J. To-morrow rids you of this tiresome
load: Don Diego Babinetto will be here, and
then my care ends and his begins.
Isa. Is he come then?-Oh, how shall I
avoid this hated marriage!
Enter Servants, with Supper.
Sir J. Come, will you sit down?
Isa. I can't eat, sir.
Patch. No, I dare swear he has
supper enough. I wish I could get
[Aside.
[Exit into the Closet. Sir Jealous ris-
es up hastily, seeing Charles slip
back into the Closet.
Sir J. Hell and furies! a man in the closet!-
Patch. Ah! a ghost! a ghost!-He must not
enter the closet.
[Isabinda throws herself down before
the Closet door as in a swoon.
Sir J. The devil! I'll make a ghost of him,
I warrant you.
[Strives to get by.
Patch. Oh, hold, sir, have a care; you'll
tread upon my lady-Who waits there? bring
some water. Oh, this comes of your opening
the charm. Oh, oh, oh, oh! [Weeps aloud.
Sir J. I'll charm you, housewife. Here lies
the charm that conjur'd this fellow in, I'm sure
given her on't. Come out, you rascal, do so. Zounds!
into the take her from the door or I'll spurn her from
closet.
[Aside, it, and break your neck down stairs. Where
Sir J. Well, if you can't eat, then give me are you, sirrah? Villain! robber of my ho-
a song, whilst I do.
nour! I'll pull you out of your nest.
Isa. I have such a cold I can scarce speak,
sir, much less sing. How shall I prevent
Charles's coming in?
[Goes into the Closet.
Patch. You'll be mistaken, old gentleman;
[Aside. the bird is flown.
Sir J. I hope you have the use of your fin-
gers, madam. Play a tune upon your spinnet
whilst your woman sings me a song.
Patch. I'm as much out of tune as my lady,
if he knew all.
[Aside.
Isa. I shall make excellent music.
[Sits down to play.
Patch. Really, sir, I am so frighten'd about
your opening this charm that I can't remem-
ber one song.
Sir J. Pish! hang your charm! come, come,
sing any thing.
Patch. Yes, I'm likely to sing, truly. [4-
side] Humph, humph; bless, me! I can't raise
my voice, my heart pants so.
Sir J. Why, what does your heart pant so
that you can't play neither? Pray what key
are you in, ha?
Patch. Ah, would the key 1) was turn'd on
you once.
Isa. I'm glad I have 'scap'd so well; I was
almost dead in earnest with the fright.
Re-enter SIR JEALOUS out of the Closet.
Sir J. Whoever the dog were he has es-
cap'd out of the window, for the sash is up:
but though he is got out of my reach, you are
not. And first, Mrs. Pander, with your charms
for the tooth-ache, get out of my house, go,
troop; yet hold, stay, I'll see you out of doors
myself; but I'll secure your charge ere I go.
Isa. What do you mean, sir? was she not
a creature of your own providing?
Sir J. She was of the devil's providing, for
aught I know.
Patch. What have I done, sir, to merit your
displeasure?
Sir J. I don't know which of you have done
it, but you shall both suffer for it, till I can
discover whose guilt it is. Go, get in there;
[Aside. I'll move you from this side of the house.
Sir J. Why don't you sing, I say? [Pushes Isabinda in at the Door and locks
Patch. When madam has put her spinnet it, puts the Key in his Pocket] I'll keep the
key myself; I'll try what ghost will get into
that room: and now forsooth I'll wait on you
down stairs.
in tune, sir: humph, humph-
Isa. I cannot play, sir, whatever ails me.
[Rising.
Sir J. Zounds! sit down and play me a tune,
or I'll break the spinnet about your ears.
Isa. What will become of me?
[Sits down and plays.
Sir. J. Come, mistress. [To Patch.
Patch. Yes, sir.
[Sings, but horridly out of tune.
1) The pun consists in the word Key's being employed
in music as well as for the door.
Patch. Ah, my poor lady!-Down stairs,
sir! but I won't go out, sir, till I have lock'd
up my clothes, and that's flat.
Sir J. If thou wert as naked as thou wert
born, thou shouldst not stay to put on a
smock, and that's flat.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-The Street.
Sir J. [Putting Patch out at the Door]

SCENE 4. 5.]
THE BUSY BODY.
243
There, go and come no more within sight of
my habitation these three days, I charge you.
[Slaps the Door after her.
Patch. Did ever any body see such an old
monster!
Enter CHARLES.
Oh, Mr. Charles! your affairs and mine are
in an ill posture.
Charles. I am inur'd to the frowns of for-
tune; but what has befall'n thee?
Scent. For aught you know. Come, come,
your hand, and away.
Sir G. Here, here, child; you can't be half
so swift as my desires.
SCENE V.-The House.
Enter MIRANDA.
[Exeunt.
Mir. Well, let me reason a little with my
mad self. Now, don't I transgress all rules to
venture upon a man without the advice of the
grave and wise! But then a rigid, knavish
Patch. Sir Jealous, whose suspicious nature guardian who would have marry'd me--to
is always on the watch, nay, even while one whom? even to his nauseous self, or nobody.
eye sleeps the other keeps sentinel, upon sight Sir George is what I have try'd in conversa-
of you flew into such a violent passion, that tion, inquir'd into his character, and am satis-
I could find no stratagem to appease him, but fied in both. Then his love! who would have
in spite of all arguments he lock'd his daughter given a hundred pounds only to have seen a
into his own apartment, and turn'd me out woman he had not infinitely lov'd? So I find
of doors.
Charles. Ha! oh, Isabinda!
Patch. And swears she shall see neither sun
nor moon till she is don Diego Babinetto's
wife, who arrived last night, and is expected
with impatience.
my liking him has furnish'd me with argu-
ments enough of his side: and now the only
doubt remains whether he will come or no.
Enter SCENTWELL and SIR GEORGE AIRY.
Scent. That's resolv'd, madam, for here's the
knight.
[Exit.
Charles. He dies; yes, by all the wrongs
of love he shall: here will I plant myself, and Sir G. And do I once more behold that
through my breast he shall make his passage, lovely object whose idea fills my mind, and
if he enters.
forms my pleasing dreams?
Patch. A most heroic resolution! there might
be ways found out more to your advantage:
policy is often preferr'd to open force.
Charles. I apprehend you not.
Patch. What think you of personating this
Spaniard, imposing upon the father, and mar-
rying your mistress by his own consent?
Charles. Say'st thou so, my angel! Oh,
could that be done, my life to come would
be too short to recompense thee: but how can
I do that when I neither know what ship he
came in, nor from what part of Spain; who
recommends him, or how attended.
Patch. I can solve all this. He is from Ma-
drid, his father's name don Pedro Questo Por-
tento Babinetto. Here's a letter of his to sir
Jealous, which he dropp'd one day. You un-
derstand Spanish, and the hand may be coun-
terfeited. You conceive me, sir?
Mir. What, beginning again in heroics?-
Sir George, don't you remember how little
fruit your last prodigal oration produc'd? Not
one bare, single word in answer.
Sir G. Ha! the voice of my incognita!-
Why did you take then thousand ways to
captivate a heart your eyes alone had van-
quish'd?
Mir. No more of these flights. Do you
think we can agree on that same terrible bug-
bear, matrimony, without heartily repenting on
both sides?
Sir G. It has been my wish since first my
longing eyes beheld you.
Mir. And your happy ears drank in the
pleasing news I had thirty thousand pounds.
Sir G. Unkind! Did I not offer you, in those
purchas'd minutes, to run the risk of your for-
tune, so you would but secure that lovely per-
Charles. My better genius! thou hast re-son to my arms?
viv'd my drooping soul. I'll about it instantly. Mir. Well, if you have such love and ten-
Come to my lodgings, and we'll concert mat- derness, since our wooing has been short, pray
[Exeunt. reserve it for our future days, to let the world
see we are lovers after wedlock; 'twill be a
novelty.
ters.
SCENE IV.-4 Garden-gate open; SCENT-
WELL waiting within.
Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY.
Sir G. Haste then, and let us tie the knot,
and prove the envied pair-
Sir G. So, this is the gate, and most invit- Mir. Hold, not so fast; I have provided bet-
ingly open. If there should be a blunderbuss ter than to venture on dangerous experiments
here now, what a dreadful ditty would my fall headlong-My guardian, trusting to my dis-
make for fools, and what a jest for the wits; sembled love, has given up my fortune to my
how my name would be roar'd about the
streets! Well, I'll venture all.
Scent. Hist, hist! sir George Airy-
[Comes forward.
Sir G. A female voice! thus far I'm safe-
My dear.
Scent. No, I'm not your dear, but I'll con-
duct you to her. Give me your hand; you
must go through many a dark passage and
dirty step before you arrive-
own disposal, but with this proviso, that he
to-morrow morning weds me. He is now
gone to Doctor's Commons for a licence.
Sir G. Ha! a licence!
Mir. But I have planted emissaries that in-
fallibly take him down to Epsom, under a pre-
tence that a brother usurer of his is to make
him his executor, the thing on earth he covets.
Sir G. 'Tis his known character.
Mir. Now my instruments confirm him this
Sir G. I know I must before I arrive at man is dying, and he sends me word he goes
Paradise; therefore be quick, my charming this minute. It must be to-morrow ere he can
be undeceiv'd: that time is ours.
guide.

244
FACT IV.
THE BUSY BODY.
Sir G. Let us improve it then, and settle a, a, a, a, a monkey shut up there; and if
on our coming years, endless happiness. you open it before the man, comes that is to
Mir. I dare not stir till I hear he's on the tame it, 'tis so wild 'twill break all my china
road-then I and my writings, the most ma- or get away, and that would break my heart;
terial point, are soon remov'd.
for I'm fond on't to distraction, next thee, dear
Sir G. I have one favour to ask: if it lies Gardy?
[In a flattering Tone.
in your power you would be a friend to poor Sir F. Well, well, Chargy, I won't open
Charles; though the son of this tenacious man, it; she shall have her monkey, poor rogue!
he is as free from all his vices as nature and Here, throw this peel out of the window.
a good education can make him; and, what
[Exit Scentwell.
now I have vanity enough to hope will in- Mar. A monkey! Dear madam, let me see
duce you, he is the man on earth I love. it; I can tame a monkey as well as the best,
Mir. I never was his enemy, and only put of them all: Oh, how I love the little minia-
it on as it help'd my designs on his father. If tures of man!
his uncle's estate ought to be in his posses- Mir. Be quiet, mischief! and stand further
sion, which I shrewdly suspect, I may do him from the chimney-You shall not see my monkey
-why sure-
a singular piece of service.
Sir G. You are all goodness.
Enter SCENTWELL.
Scent. Oh, madam! my master and Mr.
Marplot are just coming into the house.
Mir. Undone, undone! if he finds you here
in this crisis, all my plots are unravell'd.
Sir G. What shall I do? Can't I get back
into the garden?
Scent. Oh no! he comes up those stairs.
Mir. Here, here, here! Can you conde-
scend to stand behind this chimney-board, sir
George?
Sir G. Any where, any where, dear ma-
dam! without ceremony.
Scent. Come, come, sir, lie close.
[They put him behind the Chimney-board.
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MARPLOT;
SIR FRANCIS peeling an Orange.
Sir F. I could not go, though 'tis upon life
and death, without taking leave of dear Char-
gy.
Besides, this fellow buzz'd into my ears
that thou might'st be so desperate as to shoot
that wild rake which haunts the garden-gate,
and that would bring us into trouble, dear-
Mir. So Marplot brought you back then?
Mar. Yes, I brought him back.
Mir. I'm oblig'd to him for that, I'm sure.
[Frowning at Marplot aside.
Mar. By her looks she means she's not
[Striving with him.
Mar. For heaven's sake, dear madam! let
me but peep, to see if it be as pretty as lady
Fiddle faddle's. Has it got a chain?
Mir. Not yet, but I design it one shall last
its lifetime. Nay, you shall not see it.-Look,
Gardy, how he teazes me!
Sir F. [Getting between him and the
Chimney.] Sirrah, sirrah, let my Chargy's
monkey alone, or bamboo shall fly about your
ears. What, is there no dealing with you?
Mar. Pugh, pox of the monkey! here's a
rout! I wish he may rival you.
Enter Servant.
Sero. Sir, they have put two more horses
to the coach, as you order'd, and 'tis ready
at the door.
Sir F. Well, I am going to be executor;
better for thee, jewel. B'ye, Chargy; one buss!
-I'm glad thou hast got a monkey to divert
thee a little.
Mir. Thank'e, dear Gardy!-Nay, I'll see you
to the coach.
Sir F. That's kind, adad.
Mir. Come along, impertinence. [To Marplot.
Mar. [Stepping back] 'Egad, I will see the
monkey now. [Lifts up the Board, and
discovers Sir George] O Lord! O Lord!
Thieves! thieves! murder!
Sir G. Damn ye, you unlucky dog! 'tis I.
Which way shall I get out? Show me in-
oblig'd to me. I have done some mischief now, stantly, or I'll cut your throat.
but what I can't imagine.
[Aside. Mar. Undone, undone! At that door there.
Sir F. Well, Chargy, I have had three But hold, hold; break that china, and I'll bring
messengers to come to Epsom to my neigh- you off. [He runs off at the Corner, and
bour Squeezum's, who, for all his vast riches,
is departing.
[Sighs.
throws down some China.
Mar. Ay, see what all you usurers must Re-enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE, MIRANDA, and
come to.
SCENTWELL.
Sir F. Mercy on me! what's the matter?
Mir. O, you toad! what have you done?
Mar. No great harm; I beg of you to for-
give me. Longing to see the monkey, I did
but just raise up the board, and it flew over
my shoulders, scratch'd all my face, broke your
china, and whisked out of the window.
Sir F. Where, where is it, sirrah?
Sir F. Peace, you young knave! Some forty
years hence I may think on't- But, Chargy,
I'll be with thee to-morrow before those pretty
eyes are open; I will, I will, Chargy, I'll rouse
you, i'faith-Here, Mrs. Scentwell, lift up your
lady's chimney-board, that I may throw my
peel 1) in, and not litter her chamber.
Mir. Oh, my stars! what will become of us
now?
[Aside
Scent. Oh, pray, sir, give it me; I love it
above all things in nature, indeed I do.
Sir F. Was ever such an unlucky rogue!
Sir F. No, no, hussy; you have the green Sirrah, I forbid you my house. Call the ser-
pip already; I'll have no apothecary's bills. vants to get the monkey again. Pug, pug,
[Goes towards the Chimney. pug! I would stay myself to look for it, but
Mir. Hold, hold, hold, dear Gardy! I have you know my earnest business.
1) Orange peel,
Mar. There, there, sir Francis, upon your
neighbour Parmazan's pantiles.
Scent. Oh, my lady will be best to lure it

[ACT V. SCENE 1.1
245
THE BUSY BODY.
back all them creatures love my lady extremely. delay. Shall we make Marplot of the party?
Mir. Go, go, dear Gardy! I hope I shall Mir. If you'll run the hazard, sir George;
recover it.
I believe he means well.
Sir F. B'ye, b'ye, dearee! Ah, mischief! how Mar. Nay, nay, for my part I desire to be
you look now! B'ye, b'ye.
[Exit. let into nothing; I'll be gone, therefore pray
Mir. Scentwell, see him in the coach, and don't mistrust me.
bring me word.
Scent. Yes, madam.
[Going.
Sir G. So now he has a mind to be gone
[Exit. to Charles: but not knowing what affairs he
Mir. So, sir, you have done your friend a may have upon his hands at present, I'm re-
signal piece of service, I suppose.
solv'd he shan't stir. [Asidey No, Mr. Marplot,
Mar. Why, look you, madam, if I have you must not leave us; we want a third per-
committed a fault, thank yourself; no man is
[Takes hold of him.
more serviceable when I am let into a secret, Mar. I never had more mind to be gone
and none more unlucky at finding it out. in my life.
son.
Who could divine your meaning; when you Mir. Come along then; if we fail in the
talk'd of a blunderbuss, who thought of a voyage, thank yourself for taking this ill-starr'd
rendezvous? and when you talk'd of a monkey, gentleman on board.
who the devil dreamt of sir George?
Mir. A sign you converse but little with
Sir G. That vessel ne'er can unsuccessful
prove,
our sex, when you can't reconcile contradictions. Whose freight is beauty, and whose pilot's
Enter SCENTWELL.
Scent. He's gone, madam, as fast as the
'coach and six can carry him-
Re-enter SIR GEORGE AIRY.
Sir G. Then I may appear.
Mar. Here's pug, ma'am-Dear sir George!
make my peace, on my soul I never took you
for a monkey before.
love.
[Exeunt Sir George and Miranda.
Mar. Tyty ti, tyty ti.
[Steals off the other Way.
Re-enter SIR GEORGE AIRY.
Sir G. Marplot! Marplot!
Mar, [Entering] Here! I was coming, sir
George.
ACT V.
[Exeunt.
Sir G. I dare swear thou didst not. Madam, SCENE I.-A Room in SIR FRANCIS GRIPE'S
I beg you to forgive him.
Mir. Well, sir George, if he can be secret.
Mar. 'Odsheart, madam! I'm as secret as a
priest when trusted.
Sir G. Why 'tis with a priest our business
is at present.
Scent. Madam, here's Mrs. Isabinda's
man to wait on you.
Mir. Bring her up.
Enter PATCH.
House.
Enter MIRANDA, PATCH, and SCENTWELL.
Mir. Well, Patch, I have done a strange
bold thing; my fate is determin'd, and expec-
tation is no more. Now to avoid the imper-
wo-tinence and roguery of an old man, I have
thrown myself into the extravagance
young one; if he should despise, slight, or
use me ill, there's no remedy from a husband
but the grave, and that's a terrible sanctuary
How do ye, Mrs. Patch? What news from to one of my age and constitution.
your lady?
of a
Patch. O! fear not, madam; you'll find your
Patch. That's for your private ear, madam. account in sir George Airy; it is impossible
Sir George, there's a friend of yours has an a man of sense should use a woman ill, en-
urgent occasion for your assistance.
Sir G. His name.
Patch. Charles.
Mar. Ha! then there's something a-foot that
I know nothing of. [Aside] I'll wait on you,
sir George.
Sir G. A third person may not be proper,
perhaps. As soon as I have dispatched my
own affairs I am at his service. I'll send my
servant to tell him I'll wait on him in half an
hour.
Mir. How came you employed in this mes-
sage, Mrs. Patch?
dued with beauty, wit, and fortune. It must
be the lady's fault if she does not wear the
unfashionable name of wife easy, when no-
thing but complaisance and good humour is
requisite on either side to make them happy.
Mir. I long till I am out of this house, lest
any accident should bring my guardian back.
Scentwell, put my best jewels into the little
casket, slip them into thy pocket, and let us
march off to sir Jealous's.
Scent. It shall be done, madam. [Exit.
Patch. Sir George will be impatient, ma-
dam. If their plot succeeds, we shall be well
Patch. Want of business, madam; I am receiv'd; if not, he will be able to protect us.
discharg'd by my master, but hope to serve Besides, I long to know how my young lady
my lady still.
Mir. How! discharg'd! you must tell me
the whole story within.
Patch. With all my heart, madam.
Mar. Tell it here, Mrs. Patch.-Pish! pox!
I wish I were fairly out of the house. I find
marriage is the end of this secret; and now
I'm half mad to know what Charles wants him
for.
[Aside.
fares.
Mir. Farewell, old Mammon, and thy de-
tested walls! Twill be no more sweet sin
Francis! I shall be compell'd the odious task
of dissembling no longer to get my own, and
coax him with the wheedling names of my
precious, my dear, dear Gardy! O heavens!
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE, behind.
Sir G. Madam, I'm doubly press'd by love Sir F. Ah, my sweet Chargy! don't be
and friendship. This exigence admits of no frighted: [She starts] but thy poor Gardy has

246
[ACT V.
THE BUSY BODY.
been abus'd, cheated, fool'd, betray'd; but no-
body knows by whom.
My choice is fix'd, let good or ill betide.
Sir F. The joyful bridegroom I,
Mir. And I the happy bride.
[Exeunt.
Mir. Undone, past redemption! [Aside.
Sir F. What, won't you speak to me, Chargy?
Mir. I am so surpris'd with joy to see you, SCENE II.-An Apartment in the House of
I know not what to say.
Sir F. Poor, dear girl! But do you know
that my son, or some such rogue, to rob or
murder me, or both, contriv'd this journey?
for upon the road I met my neighbour Squee-
zum well, and coming to town.
Mir. Good lack! good lack! what tricks are
there in this world!
SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK.
Enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, meeting a
Servant.
Sero. Sir, here's a couple of gentlemen in-
quire for you; one of them calls himself sig-
nior Diego Babinetto.
Sir J. Ha! Signior Babinetto! admit 'em
instantly-joyful minute; I'll have my daughter
Re-enter SCENTWELL, with a diamond Neck-married to-night.
lace in her Hand, not seeing SIR FRANCIS.
Scent. Madam, be pleas'd to tie this neck-Enter CHARLES in a Spanish habit, with
lace on, for I can't get into the---
SIR GEORGE AIRY, dressed like a Merchant.
Senhor, beso las manos: vuestra merced es
[Seeing Sir Francis.
Mir. The wench is a fool, I think! Could muy bien venido en esta tierra.
you not have carried it to be mended with-
out putting it in the box?
Sir F. What's the matter?
Charles. Senhor, soy muy humilde, y muy
obligado cryado de vuestra merced: mi padre
embia a vuestra merced, los mas profondos
Mir. Only, dearee! I bid her, I bid her- de sus respetos; y a commissionado este mer-
Your ill-usage has put every thing out of my cadel Ingles, de concluyr un negocio, que me
head. But won't you go, Gardy, and find out haze el mas dichoss hombre del mundo, ha-
these fellows, and have them punished, and, ziendo me su yerno.
and-
Sir J. I am glad on't, for I find I have lost
Sir F. Where should I look for them, child? much of my Spanish. Sir, I am your most
no, I'll sit me down contented with my safety, humble servant. Signior don Diego Babinetto
nor stir out of my own doors till I go with has informed me that you are commissioned
thee to a parson.
by signior don Pedro, etc. his worthy father-
Patch. Ay, madam, and I stay for
speedy answer.
Mir. If he goes into his closet I am ruin'd. Sir G. To see an affair of marriage con-
[Aside] Oh, bless me! In this fright I had summated between a daughter of yours and
forgot Mrs. Patch.
signior Diego Babinetto his son here. True,
your sir, such a trust is repos'd in me, as that let-
ter will inform you. I hope 'twill pass upon
him.
[Aside. Gives him a Letter.
Sir J. Ay, 'tis his hand. [Seems to read,
Sir G. Good, you have counterfeited to a
nicety, Charles.
[Aside to Charles.
Sir J. Sir, I find by this that you are a
man of honour and probity; I think, sir, he
calls you Meanwell.
Mir. I must get him out of the house. Now
assist me, fortune!
[Aside.
Sir F. Mrs. Patch! I profess I did not see
you: how dost thou do, Mrs. Patch? Well,
don't you repent leaving my Chargy?
Patch. Yes, every body must love her-but
I come now-Madam, what did I come for?
my invention is at the last ebb.
Sir G. Meanwell is my name, sir.
[Aside to Miranda. Sir J. A very good name, and very signi-
Sir F. Nay, never whisper, tell me. ficant. For to mean well is to be honest, and
Mir. She came, dear Gardy! to invite me to be honest is the virtue of a friend, and a
to her lady's wedding, and you shall go with friend is the delight and support of human
me, Gardy; 'tis to be done this moment, to a society.
Spanish merchant. Old sir Jealous keeps on Sir G. You shall find that I'll discharge the
his humour: the first minute he sees her, the part of a friend in what I have undertaken,
next he marries her.
sir Jealous. Therefore, sir, I must entreat the
Sir F. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I'd go if I thought presence of your fair daughter, and the assist-
the sight of matrimony would tempt Chargy ance of your chaplain; for signior don Pedro
to perform her promise. There was a smile, strictly enjoined me to see the marriage rites
there was a consenting look, with those pretty performed as soon as we should arrive, to
twinklers, worth a million! 'Ods-precious! I avoid the accidental overtures of Venus.
am happier than the great mogul, the emperor Sir J. Overtures of Venus!
of China, or all the potentates that are not in
the wars. Speak, confirm it, make me leap
out of my skin.
Sir G. Ay, sir; that is, those little hawking
females that traverse the park and the play-
house to put off their damag'd ware-they
Mir. When one has resolved, 'tis in vain fasten upon foreigners like leeches, and watch
to stand shilly-shally. If ever I marry, posi- their arrival as carefully as the Kentish men
tively this is my wedding-day.
do a shipwreck: I warrant you they have heard
Sir J. Nay, I know this town swarms with
Sir F. Oh! happy, happy man- Verily, I of him already.
will beget a son the first night shall disinherit
that dog Charles. I have estate enough to them.
purchase a barony, and be the immortalizing
the whole family of the Gripes.
Mir. Come then, Gardy, give me thy hand;
let's to this house of Hymen.
Sir G. Ay, and then you know the Spa-
niards are naturally amorous, but very con-
stant; the first face fixes 'em; and it may be
very dangerous to let him ramble ere he is tied.

SCENE 2. 3.]
247
THE BUSY BODY.
Sir J. Pat to my purpose 1) - Well, sir, Isa. Oh! never, never!
there is but one thing more, and they shall Could I suspect that falsehood in my heart,
be married instantly.
I would this moment tear it from my breast,
Charles. Pray heaven that one thing more And straight present him with the treach'rous
don't spoil all.
[Aside.
part.
Sir J. Don Pedro wrote me word, in his Sir J. Falsehood! why, who the devil are
last but one, that he designed the sum of five you in love with? Don't provoke me, for by
thousand crowns by way of jointure for my St. Iago I shall beat you, housewife.
daughter, and that it should be paid into my Sir G. Sir Jealous, you are too passionate.
hand upon the day of marriage-
Give me leave, I'll try by gentle words to
Charles. Oh, the devil!
[Aside. work her to your purpose.
Sir J. In order to lodge it in some of our Sir J. I pray do, Mr. Meanwell, I pray do;
funds in case she should become a widow, she'll break my heart. [Weeps] There is in
and return to England-
that casket jewels of the value of three thou-
Sir G. Pox on't! this is an unlucky turn. sand pounds, which were her mother's, and
[Aside. a paper wherein I have settled one-half of
Sir J. And he does not mention one word my estate upon her now, and the whole when
of it in this letter.
I die, but provided she marries this gentleman,
What shall I say?
Sir G. Humph! True, sir Jealous, he told else by St. Iago, I'll turn her out of doors to
me such a thing, but, but, but, but-he, he, beg or starve. Tell her this, Mr. Meanwell,
he, he he did not imagine that you would pray do.
[Walks toward Charles.
insist upon the very day; for, for, for, for Šir G. Ha! this is beyond expectation
money, you know, is dangerous returning by Trust to me, sir, I'll lay the dangerous con-
sequence of disobeying you at this juncture
'sea, an, an, an-
Charles. Zounds! say we have brought it before her, I warrant you. Come, madam, do
in commodities. [Aside to Sir George. not blindly cast your life away just in the
Sir G. And so, sir, he has sent it in mer- moment you would wish to save it.
chandize, tobacco, sugars, spices, lemons, and Isa. Pray cease your trouble, sir: I have
so forth, which shall be turned into money no wish but sudden death to free me from
with all expedition: in the mean time, sir, if you this hated Spaniard. If you are his friend,
please to accept of my bond for performance-inform him what I say.
Sir J. It is enough, sir; I am so pleas'd Sir G. Suppose this Spaniard, which you
with the countenance of signior Diego, and strive to shun, should be the very man to
the harmony of your name, that I'll take your whom you'd fly?
word, and will fetch my daughter this moment.
Within there.
Enter Servant.
Desire Mr. Tackum, my neighbour's chaplain,
to walk hither.
Serv. Yes, sir.
[Exit.
Isa. Ha!
Sir G. Would you not blame your rash
resolve, and curse your eyes that would not
look on Charles?
Isa. On Charles! Where is he? [Rises.
Sir G. Hold, hold, hold. 'Sdeath! madam,
Sir. J. Gentlemen, I'll return in an instant. you'll ruin all. Your father believes him to
[Exit. be signior Babinetto. Compose yourself a little,
Sir G. 'Egad, that five thousand crowns had pray madam. [He runs to Sir Jealous] She
like to have ruined the plot.
Charles. But that's over; and if fortune throws
no more rubs in our way-
-
Sir G. Thou'lt carry the prize But hist!
here he comes.
Re-enter SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK, dragging
in ISABINDA.
Sir J. Come along, you stubborn baggage,
you! come along.
Isa. Oh! hear me, sir, hear me but speak
one word;
Do not destroy my everlasting peace;
My soul abhors this Spaniard you have chose.
Sir J. How's that?
ture.
hold,
Isa. Let this posture move your tender na-
[Kneels.
For ever will I hang upon these knees,
Nor loose my hands till
you cut off my
If you refuse to hear me, sir.
Sir J. Did you ever see such a perverse
slut? Off, I say. Mr. Meanwell, pray help me
a little.
Sir G. Rise, madam, and do not disoblige
your father, who has provided a husband worthy
of you, one that will love you equal with his
soul, and one that you will love, when once
you know him.
1) Pat means, exactly.
begins to hear reason, sir; the fear of being
turned out of doors has done it. Speak gently
to her, sir; I'm sure she'll yield; I see it in
her face.
Sir J. Well, Isabinda, can you refuse to
bless a father whose only care is to make
you happy.
I
Isa. Oh, sir! do with me what
am all obedience.
Sir J. And wilt thou love him?
Isa. I will endeavour it, sir.
Enter Servant.
you please;
Sero, Sir, here is Mr. Tackum.
Sir J. Show him into the parlour. [Exit
Servant]-Senhor tome vind sueipora: cette
momento les junta les manos.
[Gives her to Charles.
Charles. Senhor, yo la recibo como se deve
un tesora tan grande. [Embraces her.
Sir J. Now, Mr. Meanwell, let's to the parson,
Who, by his art, will join this pair for life,
Make me the happiest father, her the happiest
wife.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-The Street before SIR JEALOUS
TRAFFICK'S House.
Enter MARPLOT.
Mar. I have hunted all over the town for

248
[ACT V.
THE BUSY BODY.
[Aside.
Sir J. Nothing at all, sir! Why then what
business have you in my house, ha?
Serv. You said you wanted a gentleman in
a Spanish habit.
Charles, but can't find him, and by Whisper's his voice; I shall be beaten again.
scouting at the end of the street, I suspect he
must be in the house again. I am informed
too that he has borrowed a Spanish habit out
of the playhouse: what can it mean?
Enter a Servant of SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK'S
to him out of the House.
Hark'e, sir, do you belong to this house?
Serv. Yes, sir.
Mar. Isn't your name Richard?
Serv. No, sir; Thomas.
Mar. Why ay, but his name is neither Ba-
binetto nor Meanwell.
Sir J. What is his name then, sirrah? Ha!
now I look at you again, I believe you are
the rogue that threatened me with half a dozen
myrmidons-
Mar. Me, sir! I never saw your face in all
Mar. Oh, ay, Thomas-Well, Thomas, my life before.
there's a shilling for you.
Serv. Thank you, sir.
Sir J. Speak, sir; who is it you look for?
or, or
Mar. Pray, Thomas, can you tell if there Mar. A terrible old dog! [Aside] Why,
be a gentleman in it in a Spanish habit? sir, only an honest, young fellow of my ac-
Sero. There's a Spanish gentleman within quaintance-I thought that here might be a
that is just a-going to marry my young lady, sir. ball, and that he might have been here in a
Mar. Are you sure he is a Spanish gentleman? masquerade.-'Tis Charles, sir Francis Gripe's
Serv. I'm sure he speaks no English that I son,-because I knew he us'd to come hither
hear of.
sometimes.
Mar. Then that can't be him I want, for 'tis Sir J. Did he so?-Not that I know of, I'm
an English gentleman that I inquire after; he sure. Pray heaven that this be don Diego-
may be dressed like a Spaniard, for aught I If I should be trick'd now--Ha! my heart mis-
know.
gives me plaguily Within there! stop the
Sero. Ha! who knows but this may be an marriage-Run, sirrah, call all my servants!
impostor? I'll inform my master, for if he I'll be satisfied that this is signior Pedro's son
should be impos'd upon, he'll beat us all round. ere he has my daughter.
[Aside] Pray come in, sir, and see if this be
the person you inquire for.
Mar. Ay, I'll follow you-Now for it.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-The Inside of the House.
Enter MARPLOT and Servant.
Serv. Sir, please to stay here; I'll send my
master to you.
[Exit.
Mar. So, this was a good contrivance. If
this be Charles now, he will wonder how I
found him out.
Mar. Ha! sir George! what have I done now?
Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY, with a drawn Sword,
between the Scenes.
Sir G. Ha! Marplot here-oh, the unlucky
dog-What's the matter, sir Jealous?
Sir J. Nay, I don't know the matter, Mr.
Meanwell.
Mar. Upon my soul, sir George-
[Going up to Sir George.
Sir J. Nay then, I'm betray'd, ruin'd, un-
done.-Thieves, traitors, rogues! [Offers to
go in] Stop the marriage, I say-
Re-enter Servant and SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK.
Sir G. I say go on, Mr. Tackum.-Nay, no
Sir J. What is your earnest business, entering here; I guard this passage, old gen-
blockhead! that you must speak with me be-tleman: the act and deed were both your
fore the ceremony's past? Ha! who's this?
Serv. Why this gentleman, sir, wants ano-
ther gentleman in a Spanish habit, he says.
Sir J. In a Spanish habit! 'tis some friend
of signior don Diego's, I warrant. Sir, your
servant.
Mar. Your servant, sir.
Sir J. I suppose you would speak with
signior Babinetto.
Mar. Sir!
Sir J. I say, I suppose you would speak
with signior Babinetto?
Mar. Hey-day! what the devil does he say
now? [Aside] Sir, I don't understand you.
Sir J. Don't you understand Spanish, sir?
Mar. Not I indeed, sir.
Sir J. I thought you had known signior
Babinetto.
Mar. Not I, upon my word, sir.
Sir J. What then, you'd speak with his
friend, the English merchant, Mr. Meanwell?
Mar. Neither, sir, not I; I don't mean any
such thing.
Sir J. Why, who are you then, sir? and
what do you want? [In an angry Tone.
Mar. Nay, nothing at all, not I, sir. - Pox
on him! I wish I were out; he begins to exalt
own, and I'll see 'em sign'd, or die for't.
Enter Servant.
Sir J. A pox on the act and deed! - Fall
on, knock him down.
Sir G. Ay, come on, scoundrels! I'll prick
your jackets for you.
you.
Sir J. Zounds! sirrah, I'll be reveng'd on
[Beats Marplot.
Sir G. Ay, there your vengeance is due.
Ha, ha!
Mar. Why, what do you beat me for? I
han't married your daughter.
Sir J. Rascals! why don't you knock him
down?
Serv. We are afraid of his sword, sir; if
you'll take that from him, we'll knock him
down presently.
Enter CHARLES and ISABINDA.
Sir J. Seize her then.
Charles. Rascals, retire; she's my wife;
touch her if you dare; I'll make dogs'-meat
of you.
Mar. Ay, I'll make dogs'-meat of
you, rascals.
Sir J. Ah! downright English-Oh, oh,
oh, oh!

SCENE 4.]
249
THE BUSY BODY.
get those
Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MIRANDA. Mar. Now how the devil could she
Sir F. Into the house of joy we enter with- writings, and I know nothing of it?
out knocking-Ha! I think 'tis the house of Sir F. What, have you robb'd me too,
sorrow, sir Jealous.
mistress? 'Egad, I'll make you restore 'em-
Sir J. Oh, sir Francis, are you come? hussy, I will so.
What! was this your contrivance, to abuse,
trick, and chouse me out of my child?
Sir J. Take care I don't make you pay the
arrears, sir. 'Tis well 'tis no worse, since 'tis
Sir F. My contrivance! what do you mean? no better. Come, young man, seeing thou
Sir J. No, you don't know your son there hast outwitted me, take her, and bless you both!
in a Spanish habit?
Charles. I hope, sir, you'll bestow your
blessing too; 'tis all I ask.
Mar. Do, Gardy, do.
Sir F. Confound you all!
Sir F. How! my son in a Spanish habit!
Sirrah, you'll come to be hang'd. Get out of
my sight, ye dog! get out of my sight.
Sir J. Get out of your sight, sir! get out
with your bags. Let's see what you'll give
him now to maintain my daughter on.
[Kneels.
[Exit.
Mar. Mercy upon us, how he looks!"
Sir G. Ha, ha, ha! ne'er mind his curses,
Charles; thou'lt thrive not one jot the worse
Sir F. Give him! he shall never be the for 'em. Since this gentleman is reconcil'd
better for a penny of mine-and you might we are all made happy.
have look'd after your daughter better, sir Jea- Sir J. I always lov'd precaution, and took
lous. Trick'd, quotha! 'Egad, I think you de- care to avoid dangers; but when a thing was
sign'd to trick me: but lookye, gentlemen, 1 past, I ever had philosophy to be easy.
believe I shall trick you both. This lady is Charles. Which is the true sign of a great
my wife, do you see, and my estate shall de-soul. I lov'd your daughter, and she me, and
scend only to her children.
you shall have no reason to repent her choice.
Isa. You will not blame me, sir, for loving
my own country best.
Sir G. I shall be extremely obliged to you,
sir Francis.
Sir F. Ha, ha, ha, ha! poor sir George!
does not your hundred pounds stick in your
stomach? ha, ha, ha!
Sir G. No, faith, sir Francis, this lady has
given me a cordial for that.
[Takes her by the Hand.
Sir F. Hold, sir, you have nothing to say
to this lady.
Sir G. Nor you nothing to do with my wife, sir.
Sir F. Wife, sir!
Mir. Ay, really, guardian, 'tis even so. I
hope you'll forgive my first offence.
Mar. So here's every body happy, I find,
but poor Pilgarlick. I wonder what satisfac-
tion I shall have for being cuff'd, kick'd, and
beaten in your service!
Sir J. I have been a little too familiar with
you as things are fallen out; but since there's
no help for't, you must forgive me.
Mar. 'Egad, I think so-but provided that
you be not so familiar for the future.
Sir G. Thou hast been an unlucky rogue.
Mar. But very honest.
Charles. That I'll vouch for, and freely for-
Sir G. And I'll do you one piece of service
more, Marplot; I'll take care that sir Francis
makes you master of your estate.
Sir F. What, have you chous'd me out of give thee.
my consent and your writings then, mistress, ha?
Mir. Out of nothing but my own, guardian.
Sir J. Ha, ha, ha! 'tis some comfort at least
to see you are over-reach'd as well as myself.
Will you settle your estate upon your son now?
Sir F. He shall starve first.
Mir. That I have taken care to prevent.
There, sir, are the writings of your uncle's
estate, which have been your due these three
[Gives Charles Papers.
Charles. I shall study to deserve this favour.
years.
Mar. That will make me as happy as any of you.
Sir J. Now let us in, and refresh ourselves
with a cheerful glass, in which we'll bury all
animosities; and
By my example let all parents move,
And never strive to cross their children's love;
But still submit that care to Providence above.
[Exeunt.
COLLEY CIBBER.
On
CIEBER was born on the 6th of November, O. S. 1671. His father, Cajus Gabriel Cibber, was a native of Hol-
stein, and came into England, to follow his profession of a statuary, some time before the restoration of King Charles 11.
His mother was the daughter of William Colley, Esq. of Glaiston in Rutlandshire. In 1682 he was sent to the free-
school of Grantham in Lincolnshire, where he stayed till he got through it, from the lowest form to the uppermost;
and such learning as that school could give him is, as he himself acknowledges, the most he could pretend to.
leaving the school, our author came to Nottingham, and found his father in arms there among the forces which the
Earl of Devonshire had raised to aid the Prince of Orange, afterwards King William 111. who had landed in the west.
The old man, considering this a very proper season for a young fellow to distinguish himself in, entreated the Earl of
Devonshire to accept of his son in his room, which his Lordship not only consented to, but even promised, that, when
affairs were settled, he would further provide for him. During his period of attendance on this nobleman, however, a
frequent application to the amusements of the theatre awakened in him his passion for the stage, which he seemed now
determined on pursuing as his summum bonum, and, in spite of father, mother, or friends, to fix on as his ne plus ultra.
From 1689 to 1711 we find him working through the difficulties of a poor salary at the theatre and the supporting by
the help of his pen a numerous family of children. In 1711 he became united, as joint-patentee with Collier, Wilks,
and Dogget, in the management of Drury Lane theatre; and afterwards in a like partnership with Booth, Wilks, and Sir
Richard Steele. During this latter period, which did not entirely end till 1731, the English stage was perhaps in the
most flourishing state it ever enjoyed. After a number of years, passed in the utmost ease, gaiety, and good-humour,
he departed this life, at Islington, on the 12th of December 1757; his man-servant (whom he had talked to by his bed-
32

250
[ACT I.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
side at six in the morning, in seeming good health) finding him dead at nine, lying on his pillow, just as he left him.
He had recently completed his 86th year. "I was vain enough to think," says he, "that I had more ways than one
to come at applause and that, in the variety of characters I acted, the chances to win it were the strongest on my side.
That, if the multitude were not in a roar to see me in Cardinal Wolsey, I could be sure of them in Alderman Fondle-
wife. If they hated me in Jago, in Sir Fopling they took me for a fine gentleman. If they were silent at Syphax, no
Italian eunuch was more applauded than I when I sung in Sir Courtly. If the morals of Aesop were too grave for
them, Justice Shallow was as simple and as merry an old rake as the wisest of our young ones could wish me. And
though the terror and detestation raised by King Richard might be too severe a delight for them, yet the more gentle
and modern vanities of a Poet Bayes, or the well-bred vices of a Lord Foppington, were not at all more than their
merry, hearts, or nicer morals, could bear." In answer to Pope's attack upon him for plagiarism, Mr. Cibber candidly
declares, that whenever he took upon him to make some dormant play of an old author fit for the stage, it was honestly
not to be idle that set him to work, as a good housewife will mend old linen when se has no better employment; but
that, when he was more warmly engaged by a subject entirely new he only thought it a good subject, when it seemed
worthy of an abler pen than his own, and might prove as useful to the hearer as profitable to himself. And, indeed,
this essential piece of merit must be granted to his own original plays, that they always tend to the improvement of
the mind as well as the entertainment of the eye; and that vice and folly, however pleasingly habited, are constantly
lashed, ridiculed, or reclaimed in them, and virtue as constantly rewarded. There is an argument, indeed, which might
be pleaded in favour of this author, were his plays possessed of a much smaller share of merit than is to be found in
them; which is, that he wrote, at least in the early part of his life, through necessity, for the support of his increasing
family; his precarious income as an actor being then too scanty to supply it with even the necessaries of life: and with
great pleasantry he acquaints us, that his muse and his spouse were equally prolific; that the one was seldom mother
of a child, but in the same year the other made him the father of a play; and that they had had a dozen of each sort
between them, of both which kinds some died in their infancy, and near an equal number of each were alive when he
quitted the theatre. No wonder then, when the Muse is only called upon by family duty, that she should not always
rejoice in the fruit of her labour. This excuse, we say, might be pleaded in Mr. Cibber's favour: but we must confess
ourselves of the opinion, that there is no occasion for the plea; and that his plays have merit enough to speak in their
own cause, without the necessity of begging indulgence. His plots, whether original or borrowed, are lively and full
of business; yet not confused in the action, nor bungled in the catastrophe. His characters are well drawn, and his
dialogue easy, genteel, and natural. And if he has not the intrinsic wit of a Congreve or a Vanburgh, yet there is a
luxuriance of fancy in his thoughts, which gives an almost equal pleasure, and a purity in his sentiments and morals,
the want of which, in the above named authors, has so frequently and so justly been censured. In a word, we think
the English stage as much obliged to Mr. Cibber, for a fund of rational entertainment, as to any dramatic writer this
nation has produced, Shakspeare only excepted; and one unanswerable evidence has been borne to the satisfaction the
public have received from his plays, and such a one as no author besides himself can boast, viz. that although the
number of his dramatic pieces is very extensive, a considerable part are now, and seem likely to continue, on the list
of acting and favourite plays.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND;
Or, a Journey to London, Acted at Drury Lane 1728. This comedy was begun by Sir John Vanburgh, but left
by him imperfect at his death; when Mr. Cibber took it in hand, and finished it. It met with very great success,
being acted twenty-eight nights without interruption; yet such is the power of prejudice and personal pique in biassing
the judgment, that Mr. Cibber's enemies, ignorant of what share he had in the writing of the piece, bestowed the
highest applause on the part which related to Lord Townly's provocations from his wife, which was mostly Cibber's,
at the same time that they condemned and opposed the Journey to London part, which was almost entirely Vanburgh's,
for no other apparent reason but because they imagined it to be Mr. Cibber's. He soon, however, convinced them of
their mistake, by publishing all the scenes which Sir John had left behind him, exactly from his own MS. under the
single title of The Journey to London.
LORD TOWNLY.
SIR F. WRONGHEAD.
MANLY.
SQUIRE RICHARD,
COUNT BASSET.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
POUNDAGE.
JOHN MOODY.
JAMES.
CONSTABLE.
WILLIAMS.
LADY TOWNLY.
LADY GRACE.
LADY WRONGHEAD.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-LORD TOWNLY's Apartment.
Enter LORD TOWNLY.
MISS JENNY.
MRS. MOTHERLY.
MYRTILLA,
TRUSTY.
thinks it a greater merit still, in her chastity,
not to care for her husband; and, while she
herself is solacing in one continual round of
cards and good company, he, poor wretch, is
Lord T. WHY did I marry?-Was it not left at large, to take care of his own content-
evident, my plain, rational scheme of life was ment-'Tis time, indeed, some care were ta-
impracticable with a woman of so different a ken, and speedily there shall be-Yet, let me
way of thinking?-Is there one article of it not be rash-Perhaps this disappointment of
that she has not broke in upon?-Yes-let me my heart may make me too impatient; and
do her justice-her reputation-That-I have some tempers, when reproached, grow more
no reason to believe, is in question-But then, untractable-Here she comes-Let me be calm
how long her profligate course of pleasures awhile.
may make her able to keep it-is a shocking
consideration! and her presumption, while she
Enter LADY TOWNLY.
keeps it, insupportable! for, on the pride of Going out so soon after dinner, madam?
that single virtue, she seems to lay it down
Lady T. Lord, my lord! what can I pos-
as a fundamental point, that the free indul-sibly do at home?
gence of every other vice this fertile town Lord T. What does my sister, lady Grace,
affords, is the birthright prerogative of a wo-do at home?
man of quality.-Amazing! that a creature, Lady T. Why, that is to me amazing! Have
so warm in the pursuit of her pleasures, should you ever any pleasure at home?
never cast one thought towards her happiness
Lord T. It might be in your power, madam, I
Thus, while she admits of no lover, she confess, to make it a little more comfortable to me.

SCENE 1.]
251
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Lady T. Comfortable! And so, my good table-throw a familiar levant upon
upon some
lord, you would really have a woman of my sharp, lurching man of quality, and if he de-
rank and spirit stay at home to comfort her mands his money, turn it off with a loud
husband!-Lord, what notions of life some laugh, and cry you'll owe it him, to vex him,
men have!
Lord T. Don't you think, madam, some
ladies' notions are full as extravagant?
ha, ha!
Lord T. Prodigious!
[Aside.
Lady T. These now, my lord, are some
'Lady T. Yes, my lord, when the tame doves few of the many modish amusements that
live cooped within the pen of your precepts, distinguish the privilege of a wife from that
of a single woman.
I do think them, prodigious indeed!
Lord T. And when they fly wild about this
town, madam, pray what must the world think
of them then?
Lord T. Death, madam! what law has made
these liberties less scandalous in a wife than
in an unmarried woman?
my lord.
Lady T. Oh, this world is not so ill bred, Lady T. Why, the strongest law in the
as to quarrel with any woman for liking it.world, custom-custom, time out of mind,
Lord T. Nor am I, madam, a husband so
well bred, as to bear my wife's being so fond
of it; in short, the life you lead, madam-
Lady T. Is to me the pleasantest life in the
world.
Lord T. I should not dispute your taste,
madam, if a woman had a right to please no-
body but herself.
Lady T. Why, whom would you have her
please?
Lord T. Sometimes her husband.
Lady T. And don't you think a husband
under the same obligation?
Lord T. Certainly.
Lord T. Custom, madam, is the law of fools;
but it shall never govern me.
Lady T. Nay then, my lord, 'tis time for
me to observe the laws of prudence.
Lord T. I wish I could see an instance of it.
Lady T. You shall have one this moment,
my lord; for I think when a man begins to
lose his temper at home, if a woman has any
prudence, why she'll go abroad till he comes
to himself again.
[Going.
Lord T. Hold, madam; I am amazed you
are not more uneasy at the life we lead. You
don't want sense, and yet seem void of all
humanity; for, with a blush I say it, I think
I have not wanted love.
Lady T. Why then we are agreed, my
lord-For if I never go abroad till I am weary
of being at home-(which you know is the Lady T. Oh, don't say that, my lord, if
case)-is it not equally reasonable, not to come you suppose I have my senses.
home till one is weary of being abroad?
Lord T. If this be your rule of life, madam,
'tis time to ask you one serious question.
Lady T. Don't let it be long a coming then,
for I am in haste.
Lord T. Madam, when I am serious, I
pect a serious answer.
Lord T. What is it I have done to you?
What can you complain of?
Lady T. Oh, nothing, in the least! 'Tis
true you have heard me say I have owed my
lord Lurcher a hundred pounds these three
ex-weeks; but what then? a husband is not liable
to his wife's debts of honour, you know; and
if a silly woman will be uneasy about money
she can't be sued for, what's that to him? As
long as he loves her, to be sure, she can have
nothing to complain of.
Lady T. Before I know the question?
Lord T. Pshaw!-Have I power, madam,
to make you serious by entreaty?
Lady T. You have.
Lord T. And you promise to answer me
sincerely?
Lady T. Sincerely.
Lord T. By heaven, if my whole fortune,
thrown into your lap, could make you delight
in the cheerful duties of a wife, I should think
myself a gainer by the purchase.
Lady T. That is, my lord, I might receive
your whole estate, provided you were sure I
would not spend a shilling of it.
Lord T. Now then, recollect your thoughts,
and tell me seriously why you married me.
Lady T. You insist upon truth, you say?
Lord T. I think I have a right to it.
Lady T. Why then, my lord, to give you Lord T. No, madam; were I master of your
at once a proof of my obedience and sincer- heart, your pleasures would be mine; but, dif-
ity-I think I married-to take off that re-ferent as they are, I'll feed even your follies
straint that lay upon my pleasures while I to deserve it-Perhaps you may have some
was a single woman.
other trifling debts of honour abroad, that
Lord T. How, madam! is any woman un- keep you out of humour at home-at least it
der less restraint after marriage than before it? shall not be my fault if I have not more of
Lady T. Oh, my lord, my lord! they are your company-There, there's a bill of five
quite different creatures! Wives have infinite hundred-and now, madam-
liberties in life, that would be terrible in an
unmarried woman to take.
Lord T. Name one.
Lady T. Fifty, if you please-To begin,
then-in the morning-A married woman may
Lady T. And now, my lord, down to the
ground, I thank you.
Lord T. If it be no offence, madam-
Lady T. Say what you please, my lord; I
am in that harmony of spirits, it is impossible
have men at her toilet-invite them to dinner to put me out of humour.
-appoint them a party in the stage-box at Lord T. How long, in reason then, do you
the play-engross the conversation there-call think that sum ought to last you?onal
them by their christian names-talk louder Lady T. Oh, my dear, dear lord, now you
than the players: from thence, clatter again to have spoiled all again! how is it possible I
this end of the town-break, with the mor- should answer for an event that so utterly
ning, into an assembly-crowd to the hazard-depends upon fortune? But to show you that

252
[ACT I.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
I am more inclined to get money than to flat simplicity of that reply was admirable.
throw it away, I have a strong prepossession
that with this five hundred I shall win five
thousand.
Lady G. Pooh, you tease one, brother!
Lord 7. Come, I beg pardon, child--this is
not a point, I grant you, to trifle upon; there-
Lord T. Madam, if you were to win ten fore I hope you'll give me leave to be serious.
thousand, it would be no satisfaction to me. Lady G. If you desire it, brother; though,
Lady T. Oh, the churl! ten thousand: what! upon my word, as to Mr. Manly's having any
not so much as wish I might win ten thou- serious thoughts of me-I know nothing of it.
sand!-Ten thousand! Oh, the charming sum! Lord T. Well-there's nothing wrong in
what infinite pretty things might a woman of your making a doubt of it-But,, in short, I
spirit do with ten thousand guineas! O'my find by his conversation of late, he has been
conscience, if she were a woman of true spirit looking round the world for a wife; and if
-she-she might lose them all again.
Lord T. And I had rather it should be so,
madam, provided I could be sure that were
the last you would lose.
you were to look round the world for a hus-
band, he is the first man I would give to you.
Lady G. Then whenever he makes me any
offer, brother, I will certainly tell you of it.
Lord T. Oh, that's the last thing he'll do!
he'll never make you an offer till he's pretty
sure it won't be refused.
Lady T. Well, my lord, to let you see I
design to play all the good housewife I can,
I am now going to a party at quadrille, only
to trifle with a little of it, at poor two guineas Lady G. Now you make me curious. Pray
a fish, with the duchess of Quiteright. [Exit. did he ever make any offer of that kind to you?
Lord T. Insensible creature! neither re- Lord T. Not directly but that imports
proaches nor indulgence, kindness nor sever- nothing; he is a man too well acquainted with
ity, can wake her to the least reflection! the female world to be brought into a high
Continual licence has lull'd her into such a opinion of any one woman, without some
lethargy of care, that she speaks of her exces- well-examined proof of her merit; yet I have
ses with the same easy confidence as if they reason to believe that your good sense, your
were so many virtues. What a turn has her turn of mind, and your way of life, have
head taken! But how to cure it-take my brought him to so favourable a
friend's opinion-Manly will speak freely-my that a few days will reduce him to talk plainly
sister with tenderness to both sides. They to me; which, as yet, notwithstanding our
know my case-I'll talk with them.
friendship, I have neither declined nor encou-
raged him to do.
Enter WILLIAMS
Lady G. I am mighty glad we are so near
Wil. Mr. Manly, my lord, has sent to know in our way of thinking; for, to tell you the
if your lordship was at home.
Lord T. They did not deny me?
Wil. No, my lord.
Lord T. Very well; step up to my
and say I desire to speak with her.
Wil. Lady Grace is here, my lord.
Enter LADY GRACE.
sister,
truth, he is much upon the same terms with
me: you know he has a satirical turn; but
never lashes any folly, without giving due en-
comiums to its opposite virtue; and, upon
such occasions, he is sometimes particular in
[Exit. turning his compliments upon me, which I
don't receive with any reserve, lest he should
imagine I take them to myself.
Lord T. So, lady fair, what pretty weapon
have you been killing your time with?
Lady G. A huge folio, that has almost killed
me-I think I have half read my eyes out.
Lord T. Oh! you should not pore so much
just after dinner, child.
Lady G. That's true; but any body's thoughts
are better than always one's own, you know.
Lord T. Who's there?
Re-enter WILLIAMS.
Leave word at the door I am at home to
nobody but Mr. Manly. [Exit Williams.
Lady G. And why is he excepted, pray,
my lord?
Lord T, You are right, child; when a man
of merit makes his addresses, good sense may
give him an answer without scorn or coquetry.
Lady G. Hush! he's here-
Enter MANLY.
Man. My lord, your most obedient.
Lord T. Dear Manly, yours-I was think-
ing to send to you.
Man. Then I am glad I am here, my lord
-Lady Grace, I kiss your hands-What, only
you two?-How many visits may a man make
before he falls into such unfashionable com-
pany! A brother and sister, soberly sitting at
home, when the whole town is a gadding; I
Lord T. I hope, madam, you have no ob-question if there is so particular a tête-à-tête
jection to his company?
again in the whole parish of St. James's.
Lady G. Fie, fie, Mr. Manly, how censo-
rious you are!
Lady G. Your particular orders, upon my
being here, look indeed as if you thought I
had not.
Lord T. And your ladyship's inquiry into
the reason of those orders shows, at least, it
was not a matter indifferent to you.
Lady G. Lord, you make the oddest con-
structions, brother!
Man. I had not made the reflection, madam,
but that I saw you an exception to it-Where's
my lady?
Lord T. That, I believe, is impossible to guess.
Man. Then I won't try, my lord.
Lord T. But 'tis probable I may hear of
her by that time I have been four or five hours
Do Lord T. Look you, my grave lady Grace
-in
in one serious word-I wish you had him. in bed.
Lady G. I can't help that.
Man. Now if that were my case-I believe
Lord T. Ha! you can't help it, ha, ha! The I-But I beg pardon, my lord.

SCENE 1.]
253
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Lord T. Indeed, sir, you shall not: you he married a profuse young hussy for love,
will oblige me if you speak out; for it was without a penny of money. Thus having, like
upon this head I wanted to see you.
his brave ancestors, provided heirs for the fa-
Man. VVhy then, my lord, since you oblige mily, he now finds children and interest-mo-
me to proceed-I have often thought that the ney make such a bawling about his ears, that
misconduct of my lady has, in a great mea- at last he has taken the friendly advice of his
sure, been owing to your lordship's treatment kinsman, the good lord Danglecourt, to run
of her.
Lady G. Bless me!
Lord T. My treatment?
his estate two thousand pounds more in debt,
to put the whole management of what is left
into Paul Pillage's hands, that he may be at
leisure himself to retrieve his affairs, by being
a parliament man.
Lord T. A most admirable scheme indeed!
Man. And with this politic prospect he is
now upon his journey to London-
Lord T. What can it end in?
Man. Ay, my lord; you so idolized her be-
fore marriage, that you even indulged her like
a mistress after it: in short, you continued
the lover when you should have taken up the
husband; and so, by giving her more power
than was needful, she has none where she
wants it; having such entire possession of you, Man. Pooh! a journey into the country again.
she is not mistress of herself. And, mercy on Lord T. Do you think he'll stir till his
us! how many fine women's heads have been money is gone, or at least till the session is
turned upon the same occasion!
Lover?
Lord T. Oh, Manly, 'tis too true! there's Man. If my intelligence is right, my lord,
the source of my disquiet; she knows, and he won't sit long enough to give his vote for
has abused her power.
a turnpike,
Man. However, since you have had so much Lord T. How so?
patience, my lord, even go on with it a day Man. Oh, a bitter business; he had scarce
or two more; and, upon her ladyship's next a vote in the whole town besides the return-
sally, be a little rounder in your expostula-ing officer. Sir John will certainly have it
tions: if that don't work-drop her some cool heard at the bar of the house, and send him
hints of a determined reformation, and leave about his business again.
her-to breakfast upon them.
Lord T. You are perfectly right. How va-
luable is a friend in our anxiety!
Man. Therefore, to divert that, my lord, I
beg, for the present, we may call another cause.
Lady G. Ay, for goodness' sake, let us have
done with this
Lord T. With all my heart.
Lady G.. Have you no news abroad, Mr.
Manly?
Man. Apropos-I have some, madam; and
I believe, my lord, as extraordinary in its kind-
Lord T. Pray let us have it.
Lord T. Then he has made a fine business
of it indeed.
Man. Which, as far as my little interest
will go, shall be done in as few days as possible.
Lady G. But why would you ruin the poor
gentleman's fortune, Mr. Manly?
Man. No, madam, I would only spoil his
project to save his fortune.
Lady G. How are you concerned enough
to do either?
Man. Why-I have some obligations to the
family, madam: I enjoy at this time a pretty
estate which sir Francis was heir at law to;
Man. Do you know that your country but-by his being a booby, the last will of an
neighbour, and my wise kinsman, sir Francis obstinate old uncle gave it to me.
Wronghead, is coming to town with his whole
family?
Lord T. The fool! what can be his busi-
ness here?
Man. Oh! of the last importance, I'll assure
you- No less than the business of the nation.
Lord T. Explain.
Re-enter WILLIAMS.
Wil. [To Manly] Sir, here is one of your
servants, from your house, desires to speak
with you.
Man. VVill you give him leave to come in,
my lord?
Man. He has carried his election - against
against Lord T. Sir-the ceremony's of your own
sir John Worthland.
making.
Enter JAMES.
[Exit Williams.
Man. Well, James, what's the matter?
James. Sir, here is John Moody just come
Lord T. The deuce! What! for-for-
Man. The famous borough of Guzzledown.
Lord T. A proper representative indeed!
Lady G. Pray, Mr. Manly, don't I know him?
Man. You have dined with him, madam, to town: he says sir Francis and all the fa-
when I was last down with my lord at Bellmont. mily will be here to-night, and is in a great
Lady G. Was not that he that got a little hurry to speak with you.
merry before dinner, and overset the tea-table
in making his compliments to my lady?
Man. The same.
Man. Where is he?
James. At our house, sir: he has been gap-
ing and stumping about the streets, in his
Lady G. Pray what are his circumstances? dirty boots, and asking every one he meets if
I know but very little of him.
they can tell him where he may have a good
Man. Then he is worth your knowing, I lodging for a parliament man, till he can hire
can tell you, madam. His estate, if clear, I a handsome whole house, fit for all his family,
believe, might be a good two thousand pounds for the winter.
a year; though, as it was left him saddled Man. I am afraid, my lord, I must wait
with two jointures and two weighty mortga- upon Mr. Moody.
ges upon it, there is no saying what it is- Lord T. Pr'ythee let us have him here; he
But that he might be sure never to mend it, will divert us.

254
[ACT 1.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Man. Oh, my lord, he's such a cub! Not
but he's so near common sense, that he passes
for a wit in the family.
Lady G. I beg of all things we may have
him; I am in love with nature, let her dress
be never so homely.
Moody. Why, we came up in such a hurry,
you mun ¹) think that our tackle was not so
tight as it should be.
Man, Come, tell us all.
Lord T. Come, let us sit down.
[They take Chairs.
Man. Then desire him to come hither, Man, Pray how do they travel?
James.
[Exit James. Moody. Why, i'the awld coach, measter;
Lady G. Pray what may be Mr. Moody's post? and 'cause my lady loves to do things hand-
Man. Oh! his maître-d'hôtel, his butler, his some, to be sure, she would have a couple of
bailiff, his hind, his huntsman, and sometimes cart-horses clapped to the four old geldings,
-his companion.
that neighbours might see she went up to
Lord T. It runs in my head that the mo- London in her coach and six; and so Giles
ment this knight has set him down in the Joulter, the ploughman, rides postillion.
house, he will get up to give them the earliest Man. Very well! The journey sets out as
proof of what importance he is to the public it should do. [Aside] What, do they bring
in his own county.
all the children with them too?
Moody. Noa, noa, only the younk squoire
and miss Jenny. The other foive 2) are all
out at board, at half-a-crown a head a week,
with John Growse, at Smokedunghill farm.
Man, Good again! a right English academy
for younger childrea!
Moody. Anon, sir. [Not understanding him.
Lord T. And when do you expect them
Man. Yes, and when they have heard him,
he will find that his utmost importance stands
valued at-sometimes being invited to dinner.
Lady G. And her ladyship, I suppose, will
make as considerable a figure in her sphere too?
Man, That you may depend upon; for (if
I don't mistake) she has ten times more of
the jade in her than she yet knows of: and
she will so improve in this rich soil in a here, John?
month, that she will visit all the ladies that Moody. Nay, nay, for that matter, madam,
will let her into their houses, and run in debt they're i'very good hands; Joan loves 'em as
to all the shopkeepers that will let her into tho'f they were all her own; for she was wet
their books: in short, before her important nurse to every mother's babe o'um-Ay, ay,
spouse has made five pounds by his eloquence they'll ne'er want a bellyful there. Why we
at Westminster, she will have lost five hun- were in hopes to ha' come yesterday, 'an it
dred at dice and quadrille in the parish of St. had no' been that th' awld weazlebelly horse
tired: and then we were so cruelly loaden
that the two fore wheels came crash down at
once in Waggon-rut-lane, and there we lost
four hours 'fore we could set things to rights
again,
James's.
Lord T. So that, by that time he is declared
unduly elected, 1) a swarm of duns will be
ready for their money, and his worship-will
be ready for a gaol.
Man. Yes, yes, that I reckon will close the Man. So they bring all the baggage with
account of this hopeful journey to London-the coach, then?
But see, here comes the fore horse of the team!
Enter JOHN MOODY.
Oh, honest John!
Moody. Ay, ay, and good store on it there
is-Why my lady's geer alone were as much
as filled four portmantel trunks, beside the
great deal box that heavy Ralph 3) and the
monkey sit upon behind.
Lord T.
Lady G.
Man.
}
Ha, ha, ha!
Moody. Ad's waunds 2) and heart, measter
Manly! I'm glad I ha' fun 3) ye. Lawd, lawd,
give me your hand! Why that's friendly naw.
Flesh! I thought we would never ha' got hither.
Well, and how do you do, measter? - Good
lack! I beg pardon for my bawldness-I did many are they within the coach?
not see 'at his honour was here.
Lady G. Well, Mr. Moody, and
pray
how
Moody. Why there's my lady, and his
Lord T. Mr. Moody, your servant: I am worship, and the younk squoire, and miss
glad to see you in London: I hope all the
good family are well?
Moody. Thanks be praised, your honour,
they are all in pretty good heart, tho'f we have
had a power of crosses upo' the road.
Lady G. I hope my lady has had no hurt,
Mr. Moody?
Moody. Noa, and please your ladyship, she
was never in better humour: there's money
enough stirring now.
Man. What has been the matter, John?
1) A sad proof of the want of purity in the election of
the members of Parliament.
2) This is a specimen of the dialect of the people in the
north of England, where they pronounce almost as
broad as the Scotch, so that, if we compare the change
of orthography with the difference of pronunciation,
we shall easily be able to understand: for instance,
waunds for wounds, lawd for lord, naw for now, etc.
3) Found.
Jenny, and the fat lapdog, and my lady's maid,
Mrs. Handy, and Doll Tripe the cook, that's
all-Only Doll puked a little with riding back-
ward; so they hoisted her into the coach-box,
and then her stomach was easy.
Lady G. Oh, I see them! I see them go by
me. Ha, ha!
[Laughing.
Moody. Then you mun think, measter, there
was some stowage for the belly as well as the
back too; children are apt to be famished upon
the road; so we had such cargoes of plum-
cake, and baskets of tongues, and biscuits, and
cheese, and cold boiled beef-And then, in case
of sickness, bottles of cherry brandy, plague
water, sack, tent, and strong beer so plenty as
made th' awld coach crack again. Mercy
upon them! and send them all well to town, I say.
Man, Ay, and well out on't again, John.
Moody. Odds bud, measter! you're a wise
1) Must.
2) Five. 3) The name of a dog.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
255
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Lord T. My service to sir Francis and my
lady, John.
Lady G. And mine pray, Mr. Moody.
Moody. Ay, your honours; they'll be proud
on't, I dare say.
Man. I'll bring my compliments myself: so,
honest John-
man; and for that matter, so am I-Whoam's ¹)
whoam, I say: I am sure we ha' got but little
good e'er sin we turned our backs on't. No-
thing but mischief! Some devil's trick or other
plagued us aw 2) the day lung. Crack goes
one thing! bawnce goes another! Woa! 3)
says Roger-Then sowse! we are all set fast
in a slough. Whaw, cries miss! Scream go
the maids! and bawl just as tho'f they were
stuck. And so, mercy on us! this was the
trade from morning to night. But my lady Lady G. Well, I can't but think, John, in
was in such a murrain haste to be here, that a wet afternoon, in the country, must be very
set out she would, tho'f I told her it was Chil-good company.
dermas day. 4)
Man. These ladies, these ladies, John-
Moody. Ay, measter! I ha' seen a little of
them: and I find that the best-when she's
mended, won't ha' much goodness to spare.
Lord T. Well said, John-Ha, ha!
Man. I hope, at least, you and your good
woman agree still.
Moody. Ay, ay, much of a muchness. Bridget
sticks to me; though as for her goodness-
why, she was willing to come to London too
-But hauld a bit! Noa, noa, says I, there
may be mischief enough done without you.
Man. Why that was bravely spoken, John,
and like a man.
Moody. Ah, weast heart! were measter but
hawf the mon that I am-Odds wookers! tho'f
he'll speak stautly too sometimes-But then he
canno' hawld it-no, he canno' hawld it.
Lord T.
Lady G. Ha, ha, ha!
Man.
Moody. Dear measter Manly! the goodness
of goodness bless and preserve you! [Exit.
Lord T. What a natural creature 'tis!
Lord T. Oh, the tramontane! If this were
known at half the quadrille tables in town,
they would lay down their cards to laugh at you.
Lady G. And the minute they took them
up again they would do the same at the losers
But to let you see that I think good com-
pany may sometimes want cards to keep them
together, what think you, if we three sat so-
berly down to kill an hour at ombre?
Man. I shall be too hard for you, madam.
Lady G. No matter, I shall have as much
advantage of my lord as you have of me.
Lord T. Say you so, madam? have at you
then. Here! get the ombre table and cards.
[Exit.
Lady G. Come, Mr. Manly-I know you
don't forgive me now.
Man. I don't know whether I ought to for-
give your thinking so, madam. Where do
you imagine I could pass my time so agreeably?
Lady G. I'm sorry my lord is not here to take
his share of the compliment-But he'll wonder
what's become of us.
Moody. Odds flesh! but I mun hie me
[Exit.
whoam; the coach will be coming every hour Man. It must be so-She sees I love her
naw-but measter charged me to find your-yet with what unoffending decency she
worship out; for he has hugey business with avoids an explanation! How amiable is every
you, and will certainly wait upon you by that hour of her conduct! What a vile opinion
time he can put on a clean neckcloth.
Man. Oh, John, I'll wait upon him.
Moody. Why you wonno' be so kind, wull ye?
Man. If you'll tell me where you lodge.
Moody. Just i'the street next to where your
worship dwells, at the sign of the Golden-ball
-its gold all over, where they sell ribbons
and flappits, and other sort of geer for gentle-
women.
Man. A milliner's?
Moody. Ay, ay, one Mrs. Motherly. Waunds,
she has a couple of clever girls there stitching
i'th' foreroom.
Man. Yes, yes, she's a woman of good bu-
siness, no doubt on't- Who recommended
that house to you, John?
Moody. The greatest good fortune in the
world, sure; for as I was gaping about the
streets, who should look out of the window
there but the fine gentleman that was always
riding by our coach side at York races-Count
-Basset; ay, that's he.
Man. Basset! Oh, I remember; I know him
by sight.
Moody. Well, to be sure, as civil a gentle-
man to see to-
Man. As any sharper in town.
Moody. Well, measter-
1) Home.
2) All.
[Aside.
3) Woa is the English manner of speaking to the horses
to make them stop, ánswerable to the German br-r.
4) A North country superstition.
have I had of the whole sex for these ten
years past, which this sensible creature has
recovered in less than one! Such a compa-
nion, sure, might compensate all the irksome
disappointment that folly and falsehood ever
gave me!
Could women regulate, like her, their lives,
What halcyon days were in the gift of wives;
Vain rovers then might envy what they hate,
And only fools would mock the married state.
[Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE 1.-MRS. MOTHERLY'S House.
Enter COUNT BASSET and MYRTILLA.
Count B. Myrtilla, how dost thou do, child?
Myr. As well as a losing gamester can.
Count B. Pshaw! hang these melancholy
thoughts! Suppose I should help thee to a
good husband?
Myr. I suppose you'll think any one good
enough, that will take me off o'your hands.
Count B. What do you think of the young
country squire, the heir of the family that's
coming to lodge here?
Myr. How should I know what to think of him?
Count B. Nay, I only give you the hint,
child; it may be worth your while at least to
look about you.
Enter MRS. MOTHERLY, in haste.
Mrs. M. Sir! sir! the gentleman's coach is
at the door; they are all come.

256
[ACT II.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Count B. What, already?
Mrs. M. They are just getting out!-Won't
you step and lead in my lady? Do you be in
Jenny. I hope you will see me in a better
to-morrow, sir.
[Lady W.whispers Mrs. M. pointing to Myr.
the way, niece; I must run and receive them. Mrs. M. Only a niece of mine, madam, that
[Exit. lives with me: she will be proud to give your
Count B. And think of what I told you. Exit. ladyship any assistance in her power.
Myr. A faithless fellow! I am sure I have Lady W. A pretty sort of a young woman
been true to him; and, for that only reason,-Jenny, you two must be acquainted.
he wants to be rid of me. But while women
are weak, men will be rogues.
Enter MRS. MOTHERLY, showing in LADY
WRONGHEAD, led by COUNT BASSET.
Mrs. M. If your ladyship pleases to walk
into this parlour, madam, only for the present,
till your servants have got all your things in.
Lady W. Well, dear sir, this is so infinite-
ly obliging-I protest it gives me pain, though,
to turn you out of your lodging thus.
Count B. No trouble in the least, madam:
we single fellows are soon moved; besides,
Mrs. Motherly's my old acquaintance, and I
could not be her hinderance.
Jenny. Oh, mamma, I am never strange in
a strange place.
[Salutes Myrtilla.
Myr. You do me a great deal of honour,
madam-Madam, your ladyship's welcome to
London.
Jenny. Mamma, I like her prodigiously;
she called me my ladyship.
Squire R. Pray, mother, mayn't I be ac-
quainted with her too?
Lady W. You, you clown! stay till
1 you
learn a little more breeding first.
Sir F. Odds heart, my lady Wronghead!
why do you baulk the lad? how should he
ever learn breeding, if he does not put himself
forward?
Mrs. M. The count is so well-bred, madam, Squire R. Why, ay, feyther, does mother
I dare say he would do a great deal more to think that I'd be uncivil to her?
accommodate your ladyship..
Myr. Master has so much good humour,
Lady W. Oh, dear madam!-A good, well-madam, he would soon gain upon any body.
bred sort of a woman. [Apart to the Count.
He kisses Myrtilla.
Count B. Oh, madam! she is very much Squire R. Lo' you there, mother! and you
among people of quality; she is seldom without would but be quiet, she and I should do well
them in her house.
Lady W. Are there a good many people
of quality in this street, Mrs. Motherly?
enough.
Lady W. Why, bow now, sirah! boys
must not be so familiar.
Mrs. M. Now your ladyship is here, madam, Squire R. Why, an I know nobody, how
I don't believe there is a house without them. the murrain mun I pass my time here, in a
Lady W. I am mighty glad of that; for, strange place? Naw you and I, and sister, for-
really, I think people of quality should always sooth, sometimes, in an afternoon, may play
live among one another.
at one and thirty bone-ace, purely.
Count B. 'Twas what one would choose,
indeed, madam.
Lady W. Bless me! but where are the chil-
dren all this while?
Sir F. [Without] John Moody! stay you
by the coach, and see all our things out
Come, children.
Enter SIR FRANCIS WRONGHEAD, SQUIRE
RICHARD, and MISS JENNY.
Sir F. Well, count, I mun say it, this was
koynd ¹), indeed.
Count B. Sir Francis, give me leave to bid
you welcome to London.
Sir F. Pshaw! how dost do, mon?-Waunds,
I'm glad to see thee! A good sort of a house this.
Count B. Is not that master Richard?
Sir F. Ey, ey, that's young hopeful-Why
dost not baw, Dick?
Squire R. So I do, feyther.
Count B. Sir, I'm glad to see you-I pro-
test, Mrs. Jane is grown so, I should not have
known her.
Jenny. Speak for yourself, sir: d'ye think I
play at such clownish games?
Squire R. Why, and you woant yo' ma' let
it aloane; then she and I, mayhap, will have
a bawt 1) at all-fours 2), without you.
Sir F. Noa, noa, Dick, that won't do neither;
you mun learn to make one at ombre, here,
child.
Myr. If master pleases, I'll show it him.
Squire R. What, the Humber! Hoy-day!
why, does our river run to this tawn, feyther?
Sir F. Pooh! you silly tony! ombre is a
geam at cards, that the better sort of people
play three together at.
Squire R. Nay, the moare the merrier, I
say; but sister is always so cross-grained-
in
Jenny. Lord! this boy is enough to deaf
people-and one has really been stuffed up
a coach so long that-Pray, madam-could
not I get a little powder 3) for my hair?
Myr. If you please to come along with me,
madam. [Exeunt Myrtilla and Jenny.
Squire R. What, has sister taken her away
naw! mess, I'll go and have a little
game with
them.
[Exit.
Lady W. Well, count, I hope you wont so
Count B. If I have permission to approach far change your lodgings, but you will come
her, sir Francis.
Sir F. Come forward, Jenny.
Jenny. Sure, papa! do you think I don't
know how to behave myself?
and be at home here sometimes.
Jenny. Lord, sir, I'm in such a frightful Sir F. Ay, ay, pr'ythee, come and take a
pickle!-
[Salute. bit of mutton with us, naw and tan 4), when
Count B. Every dress that's proper must be- thou'st nought to do.
come you, madam-you have been a long) Bout. 2) A very genteel game of cards.
journey.
1) Kind.
5) What would the ladies of the present day think of the
use of powder, which levels all distinctions of jet black,
auburn, etc.? 4) Now and then.

SCENE 1.]
257
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Count B. Well, sir Francis, you shall find your election did not cost you a trifle, I suppose.
I'll make but very little ceremony.
Sir F. Why, ay now, that's hearty!
Mrs. M. Will your ladyship please to
fresh yourself with a dish of tea, after your
fatigue?
Sir F. Why, ay! it's true! That-that did
lick in a little; but if a man's wise (and I han't
re-fawnd yet that I'm a fool), there are ways,
cousin, to lick one's self whole again.
Man. Nay, if you have that secret-
Sir F. Don't you be fearful, cousin-you'll
find that I know something.
Lady W. If you, please, Mrs. Motherly; but
I believe we had best have it above stairs.
[Exit Mrs. Motherly] Won't you walk up sir?
Sir F. Moody!
Count B. Shan't we stay for sir. Francis,
madam?
Lady W. Lard, don't mind him! he will
come if he likes it.
Sir F. Ay, ay, ne'er heed me--I have things
to look after.
[Exeunt Lady Wronghead and Count Basset.
Enter JOHN MOODY.
Moody. Did your worship want muh? 1)
Sir F. Ay, is the coach cleared, and all our
things in?
Man. If it be any thing for your good, I
should be glad to know it too.
Sir F. In short then, I have a friend in a
corner, that has let me a little into what's
what at Westminster-that's one thing.
Man. Very well! but what good is that to
do you?
Sir F. Why not me, as much as it does
other folks?
Man. Other people, I doubt, have the ad-
vantage of different qualifications.
Sir F. Why, ay! there's it naw! you'll say
that I have lived all my days i'the country-
what then?-I'm o'the quorum-I have been
Moody. Aw but a few band-boxes and the at sessions, and I have made speeches there!
nook that's left o'the goose poy 2)-But, a ay, and at vestry too-and, mayhap, they may
plague on him, the monkey has gin us the slip, find here-that I have brought my tongue up
I think I suppose he's goon to see his rela- to town with me! D'ye take me naw?
tions; for here looks to be a power of um in Man. If I take your case right, cousin, I
this tawn-but heavy Ralph has skawered 3) am afraid the first occasion you will have for
after him.
your eloquence here, will be, to show whether
you have any right to make use of it at all.
Sir F. How d'ye mean?
Sir F. Why, let him go to the devil! no
matter and the hawnds had had him a month
agoe. But I wish the coach and horses were
got safe to the inn! This is a sharp tawn, we
mun look about us here, John; therefore I
would have you go along with Roger, and
see that nobody runs away with them before
they get to the stable.
a
Man. That sir John Worthland has lodged
petition against you.
Sir F. Petition! why, ay! there let it lie-
we'll find a way to deal with that, I warrant
you! Why you forget, cousin, sir John's o'
the wrung side 1), mon!
Moody. Alas a day, sir, I believe our auld Man. I doubt, sir Francis, that will do you
cattle won't yeasly 4) be run away with to but little service; for, in cases very notorious,
night-but howsomdever, we'st ta' 5) the best which I take yours to be, there is such a
care we can of um, poor sawls.
thing as a short day, and dispatching them im-
mediately,
Sir F. Well, well, make haste then-
Moody goes out and returns.
Moody. Odds flesh! here's master Monly
come to wait upo' your worship!
Sir F. Wheere is he?
Moody. Just coming in at threshold.
Sir F. Then goa about your business.
[Exit Moody.
Enter MANLY.
Cousin Manly! sir, I am your very humble
servant.
Man. I heard you were come, sir Francis
-and-
Sir F. Odds heart! this was so kindly done
of you, naw!,
Man. I wish you may think it so, cousin!
for, I confess, I should have been better plea-
sed to have seen you in any other place.
Sir F. How soa, sir?
Man. Nay, 'tis for your own sake; I'm not
concerned..
Sir F. Look you, cousin; tho'f I know you
wish me well, yet I don't question I shall give
you such weighty reasons for what I have
done, that you will say, sir, this is the wisest
journey that ever I made in my life.
Man. I think it ought to be, cousin; for I
believe you will find it the most expensive one-
2) Goose pic. 3) Scowered, run.
5) Take.
1) Me.
4) Easily
Sir F. With all my heart! the sooner I
send him home again the better.
Man. And this is the scheme you have laid
down to repair your fortune?
Sir F. In one word cousin, I think it my
duty. The Wrongheads have been a consi-
derable family ever since England was England:
and since the world knows I have talents
wherewithal, they shan't say it's my fault, if
I don't make as good a figure as any that ever
were at the head on't.
Man. Nay, this project, as you have laid it,
will come up to any thing your ancestors have
done these five hundred years.
Sir F. And let me alone to work it: may-
hap I hav'n't told you all, neither-
Man. You astonish me! what, and is it full
as practicable as what you have told me?
Sir F. Ay, tho'f I say it-every whit, cou-
sin. You'll find that I have more irons i'the
fire than one; I doan't come of a fool's errand!
Man. Very well.
Sir F. In a word, my wife has got a friend
at court as well as myself, and her dowghter
Jenny is naw pretty well grown up-
Man. And what, in the devil's name, would
he do with the dowdy?
[Aside.
1) Not to be of the king's party in the house.-Shall we
never have a neutral party,' patriotical enough, to side
with neither king nor opposition?
33

258
[ACT II.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Sir F. Naw, if I doan't lay in for a hus-] Lady W. Why really coming to London
band for her, mayhap, i'this tawn, she may is apt to put a little more life into one's looks.
be looking out for herself-
Man. Not unlikely.
Sir F. Therefore I have some thoughts of
getting her to be maid of honour.
Man. Oh, he has taken my breath away!
but I must hear him out. [Aside] Pray, sir
Francis, do you think her education has yet
qualified her for a court.
Sir F. Why, the girl is a little too met-
tlesome, it's true; but she has tongue enough:
she woan't be dash'd! Then she shall learn to
dance forthwith, and that will soon teach her
how to stond still, you know.
Man. Very well, but when she is thus ac-
complished, you must still wait for a vacancy.
Sir F. Why I hope one has a good chance
for that every day, cousin; for if I take it
right, that's a post that folks are not more
willing to get into than they are to get out
of-It's like an orange-tree upon that accawnt
-it will bear blossoms, and fruit that's ready
to drop, at the same time.
Man. Well, sir, you best know how to
make good your pretensions. But pray where
is my lady and my young cousin? I should
be glad to see them too.
Sir F. She is but just taking a dish of
tea with the count and my landlady-I'll call
her dawn.
Man. No, no; if she's engaged, I shall call
again.
Man. Yet the way of living here is very..
apt to deaden the complexion- and give me
leave to tell you, as a friend, madam, you are
come to the worst place in the world for a
good woman to grow better in.
Lady W. Lord, cousin, how should people
ever make any figure in life, that are always
moped up in the country?
Count B. Your ladyship certainly takes the
thing in a quite right light, madam. Mr. Man-
ly, your humble servant-a hem.
Man. Familiar puppy! [Aside] Sir, your
most obedient-I must be civil to the rascal,
to cover my suspicion of him. [Aside.
Count B. Was you at White's ¹) this morn-
ing, sir?
Man. Yes, sir, I just called in.
Count B. Pray-what-was there any thing
done there?
Man. Much as usual, sir; the same daily
carcasses, and the same crows about them.
Count B. The Demoivre baronet had a bloo-
dy tumble yesterday.
Man. I hope, sir, you had your share of him.
Count B. No, faith; I came in when it was
all over-I think I just made a couple of bets
with him, took up a cool hundred, and so
went to the King's arms.
has!
Lady W. What a genteel easy manner he
[Aside.
Man. A very hopeful acquaintance I have
Sir F. Odds heart! but you mun see her made here.
naw, cousin: what! the best friend I have in
the world!-Here, sweetheart! [To a Servant Enter SQUIRE RICHARD, with a wet brown
without] pr'ythee desire the lady and the gen-
tleman to come down a bit; tell her here's cou-
sin Manly come to wait upon her.
Man. Pray, sir, who may the gentleman be?
Sir F. You mun know him to be sure; why,
it's count Basset.
Man. Oh, is it he!-Your family will be in-
infinitely happy in his acquaintance.
Paper on his Face.
[Aside.
Sir F. How naw, Dick; what's the matter
with thy forehead, lad?
Squire R. I ha' gotten a knock upon't.
Lady W. And how did you come by it, you
heedless creature?
Squire R. Why, I was but running after
sister, and t'other young woman, into a little
Sir F. Troth, I think so too: he's the civilest room just naw: and so with that they slapped
man that ever I knew in my life-Why, here the door full in my face, and gave me such
he would go out of his own lodgings, at an a whurr here-I thought they had beaten my
hour's warning, purely to oblige my family. brains out; so I got a dab of whet brown
Wasn't that kind naw?
Man. Extremely civil-The family is in ad-
mirable hands already
[Aside.
Sir F. Then my lady likes him hugely-all
the time of York races she would never be
without him.
Man. That was happy indeed! and a pru-
dent man, you know, should always take care
that his wife may have innocent company.
Sir F. Why, ay! that's it! and I think there
could not be such another!
Man. Why truly, for her purpose, I think not.
Sir F. Only naw and tan, he-he stonds a
little too much upon ceremony; that's his fault.
Man. Oh, never fear! he'll mend that every
day-Mercy on us! what a head he has! [Aside.
Sir F. So here they come.
Enter LADY WRONGHEAD and COUNT BASSET.
Lady W. Cousin Manly, this is infinitely
obliging; I am extremely glad to see you.
Man. Your most obedient servant, madam;
I am glad to see your ladyship look so well
after your journey.
paper here to swage it awhile.
Lady W. They served you right enough;
will you never have done with your horse play?
Sir F. Pooh, never heed it, lad; it will be
well by to-morrow-the boy has a strong head.
Man. Yes, truly, his skull seems to be of a
comfortable thickness!
[Aside.
Sir F. Come, Dick, here's cousin Manly-
Sir, this is your godson.
Squire R. Honoured godfeyther! I crave
leave to ask your blessing.
Man. Thou hast it, child-and if it will do
thee any good, may it be to make thee, at
least, as wise a man as thy father!
Enter MISS JENNY and MRS. MOTHERLY.
Lady W. Oh, here's my daughter too! Miss
Jenny, don't you see your cousin, child?
Man. And as for thee, my pretty dear-
[Salutes her]-may'st thou be, at least, as
good a woman as thy mother!
Jenny. I wish I may ever be so handsome, sir.
Man. Hab, miss Pert! now that's a thought
1) A famous Hell in St. James's Streets

SCENE 1.]
259
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
that seems to have been hatched in the girl Lady W. Pshaw! a fig for his money! you
on this side Highgate!
[Aside. have so many projects of late, about money,
Sir F. Her tongue is a little nimble, sir. since you are a parliament man! What, we
Lady W. That's only from her country edu- must make ourselves slaves to his impertinent
cation, sir Francis. You know she has been humours, eight or ten years, perhaps, in hopes
kept too long there; so I brought her to Lon- to be his heirs! and then he will be just old
don, sir, to learn a little more reserve and enough to marry his maid.
modesty.
Man. Oh, the best place in the world for
it!-every woman she meets will teach her
something of it. There's the good gentlewo-
man in the house looks like a knowing per-
son; even she, perhaps, will be so good as to
show her a little London behaviour.
Mrs. M. Alas, sir, miss won't stand long in
need of my instruction!
Man. That, I dare say-What thou canst
teach her, she will soon be mistress of. [Aside.
Mrs. M. If she does, sir, they shall always
be at her service.
Lady W. Very obliging, indeed, Mrs. Mo-
therly!
Mrs. M. Nay, for that matter, madam, the
town says he is going to be married already.
Sir F. Who! cousin Manly?
Lady W. To whom, pray?
Mrs. M. Why, is it possible your ladyship
should know nothing of it?-to my lord Townly's
sister, lady Grace.
Lady W. Lady Grace!
Mrs. M. Dear madam, it has been in the
newspapers.
Lady W. I don't like that, neither.
Sir F. Naw I do; for then it's likely it
mayn't be true.
Lady W. If it is not too far gone: at least,
it may be worth one's while to throw a rub
in his way.
[Aside
Squire R. Pray, feyther, haw lung will it
be to supper?
Sir F. Very kind and civil, truly!-I think
we are got into a mighty good hawse here.
Man. Oh, yes! and very friendly company.
Count B. Humph! I'gad, I don't like his Sir F. Odso, that's true! step to the cook,
looks-he seems a little smoky 1)-I believe I lad, and ask what she can get us.
had as good brush 2) off-If I stay, I don't
know but he may ask me some odd questions.
[Aside.
Man. Well, sir, I believe you and I do but
hinder the family.
Mrs. M. If you please, sir, I'll order one of
my maids to show her where she may have
any thing you have a mind to. [Exit.
Sir F. Thank you kindly, Mrs. Motherly.
Squire R. Odds flesh! what, is not it i'the
Count B. It's very true, sir-I was just hawse yet?-I shall be famished-but hawld!
thinking of going-He don't care to leave me, I'll go and ask Doll an' there's none o'the
I see; but it's no matter, we have time enough goose poy left.
-[Aside] And so, ladies, without ceremony, Sir F. Do so and dost hear, Dick? - see
your humble servant.
if there's e'er a bottle o'the strong beer, that
[Exit, and drops a Letter. came i'th' coach with us-if there be, clap a
Lady W. Ha! what paper's this? Some toast in it, and bring it up.
billet-doux, I'll lay my life, but this is no place Squire R. With a little nutmeg and
to examine it. [Puts it in her Pocket. shawn'a I, feyther?
-
sugar,
Sir F. Why in such haste, cousin?
Sir F. Ay, ay, as thee and I always drink
Man. Oh, my lady must have a great many it for breakfast-Go thy ways.
affairs upon her hands after such a journey!
Lady W. I believe, sir, I shall not have
much less every day, while I stay in this town,
of one sort or other.
Man. Why, truly, ladies seldom want em-
ployment here, madam.
Jenny. And mamma did not come to it to
be idle, sir.
Man. Nor you neither, I dare swear, my
young mistress?
Jenny. I hope not, sir.
Man. Ha, miss Mettle!
going, sir?
Where are you
Sir F. Only to see you to the door, sir.
Man. Oh, sir Francis, I love to come and
go without ceremony!
[Exit Squire Richard.
Lady W. This boy is always thinking of
his belly.
Sir F. Why, my dear, you may allow him
to be a little hungry, after his journey.
Lady W. Nay, e'en breed him your own
way-He has been cramming, in or out of the
coach, all this day, I am sure-I wish my
poor girl could eat a quarter as much.
Jenny. Oh, as for that, I could eat a great
deal more, mamma! but then, mayhap, I should
grow coarse, like him, and spoil my shape.
Enter SQUIRE RICHARD, with a full Tankard.
Squire R. Here feyther, I ha' browght it-
Sir F. Nay, sir, I must do as you will it's well I went as I did; for our Doll had
have me-your humble servant. [Exit Manly. just baked a toast, and was going to drink it
Jenny. This cousin Manly, papa, seems to herself.
be but of an odd sort of a crusty humour-I
don't like him half so well as the count.
Sir F. Pooh! that's another thing, child-
Cousin is a little proud, indeed! but, however,
Sir F. Why, then, here's to thee, Dick!
[Drinks.
Squire R. Thonk you, feyther.
Lady W. Lord, sir Francis, I wonder you
you must always be civil to him, for he has a can encourage the boy to swill so much of
deal of money; and nobody know who he that lubberly liquor! it's enough to make him
may give it to.
quite stupid!
Squire R. Why, it never hurts me, mother;
1) To be smoky, is slang for, to see through a person, to and I sleep like a hawnd after it. [Drinks.
understand his character.
2) Slang for, to go away.
Sir F. I am sure I ha' drunk it these thirty

260
[ACT III.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
years; and, by your leave, madam, I don't
know that I want wit, ha, ha!
Jenny. But you might have had a great
deal more, papa, if you would have been go-
verned by my mother.
Sir F. Daughter, he that is governed by his
wife has no wit at all.
Jenny. Then I hope I shall marry a fool,
sir; for I love to govern, dearly.
Sir F. You are too pert, child; it don't do
well in a young woman.
Lady W. Pray, sir Francis, don't snub her;
she has a fine growing spirit, and if you check
her so, you will make her as dull as her bro-
ther there.
Squire R. [After a long draught] Indeed,
mother, I think my sister is too forward.
Jenny. You! you think I'm too forward!
sure, brother mud! your head's too heavy to
think of any thing but your belly.
Lady W. Well said, miss! he's none of
your master, though he is your elder brother.
Squire R. No, nor she shawn't be my mis-
tress, while she's younger sister.
Sir F. Where did he go?
Moody. Sir, he went home.
Sir F. Where's that?
Moody. By my troth, sir, I doan't know! I'
heard him say he would cross the same street
again to-morrow; and if we had a mind to
stand in his way, he would pooll us over and
over again.
Sir F. Will he so? Odzooks, get me a
constable!
Lady W. Pooh, get you a good supper!-
Come, sir Francis, don't put yourself in a
heat, for what can't be helped. Accidents will
happen to people that travel abroad to see the
world-For my part, I think it's a mercy it
was not overturned before we were all out on't.
Sir F. Why, ay, that's true again, my dear.
Lady W. Therefore, see to-morrow if we
can buy one at second hand, for present use;
so bespeak a new one, and then all's easy.
Moody. Why, troth, sir, I don't think this
could have held you above a day longer.
Sir F. D'ye think so, John?
Moody. Why, you ha' had it, ever since
your worship were high sheriff.
Sir F. Well said, Dick! show them that
stawt liquor makes a stawt heart, lad!
Sir F. Why, then, go and see what Doll
Squire R. So I will! and I'll drink agen, has got us for supper-and come, and get off
for all her.
[Drinks. my boots.
[Exeunt.
Enter JOHN MOODY.
Sir F. So, John, how are the horses?
Moody. Troth, sir, I ha' noa good opinion
o'this tawn; it's made up o'mischief, I think.
Sir F. What's the matter naw?
ACT III.
SCENE I.-LORD TOWNLY's House.
Enter LORD TOWNLY and WILLIAMS.
Lord T. Who's there?
Wil. My lord!
Lord T. Bid them get dinner-
[Exit Williams.
Moody. Why, I'll tell your worship-before
we were gotten to the street end, with the
coach, here, a great luggerheaded cart, with
wheels as thick as a brick wall, laid hawld
on't, and has poo'd it aw to bits-crack went
the perch! down goes the coach! and whang Lady Grace, your servant!
says the glasses, all to shivers! Marcy upon. Lady G. What, is the house up already?
us!-and this be London, 'would we were aw-My lady is not dressed yet.
weel in the country ageen!
Enter LADY GRACE.
Lord T. No matter-it's five o'clock-she
Jenny. What have you to do, to wish us may break my rest, but she shall not alter
all in the country again, Mr. Lubber? I hope my hours.
we shall not go into the country again these
seven years, mamma; let twenty coaches be for she dines abroad.
pulled to pieces.
Lady G. Nay, you need not fear that now,
Lord T. That, I suppose, is only an excuse
Sir F. Hold your tongue, Jenny!-Was for her not being ready yet."
Roger in no fault in all this?
Lady G. No, upon my word, she is en-
gaged in company.
Lord T. But, pr'ythee, sister, what humour
is she in to-day?
Lady G. Oh, in tip-top spirits, I can assure
you!-she won a good deal last night.
Moody. Noa, sir, nor I noither. "Are not
yow ashamed," says Roger to the carter, "to
do such an unkind thing by strangers?"
"Noa," says he, "you bumkin."-Sir, he did the
thing on very purpose! and so the folks said
that stood-by.-"Very well," says Roger, "yow Lord T. I know no difference between her
shall see what our meyster will say to ye!" winning or losing, while she continues her
-Your meyster," says he; "your meyster may course of life.
kiss my-"; and so he clapped his hand just
there, and like your worship. Flesh! I thought
they had better breeding in this town.
Sir F. I'll teach this rascal some, I'll war-
rant him! Odsbud, if I take him in hand, I'll
play the devil with him!
Squire R. Ay do, feyther; have him before
the parliament.
Sir F. Odsbud, and so I will!--I will make
him know who I am-Where does he live?
Moody. I believe, in London, sir..
Sir F. What's the rascal's name?
Moody. I think I heard somebody call him Dick.
Squire R. What! my name?
Lady G. However she is better in good
humour than bad.
Lord T. Much alike: when she is in good
humour, other people only are the better for
it-when in a very ill humour, then indeed I
seldom fail to have a share of her.
Lady G. Well, we won't talk of that now
-Does any body dine here?
Lord T. Manly promised me-By the way,
madam, what do you think of his last con-
versation?
Lady G. I am a little at a stand about it.
Lord T. How so?
Lady G. Why
I have received a letter

SCENE 1.]
261
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
this morning, that shows him a very different my lady Moonlight; and from thence they go
man from what I thought him.
together to my lord Noble's assembly.
Lord T. A letter! from whom?
Lady G. That I don't know; but there it is.
[Gives a Letter.
[Reads.
Lord T. Pray let's see-
The enclosed, madam, fell accidentally
Man. And are you to do all this with her,
madam?
Lady G. Only a few of the visits.
Man. But how can you forbear all the rest of it?
Lady G. There's no great merit in forbear-
into my hands: if it no way concerns you, ing what one is not charmed with.
you will only have the trouble of reading
this, from your sincere friend, and humble
servant unknown, etc.
Lady G. And this was the enclosed.
[Gives another.
Lord T. [Reads]
To Charles Manly esq.
Your manner of living with me of late,
convinces me that I now grow as painful
to you as to myself; but, however, though
you can love me no longer, I hope you
will not let me live worse than I did before
I left an honest income for the vain hopes
of being ever yours,
MYRTILLA DUPE.
P. S. 'Tis above four months since I re-
ceived a shilling from you.
Lady G. What think you now?
Lord T. I am considering
Lady G. You see it's directed to him?
Man. And yet I have found that very diffi-
cult in my time.
Lady G. How do you mean?
Man. Why I have passed a great deal of
my life in the hurry of the ladies, though I
was generally better pleased when I was at
quiet without them.
Lady G. What induced you then to be
with them?
Man. Idleness and the fashion.
Lady G. No mistresses in the case?
Man. To speak honestly-yes-Being often
in the toy-shop, there was no forbearing the
baubles.
Lady G. And of course, I suppose, some-
times you were tempted to pay for them twice
as much as they were worth,
Man, Madam!
Lady G. I'll be free with you, Mr. Manly
Lord T. That's true; but the postscript - I don't know a man in the world, that in
seems to be a reproach that I think he is not appearance might better pretend to a woman
capable of deserving.
of the first merit than yourself; and yet I have
Lady G. But who could have concern a reason in my hand here to think you have
enough to send it to me?
your failings.
Lord T. I have observed that these sort of Man. I have infinite, madam; but I am sure
letters from unknown friends, generally come the want of an implicit respect for you is not
from secret enemies.
among the number. - Pray what is in your
hand, madam?
Lady G. What would you have me do in it?
Lord T. What I think you ought to do-
fairly show it him, and say I advised you to it.
Lady G. Will not that have a very odd
look from me?
Lady G. Nay, sir, I have no title to it, for
the direction is to you. [Gives him a Letter.
Man. To me! I don't remember the hand.
[Reads to himself.
Lady G. Give me leave to tell you one
thing, by the way, Mr. Manly, that I should
never have shown you this but that my bro-
Lord T. Not at all, if you use my name in
it; if he is innocent, his impatience to appear
so will discover his regard to you; if he is
guilty, it will be the best way of preventing ther enjoined me to it.
his addresses.
Lady G. But what pretence have 1 to put
him out of countenance?
Lord T. I can't think there's any fear of that.
Lady G. Pray what is it you do think then?
Lord T. Why certainly that it's much more
probable this letter may be all an artifice,
than that he is in the least concerned in it.
Enter WILLIAMS.
[Exit.
Wil. Mr. Manly, my lord.
Lord T. Do you receive him, while I step
a minute to my lady.
Enter MANLY.
[Exit.
Man. Madam, your most obedient - they
told me my lord was here.
Lady G. He will be here presently; he is
but just gone in to my sister.
Man. So then my lady dines with us?
Lady G. No, she is engaged.
Man. I hope you are not of her party, madam?
Lady G. Not till after dinner.
Man. And pray how may she have dispo-
sed of the rest of the day?
Man. I take that to proceed from my lord's
good opinion of me, madam.
Lady G. I hope at least it will stand as an
excuse for my taking this liberty.
Man. I never yet saw you do any thing,
madam, that wanted an excuse; and I hope
you will not give me an instance to the con-
trary, by refusing the favour I am going to
ask you.
Lady G. I don't believe I shall refuse any
think
you
proper to ask.
that
Man. Only this, madam, to indulge me so
far as to let me know how this letter came
into your hands.
Lady G. Enclosed to me in this, without a
name.
Man. If there be no secret in the contents,
madam-
Lady G. Why-there is an impertinent in-
sinuation in it; but, as I know your good
sense will think it so too, I will venture to
trust you,
Man. You'll oblige me, madam.
[Takes the other Letter, and reads.
Lady G. Much as usual; she has visits till Lady G. Now am I in the oddest situation!
about eight; after that, till court time, she is methinks our conversation grows terribly cri-
to be at quadrille, at Mrs. Idle's; after the tical-This must produce something-Oh lud,
drawing-room, she takes a short supper with would it were over!
[Aside.

262
[ACT III.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Man. Now, madam, I begin to have some Mrs. T. Yes, madam; but my lord has been
light into the poor project that is at the bot-courting her so, I think, till they are both out
tom of all this.
of humour.
Lady G. I have no notion of what could
be proposed by it.
Man. A little patience, madam-First, as to
the insinuation you mention-
Lady G. How so?
Mrs. T. Why it began, madam, with his
lordship's desiring her ladyship to dine at home
to-day-upon which my lady said she could
Lady G. Oh! what is he going to say now? not be ready; upon that my lord ordered them
[Aside. to stay the dinner-and then my lady ordered
Man. Though my intimacy with my lord the coach-then my lord took her short, and
may have allowed my visits to have been very said he had ordered the coachman to set up
frequent here of late, yet, in such a talking-then my lady made him a great courtesy,
town as this, you must not wonder if a great and said she would wait till his lordship's
many of those visits are placed to your ac-horses had dined, and was mighty pleasant;
count; and this taken for granted, I suppose, but, for fear of the worst, madam, she whis-
has been told to my lady Wronghead, as a pered me-to get her chair ready. [Exit.
piece of news, since her arrival, not impro- Lady G. Oh, here they come! and, by their
bably with many more imaginary circumstances. looks, seem a little unfit for company. [Exit.
Lady G. My lady Wronghead!
Man. Ay, madam; for I am positive this is
her hand.
Lady G. What view could she have in
writing it?
Enter LADY TOWNLY, LORD TOWNLY following.
Lady T. Well, look you, my lord, I can
bear it no longer; nothing still but about my
faults-my faults! an agreeable subject, truly!
Man. To interrupt any treaty of marriage Lord T. Why, madam, if you won't hear
she may have heard I am engaged in, be- of them, how can I ever hope to see you
cause, if I die without heirs, her family ex-mend them?
pects that some part of my estate may return Lady T. Why I don't intend to mend them
to them again. But I hope she is so far mis--I can't mend them-you know I have tried
taken, 'that if this letter has given you the least to do it a hundred times-and-it hurts me
uneasiness-I shall think that the happiest mo-so-I can't bear it.
ment of my life.
Lady G. That does not carry your usual
complaisance, Mr. Manly.
Man. Yes, madam, because I am sure I can
convince you of my innocence.
Lady G. I am sure I have no right to
quire into it.
Lord T. And I, madam, can't bear this daily
licentious abuse of your time and character.
Lady T. Abuse! astonishing! when the uni-
verse knows I am never better company than
when I am doing what I have a mind to. But
in- to see this world! that men can never get
over that silly spirit of contradiction!-Why,
Man. Suppose you may not, madam; yet but last Thursday now!-there you wisely
you may very innocently have so much curiosity. amended one of my faults, as you call them
Lady G. Well, sir, I won't pretend to have-you insisted upon my not going to the mas-
so little of the woman in me, as to want cu-querade-and pray what was the consequence?
riosity-But pray do you suppose then this Was not I as cross as the devil all the night
Myrtilla is a real or a fictitious name? after? Was not I forced to get company at
Man. Now I recollect, madam, there is a home? And was it not almost three o'clock
young woman in the house where my lady this morning before I was able to come to
Wronghead lodges, that I heard somebody myself again? And then the fault is not mended
call. Myrtilla-this letter may have been writ-neither-for next time I shall only have twice
ten by her-But how it came directed to me the inclination to go: so that all this mending,
I confess is a mystery, that before I ever pre- and mending, you see, is but darning old lace,
sume to see your ladyship again, I think my-to make it worse than it was before.
self obliged in honour to find out. [Going. Lord T. Well, the manner of women's liv-
Lady G. Mr. Manly-you are not going? ing, of late, is insupportable! and one way
Man. 'Tis but to the next street, madam; I or other-
shall be back in ten minutes.
Lady T. It's to be mended, I suppose-why
Lady G. Nay, but dinner's just coming up. so it may! but then, my dear lord, you must
Man. Madam, I can neither eat nor rest give one time-and when things are at the
till I see an end of this affair.
worst, you know, they may mend themselves,
Lady G. But this is so odd! why should ha, ha!
any silly curiosity of mine drive you away? Lord T. Madam, I am not in a humour
Man. Since you won't suffer it to be yours, now to trifle.
madam- then it shall be only to satisfy my Lady T. Why then, my lord, one word of
own curiosity.
[Exit. fair argument-to talk with you in your own
Lady G. Well- and now what am I to way now-You complain of my late hours,
think of all this? Or suppose an indifferent and I of your early ones-so far we are even,
person had heard every word we have said you'll allow-but pray which gives us the best
to one another, what would they have thought figure in the eye of the polite world-my ac-
on't? Would it have been very absurd to con- tive, spirited three in the morning, or your
clude he is seriously inclined to pass the rest dull, drowsy eleven at night? Now I think one
of his life with me?-I hope not-for I am has the air of a woman of quality, and t'other
sure the case is terribly clear on my side. of a plodding mechanic, that goes to bed be-
Enter MRS. TRUSTY.
times, that he may rise early to open his shop
Well, Mrs. Trusty, is my sister dressed yet?-Faugh!

SCENE 1.]
263
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Lord T. Fie, fie, madam! is this your way such a word from him in my life before! The
of reasoning? 'tis time to wake you then-man always used to have manners, in his
'Tis not, your ill hours alone that disturb me, worst humours.-There's something that I
but as often the ill company that occasion don't see, at the bottom of all this -But his
those ill hours.
head's always upon some impracticable scheme
or other; so I won't trouble mine any longer
about him.
Lady T. Sure I don't understand you now,
my lord; what ill company do I keep?
Enter MANLY.
Lord T. Why, at best, women that lose
their money, and men that win it; or perhaps
men that are voluntary bubbles at one game, Mr. Manly, your servant!
in hopes a lady will give him fair play at Man. I ask pardon for intrusion, madam;
another. Then that unavoidable mixture with but I hope my business with my lord will
known rakes, concealed thieves, and sharpers
in embroidery-or, what to me is still more
shocking, that herd of familiar, chattering,
crop-eared coxcombs!
Lady T. And a husband must give eminent
proof of his sense, that thinks their follies
dangerous.
Lord T. Their being fools, madam, is not
always the husband's security; or, if it were,
fortune sometimes gives them advantages that
might make a thinking woman tremble.
Lady T. What do you mean?
Lord T. That women sometimes lose more
than they are able to pay; and if a creditor
be a little pressing, the lady may be reduced
to try if, instead of gold, the gentleman will
accept of a trinket.
Lady T. My lord, you grow scurrilous;
you'll make me hate you! I'll have you to
know, I keep company with the politest people
in town, and the assemblies I frequent are
full of such.
Lord T. So are the churches-now and then.
Lady T. My friends frequent them too, as
well as the assemblies.
excuse it.
Lady T. I believe you'll find him in the
next room, sir.
Man. Will you give me leave, madam?
Lady T. Sir, you have my leave, though
you were a lady.
Man. What a well-bred age do we live in!
[Aside. Exit.
Enter LADY GRACE.
Lady T. Oh, my dear lady Grace! how
could you leave me so unmercifully alone, all
this while?
Lady G. Ithought my lord had been with you.
Lady T. Why yes; and therefore I wanted
your relief; for he has been in such a fluster
here-
Lady G. Bless me! for what?
we
Lady T. Only our usual breakfast!
have each of us had our dish of matrimonial
comfort this morning-We have been charm-
ing company!
Lady G. I am mighty glad of it! sure it
must be a vast happiness when a man and
wife can give themselves the same turn of
Lord T. Yes, and would do it oftener, if a conversation!
groom of the chambers were allowed to fur-
nish cards to the company.
Lady T. Oh, the prettiest thing in the world!
Lady G. Now I should be afraid, that where
Lady T. I see what you drive at all this two people are every day together so, they
while; you would lay an imputation on my must often be in want of something to talk upon.
fame, to cover your own avarice. I might Lady T. Oh, my dear, you are the most
take any pleasures, I find, that were not ex-mistaken in the world! married people have
pensive.
things to talk of, child, that never enter into
Lord T. Have a care, madam; don't let me the imagination of others.-Why, here's my
think you value your chastity only, to make lord and I, now; we have not been married
me reproachable for not indulging you in above two short years, you know, and we
every thing else that's vicious-I, madam, have have already eight or ten things constantly in
a reputation too to guard, that's dear to me bank, that whenever we want company, we
as yours-The follies of an ungoverned wife can take up any one of them for two hours
may make the wisest man uneasy; but 'tis his together, and the subject never the flatter;
own fault if ever they render him contemptible. nay, if we have occasion for it, it will be as
Lady T. My lord, my lord-you would make fresh next day too as it was the first hour it
entertained us.
a woman mad!
Lord T. Madam, madam, you would make
a man a fool!
Lady T. If heaven has made you otherwise,
that won't be in my power.
Lady G. Certainly, that must be vastly pretty!
Lady T. Oh, there's no life like it! Why,
t'other day, for example, when you dined
abroad, my lord and I, after a pretty, cheer-
Lord T. Whatever may be in your incli- ful, tête-à-tête meal, sat us down by the fire-
nation, madam, I'll prevent you making me a side, in an easy, indolent, pick-tooth way, for
beggar at least.
about a quarter of an hour, as if we had not
Lady T. A beggar! Croesus! I am out of thought of any other's being in the room - At
patience! I won't come home till four to- last, stretching himself and yawning-"My
morrow morning.
dear" says he "aw-you came home very
Lord T. That may be, madam; but I'll or- late last night"-""Twas but just turned of
der the doors to be locked at twelve.
two," says I-"I was in bed-aw-by eleven,"
Lady T. Then I won't come home till to- says he "So you are every night," says I-
morrow night.
"Well," says he, "I am amazed you can sit
Lord T. Then, madam, you shall never up so late"-"How can you be amazed," says
come home again.
[Exit. I, "at a thing that happens so often?"-Upon
Lady T. What does he mean? I never heard which we entered into a conversation- and
-

264
[ACT III.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
though this is a point has entertained us above lead you so far into the world; you are a
fifty times already, we always find so many, prude, and design to live soberly.
pretty, new things to say upon it, that I be- Lady G. Why, I confess, my nature and
lieve in my soul it will last as long as we live. my education do, in a good degree, incline
Lady G. But pray, in such sort of family me that way.
dialogues (though extremely well for passing Lady T. Well, how a woman of spirit (for
the time), don't there now and then enter some you don't want that, child) can dream of liv-
little witty sort of bitterness?
ing soberly, is to me inconceivable! for you
will marry, I suppose?
Lady T. Oh, yes! which does not do amiss
at all-A smart repartee, with a zest of recri-
mination at the head of it, makes the prettiest
sherbet! Ay, ay, if we did not mix a little of
the acid with it, a matrimonial society would
be so luscious that nothing but an old liquorish
prude would be able to bear it.
Lady G. Well, certainly you have the most
elegant taste-
Lady T. Though, to tell you the truth, my
dear, I rather think we squeezed a little too
much lemon into it this bout;, for it grew so
sour at last, that- I think I almost told him
he was a fool-and he again-talked some-
thing oddly of-turning me out of doors.
Lady G. O, have a care of that!
Lady G. I can't tell but I may.
Lady T. And won't you live in town?
Lady G. Half the year I should like it very well.
Lady T. My stars! and you would really
live in London half the
live in London half the year, to be sober in it?
Lady G. Why not?
Lady T. Why, can't you as well go and
be sober in the country?
Lady G. So I would-t'other half year.
Lady T. And pray what comfortable scheme
of life would you form, now, for your sum-
mer and winter sober entertainments?
Lady G. A scheme that, I think, might very
well content us.
Lady T. Oh, of all things, let's hear it.
Lady T. Nay, if he should, I may thank my Lady G. Why, in summer I could pass my
own wise father for it.-But to be serious, my leisure hours in reading, walking by a canal,
dear, what would you really have a woman or sitting at the end of it under a great tree;
do in my case?
in dressing, dining, chatting with an agreeable
Lady G. Why-if I had a sober husband, friend; perhaps hearing a little music, taking
as you have, I would make myself the hap- a dish of tea, or a game at cards, soberly;
piest wife in the world, by being as sober managing my family, looking into its accounts,
as he.
playing with my children, if I had any, or in
Lady T. Oh, you wicked thing! how can a thousand other innocent amusements-so-
you tease one at this rate, when you know berly; and possibly, by these means, I might
he is so very sober, that, except giving me induce my husband to he as sober as myself.
money, there is not one thing in the world Lady T. Well, my dear, thou art an aston-
he can do to please me. And I, at the same ishing creature! for sure such primitive, an-
time, partly by nature, and partly perhaps by tediluvian notions of life have not been in any
keeping the best company, do with my soul head these thousand years - Under a great
love almost every thing he hates. I dote upon tree! Oh, my soul!-But I beg we may have
assemblies- my heart bounds at a ball-and the sober town scheme too-for I am charmed
at an opera-I expire. Then I love play to with the country one!
distraction!-cards enchant me- and dice- Lady G. You shall; and I'll try to stick to
put me out of my little wits-Dear, dear ha- my sobriety there too.
zard!-Oh, what a flow of spirits it gives one!
-Do you never play at hazard, child?
Lady T. Well, though I'm sure it will give
me the vapours, I must hear it, however.
Lady G. Oh, never! I don't think it sits
Lady G. Why then, for fear of your faint-
well upon women-there's something so mas-ing, madam, I will first so far come into the
culine, so much the air of a rake in it! You fashion, that I would never be dressed out of
see how it makes the men swear and curse! it--but still it should be soberly; for I can't
and when a woman is thrown into the same think it any disgrace to a woman of my pri-
passion-why-
vate fortune, not to wear her lace as fine as
Lady T. That's very true; one is a little put the wedding-suit of a first duchess. Though
to it, sometimes, not to make use of the same there is one extravagance I would venture to
words to express it.
come up to.
Lady T. Ay, now for it!
Lady G. I would every day be as neat as
bride.
Lady G. Well, and upon ill luck, pray what
words are you really forced to make use of?
Lady T. Why, upon a very hard case in- a
deed, when a sad wrong word is rising just Lady T. Why the men say that's a great
to one's tongue's end, I give a great gulp-step to be made one-Well, now you are
and swallow it.
Lady G. Well, and is not that enough to
make you forswear play as long as you live?
Lady T. Oh, yes I have forsworn it.
Lady G. Seriously?
Lady T. Solemnly!-a thousand times; but
then one is constantly forsworn.
dressed, pray let's see to what purpose.
Lady G. I would visit - that is, my real
friends; but as little for form as possible.-I
would go to court; sometimes to an assembly,
nay, play at quadrille-soberly: I would see
all the good plays, and, because 'tis the fashion,
now and then an opera-but I would not ex-
Lady G. And how can you answer that? pire there, for fear I should never go again;
Lady T. My dear, what we say when we and lastly, I can't say, but for curiosity, if I
are losers, we look upon to be no more bind-liked my company, I might be drawn in once
ing than a lover's oath or a great man's pro- to a masquerade; and this, I think, is as far
mise. But I beg pardon, child, I should not as any woman can go-soberly.

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
265
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
for some surfeit- water.
Lady T. Well, if it had not been for this venged of her; for I will do her the greatest
last piece of sobriety, I was just going to call friendship in the world-against her will.
Lord T. What an uncommon philosophy
Lady G. Why, don't you think, with the art thou master of to make even thy malice
further aid of breakfasting, dining, and taking a virtue!
the air, supping, sleeping, not to say a word
of devotion, the four-and-twenty hours might
roll over in a tolerable manner?
all
Lady T. Tolerable! deplorable! Why, child,
you propose is but to endure life; now I
want to enjoy it.
Enter MRS. TRUSTY.
Mrs. T. Ma'am, your ladyship's chair is ready.
Lady T. Have the footmen their white flam-
beaux yet? for last night I was poisoned.
Mrs. T. Yes, ma'am, there were some came
in this morning.
[Exit.
Lady T. My dear, you will excuse me; but,
you know, my time is so precious ---
Lady G. That I beg I may not hinder your
least enjoyment of it.
Lady T. You will call on me at lady Revel's?
Lady G. Certainly.
Lady T. But I am so afraid it will break
into your scheme, my dear!
Lady G. When it does, I will - soberly
1
break from you.
Man. Yet, my lord, I assure you there is
no one action of my life gives me more plea-
sure than your approbation of it.
Lord T. Dear Charles! my heart's impatient
till thou art nearer to me; and, as a proof
that I have long wished thee so, while your
daily conduct has chosen rather to deserve,
than to ask, my sister's favour, I have been
as secretly industrious to make her sensible
of your merit; and since, on this occasion,
you have opened your whole heart to me,
'tis now with equal pleasure I assure you we
have both succeeded-she is as firmly yours-
Man. Impossible! you flatter me!
Lord T. I'm glad you think it flattery, but
she herself shall prove it none; she dines with
us alone: when the servants are withdrawn,
I'll open a conversation that shall excuse my
leaving you together-Oh, Charles! had I,
like thee, been cautious in my choice, what
melancholy hours had this heart avoided!
Man. No more of that, I beg, my lord.
Lord T. But 'twill, at least, be some relief
Lady T. Why then, till we meet again, to my anxiety, however barren of content the
dear sister, I wish you all tolerable happiness. state has been to me, to see so near a friend
[Exeunt. and sister happy in it. Your harmony of life
will be an instance, how much the choice of
temper is preferable to beauty.
Enter LORD TOWNLY and MANLY.
Lord T. I did not think my lady Wrong-
head had such a notable brain; though I can't
say she was so very wise, in trusting this silly
girl, you call Myrtilla, with the secret.
Man. No, my lord, you mistake me; had
the girl been in the secret, perhaps I had never
come at it myself.
Lord T. Why, I thought you said the girl
writ this letter to you, and that my lady
Wronghead sent it enclosed to my sister.
While your soft hours in mutual kindness
move,
You'll reach by virtue, what I lost by love.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-MRS. MOTHERLY'S House.
Enter MANLY, meeting SIR FRANCIS
WRONGHEAD.
Man. Sir Francis, your servant.
Sir F. Cousin Manly!
Man. I am come to see how the family
goes on here.
Man. If you please to give me leave, my
lord-the fact is thus-This enclosed letter to
lady Grace was a real, original one, written
by this girl to the count we have been talking Sir F. Troth, all as busy as bees! I have
of; the count drops it, and my lady Wrong- been upon the wing ever since eight o'clock
head finds it-then, only changing the cover, this morning.
she seals it up, as a letter of business, just Man. By your early hour, then, I suppose
written by herself to me; and pretending to you have been making your court to some
be in a hurry, gets this innocent girl to write of the great men.
the direction for her.
Sir F. Why, faith, you have hit it, sir!-
Lord T. Oh, then the girl did not know I was advised to loose no time: so I e'en went
she was superscribing a billet-doux of her own, straight forward to one great man I had ne-
to you?
ver seen in my life before.
Man. Right! that was doing business: but
who had you got to introduce you?
Sir F. Why, nobody-I remember I had
heard a wise man say-My son, be bold-
so, troth, I introduced myself.
Man. As how, pray?
Man. No, my lord; for when I first ques-
tioned her about the direction, she owned it
immediately; but when I showed her that her
letter to the count was within it, and told her
how it came into my hands, the poor crea-
ture was amazed, and thought herself betrayed,
both by the count and my lady-in short, Sir F. Why, thus-Lookye-"Please your
upon this discovery, the girl and I grew so lordship," says I, "I am sir Francis Wrong-
gracious, that she has let me into some trans-head, of Bumper-hall, and member of parlia-
actions in my lady Wronghead's, family, ment for the borough of Guzzledown."-"Sir,
which, with my having a careful eye over your humble servant," says my lord; "tho'f I
them, may prevent the ruin of it.
have not the honour to know your person, I
Lord T. You are very generous, to be so have heard you are a very honest gentleman,
solicitous for a lady that has given you so and I am glad your borough has made choice
of so worthy a representative; and so," says
Man. But I will be most unmercifully re- he, "sir Francis, have you any service to
much uneasiness.
34

266
[ACT IV.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
command me?" Naw, cousin, those last words, Sir F. Why, troth, I cant well tell you
you may be sure, gave me no small encou-what they have done; but I can tell you what
ragement. And tho'f I know, sir, you have I did: and, I think, pretty well in the main;
no extraordinary opinion of my parts, yet, I only I happened to make a little mistake at
believe, you won't say I mist it naw.
last, indeed.
Man. Well, I hope I shall have no cause. Man. How was that?
Sir F. So, when I found him so courteous Sir F. VVhy, they were all got there into
"My lord," says I, "I did not think to ha' a sort of a puzzling debate, about the good
troubled your lordship with business upon my of the nation-and I were always for that,
first visit: but, since your lordship is pleased you know-but, in short, the arguments were
not to stand upon ceremony,-why, truly," so long winded o'both sides, that, waunds!
says I, "I think naw is as good as another I did not well understand 'um: hawsomever,
time."
I was convinced, and so resolved to vote right,
Man. Right! there you pushed him home. according to my conscience-so, when they
Sir F. Ay, ay, I had a mind to let him
see that I was none of your mealy-mouthed ones.
Man. Very good.
came to put the question, as they call it-I
don't know how it 'twas-but I doubt I cried,
ay! when I should ha' cried, no!
Man. How came that about?
Sir F. "So, in short, my lord," says I, "I
have a good estate-but-a-it's a little awt Sir F. Why, by a mistake, as I tell you-
at elbows:¹) and, as I desire to serve my king for there was a good-humoured sort of a gen-
as well as my country, I shall be very willing tleman, one Mr. Totherside, I think they call
to accept of a place at court."
him, that sat next me, as soon as I had cried,
Man. So, this was making short on't. ay! gives me a hearty shake by the hand-
Sir F. Icod, I shot him flying, cousin! some "Sir," says he, "you are a man of honour
of you hawf-witted ones, naw, would ha' and a true Englishman! and I should be
hunimed and hawed, and dangled a month or proud to be better acquainted with you".
two after him, before they durst open their
mouths about a place, and mayhap not ha'
got it at last neither.
and so with that he takes me by the sleeve,
along with the crowd, into the lobby-so I
knew nowght-but, odds flesh! I was got
o'the wrong side the post-for I were told,
afterwards, I should have staid where I was.
Man. Oh, I'm glad you're so sure on't-
Sir F. You shall hear, cousin-"Sir Fran-
cis," says my lord, "pray what sort of a place Man. And so, if you had not quite made
may you ha' turned your thoughts upon?". your fortune before, you have clinched it now!
"My lord," says I, "beggars must not be-Ah, thou head of the Wrongheads! [Aside.
choosers; but ony place," says I, "about a Lady W. [Without] Very well, very well.
thousand a year, will be well enough to be Sir F. Odso! here's my lady come home
doing with till something better falls in"-for at last!
I thowght it would not look well to stond
haggling with him at first.
Man. No, no, your business was to get
footing any way.
Sir F. Right! there's it! ay, cousin, I see
you know the world.
Man. Yes, yes, one sees more of it every
day-Well, but what said my lord to all this?
Sir F. "Sir Francis," says he, "I shall be
glad to serve you any way that lies in my
power;" so he gave me a squeeze by the
hand, as much as to say, give yourself no
trouble-I'll do your business; with that he
turned him abawt to somebody with a co-
loured ribbon across here, that looked in my
thowghts, as if he came for a place too.
Man. Ha! so upon these hopes you are to
make your fortune?
Sir F. Why, do you think there's any
doubt of it, sir?
Man. Oh, no, I have not the least doubt
about it-for, just as you have done, I made
my fortune ten years ago.
Sir F. Why, I never knew you had a
place, cousin.
Enter LADY WRONGHEAD, COUNT BASSET,
and MISS JENNY.
Lady W. Cousin, your servant: I hope
you will pardon my rudeness; but we have
really been in such a continual hurry here,
that we have not had a leisure moment to re-
turn your last visit.
Man. Oh, madam, I am a man of no ce-
remony; you see that has not hindered my
coming again.
Lady W. You are infinitely obliging; but
I'll redeem my credit with you.
Man. At your own time, madam.
Count B. I must say that for Mr. Manly,
madam-if making people easy is the rule of
good breeding, he is certainly the best bred
man in the world.
Man. Soh! I am not to drop my acquaint-
ance, I find. [Aside]-I am afraid, sir, I shall
grow vain upon your good opinion.
Count B. I don't know that, sir; but I am
sure what you are pleased to say makes me so.
Man. The most impudent modesty that ever
I met with!
[Aside.
Lady W. Lard, how ready his wit is!
Sir F. Don't you think, sir, the count's a
Man. Nor I neither, upon my faith, cousin.
But you perhaps may have better fortune; for
I suppose my lord has heard of what impor-
tance you were in the debate to-day-You very fine gentleman?
have been since down at the house, I presume?
Sir F. Oh, yes; I would not neglect the
house for ever so much.
Man. Well; and pray what have they done
there?
1) A coat out at elbows wants mending-an estate-
[Aside.
[Apart.
Man. Oh, among the ladies, certainly. [Apart.
Sir F. And yet he's as stout as a lion.
Waunds, he'll storm any thing! [Apart.
Man. Will he so? Why then,
care of your citadel.
Sir F. Ah, you are a wag, cousin!
sir, take
[Apart.
Apart.

SCENE 1.]
267
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Man. I hope, ladies, the town air continues of a thing before company, it always make
to agree with you?
me worse, you know.
Jenny. Oh, perfectly well, sir! We have Man. If I have any skill in the fair sex,
been abroad, in our new coach, all day long miss and her mamma have only quarrelled
-and we have bought an ocean of fine things. because they are both of a mind. This face-
And to-morrow we go to the masquerade; tious count seems to have made a very gen-
and on Friday to the play; and on Saturday teel step into the family!
to the opera; and on Sunday we are to be
[Aside.
at the what d'ye call it-assembly, and see Enter MYRTILLA. MANLY talks apart with her.
the ladies play at quadrille, and piquet, and Lady W. Well, sir Francis, and what
ombre, and hazard, and basset; and on Mon-news have you brought us from Westminster
day we are to see the king; and so on Tues-to-day?
day-
Sir F. News, madam! 'Ecod, I have some
Lady W. Hold, hold, miss! you must not and such as does not come every day, I
let your tongue run so fast, child-you forget; can tell you. A word in your ear-I have
you know I brought you hither to learn mo- got a promise of a place at court of a thou-
desty.
sand pawnd a year already.
Man. Yes, yes, and she is improved with a Lady W. Have you so, sir? And, pray,
vengeance!
[Aside. who may you thank for't? Now, who is in
Jenny. Lawrd, mamma! I am sure I did the right? Is not this better than throwing
not say any harm: and, if one must not so much away after a stinking pack of fox-
speak in one's turn, one may be kept under hounds in the country? Now your family
as long as one lives, for aught I see.
may be the better for it.
Lady W. O'my conscience, this girl grows
so headstrong-
Sir F. Ay, ay, there's your fine growing
spirit for you! Now tack it dawn, an' you can.
Jenny. All I said, papa, was only to en-
tertain my cousin Manly.
Man. My pretty dear, I am mightily obli-
ged to you.
Jenny. Look you there now, madam.
Lady W. Hold your tongue, I say.
Jenny. [Turning away, and pouting] I
declare I won't bear it: she is always snub-
Sir F. Nay, that's what persuaded me to
come up, my dove.
Lady W. Mighty well! Come-let me have
another hundred pound then.
Sir F. Another, child! Waunds! you have
had one hundred this morning; pray, what's
become of that, my dear?
Lady W. What's become of it! Why,
I'll show you, my love. Jenny, have you the
bills about you?
Jenny. Yes, mamma.
Lady W. What's become of it? Why,
bing me before you, sir!-I know why she laid out, my dear, with fifty more to it, that
does it, well enough- [Aside to the Count. I was forced to borrow of the count here.
Count B. Hush, hush, my dear! don't be Jenny. Yes, indeed, papa, and that would
Sir F. [Turning over the Bills] Let's see!
uneasy at that; she'll suspect us. [Aside. hardly do neither-There's the account.
Jenny. Let her suspect! what do I care?
-I don't know but I have as much reason let's see! what the devil have we got here?
to suspect as she-though perhaps I am not
so afraid of her.
Count B. 'Egad, if I don't keep a tight
hand on my tit, here, she'll run away with
my project, before I can bring it to bear!
[Aside.
Lady W. The young harlot is certainly in
love with him; but I must not let them see I
think so-and yet I can't bear it.-[Aside]
Upon my life, count, you'll spoil that forward
girl-you should not encourage her so.
Count B. Pardon me, madam, I was only
advising her to observe what your ladyship
said to her.-In one word, madam, she has a
jealousy of your ladyship,, and I am forced to
encourage her, to blind it: 'twill be better to
take no notice of her behaviour to me.
Man. Then you have sounded your aunt,
you say, and she readily comes in to all Í
proposed to you?
[Apart.
Myr. Sir, I'll answer with my life, she is
most thankfully yours in every article. She
mightily desires to see you, sir. [Apart.
Man. I am going home directly; bring her
to my house in half an hour; and if she
makes good what you tell me, you shall both
find your account in it.
[Apart.
Myr. Sir, she shall not fail you.
[Apart. Exit.
Sir F. Odds life, madam! here's nothing
but toys and trinkets, and fans and clock
stockings, by wholesale.
Lady W. There's nothing but what's pro-
per, and for your credit, sir Francis - Nay,
Francis-Nay,
[Apart. you see I am so good a housewife, that, in
Lady W. You are right; I will be more necessaries for myself, I have scarce laid out
[Apart. a shilling.
cautious.
Count B. To-morrow at the masquerade Sir F. No, by my troth, so it seems; for
we may lose her.
[Aside. the devil o'one thing's here that I can see you
Lady W. We shall be observed; I'll send have any occasion for.
you a note, and settle that affair-go on Lady W. My dear, do you think I came
with the girl, and don't mind me. [Apart. hither to live out of the fashion? why, the
Count B. I have been taking your part, my greatest distinction of a fine lady, in this town,
little angel.
is in the variety of pretty things that she has
Lady W. Jenny! come hither, child-you no occasion for.
must not be so hasty, my dear-I only ad-
vise you for your good.
Jenny. Yes, mamma; but when I am told
Jenny. Sure, papa, could you imagine, that
women of quality wanted nothing but stays
and petticoats?

268
[ACT IV
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Lady W. Now, that is so like him!
Lady W. No doubt on't! Think of your
Man. So, the family comes on finely! [Aside. thousand a year, and who got it you; go,
Sir F. An hundred pound in the morning, eat your dinner, and be thankful, go! [Driv-
and want another afore night! Waunds and ing him to the Door] Come, Mrs. Motherly.
fire! the lord mayor of London could not [Exit Lady Wronghead and Mrs. Motherly
hold it at this rate.
Sir F. Very fine! so here I mun fast, till
Man. Oh, do you feel it, sir? [Aside. I am almost famished, for the good of my
Lady W. My dear, you seem uneasy; let country, while madam is laying me out an
me have the hundred pound, and compose hundred pound a day, in lace as fine as a
yourself.
cobweb, for the honour of my family! Odds
flesh! things had need go well at this rate!
Squire R. Nay, nay-come, feyther.
Sir F. Compose the devil, madam! why,
do you consider what a hundred pound a day
comes to in a year?
Lady W. My life; if I account with you
from one day to another, that's really all my
head is able to bear at a time-But I'll tell
you what I consider-I consider that my ad-
vice has got you a thousand pound a year
this morning-That now, methinks, you might
consider, sir.
Sir F. A thousand pound! Yes; but may-
hap I mayn't receive the first quarter on't this
half
year.
Enter SQUIRE RICHARD.
Squire R. Feyther, an you doan't come
quickly, the meat will be coaled: and I'd fain
pick a bit with you.
Lady W. Bless me, sir Francis! you are
not going to sup by yourself?
Sir F. No, but I'm going to dine by my-
self, and that's pretty near the matter, madam.
Lady W. Had not you as good stay a little,
my dear? We shall all eat in half an hour;
and I was thinking to ask my cousin Manly
to take a family morsel with us.
Sir F. Nay, for my cousin's good company,
I don't care if I ride a day's journey without
baiting.
Man. By no means, sir Francis. I am going
upon a little business.
Sir F. Well, sir, I know you don't love
compliments.
Man. You'll excuse me, madam-
Lady W. Since you have business, sir-
[Exit Manly.
[Exeunt Sir Francis and Squire Richard.
Re-enter MYRTILLA.
Myr. Madam, my lady desires you and the
count will please to come, and assist her fan-
cy in some of the new laces.
Count B. We'll wait upon her-
Jenny. So, I told you how it was; you see
she can't bear to leave us together.
Count B. No matter, my dear: you know
she has asked me to stay supper: so, when
your papa and she are a-bed, Mrs. Myrtilla
will let me into the house again; then you
may steal into her chamber, and we'll have a
pretty sneaker of punch together.
Myr. Ay, ay, madam, you may command
me in any thing.
Jenny. Well, that will be pure!
Count B. But you had best go to her alone,
my life; it will look better ifI come after you.
Jenny. Ay, so it will: and to-morrow you
know at the masquerade: O dear, dear! I
wish the time were come.
[Exit.
Myr. So, sir, am not I very commode to
you?
Count B. Well, child, and don't you find
your account in it? Did I not tell you we
might still be of use to one another?
Myr. Well, but how stands your affair
with miss in the main?
Count B. Oh, she's mad for the masque-
rade! It drives like a nail; we want nothing
now but a parson to clinch it. Did not your
aunt say she could get one at a short warning?
Myr. Yes, yes; my lord Townly's chaplain
is her cousin, you know; he'll do your busi-
ness and mine at the same time.
Enter MRS. MOTHERLY,
Oh, Mrs. Motherly! you were saying this mor-
ning, you had some very fine lace to show Count B. Oh, it's true! but where shall we
me-can't I see it now? [Sir Francis siares. appoint him?
Mrs. M. Why really, madam, I had made Myr. Why you know my lady Townly's
a sort of a promise to let the countess of Nicely house is always open to the masks upon a
have the first sight of it, for the birth-day; ball night, before they go to the Haymarket.
but your ladyship-
Lady W. Oh, I die if I don't see it be-
fore her.
Squire R. Woant you goa, feyther?
Sir F. Waunds, lad, I shall ha' no stomach
at this rate!
Mrs. M. Well, madam, though I say it,
'tis the sweetest pattern that ever came over
-and, for fineness-no cobweb comes up to it.
Sir F. Odds guts and gizzard, madam! Lace
as fine as a cobweb! why, what the devil's
that to cost, now?
Mrs. M. Nay, if sir Francis does not like
it, madam-
Lady W. He like it! Dear Mrs. Motherly,
he is not to wear it.
Sir F. Flesh, madam! but I suppose I am
to pay for it!
Count B. Good.
Myr. Now the doctor proposes we should
all come thither in our habits, and when the
rooms are full, we may steal up into his cham-
ber, he says, and there-crack-he'll give us
all canonical commission to go to bed together.
Count B. Admirable! Well, the devil fetch
me, if I shall not be heartily glad to see thee
well settled, child.
Myr. And may he tuck me under his arm
at the same time, if I shall not think myself
obliged to you as long as I live-But I must
run to my squire.
Count B. And I to the ladies- so, your
humble servant, sweet Mrs. Wronghead!
Myr. Yours, as in duty bound, most noble
count Basset!
[Exit.
Count B. Why, ay! Count! That title has

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
269
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
been of some use to me, indeed: not that I Sir. F. Every shilling-among a parcel of
have any more pretence to it, than I have to pigtail puppies, and pale-faced women of quality.
a blue riband. Yet I have made a pretty con- Man. If you remember I gave you a hint
siderable figure in life with it. I have lolled of this.
in my own chariot, dealt at assemblies, dined Sir F. Why, ay, it's true, you did so: but
with ambassadors, and made one at quadrille the devil himself could not have' believed she
with the first women of quality-But-tempora would have rid post to him.
mutantur- since that damned squadron at Man. Sir, if you stay but a fortnight in this
White's have left me out of their last secret, town, you will every day see hundreds as
I am reduced to trade upon my own stock of fast upon the gallop as she is.
industry, and make my last push upon a wife. Sir F. Ah, this London is a base place in-
If I can snap up miss Jenny and her eight deed!-Waunds, if things should happen to
thousand pounds, I shall once more cut a fi-go wrong with me at Westminster, at this
gure, and cock my hat in the face of the best rate, how the devil shall I keep out of a gaol?
of them: for, since our modern men of fór- Man. Why, truly, there seems to me but
tune are grown wise enough to be sharpers, one way to avoid it.
I think sharpers are fools that don't take up
the airs of men of quality.
ACT V.
[Exil.
SCENE I.-LORD TOWNLY's House.
Enter WILLIAMS and MR. MANLY.
Wil. Sir Francis Wronghead, sir, desires
to see you.
Man. Desire sir Francis to walk in. [Exit
Williams-I suppose by this time his wise
worship begins to find that the balance of his
journey to London is on the wrong side.
Enter SIR FRANCIS WRONGHEAD.
Sir Francis, your servant. How came I by
the favour of this extraordinary visit?
Sir F. Ah, cousin!
Man. Why that sorrowful face, man?
Sir F. I have no friend alive but you-
Man. I am sorry for that-But what's the
matter?
Sir F. Ah, would you could tell me that,
cousin!
Man. The way lies plain before you, sir;
the same road that brought you hither, will
carry you safe home again.
Sir F. Odds flesh, cousin! what! and leave
a thousand pounds a year behind me?
Man. Pooh, pooh! leave any thing behind
you, but your family and you are a saver
by it.
Sir F. Ay, but consider, cousin, what a
scurvy figure I shall make in the country, if
I come dawn withawt it.
Man. You will make a much more lamen-
table figure in a gaol without it.
Sir F. Mayhap, 'at you have no great opi-
nion of my journey to London then, cousin?
Man. Sir Francis, to do you the service of
a real friend, I must speak very plainly to
you; you don't yet see half the ruin that's be-
fore you.
Sir F. Good lack! how may you mean,
Sir F. I have played the fool by this jour-cousin?
I see now-for my bitter wife-
ney,
Man. What of her?
Sir F. Is playing the devil.
Man. In one word, your whole affairs stand
thus-In a week you'll lose your seat at West-
minster; in a fortnight my lady will run you
Man. Why, truly, that's a part that most into gaol, by keeping the best company; in
your fine ladies begin with, as soon as they four-and-twenty hours your daughter will run
get to London.
of
Sir F. If I'm a living man, cousin, she has
made away with above two hundred and fifty
pounds since yesterday morning. But there's
one hundred on't goes more to my heart than
all the rest.
Man. And how might that be disposed of?
Sir F. Troth, I am almost ashamed to tell you.
Man. Out with it.
Sir F. Why, she has been at an assembly.
Man. What, since I saw you? I thought
you had all supped at home last night.
away with a sharper, because she han't been
used to better company; and your son will
steal into marriage with a cast mistress, be-
cause he has not been used to any company
at all.
Sir F. I'the name o'goodness, why should
you think all this?
Man. Because I have proof of it; in short,
I know so much of their secrets, that if all
this is not prevented to-night, it will be out
of your power to do it to-morrow morning.
Sir F. Waunds! if what you tell me be
true, I'll stuff my whole family into a stage-
coach, and trundle them into the country again
on Monday morning.
Sir F. Why, so we did-and all as merry
as grigs. I'cod, my heart was so open, that
I tossed another hundred into her apron, to
go out early this morning with-But the cloth Man. Stick to that, sir, and we may yet
was no sooner taken away, than in comes find a way to redeem all.
I hear company
my lady Townly here, with another rantipole entering-You know they see masks here to-
dame of quality, and out they must have her, day-conceal yourself in this room, and for
they said, to introduce her at my lady Noble's the truth of what I have told you, take the
assembly, forsooth-A few words, you may evidence of your own senses: but be sure you
be sure, made the bargain-so, bawnce! and keep close till I give you the signal.
away they drive, as if the devil had got into Sir F. Sir, I'll warrant you-Ah, my lady!
the coach-box-so, about four or five in the my lady Wronghead! what a bitter business
morning-home comes madam, with her eyes have you drawn me into!
a foot deep in her head-and my poor hun- Man. Hush! to your post; here comes one
dred pounds left behind her at the hazard-table. couple already. [Sir F. and Man. retire through
Man. All lost at dice!
the centre Door.

270
[ACT V.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Enter SQUIRE RICHARD and MYRTILLA, in
Masquerade Dresses.
Squire R. What, is this the doctor's cham-
ber?
Myr. Yes, yes; speak softly.
Squire R. Well, but where is he?
Myr. He'll be ready for us presently, but
he says he can't do us the good turn without
witnesses: so, when the count and your sister
come, you know he and you may be fathers
for one another.
Squire R. Well, well, tit for tat! ay, ay,
that will be friendly.
Myr. And see, here they come!
Enter COUNT BASSET and MISS JENNY, in
Masquerade Dresses.
Count B. So, so, here's your brother and
his bride before us, my dear.
Count B. Oh, here he comes, I believe.
Enter MYRTILLA, with a Constable.
Const. Well, madam, pray which is the
party that wants a spice of my office here?
Myr. That's the gentleman.
[Pointing to the Count.
Count B. Hey-day! what, in masquerade,
doctor?
Const. Doctor! sir, I believe you have mista-
ken your man: but if you are called count
Basset, I have a billet-doux in my hand for
you, that will set you right presently.
Count B. What the devil's the meaning of
all this?
Const. Only my lord chief justice's warrant
against you, for forgery, sir.
Count B. Blood and thunder!
Const. And so, sir, if you please to pull
Jenny. Well, I vow, my heart's at my off your fool's frock there, I'll wait upon you
mouth still! I thought I should never have to the next justice of peace immediately.
got rid of mamma; but while she stood gap-
ing upon the dance, I gave her the slip!
Lawd, do but feel how it beats here!
Count B. Oh, the pretty flutterer! I protest,
my dear, you have put mine into the same
palpitation!
Jenny. Ay, you say so-but let's see now
-Oh, lud! I vow it thumps purely-well,
well, I see it will do; and so where's the
parson?
Count B. Mrs. Myrtilla, will you be so good
as to see if the doctor's ready for us?
Myr. He only staid for you, sir; I'll fetch
him immediately.
[Exit.
Jenny. Pray, sir, am not I to take place
of mamma, when I'm a countess?
Count B. No doubt on't, my dear.
Jenny. Oh, lud! how her back will be up
then, 1) when she meets me at an assembly;
or you and I in our coach and six at Hyde-
park together!
Count B. Ay, or when she hears the box-
keepers at an opera, call out-"The countess
of Basset's servants!"
29
[Sir Francis and Manly advance.
Jenny. Oh, dear me, what's the matter?
[Trembling.
Count B. Oh, nothing, only a masquera-
ding frolic, my dear.
Squire R. Oh, ho, is that all!
Sir F. No, sirrah! that is not all.
[Sir Francis Wronghead coming softly
behind the Squire, knocks him down
with his Cane.
Squire R. Oh, lawd! Oh, lawd! he has
beaten my brains out.
Man. Hold, hold, sir Francis; have a little
mercy upon my poor godson, pray, sir.
Sir F. Wounds, cousin, I ha'nt patience.
Count B. Manly! nay then I'm blown to
the devil!
[Aside.
Squire R. Oh, my head! my head!
Enter LADY WRONGHEAD, dressed as a
Shepherdess.
Lady W. What's the matter here, gentle-
men? For heaven's sake! What, are you
murdering my children?
Jenny. Well, I say it, that will be deli-
cious! And then mayhap to have a fine gentle- Const. No, no, madam; no murder; only
man, with a star and a what-d'ye-call-um a little suspicion of felony, that's all.
riband, lead me to my chair, with his hat Sir F. [To Jenny] And for you, Mrs. Hot-
under his arm all the way! "Hold up," says upon't, I could find in my heart to make you
the chairman; "and so, says I, "my lord, wear that habit as long as you live, you jade
your humble servant."-"I suppose, madam," you. Do you know, hussy, that you were
says he, "we shall see you at my lady Qua- within two minutes of marrying a pickpocket?
drille's?"-"Ay, ay, to be sure, my lord,"
says 1.-So in swops me, with my hoop
stuffed up to my forehead; and away they is
trot, swing! swang! with my tassels dangling
and my flambeaux blazing! and-Oh, it's a it
charming thing to be a woman of quality!
Count B. Well! I see that plainly, my dear,
there's ne'er a duchess of them all will become
an equipage like you.
Count B. So, so, all's out I find! [Aside.
Jenny. Oh, the mercy! why pray, papa,
not the count a man of quality then?
Sir F. Oh, yes, one of the unhanged ones,
seems.
Lady W. Married! Oh, the confident thing!
There was his urgent business then-slighted
for her! I han't patience!-and, for aught I
know, I have been all this while making a
Jenny. Well, well, do you find equipage, friendship with a highwayman. [Aside.
and I'll find airs, I warrant you.
Man. Mr. Constable, secure there.
Squire R. Troth! I think this masquerading's Sir F. Ah, my lady! my lady! this comes
the merriest game that ever I saw in my life! of your journey to London: but now I'll have
Tho'f in my mind, and there were but a little a frolic of my own, madam; therefore pack
wrestling, or cudgel-playing naw, it would help up your trumpery this very night; for the
it hugely. But what a-rope makes the parson moment my horses are able to crawl, you
stay so?
and your brats shall make a journey into the
country again.
1) An allusion to the manner in which the cats draw up
their backs, when they are attacked by a dog, etc.
Lady W. Indeed, you are mistaken, sir

SCENE 2.]
271
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
Francis-I shall not stir out of town yet, I chaplain you expected is still within call.
promise you.
Sir F. Not stir? Waunds, madam-
Man. Hold, sir!-if you'll give me leave a
little-I fancy I shall prevail with my lady to
think better on't..
Myr. Come, sir, don't repine: marriage is
at worst but playing upon the square.
Count B. Ay, but the worst of the match
too, is the devil.
Man. Well, sir, to let you see it is not
Sir F. Ah, cousin, you are a friend indeed! so bad as you think it; as a reward for her
Man. [Apart to Lady Wronghead] Look honesty, in detecting your practices, instead
you, madam, as to the favour you designed of the forged bill you would have put upon
me, in sending this spurious letter enclosed her, there's a real one of five hundred pounds,
to my lady Grace, all the revenge I have to begin a new honeymoon with.
taken, is to have saved your son and daughter
from ruin.-Now if you will take them fairly
and quietly into the country again, I will
save your ladyship from ruin.
[Gives it to Myrtilla.
Count B. Sir, this is so generous an act-
Man. No compliments, dear sir-I am not
at leisure now to receive them. Mr. Constable,
will you be so good as to wait upon this
gentleman into the next room, and give this
lady in marriage to him?
[Exit.
Const. Sir, I'll do it faithfully.
Count B. Well, five hundred will serve to
Lady W. What do you mean, sir?
Man. Why, sir Francis-shall never know
what is in this letter; look upon it. How it
came into my hands you shall know at leisure.
Lady W. Ha! my billet-doux to the count!
and an appointment in it! I shall sink with make a handsome push with, however. And
confusion!
I am not the first of the fraternity who has
Man. What shall I say to sir Francis, madam? run his head into one noose, to keep it out
Lady W. Dear sir, I am in such a trem- of another-Come, spouse.
bling! preserve my honour, and I am all Myr. Yes, my life.
[Apart to Man.
obedience.
Man. Sir Francis-my lady is ready to re-
ceive your commands for her journey, when-
ever you please to appoint it.
Sir F. Ah, cousin, I doubt I am obliged
to you for it.
Man., Come, come, sir Francis, take it as
you find it. Obedience in a wife is a good
thing, though it were never so wonderful!-
[Exeunt Myrtilla, Count Basset,
and Constable.
Sir F. And that I may be sure my family's
rid of him for ever-come, my lady, let's
even take our children along with us, and be
all witness of the ceremony.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A dressing Room.
And now, sir, we have nothing to do but to LADY TOWNLY discovered as just up; MRS.
dispose of this gentleman.
Count B. Mr. Manly; sir, I hope you won't
ruin me!
Man. Did not you forge this note for five
hundred pounds, sir?
TRUSTY waiting.
Mrs. T. Dear madam, what should make
your ladyship so ill?
Lady T. How is it possible to be well,
where one is killed for want of sleep?
Mrs. T. Dear me! it was so long before
you rung, madam, I was in hopes your la-
dyship had been finely composed.
Count B. Sir-I see you know the world,
and therefore I shall not pretend to prevari-
cate-But it has hurt nobody yet, sir; I beg
you will not stigmatize me; since you have Lady T. Composed! why I have lain in an
spoiled my fortune in one family, I hope you inn here; this house is worse than an inn
won't be so cruel to a young fellow, as to with ten stage coaches: what between my lord's
put it out of my power, sir, to make it in impertinent people of business in a morning,
another, sir.
and the intolerable thick shoes of footmen at
noon, one has not a wink all night.
Man. Look you, sir, I have not much time
to waste with you: but if you expect mercy
yourself, you must show it to one you have
been cruel to.
Count B. Cruel, sir?
Man. Have you not ruined this young woman?
Count B. I, sir?
Mrs. T. Indeed, madam, it's a great pity
my lord can't be persuaded into the hours of
people of quality-though I must say that,
madam, your ladyship is certainly the best
matrimonial manager in town.
Lady T. Oh, you are quite mistaken, Trusty!
Man. I know you have-therefore you can't I manage very ill; for, notwithstanding all
blame her, if, in the fact you are charged the power I have, by never being over fond
with, she is a principal witness against you. of my lord-yet I want money infinitely of-
However, you have one, and only one chance tener than he is willing to give it me.
to get off with. Marry her this instant-and
you take off her evidence.
Count B. Dear sir!
Man. No words, sir; a wife or a mittimus.
Count B. Lord, sir! this is the most un-
merciful mercy!
Man. A private penance or a public one-
Constable!
Count B. Hold, sir, since you are pleased
to give me my choice, I will not make so ill
a compliment to the lady, as not to give her
the preference.
Man. It must be done this minute, sir; the
Mrs. T. Ah! if his lordship could but be
brought to play himself, madam, then he
might feel what it is to want money.
Lady T. Oh, don't talk of it! Do you
that I am undone, Trusty?
know
Mrs. T. Mercy forbid, madam!
Lady T. Broke, ruined, plundered!-strip-
ped, even to a confiscation of my last guinea!
Mrs. T. You don't tell me so, madam!
Lady T. And where to raise ten pound in
the world-What is to be done, Trusty?
Mrs. T. Truly, I wish I were wise enough
to tell you, madam: but
madam: but may be your ladyship

272
[ACT V.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
may have a run of better fortune upon some this time-the man's now writing a receipt
of the good company that comes here to-night. below for it.
Lady T. But I have not a single guinea to
try my fortune.
Mrs. T. Ha! that's a bad business indeed,
madam-Adad, I have a thought in my head,
madam, if it is not too late-
Lady T. Out with it quickly then, I be-
seech thee.
Mrs. T. Has not the steward something of
fifty pounds, madam, that you left in his
hands to pay somebody about this time?
Lady T. Oh, ay; I had forgot-'twas to a-
what's his filthy name?
Mrs. T. Now I remember, madam, 'twas
to Mr. Lutestring, your old mercer, that your
ladyship turned off about a year ago, because
he would trust you no longer.
Mrs. T. No matter; my lady says you must
not pay him with that money; there's not
enough, it seems-there's a pistole and a gui-
nea that is not good in it-besides, there is a
mistake in the account too-[Twitching the
Bag from him] But she is not at leisure to
examine it now: so you must bid Mr. What-
d'ye-callum call another time.
Lady T. What is all that noise there?
Pound. Why, and it please your ladyship-
Lady T. Pr'ythee don't plague me now; but
do as you were ordered.
Pound. Nay, what your ladyship pleases,
madam.
[Exit.
Mrs. T. There they are, madam-[Pours
the money out of the Bag] The pretty things
Lady T. The very wretch! If he has not were so near falling into a nasty trades-
paid it, run quickly, dear Trusty, and bid man's hands, I protest it made me tremble
him bring it hither immediately. [Exit Trusty] for them!-I fancy your ladyship had as good
Well, sure mortal woman never had such give me that bad guinea, for luck's sake-
fortune! five, five and nine, against poor se- thank you, ma'am [Takes a Guinea.
ven, for ever!-No, after that horrid bar of Lady T. Why, I did not bid you take it.
my chance that lady Wronghead's fatal red Mrs. T. No; but your ladyship looked as if
fist upon the table, I saw it was impossible you were just going to bid me; and so I was
ever to win another stake-Sit up all night-willing to save you the trouble of speaking,
lose all one's money-dream of winning thou- madam.
sands-wake without a shilling! and then-
How like a hag I look!-In short-the plea- so,
sures of life are not worth this disorder. If
it were not for shame now, I could almost
think lady Grace's sober scheme not quite so
ridiculous-If my wise lord could but hold
his tongue for a week, 'tis odds but I should
hate the town in a fortnight-But I will not
be driven out of it, that's positive.
Enter MRS. TRUSTY.
I
Lady T. Well, thou hast deserved it; and
for once-[Noise without] But hark! don't
hear the man making a noise yonder?
Mrs. T. I'll listen.
Lady T. Pr'ythee do.
Mrs. T. [Goes to the Door] Ay, they are
at it, madam-he's in a bitter passion with
poor Poundage-Bless me! I believe he'll
beat him.
[A Man's Voice without] I won't swear,
but damn me if I don't have my money.
a
Mrs. T. Mercy on us, how the wretch swears!
Lady T. And a sober citizen too! that's
shame.
Mrs. T. Oh, madam, there's no bearing of
it! Mr. Lutestring was just let in at the door,
as I came to the stair foot; and the steward
is now actually paying him the money in Mrs. T. Ha! I think all's silent, of a sud-
the hall.
den-may be the porter has knocked him
Lady T. Run to the staircase head again-down-I'll step and see.
[Exit.
and scream to him that I must speak with
him this instant.
[Mrs. Trusty runs out, and speaks.
Mrs. T. [Within] Mr. Poundage!-a hem!
Mr. Poundage, a word with you quickly!
Pound. [Within] I'll come to you presently.
Mrs. T. [Within] Presently won't do, man;
you must come this minute.
Pound. [Within] I am but just paying a
little money here.
Mrs. T. [Within] Odds my life, paying
money! Is the man distracted? Come here, I
tell you, to my lady, this moment-quick!
Re-enter MRS. TRUSTY.
Lady T. Will the monster come, or no?
Mrs. T. Yes, I hear him now, madam; he
is hobbling up as fast as he can.
Lady T. Don't let him come in-for he will
keep such a babbling about his accounts-my
brain is not able to bear him.
[Poundage comes to the Door, with
a Money-bag in his Hand.
Mrs. T. Oh, it's well you are come, sir!
where's the fifty pounds.
Pound. Why here it is: if you had not
been in such haste, I should have paid it by
Lady T. These tradespeople are the trouble-
somest creatures! No words will satisfy them!
Re-enter MRS. TRUSTY.
Mrs. T. Oh, madam! undone! undone! My
lord has just bolted out upon ¹) the man, and
is hearing all his pitiful story over-If your
ladyship pleases to come hither, you may
hear him yourself.
Lady T. No matter; it will come round
presently; I shall have it from my lord, with-
out losing a word by the way, I'll warrant you.
Mrs. T. Oh lud, madam! here's lord
my
just coming in!
Lady T. Do you get out of the way, then.
[Exit Mrs. Trusty] I am afraid I want spi-
rits; but he will soon give them me.
Enter LORD TOWNLY.
Lord T. How comes it, madam, that a.
tradesman dares be clamorous in my house,
for money due to him from you?
Lady T. You don't expect, my lord, that I
should answer for other people's impertinence!
Lord T. I expect, madam, you should answer
for your own extravagancies, that are the oc-
1) Slang for, to come suddenly upon a person.
SCENE 2.]
273
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.

casion of it; I thought I had given you money,
three months ago, to satisfy all these sort
of people.
Lady T. Yes; but you see they never are
to be satisfied.
Lord T. Nor am I, madam, longer to be
abused thus-what's become of the last five
hundred I gave you?
Lady T. Gone.
Lord T. Gone! what way, madam?
Lady T. Half the town over, I believe, by
this time.
Lady T. Your style, my lord, is much of
the same delicacy with your sentiments of
honour!
Lord T. Madam, madam, this is no time
for compliments-I have done with you.
Lady T. Done with me! If we had never
met, my lord, I had not broke my heart for
it-but have a care; I may not, perhaps, be
so easily recalled as you may imagine.
Lord T. Recalled! Who's there?
Enter WILLIAMS.
Lord T. 'Tis well; I see ruin will make no Desire my sister and Mr. Manly to walk up.
impression, till it falls upon you.
[Exit Williams.
Lady T. In short, my lord, if money is Lady T. My lord, you may proceed as you
always the subject of our conversation, I shall please; but pray what indiscretions have I
committed, that are not daily practised by a
make you no answer.
Lord T. Madam, madam, I will be heard, hundred other women of quality?
Lord T. 'Tis not the number of ill wives,
and make you answer.
Lady T. Make me! Then I must tell you, madam, that makes the patience of a husband
my lord, this is a language I have not been less contemptible; and though a bad one may
used to, and I won't bear it.
be the best man's lot, yet he'll make a better
Lord T. Come, come, madam, you shall figure in the world, that keeps his misfor-
bear a great deal more, before I part with you. tunes out of doors, than he that tamely keeps
Lady T. My lord, if you insult me, you them within.
can assure you.
will have as much to bear on your side, I Lady T. I don't know what figure you may
make, my lord; but I shall have no reason to
Lord T. Pooh! your spirit grows ridicu- be ashamed of mine, in whatever company I
lous!-you have neither honour, worth, or may meet you.
innocence to support it.
Lord T. Be sparing of your spirit, madam;
Lady T. You'll find at least I have resent- you'll need it to support you.
ment; and do you look well to the provocation.
Lord T. After those you have given me,
Enter LADY GRACE and MANLY.
madam, 'tis almost infamous to talk with you. Mr. Manly, I have an act of friendship to beg
Lady T. I scorn your imputation and your of you, which wants more apologies than
menaces. The narrowness of your heart is words can make for it.
I
your monitor-'tis there, there, my lord, you Man. Then pray make none, my lord, that
are wounded; you have less to complain of may have the greater merit in obliging you.
than many husbands of an equal rank to you, Lord T. Sister, I have the same excuse to
Lord T. Death, madam! do you presume entreat of you too.
upon your corporeal merit, that your person's Lady G. To your request, I beg, my lord.
less tainted than your mind? Is it there, there Lord T. Thus then- As you both were
alone, an honest husband can be injured? present at my ill-considered marriage, I now
Have you not every other vice that can de- desire you each will be a witness of my de-
base your
birth or stain the heart of woman? termined separation-I know, sir, your good
Is not your health, your beauty, husband, nature, and my sister's, must be shocked at
fortune, family disclaimed-for nights con- the office I impose on you; but as I don't
sumed in riot and extravagance? The wanton ask your justification of my cause, so I hope
does no more-if she conceals her shame, you are conscious that an ill woman can't
does less; and sure the dissolute avowed, as reproach you, if you are silent on her side.
sorely wrongs my honour and my quiet. Man. My lord, I never thought, till now,
Lady T. I see, my lord, what sort of wife it could be difficult to oblige you.
might please you.
Lord T. For you, my lady Townly, I need
Lord T. Ungrateful woman! could you have not here repeat the provocations of my part-
seen yourself, you in yourself had seen her-ing with you-the world, I fear, is too well
I am amazed our legislature has left no prece-informed of them-For the good lord, your
dent of a divorce, for this more visible in- dear father's sake, I will still support you as
jury, this adultery of the mind, as well as his daughter. -As the Lord Townly's wife,
that of the person! When a woman's whole you have had every thing a fond husband
heart is alienated to pleasures I have no share could bestow, and, to our mutual shame I
in, what is it to me, whether a black ace, or speak it, more than happy wives desire-But
a powdered coxcomb, has possession of it? those indulgencies must end-state, equipage,
Lady T. If you have not found it yet, my and splendour, but ill become the vices that
lord, this is not the way to get possession of misuse them-The decent necessaries of life,
mine, depend upon it.
shall be supplied, but not one article to luxury
Lord T. That, madam, I have long despaired--not even the coach, that waits to carry you
of; and, since our happiness cannot be mu- from hence, shall you ever use again. Your
tual, 'tis fit that, with our hearts, our persons tender aunt, my Lady Lovemore, with tears,
too should separate. This house you sleep no this morning, has consented to receive you;
more in; though your content might grossly where, if time and your condition bring you
feed upon the dishonour of a husband, yet my to a due reflection, your allowance shall be
desires would starve upon the features of a wife. increased-but if you still are lavish of your
35

274
[ACT V.
THE PROVOKED HUSBAND.
little, or pine for past licentious pleasures, father's firm commands enjoined me to make
that little shall be less; nor will I call that choice of one, I even there declined the liberty
soul my friend that names you in my hearing. he gave, and to his own election yielded up
-Oh, Manly, look there! turn back thy thoughts my youth-his tender care, my lord, directed
with me, and witness to my growing love.-him to you.-Our hands were joined, but still
There was a time, when I believed that form my heart was wedded to its folly. - My only
incapable of vice or of decay; there I proposed joy was power, command, society, profuseness,
the partner of an easy home; there I for ever and to lead in pleasures.-The husband's right
hoped to find a cheerful companion, a faithful to rule I thought a vulgar law, which only
friend, a useful helpmate, and a tender mother the deformed or meanly spirited obeyed.-I
-but, oh, how bitter now the disappointment! knew no directors but my passions, no master
Man. The world is different in its sense of but my will.-Even you, my lord, sometime
happiness; offended as you are, I know you o'ercome by love, were pleased with my de-
will still be just.
lights; nor then foresaw this mad misuse of
your indulgence.-And though I call myself
Lord T. Fear me not.
Man. This last reproach, I see, has struck ungrateful while I own it, yet as a truth it
her!
[Aside. cannot be denied, that kind indulgence has
Lord T. No, let me not (though I this mo- undone me; it added strength to my habitual
ment cast her from my heart for ever), let failings, and, in a heart thus warm in wild,
me not urge her punishment beyond her unthinking life, no wonder if the gentler sense
crimes-I know the world is fond of any tale of love was lost.
[Apart.
Man. If yet recoverable, how vast the trea-
sure!
[Apart.
that feeds its appetite of scandal; - and as I Lord T. Oh, Manly! where has this crea-
am conscious severities of this kind seldom fail ture's heart been buried?
of imputations too gross to mention, I here,
before you both, acquit her of the least sus-
picion raised against the honour of my bed. Lady T. What I have said, my lord, is not
Therefore, when abroad her conduct may be my excuse, but my confession; my errors
questioned, do her fame that justice.
(give them, if you please, a harder name)
Lady T. Oh, sister!
cannot be defended-No, what's in its nature
[Turns to Lady Grace, weeping. wrong, no words can palliate-no plea can
Lord T. When I am spoken of, where, alter! What then remains in my condition,
without favour, this action may be canvassed, but resignation to your pleasure? Time only
relate but half my provocations, and give me can convince you of my future conduct: there-
up to censure.
[Going. fore, till I have lived an object of forgiveness,
Lady T. Support me-save me-hide me I dare not hope for pardon-The penance of
from the world!
a lonely, contrite life, were little to the inno-
[Falling on Lady Grace's Neck. cent; but, to have deserved this separation,
Lord T. [Returning] I had forgot me-will strew perpetual thorns upon my pillow.
You have no share in my resentment, there--Sister, farewell! [Kisses her] Your virtue
fore, as you have lived in friendship with her, needs no warning from the shame that falls
your parting may admit of gentler terms than on me; but when you think I have atoned my
suit the honour of an injured husband. follies past, persuade your injured brother to
forgive them.
what
[Offers to go out.
Man. [Interposing] My lord, you must Lord T. No, madam! your errors, thus re-
not, shall not, leave her thus!-One moment's nounced, this instant are forgotten! So deep,
stay can do your cause no wrong. If looks so due a sense of them has made you what
can speak the anguish of her heart, I'll an- my utmost wishes form'd, and all my heart
swer, with my life, there's something labouring has sigh'd for.-Long parted friends, that pass
in her mind, that, would you bear the hear- through easy voyages of life, receive but com-
ing, might deserve it.
mon gladness in their meeting; but, from a
Lord T. Consider-since we no more can shipwreck saved, we mingle tears with our
meet, press not my staying to insult her. embraces.
[Embraces Lady Townly.
Lady T. Yet stay, my lord-the little I would Lady T. What words - what love
say will not deserve an insult; and, undeserv-duty can repay such obligations?
ed, I know your nature gives it not. But as
you've called in friends to witness your re- your power is endless.
sentment, let them be equal hearers of my last Lady T. Oh! till this moment never did I
reply.
[be it so. know, my lord, I had a heart to give you!
Lord T. I shan't refuse you that, madam- Lord T. By heaven! this yielding hand,
Lady T. My lord, you ever have complained when first it gave you to my wishes, presented
I wanted love; but as you kindly have allowed not a treasure more desirable! -Oh, Manly!
I never gave it to another, so, when you hear sister! as you have often shared in my dis-
the story
my heart, though you may still quiet, partake of my felicity-my new-born
complain, you will not wonder at my coldness. joy! See here, the bride of my desires! This
Lord T. Proceed-I am attentive.
may be called my wedding-day.
of
Lord T. Preserve but this desire to please,
Lady G. Sister (for now, methinks, that
name is dearer to me than ever), let me con-
gratulate the happiness that opens to you.
Lady T. Before I was your bride, my lord,
the flattering world had talked me into beauty;
which, at my glass, my youthful vanity con-
firmed. Wild with that fame, I thought man- Man. Long, long, and mutual, may it flow!
kind my slaves-I triumphed over hearts, while Lord T. To make our happiness complete,
all my pleasure was their pain: yet was my my dear, join here with me to give a hand,
own so equally insensible to all, that, when a that amply will repay the obligation.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
275
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Lady T. Sister, a day like this-
Lady G. Admits of no excuse against the
general joy. [Gives her Hand to Manly.
Man. A joy like mine-despairs of words
to speak it.
Lord T. Oh, Manly, how the name of friend
endears the brother!
[Embraces him.
Man. Your words, my lord, will warm me
to deserve them.
Lady T. Sister, to your unerring virtue I
now commit the guidance of my future days.
Never the paths of pleasure more to tread,
But where your guarded innocence shall lead;
For, in the marriage state, the world must own,
Divided happiness was never known.
To make it mutual, nature points the way;
Let husbands govern, gentle wives obey.
[Exeunt.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT;
Or, The kind Impostor, acted at Drury Lane 1703.
This is a very busy, sprightly, and entertaining comedy, and
still continues a stock play. The plot of it is borrowed from Leonard's Counterfeits, and perhaps from the Novel The
Trepanner trepanned, on which that Comedy itself was built,
DON MANUEL.
DON PHILIP.
OCTAVIO.
TRAPPANTI.
SOTO.
DON LEWIS,
CORRIGIDORE.
ALGUAZILE.
HOST.
SERVANTS.
ROSARA.
FLORA.
POSTBOY,
HYPOLITA.
VILETTA.
SCENE.
-
ACT I.
SCENE I.-An Inn at MADRID.
Enter TRAPPANTI.
Madrid.
Flora. And now, madam, pray what do
you propose will be the end of our journey?
Hyp. Why, now I hope the end of my
wishes-Don Philip, I need not tell you how
far he is in my heart.
Trap. INDEED, my friend Trappanti, thou'rt
in a very thin condition; thou hast neither Flora. No, your sweet usage of him told
master, meat, nor money: not but, couldst thou me that long enough ago; but now, it seems,
part with that unappeasable itch of eating too, you think fit to confess it; and what is it you
thou hast all the ragged virtues that were re-love him for, pray?
quisite to set up an ancient philosopher. Con- Hyp. His manner of bearing that usage.
tempt and poverty, kicks, thumps, and think- Flora, Ah! dear pride! how we love to
ing thou hast endured with the best of 'em; have it tickled! But he does not bear it, you
but-when fortune turns thee up to hard fast-see, for he's coming post to Madrid to marry
ing, that is to say, positively not eating at all, another woman; nay, one he never saw.
I perceive thou art a downright dunce, with Hyp. An unknown face can't have very far
the same stomach, and no more philosophy engaged him.
than a hound upon horse-flesh-Fasting's the
devil!-Let me see-this, I take it, is the most
frequented inn about Madrid; and if a keen
guest or two should drop in now-Hark!
Host. [Within] Take care of the gentle-
mens' horses there; see 'em well rubb'd and
litter'd.
Trap. Just alighted! If they do but stay to
eat now! Impudence assist me; hah! a couple
of pretty young sparks, faith!
Flora. How came he to be engaged to her
at all?
Hyp. Why, I engaged him.
Flora. To another!
Hyp. To my whole sex, rather than own I
loved him,
Flora. Ah! done like a woman of courage.
Hyp, I could not bear the thoughts of part-
ing with my power; besides, he took me at
such an advantage, and pressed me so home
to a surrender, I could have 'tore him piecemeal.
Flora. Ay! I warrant you, an insolent-
agreeable puppy. But let us hear.
Enter HYPOLITA and FLORA, in Men's Ha-
bits; a Postboy, with a Portmanteau.
Welcome to Madrid, sir; welcome, sir. Hyp. I'll tell thee, Flora; you know don
Flora. Sir, your servant.
Philip wants no charm that can recommend
Post. Have the horses pleased your honour? him. As a lover in rank and fortune, I con-
Hyp. Very well indeed, friend; pr'ythee set fess him my superior; 'tis the thoughts of that
down the portmanteau, and see that the poor has been a constant thorn upon my wishes;
creatures want nothing: they have performed I never saw him in the humblest posture, but
well, and deserve our care.
still I fancied he secretly presumed his rank
Trap. I'll take care of that, sir; here, ostler. and fortune might command me; this always
[Exeunt Trappanti and Servant. stung my pride, and made me over-act it:
Flora. And pray, madam, what do I deserve? nay sometimes, when his sufferings have al-
Hyp. Poor Flora! thou art fatigued indeed, most drawn the tears into my eyes, I have
but I shall find a way to thank thee for't. turn'd the subject with some trifling talk, or

276
[ACT I.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
humm'd a spiteful tune, though I believe his my troth, right and sound, I warrant 'em;
heart was breaking.
they deserve care, and they have had it, and
Flora, But, love be praised, your proud shall have it if they stay in this house-I al-
stomach's come down for it.
ways stand by, sir, see 'em rubb'd down with
Hyp. Indeed, 'tis not altogether so high as my own eyes-catch me trusting an ostler,
'twas. In a word, his last letter set me at my I'll give you leave to fill for me, and drink
wit's end, and when I came to myself, you for me too.
may remember you thought me bewitch'd, for Flora. I have seen this fellow somewhere.
I immediately called for my boy's clothes, and
[Apart to Hypolita.
so rode after him.
Trap. Hey-day! what, no cloth laid! was
ever such attendance! hey, house! tapster!
landlord! hey! [Knocks] What was it you
bespoke, gentlemen?
Flora. Why truly, madam, as to your wits,
I've not much altered my opinion of 'em, for
I can't see what you propose by it.
Hyp. My whole design, Flora, lies in this
portmanteau, and these breeches.
Flora. A notable design, no doubt; but
pray let's hear it.
Hyp. Why, I do propose to be twice mar-
ried between 'em.
Flora. How! twice?
Hyp. By the help of the portmanteau I in-
tend to marry myself to don Philip's new mis-
tress, and then-I'll put off my breeches and
marry him.
Flora. Now I begin to take ye: but pray
what's in the portmanteau? and how came
you by it?
Hyp. Really, sir, I ask your pardon, I have
almost forgot you.
Trap. Pshaw! dear sir, never talk of it; I
live here hard by - I have a lodging-I can't
call it a lodging neither-that is, I have a-
sometimes I am here, and sometimes I am
there; and so here and there one makes shift,
you know.-Hey! will these people never come?
Hyp. You give a very good account of
yourself, sir.
Trap. O! nothing at all, sir. Lord, sir!-
was it fish or flesh, sir?
Flora. Really, sir, we have bespoke no-
thing yet.
Hyp. I hired one to steal it from his ser- Trap. Nothing! for shame! it's a sign you
vant at the last inn we lay at in Toledo: in are young travellers; you don't know this
it are jewels of value, presents to my bride, house, sir; why they'll let you starve if you
gold, good store, settlements, and credential don't stir, and call, and that like thunder too
letters to certify that the bearer (which I in--Hollo!
tend to be myself) is don Philip, only son Hyp. Ha! you eat here sometimes, I pre-
and heir of don Fernando de las Torres, now sume, sir?
residing at Seville, whence we came.
Trap. Umph!-Ay, sir, that's as it happens
Flora. A very smart undertaking, by my-I seldom eat at home, indeed-Hollo!
troth: and pray, madam, what part am I to act?
Hyp. My woman still; when I can't lie for
myself you are to do it for me, in the person
of a cousin-german.
Flora. And my name is to be-
Hyp. Don Guzman, Diego, Mendez, or what
you please; be your own godfather.
Enter Host.
Host. Did you call, gentlemen?
Trap. Yes, and bawl too, sir: here, the
gentlemen are almost famish'd, and nobody
comes near 'em: what have you in the house
now that will be ready presently?
Flora. 'Egad, I begin to like it mightily; Host. You may have what you please, sir.
this may prove a very pleasant adventure, if Hyp. Can you get us a partridge?
we can but come off without fighting, which, Host. Sir, we have no partridges; but we'll
by the way, I don't easily perceive we shall; get you what you please in a moment: we
for to be sure don Philip will make the devil have a very good neck of mutton, sir; if you
to do with us when he finds himself here be- please it shall be clapp'd down in a moment.
fore he comes hither.
Hyp. Have you no pigeons or chickens?
Host. Truly, sir, we have no fowl in the
house at present; if you please you may have
any thing else in a moment.
Hyp. O let me alone to give him satisfaction.
Flora. I'm afraid it must be alone, if you
do give him satisfaction; for my part I can
push no more than I can swim.
Hyp. But you can bully, upon occasion.
Flora, I can scold when my blood's up.
Hyp. That's the same thing. Bullying in
breeches, would be scolding in petticoats.
Flora. Say ye so: why then do look to
yourself; if I don't give you as good as you
bring, I'll be content to wear breeches as long
as I live. Well, madam, now you have open'd
the plot, pray when is the play to begin?
Hyp. I hope to have it all over in less than
four hours; we'll just refresh ourselves with
what the house affords, and wait upon my
father-in-law-How now! what would this
fellow have?-
Re-enter TRAPPANTI.
Hyp. Then pr'ythee get us some young rabbits.
Host. Rabbits! odd rabbit it, rabbits are so
scarce they are not to be had for money.
Flora. Have you any fish?
Host. Fish! sir, I dress'd yesterday the finest
dish that ever came upon a table; I am sorry
we have none left, sir; but, if you please, you
may have any thing else in a moment.
Trap. Plague on thee, hast thou nothing
but any-thing-else in the house?
Host. Very good mutton, sir.
Hyp. Pr'ythee get us a saddle ¹) then.
Host. Don't you love the neck, sir?
Hyp. Ha'ye nothing in the house but the
neck?
Host. Really, sir, we don't use to be so un-
provided, but at present we have nothing else left.
Trap. Servant, gentlemen, I have taken nice
care of your nags; good cattle they are, by 1) A saddle of mutton is the two loins not separated.

SCENE 1.]
277
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Trap. 'Egad, it's neck or nothing ¹) here, Hyp. Hang him, 'tis inoffensive; I'll humour
sir. Faith, sir, I don't know but a nothing him.-[Apart] Pray, sir (for I find we are
else may be very good meat, when any thing like to be better acquainted, therefore I hope
else is not to be had.
you won't take my question ill)-
Hyp. Then pr'ythee, friend, let's have thy
neck of mutton before that is gone too.
Trap. Sir, he shall lay it down this minute;
Trap. O, dear sir!
Hyp. What profession may you be of?
Trap. Profession, sir-I-I-Óds me! here's
I'll see it done:-gentlemen, I'll wait upon ye the wine.
presently; for a minute I must beg your par-
don, and leave to lay the cloth myself.
do't.
Re-enter Host.
Hyp. By no means, sir.
Come, fill out-hold-let me taste it first-ye
Trap. No ceremony, dear sir; indeed I'll blockhead, would ye have the gentleman drink
[Exeunt Host and Trappanti. before he knows whether it be good or not?
Hyp. What can this familiar puppy be? [Drinks] Yes, 'twill do-give me the bottle,
Flora. With much ado I have recollected I'll fill myself. Now, sir, is not that a glass
his face. Don't you remember, madam, about of right wine?
[To Hypolita.
two or three years ago, don Philip had a trusty Hyp. Extremely good indeed-But, sir, as
servant, called Trappanti, that used now and to my question.
then to slip a note into your hand, as you
came from church?
Hyp. Is this he that Philip turn'd away for
saying I was as proud as a beauty, and home-
ly enough to be good humour'd?
Trap. I'm afraid, sir, that mutton won't be
enough for us all.
Hyp. O, pray, sir, bespeak what you please.
Trap. Sir, your most humble servant.-
Here, master! pr'ythee get us-Ha! ay, get us
Flora. The very same, I assure ye; only, a dozen of poach'd eggs-a dozen, d'ye hear
as you see starving has altered his air a little.-just to-pop down a little.
Hyp. Poor fellow! I am concern'd for him: Host. Yes, sir.
what makes him so far from Seville?
Flora. I'm afraid all places are alike to him.
Hyp. I have a great mind to take him into
my service, his assurance may be useful, as
my case stands.
Flora. You would not tell him who you are?
Hyp. There's no occasion for it-I'll talk
with him.
Re-enter TRAPPANTI.
[Going.
Trap. Friend-let there be a little slice of
bacon to every one of 'em.
Host. Yes, sir-a little thin slice, sir?
Trap. No, you dog, not too thin.
Hyp. But, sir-
[Going.
Trap. Odso! I had like to have forgot-
here, a-Sancho! Sancho! ay, isn't your name
Sancho?
Host. Diego, sir,
Trap. Oh! ay, Diego! that's true indeed,
Trap. Your dinner's upon the spit, gentle-
men, and the cloth is laid in the best room-Diego! Umph!
Are you not for a whet, 2) sir? What wine?
what wine?-Hey!
Flora. We give you trouble, sir.
Trap. Not in the least, sir.-Hey! [Knocks.
Re-enter Host.
Host. D'ye call, gentlemen?
Hyp. Ay; what wine have ye?
Host. What sort you please, sir.
Flora. Sir, will you please to name it?
[To Trappanti.
Trap. Nay, pray, sir-
Hyp. No ceremony, dear sir; upon my word
you shall.
Trap. Upon my soul, you'll make me leave
ye, gentlemen.
Hyp. Come, come, no words! pr'ythee, you
shall.
Trap. Pshaw! but why this among friends
now? Here-have ye any right Galicia?
Host. The best in Spain, I warrant it.
Trap. Let's taste it; if it be good, set us
out half a dozen bottles for dinner.
[Exit.
Host. Yes, sir.
Flora. Who says this fellow's a starving
now? On my conscience, the rogue has more
impudence than a lover at midnight.
[Apart to Hypolita.
1) Fox-hunters in jumping over a hedge or a five-barred
gate, on horseback, expose themselves to such danger,
that they are sure either to break their neck or break
nothing; hence the expression. The pun is easily un-
derstood.
2) A whet is one of the numerous expressions for taking
a glass of brandy, etc. to sharpen the appetite, keep
out the cold; or some other such excuse.
Hyp. I must e'en let him alone; there's no
putting in a word till his mouth's full. [Apart.
Trap. Come, here's to thee, Diego-[Drinks
and fills again] That I should forget thy
name though.
Host. No great harm, sir.
Trap. Diego, ha! a very pretty name, faith!
-I think you are married, are you not, Diego?
Host. Ay, ay, sir.
Trap. Hah! how many children?
Host. Nine girls and a boy, sir.
Trap. Hah! nine girls-Come, here's to
thee again, Diego-Nine girls! a stirring wo-
man, I dare say; a good housewife, ha! Diego?
Host. Pretty well, sir.
Trap. Makes all her pickles herself, I war-
rant ye-Does she do olives well?
Host. Will you be pleased to taste 'em, sir?
Trap. Taste 'em! humph! pr'ythee let's have
a plate, Diego.
Host. Yes, sir..
Hyp. And our dinner as soon as you please,
sir; when it's ready, call us.
Host. Yes, sir.
[Exit.
Hyp. But, sir, I was asking you of your
profession.
Trap. Profession! really, sir, I don't use to
profess much; I am a plain dealing sort of a
man; if I say I'll serve a gentleman, he may
depend upon me.
Flora. Have you ever served, sir?
Trap. Not these two last campaigns..
Hyp. How so?
Trap. Some words with my superior offi-

278
[ACT I.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
cer; I was a little too free in speaking my told his neighbours he loved her never the
mind to him.
worse; but he was resolved she should never
know it.
Hyp. Don't you think of serving again, sir?
Trap. If a good post falls in my way.
Hyp. I believe I could help you.-Pray,
sir, when you served last, did
you take
or wages?
pay
Trap. Pay, sir!-Yes, sir, I was paid, clear'd
subsistence and arrears to a farthing.
Hyp. And your late commander's name was-
Trap. Don Philip de las Torres.
Hyp. Of Seville?
Trap. Of Seville.
Hyp. Sir, your most humble servant. You
need not be curious; for I am sure you don't
know me, though I do you, and your condi-
tion; which I dare promise you I'll mend upon
our better acquaintance. And your first step
to deserve it, is to answer me honestly to a
few questions: keep your assurance still; it
may do me service, I shall like you better for
it: come, here's to encourage you.
[Gives him Money.
Trap. Sir, my humble service to you.
Hyp. Well said.
Flora. Nay, I'll pass my word he shan't
dwindle into modesty.
Trap. I never heard a gentleman talk better
in my life. I have seen such a sort of face
before, but where-I don't know, nor I don't
care. It's your glass, sir.
Hyp. Grammercy! here, cousin! [Drinks
to Flora] Come, now, what made don Philip
turn you out of his service? Why did you
leave him?
Trap. 'Twas time, I think; his wits had left
bim-the man was mad,
Hyp. Mad!
Trap. Ay, stark mad-in love.
Hyp. In love! How pray?
Trap. Very deep-up to the ears, over head,
drown'd by this time, he would in- I would
have had him stopp'd when he was up to the
middle.
Hyp, What was she he was in love with?
Trap. The devil!
Hyp. So! now for a very ugly likeness of
my own face. What sort of a devil? [Aside.
Trap. The damning sort-a woman.
Hyp. Had she no name?
Hyp. Did she use him so very ill?
Trap. Like a jade.
Flora. How d'ye do now?
[Apart.
Hyp. I don't know- methinks I-[Apart]
But sure! What! was she not handsome, say ye?
Trap. A devilish tongue.
Hyp. Was she ugly?
Flora. Ay, say that at your peril. [Aside.
Hyp. What was she? How did she look?
Trap. Look! Why, faith, the woman look'd
very well when she had a blush in her face.
Hyp. Did she often blush?
Trap. I never saw her.
Flora. How d'ye like the picture, madam?
[Apart
[Apart.
Hyp. I am as humble as an offending lover,
Re-enter Host.
Host. Gentlemen, your dinner's upon table.
[Exit.
Hyp. That's well! Come, sir, at dinner I'll
give you further instructions how you may
serve yourself and me.
Trap. Come, sir.
[To Flora.
Flora. Nay, dear sir, no ceremony.
Trap. Sir, your very humble servant.
[As they are going, Hypolita stops them.
Hyp. Come back; here's one I don't care
should see me.
Trap. Sir, the dinner will be cold,
Hyp. Do you eat it hot then; we are not
hungry.
Trap. Sir, your humble servant again. [Exit.
Flora. You seem concern'd; who is it?
Hyp. My brother Octavio, as I live-Come
this way.
[They retire.
Enter OCTAVIO and a Servant.
Oct. Jasper, run immediately to Rosara's
woman, tell her I am just come to town, slip
that note into her hand, and stay for an answer.
Flora. 'Tis he.
Apart to Hypolita.
Re-enter Host, conducting DON PHILIP,
Host. Here, sir, please to walk this way.
Flora. And don Philip, by Jupiter! [Apart.
Don P. When my servant comes, send
Trap. Her Christian name was donna Hy-him to me immediately.
polita: but her proper name was Shittlecock.
Flora. How d'ye like that?
[Apart to Hypolita.
Hyp. Pretty well. [Apart] Was she hand-
some?
Trap. Umph!-so, so!
Flora. How d'ye like that?
[Apart.
Hyp. Umph!-so, so! [Apart] Had she wit?
Trap. Sometimes.
Hyp. Good humour?
Trap. Very seldom.
Hyp. Proud?
Trap. Ever.
Hyp. Was she honest?
Trap. Very proud.
Hyp. What! had she no good qualities?
Trap. Faith! I don't remember "'em.
Hyp. Hah! d'ye think she loved him?
Host. Yes, sir.
Hyp. Nay, then it's time for us to make
ready-Allons!
[Apart. Exeunt Hypolita and Flora.
Oct. Don Philip!
Don P. Dear Octavio!
Oct. What lucky point of the compass could
blow us upon one another so?
Don P, Faith! a wind very contrary to my
inclination: but the worst I see blows some
good; I am overjoy'd to see you. But what
makes you so far from the army?
Oct. 0, friend, such an unfortunate occa-
sion, yet such a lucky discovery! such a mix-
ture of joy and torment no poor dog upon
earth was ever plagued with.
Don P. Unriddle, pray.
Oct. Don't you remember, about six months
Trap. If she did, 'twas as the cobler loved ago, I wrote you word of a dear, delicious,
Hyp. How was that?
[his wife. sprightly creature, that I had bombarded for
Trap. Why he beat her thrice a day, and a whole summer to no purpose?

SCENE 1,]
279
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Don P. I remember.
Oct. That same silly, stubborn, charming
angel now capitulates.
Don P. Then she's taken.
Oct. I can't tell that; for you must know,
her perfidious father, contrary to his treaty
with me, and her inclination, is going to-
Don P. Marry her to another?
Oct. Of a better estate than mine, it seems.
There's her express; read it.
HYPOLITA, FLORA, and TRAPPANTI,
in the Balcony.
Flora. Trappanti, there's your
Trap. Ay, I know him again:
(she loving you), my friendship and my ho-
nour would oblige me to desist.
Oct. That's generous indeed! But still you
amaze me. Are you quite broke off with my
sister? I hope she has given you no reason
to forget her?
Don P. The most severe that ever beauty
printed in the heart of man, a coldness unac-
countable to sense.
Oct. Pshaw! dissembled.
Don P. I can't think it; lovers are soon
appear flattered into hope; but she appeared to me
indifferent to so nice a point, that she has
old master. ruined me without the trouble of resolving it.
[Apart. Oct. For all her usage of you, I'll be racked
but I may if she did not love you.
chance to tell him he did not know a good Don P. I rather think she hated me: how-
servant when he had him.
[Apart. ever, now 'tis past, and I must endeavour to
Don P. [Reads] My father has concluded think no more of her.
Don P. That's my business to Madrid.
Trap. Which shall be done to your hand.
[Apart.
a match for me with one I never saw, and Oct. Then you are determined to marry
intends in two days to perfect it; the gen- this other lady?
tleman is expected every hour. In the mean
time, if you know any friend that has a
better title to me, advise him forthwith to
put in his claim: I am almost out of my
senses; which you'll easily believe, when I
tell you, if such a one should make haste,
I shan't have time to refuse him any thing.
Hyp. How's this?
[Apart.
Don P. No name.
Oct. She never would trust it in a letter.
Flora. If this should be don Philip's mis-
Don P. Besides, I am now obliged by contract.
Oct. Then (though she be my sister) may
some jealous, old, ill-natured dog revenge your
quarrel to her.
Don P. Come, forget it.
[Exeunt Hypolita, Flora, and Trappanti.
Oct. With all my heart; let's go in and
drink your new mistress's health. When do
[Apart. you visit her?
Trap. Sir, you may take my word it is; I
know the lady, and what the neighbours say
tress!
of her.
Don P. I intended it immediately; but an
unlucky accident has hinder'd me; one of my
[Apart. servants fell sick upon the road, so that I am
Don P. What will you do in this case? forced to make shift with one, and he is the
Oct. That I don't yet know; I have just most negligent, sottish rogue in nature, has
sent my servant to tell her I am come to town, left the portmanteau, where all my writings
and beg an opportunity to speak with her: I and letters of concern are, behind him at the
long to see her: I warrant the poor fool will last town we lay, so that I can't properly visit
be so soft and humble, now she's in a fright. the lady or her father till I am able to assure
Don P. What will you propose at your them who I am.
meeting her?
Oct. Why don't you go back yourself to
Oct. I don't know, may be another meet-see for 'em?
ing: at least it will come to a kind look, a
kiss, good by, and a sigh!-ah! if I can but
persuade her to run away with me.
Don P. Consider!
Oct. Ah! so I do; what a pleasure 'twould
be to have her steal out of her bed in a sweet,
moonshiny night! to hear her come pat, pat,
pat, along in her slippers, with nothing but a
thin silk night-gown loose about her; and in
this tempting dress to have her jump into my
arms breathless with fear.
Don P. Octavio, I envy thee; thou art the
happiest man in thy temper-
Don P. I have sent my servant; for I am
really tired: I was loath to appear too much
concern'd for 'em, lest the rascal should think
it worth his while to run away with 'em.
Re-enter a Servant to OCTAVIO.
Oct. How now?
Serv. Here's an answer, sir. [Gives a Letter.
Oct. My dear friend, I beg a thousand par-
dons, I must leave you this minute; the kind
creature has sent for me; I am a soldier, you
know, and orders must be obey'd; when I
come off duty, I'll immediately wait upon you.
[To Don Philip.
Oct. And thou art the most alter'd I ever
knew: pr'ythee what makes thee so much upon
the hum-drum?¹) Well, are my sister and adieu. [Exit Octavio] Here, house!
you come to a right understanding yet? When
do you marry?
Don P. You'll find me here, or hear of me:
Don P. My condition, Octavio, is very much
like your mistress's: she is going to marry
the man she never saw, and I the woman.
Oct. 'Sdeath! you make me tremble: I hope
'tis not my mistress.
Don P. Thy mistress! that were an idle
fear; Madrid's a wide place. Or if it were
1) Melancholy.
-
Re-enter Host.
Pr'ythee see if my servant be come yet.
Host. I believe he is, sir; is he not in blue?
Don P. Ay, where is the sot?!
Host. Just refreshing himself with a glass
at the gate.
Don P. Pray tell the gentleman I'd speak
with him. [Exit Host] In all the necessaries
of life there is not a greater plague than ser-
vants. Hey, Soto! Soto!

280
[ACT II.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Enter Soro, drunk.
Odso! I had like to have forgot-Here, house!
Soto. Did you please to-such!-call, sir? a bason and washball-I've a razor about me.
Don P. What's the reason, blockhead, I-Hey!
must always wait upon you thus?
Soto. Sir, I did not know any thing of it;
I-I-came as soon as you se-se-se-sent
for me.
Did
Don P. And why not without sending, sir?
think I expected no answer to the
business I sent you about?
you
Soto. Yes, sir-I did think you would be
willing-that is-to have an account-so I staid
to take a glass at the door, because I would
not be out of the way--huh!
Don P. You are drunk, rascal-where's the
portmanteau?
Soto. Sir, I am here-if you please, I'll give
you the whole account how the matter is-huh!
Don P. Speak, villain. [Strikes him.
Hyp. What's the matter?
Trap. Sir, you are not shaved.
Hyp. Shaved!
[Knocks.
Trap. Ever while you live, sir, go with a
smooth chin to your mistress. Hey! [Knocks.
Hyp. This puppy does so plague me with
his impertinence, I shall laugh out, and dis-
cover myself.
[Aside.
[Knocks.
Hyp. Pshaw! pr'ythee don't stand fooling,
Trap. Why, Diego!
we're in haste.
Flora. Ay, ay, shave another time.
Trap. Nay, what you please, sir; your
beard is not much, you may wear it to-day.
[Taking her by the Chin.
Flora. Ay, and to-morrow too: pray, sir,
Soto. I will, sir, as soon as I can put my will you see the coach ready, and put in the
words into an intelligible order; I an't run- things?
ning away, sir.
Don P. To the point, sirrah!
Soto. Not of your sword, dear sir.
Don P. Sirrah, be brief, or I'll murder you:
where's the portmanteau?
Soto. Sir, as I hope to breathe, I made all
the strictest search in the world, and drank at
every house upon the road, going and coming,
and ask'd about it; and so at last, as I was
coming within a mile of the town here,
found then
Don P. What?
I
Soto. That it must certainly be lost.
Don P. Dog! d'ye think this must satisfy
me?
[Beats him.
Soto. Lord, sir, you won't hear reason-
Are you sure you han't it about you? - If I
know any thing of it, I wish I may be burnt.
Don P. Villain! your life can't make me sa-
tisfaction.
Soto. No, sir, that's hard-a man's life can't
-for my part-I-I-
Don P. Why do I vent my rage against a
sot, a clod of earth? I should accuse myself
for trusting him.
Soto. Sir-
Don P. Be dumb!
Soto. Ahuh! Yes.
Don P. If this rascal had stole it, sure he
would not have ventured to come back again
-I am confounded! Neither don Manuel nor
Trap. Sir, I'll see the coach ready, and put
in the things.
[Exit.
Flora. Come, madam, courage; now let's
do something for the honour of our sex, give
a proof of our parts, and tell mankind we
can contrive, fatigue, bustle, and bring about
as well as the best of 'em.
Hyp. Well said, Flora: for the honour of
our sex be it then, and let the grave dons
think themselves as wise as they please; but
nature knows there goes more wit to the ma-
nagement of some amours, than the hardest
point in politics.
Therefore to men th' affair of state's confin'd,)
Wisely to us the state of love's assign'd,
As love's the weightier business of mankind.)
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I-DON MANUEL's House,
Enter ROSARA and VILETTA.
Vil. Hear reason.
Ros, Talk of Octavio then.
Vil. How do you know but the gentleman
your father designs you for, may prove as
pretty a fellow as he? if you should happen
to like him as well.
Ros. Do you expect Octavio should thank
you for this?
Vil. The gentleman is no fool.
Ros. He'll hate any one that is not a friend
his daughter know me, nor any of his family. to his love.
If I should not visit him till I can receive fresh Vil. Hang 'em, say I: but can't one quench
letters from my father, he'll in the mean time the thirst without jumping into the river? Is
think himself affronted by my neglect-What there no difference between cooling and drown-
shall I do? Suppose I go and tell him my ing? If Octavio must be the man, I say, let
misfortune, and beg his patience till we can don Philip be the husband.
hear again from Seville. I must think! Hey, Ros. I tell you, fool, I'll have no man but
Soto!
[Exit. a husband, and no husband but Octavio: when
Soto. I had rather bought a portmanteau you find I am weary of him, I'll give you
out of my own pocket, than had such a life leave to talk to me of somebody else.
[Exit. Vil. In vain, I see. -I ha' done, madam-
one must have time to be wise; but in the
mean while what do ye resolve? Positively
not to marry don Philip.
about it.
Re-enter HYPOLITA, FLORA, and TRAPPANTI.
Trap. Hold, sir, let me touch up your fore-
top¹) a little.
Ros. I don't know what I shall do, till I
see Octavio; when did he say he would be here?
know my
Vil. Oh! I dare not tell you, madam.
Ros. Why?
Trap. Sir, I shall remember 'em both-
1) Forc-top is the hair on the fore part of the head.
Hyp. Well, Trappanti, you know your bu-
siness; and if I marry the lady, you
promise too.
Vil. I am bribed to the contrary.
Ros. By whom?

SCENE 2.]
281
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Vil. Octavio! he just now sent me this seem wicked: hussy, you shall confess for
lovely piece of gold, not to tell you what time her; I'll have her send her sins by you, you
he would be here.
know 'em, I'm sure; but I'll know what the
friar has got out of her.-Save you, father.
Oct. Bless you, son.
Ros. Nay then, Viletta, here are two pieces
that are twice as lovely; tell me when I shall
see him.
Vil. Umph! these are lovely pieces indeed.
[Smiling.
Ros. When, Viletta?
Vil. Have you no more of 'em, madam?
Ros. Pshaw! there, take purse and all; will
that content thee?
Ros. When will he come?
Don M. How now, what's become of father
Benedict? Why is not he here?
Vil. Sir, he is not well, and so desired this
gentleman, his brother here, to officiate for him.
Don M. He seems very young for a con-
fessor.
[Aside.
Vil. Ay, sir! he has not been long at it.
Vil. O! dear madam, I should be uncon- Oct. Nor don't desire to be long in it; I
scionable to desire more; but really I was hope I understand it well enough to make a
willing to have 'em all first. [Courtesying. fool of my old don here.
Don M. Well, sir! how do you find the
Vil. Why the poor gentleman has been pulse of iniquity beat there? What sort of
hankering about the house this quarter of an sin has she most stomach to?
hour; but I did not observe, madam, you Oct. Why truly, sir, we have all frailties,
were willing to see him, till you had con- and your daughter has had most powerful
vinced me by so plain a proof.
temptations.
Ros. Where's my father?
Vil. Fast asleep in the great chair.
Ros. Fetch him in then before he wakes.
Vil. Let him wake, his habit will protect him.
Rob. His habit!
Vil. Ay, madam, he's turn'd friar to come
at you: if your father surprises us, I have a
lie ready to back him-Hist, Octavio, you may
enter.
Enter OCTAVIO, in a Friar's Habit.
Oct. After a thousand frights and fears, do
I live to see my dear Rosara once again, and
kind?
Ros. What shall we do, Octavio?
[Looking kindly on him.
Oct. Kind creature! do! why as lovers
should do; what nobody can undo; let's run
away this minute, tie ourselves fast in the
church-knot, and defy fathers and mothers.
Ros. And fortunes too?d
Oct. Pshaw! we shall have it one day:
they must leave their money behind 'em.
Ros. Suppose you first try my father's good
nature? You know he once encouraged your
addresses.
Oct. First let's be fast married; perhaps he
may be good-natured when he can't help it;
whip a suit of night-clothes into your pocket,
and let's march off in a body together.
Ros. Ah! my father,
Oct. Dead!
Vil. To your function.
Enter DON MANUEL.
Don M. Viletta.
Vil. Sir.
Don M. Where's my daughter?
Vil. Hist, don't disturb her.
Don M. Disturb her! why what's the matter?
Vil. She's at confession, sir.
Don M. Confession! I don't like that; a
young woman ought to have no sins at all.
Vil. Ah! dear sir, there's no living with-
out 'em.
Don M. I find her aversion to the marriage
I have proposed her, has put her upon dis-
obedient thoughts: there can be no confession
without guilt.
Vil. Nor no pardon, sir, without confession.
Don M. Fiddle faddle! I won't have her
Don M. Nay, the devil has been very busy
with her these two days.
Oct. She has told me a most lamentable story.
Don M. Ten to one but this lamentable
story proves a most damnable. lie.
Oct. Indeed, son, I find by her confession,
that you are much to blame for your tyran-
nical government of her.
Don M, Hey-day! what has the jade been
inventing sins for me, and confessing 'em
instead of her own? Let me come-she shall
be lock'd up till she repents 'em too.
Oct, Son, forbear: this is now a corrobo-
ration of your guilt: this is inhuman.
Don M. Sir, I have done: but pray, if you
please, let's come to the point: what are these
terrible cruelties that this tender lady accuses
me of?
Oct. Nay, sir, mistake her not: she did not,
with any malicious design, expose your faults,
but as her own depended on 'em: her frail-
ties were the consequence of your cruelty.
Don M. Let's have 'em both antecedent and
consequent.
Oct. Why she confess'd her first maiden,
innocent affection, had long been settled upon
a young gentleman, whose love to her you
once encouraged; and after their most solemn
vows of mutual faith, you have most barbar-
ously broke in upon her hopes, and to the
utter ruin of her peace, contracted her to a
man she never saw.
Don M. Very good, I see no harm in all this.
Oct. Methinks the welfare of a daughter,
sir, might be of weight enough to make you
serious.
Don M. Serious! so I am, sir; what the
devil must I needs be melancholy because I
have got her a good husband?
Oct. Her melancholy may tell you, sir, she
can't think him a good one.
Don M. Sir, I understand thinking better
than she, and I'll make her take my word.
Oct. What have you to object against the
man she likes?
Don M. The man I like!
Oct. Suppose the unhappy youth she loves
should throw himself distracted at your feet,
and try to melt you into pity.
Don M. Ay! That's if he can.
Oct. You would not, sir, refuse to bear him.
36

282
[ACT II.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Don M. Sir, I shall not refuse him any that offers at Rosara's love shall have one vir-
thing; that I am sure will signify nothing. tue, courage, at least; I'll be his proof of that,
Oct. Were you one moment to reflect upon and ere he steps before me, force him to de-
the pangs which separated lovers feel, were serve her.
[Exit Octavio.
nature dead in you, that thought might Don M. Ah! poor fellow! he's mad now,
wake her.
and does not know what he would be at:-
Don M. Sir, when I am ask'd to do a thing But, however, 'twill be no harm to provide
I have not a mind to do, my nature sleeps against him-Who waits there?
like a top¹).
Enter a Servant.
Oct. Then I must tell you, sir, this obsti-Run you for an alguazile, and bid your fellows
nacy obliges me, as a churchman, to put you arm themselves, I expect mischief at my door
in mind of your duty: and to let you know immediately: if Octavio offers any disturbance,
too, you ought to pay more reverence to our knock him down, and bring him before me.
order.
Don M. Sir, I am not afraid of the sin of
marrying my daughter to the best advantage:
and so if you please, father, you may walk
home again-when any thing lies upon my
conscience I'll send for you.
[Exit Servant.
Vil. Hist! don't I hear my mistress's voice?
Ros. [Within] Viletta!
Vil. Here! here, madam-bless me, what's this?
[Viletta listens at the Closet Door, and
Rosara thrusts a Billet to her through
the Key-hole.
Oct. Nay then, 'tis time to claim a lover's
right, and to tell you, sir, the man that dares Ha!
to ask Rosara from me is a villain.
à billet-to Octavio-a--hem.
[Puts it into her Bosom.
Don M. How now, hussy; what are you
[Aside. fumbling about that door for?
Vil. Nothing, sir; I was only peeping to
[Throws off his disguise.
Vil. So! here will be fine work!
Don M. Octavio! the devil!
Oct. You'll find me one, unless you do me see if my mistress had done prayers yet.
speedy justice: since not the bonds of honour, Don M. Oh! she had as good let 'em alone,
nature, nor submissive reason can oblige you, for she shall never come out, 'till she has
I am reduced to take a surer, shorter way, stomach enough to fall to upon the man I
and force you to be just. I leave you, sir, have provided for her. But hark you, Mrs.
[Walks about angrily. Modesty, was it you, pray, that let in
Don M. Ah! here's a confessor! ah! that that able comforter for my babe of grace
jade of mine-and that other jade of my jade's there?
to think on't.
[Pertly.
-here has been rare doings!-Well! it shan't Vil. Yes, sir, I let him in.
hold long, madam shall be noosed to-morrow Don M. Did you so?- Ha! then if you
morning-Ha! sir's in a great passion here, please, madam - I'll let you out-go-go-get
but it won't do-those long strides, don, wiil a sheet of brown paper, pack up your things,
never bring you the sooner to your mistress and let me never see that damn'd
ugly face
-Rosara! step into that closet, and fetch my of thine as long as I live.
spectacles off the table there. Tum, tum! [Sings. Vil. Bless me, sir, you are in a strange
Vil. I don't like the old gentleman's looks. humour, that you won't know when a servant
I don't in
[Aside. does as she should do.
Ros. This obstinacy of yours, my dear
father, you shall find runs in the family.
[Exit Rosara, and Don Manuel locks her in.
Don M. Tum! dum! dum!
[Sings.
Oct. Sir, I would advise you, as your near-
est friend, to defer this marriage for three days.
Don M. Tum! tum! tum!
Vil. Sir, you have lock'd my mistress in.
Don M, Tum! dum! dum!
[Pertly.
Vil. If you please to lend me the key, sir,
I'll let her out.
Don M. Tum! dum! dum!
Don M. Thou art strangely impudent.
Vil. Only the furthest from it in the world, sir.
Don M. Then I am strangely mistaken:
didst not thou own just now thou let'st him in?
Vil. Yes-but 'twas in disguise-for I did
not design you should see him, because I
know you
did not care my mistress should
see him.
Don M. Hah!
Vil. And I knew, at the same time, she
had a mind to see him.
Den M. Hah!
Vil. And you know, sir, that the sin of
Oct. You might afford me at least, as I am loving him had lain upon her conscience a
a gentleman, a civil answer, sir.
great while; so I thought it high time she
should come to a thorough confession.
Don M. Hah!
Don M. Why then, in one word, sir, you
shall not marry my daughter; and as you are
a gentleman, I'm sure you wont think it good
manners to stay in my house, when I sub- let him in; that's all.
missively beg of you to walk out.
Oct. You are the father of my mistress, and
something, sir, too old, to answer as you
Vil. So upon this, sir, as you see-I-I-I
Don M. Nay, if it be so as thou say'st, he
was a proper confessor indeed.
Vil. Well, sir, and judge you now if my
ought, this wrong; therefore I'll look for re-mistress is not beholden to me.
paration where I can with honour take it;
Don. M. Oh! extremely; but you'll go to
and since you have obliged me to leave your hell, my dear, for all this; though perhaps
house, I'll watch it carefully, I'll know who you'll choose that place; I think you never
dares enter it. This, sir, be sure of, the man much car'd for your husband's company; and
if I don't mistake, you sent him to heaven in
1) The children, in playing with their tops, say, when the old road. [Clash] Hark! what noise is
it turns round with such velocity as to appear to stand
still, that it sleeps.
that?
[Noise without. Exit Viletta.

SCENE 1.]
283
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Enter a Servant, hastily.
How now?
Hyp. Sir, don Fernando de las Torres,
whom I am proud to call my father, commanded
Serv. O sir, Octavio has set upon a couple me to deliver this into the hands of his most
of gentlemen just as they were alighting out dear and worthy friend, don Manuel Grimaldi,
of a coach at the door; one of them, I believe, and at the same time gave me assurance of
is he that is to marry my young mistress, I a kind reception.
heard 'em name; I'm afraid there will be Don M. Sir, you are thrice welcome: let
mischief, sir; there they are all at it, helter skelter. me embrace ye; I'm overjoy'd to see you-
Don M. Run into the hall, take down, my your friend, sir?
back, breast, and head-piece, call an officer,
raise the neighbours, give me my great gun,
I'll shoot him out of the garret window.
[Exit Don Manuel.
Enter HYPOLITA and FLORA, putting up their
Swords; TRAPPANTI and OCTAVIO in the
Servants' Hands.
Hyp. Don Pedro Velada, my near relation,
who has done me the honour of his company
from Seville, sir, to assist at the solemnity of
his friend's happiness.
Don M. Sir, you are welcome; I shall be
proud to know you.
Flora. You do me honour, sir.
Don M. I hope you are not hurt, gentlemen?
Hyp. Not at all, sir; thanks to a little skill
Hyp. Bring him along-this is such an in-
solence! at this rate no gentleman can walk in the sword.
the streets.
Don M. I am glad of it; however, give me
Flora. I suppose, sir, your business was leave to interrupt our business for a moment,
more with our pockets than our persons: are till I have done you justice on the person
our things safe?
that offer'd you this insolence at my gate.
Trap. Ay, sir, I secured them as soon as Hyp. Your pardon, sir; I understand he is
ever I saw his sword out; I guess'd his de-a gentleman, and beg you would not let my
sign, and scower'd off with the portmanteau. honour suffer, by receiving a lame reparation
Hyp. I'll know now who set you on, sir. from the law.
Oct. Pr'ythee, young man, don't be trou-
blesome, but thank the rascal that knock'd me
down for your escape.
Don M. A pretty mettled fellow, faith-must
not let him fight though. [Aside.] But, sir,
you don't know, perhaps, how deeply this
man is your enemy.
Hyp. Sir, l'l have you know, if you had
not been knock'd down, I should have owed Hyp. Sir, I know more of his spleen and
my escape to the same arm to which you would folly than you imagine, which, if you please
have owed the reward for your insolence. Pray, to discharge him, I'll acquaint you with.
sir, what are you? Who knows you?
Don M. Discharge him! pray consider, sir-
Oct. I'm glad, at least, to find 'tis not don
Philip that's my rival.
[Aside.
[They seem to talk.
Sero. Sir, my master knows the gentleman Re-enter VILETTA, and gives a Note to
very well; he belongs to the army.
Hyp. Then, sir, if you'd have me use you
like a gentleman, I desire your meaning of
those familiar questions you ask'd me at the
coach-side.
Vil. Send your
OCTAVIO.
answer to me.
[Apart to Oct. and exit.
Oct. Now for a beam of hope in a tempest.
[Aside. Reads.
Oct. Faith, young gentleman, I'll be very I charge you don't hazard my ruin and
short; I love the lady you are to marry; and your own by the madness of a quarrel:
if you don't quit your pretences in two hours, the closet window where I am is but a step
it will entail prepetual danger upon you and to the ground. Be at the back door of the
your family.
garden exactly in the close of the evening,
Hyp. Sir, if you please, the danger's equal where you will certainly find one that may
-for, rot me if I'm not as fond of cutting put you in the best way of getting rid of
your throat as you can be of mine.
a rival.
Oct. If I were out of these gentlemens' Dear kind creature! Now, if my little don's
hands, on my word, sir, you shouldn't want fit of honour does but hold out to bail me, I
an opportunity.
an the happiest dog in the universe. [Aside.
Hyp. O sir, these gentlemen shall protect
neither of us; my friend and I'll be your bail
from them.
Flora. Ay, sir, we'll bail you; and if you
please, sir, bring your friend; I'm his: damn
me! what, d'ye think you have boys to deal
with?
at-
Oct. Sir, I ask your pardon, and shall de-
sire to kiss your hands, about an hour hence,
[Whispers.
Flora. Very well, sir; we'll meet you.
Hyp. Release the gentleman.
Serv. Sir, we dare not, without my master's
order: here he is, sir.
Re-enter DON MANUEL.
Don M. Well, sir, since I find your ho-
nour is dipp'd so deep in the matter-Here-
release the gentleman.
[Servant gives Octavio his Sword.
Flora. So, sir, you have your freedom;
you may depend upon us.
Hyp. You will find us punctual-Sir, your
servant.
Oct. So, now I have a very handsome oc-
casion to put off the tilt too. [Aside.] Gentle-
men, I ask your pardon; I begin to be a
little sensible of the rashness I committed;
and I confess your manner of treating me
has been so very much like men of honour,
that I think myself obliged from the same
Don M. How now, bully confessor? What! principle to assure ye, that though I love Ro-
in limbo? 1).
1) Slang for, confined.
sara equal to my life, yet no consideration
shall persuade me to be a rude enemy, even

284
[ACT II.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
to my rival; I thank you for my freedom, devil's in't if you don't find an opportunity
and am your humble servant. [Exit Octavio. to run away with her."
Hyp. Your servant, sir.-I think we released Don M. Would you so, Mr. Dog? But
my brother
very handsomely; but I han't done he'll be hang'd.
with him.
[Aside to Flora.
Don M. What can this sudden turn of ci-
vility mean? I am afraid 'tis but a cloke to
some new roguery he has in his head.
Hyp. O sir! you'll find we were mighty
fortunate in this discovery.
Don M. Pray, sir, let's hear. What was
this trick to be, friend?
Trap. Why, sir, to alarm you, that my
Hyp. I don't know how old it may be, but
my servant here has discovered a piece of master was an impostor, and that Sly-looks
villany of his, that exceeds any other he can
be capable of.
Don M. Is it possible? Why would you
let him go then?
Hyp. Because I'm sure it can do me no
harm, sir.
Don M. Pray be plain, sir; what is it?
Hyp. This fellow can inform you-For, to
say truth, he's much better at a lie. [Aside.
Don M. Come hither, friend: pray what is
this business?
Hyp. Ay; what was that you overheard
between Octavio and another gentleman, at the
inn where we alighted?
was the true don Philip, sent by his father
from Seville to marry your daughter; "upon
which" (says he), "the old put" (meaning you
again, sir), "will be so bamboozled, that"
Don M. But pray, sir, how did young Mr.
Coxcomb conclude that the old put was to
believe all this? Had they no sham proofs
that they proposed to bamboozle me with, as
you call it?
Trap. You shall hear, sir (the plot was
pretty well laid too). "I'll pretend," says he,
that the rascal, your rival," (meaning you then,
sir) [To Hypolita.] "has robb'd me of my
portmanteau, where I had put up all my
Trap. Why, sir, as I was unbuckling my jewels, money, and letters of recommendation
portmanteau in the yard there, I observed Oc-from my father. We are neither of us known
tavio and another spark very familiar with in Madrid," says he, "so that a little impu-
your honour's name; upon which, sir, I prick'd dence, and a grave face, will certainly set
up the ears of my curiosity, and took in all those two dogs a snarling, while you run
their discourse.
away with the bone." That's all, sir.
Don M. Pray who was that other spark,
friend?
Trap. A brother-rake, sir; a damn'd
look'd fellow.
Don M. So!
Don M. Impudent rogue!
Hyp. What think ye, sir? Was not this
sly-business pretty handsomely laid?
Flora. How familiarly the rogue treats his
old master.
Flora. Faith, it might have wrought a very
ridiculous consequence.
Don M. Why truly, if we had not been
[Aside fore-arm'd by this discovery, for aught I know,
Hyp. Poor don Philip!
Aside. Mr. Dog might have ran away with the bone
Trap. Says one of 'em, says he, "No, damn indeed: but if you please, sir, since these in-
him, the old rogue" (meaning you, sir), "will genious gentlemen are so pert upon the mat-
never let you have her by fair means"-ter, we'll let 'em see that you and I have wit
"However," says Octavio, "I'll try soft words: enough to do our business, and e'en clap up
but if those won't do"-"Bully him," says the wedding to-morrow morning.
t'other.
Hyp. Sir, you are too obliging-But will
Don M. Ah! poor dog! but that would not your daughter, think ye, be prevail'd with?
do neither: sir, he has tried 'em both to-day
to no purpose.
Don M. Sir, I'll prepare her this minute-
It's pity; methinks, we released that bully
Flora. We might as well have held him
Trup. Say you so, sir? then you'll find though-
what I say is all of a piece. "Well," and if
neither of these will do," says he, "you must a little.
c'en tilt the young prig,1) your rival;" (mean- Hyp. Really, sir, upon second thoughts, I
ing you then, sir.)
[To Hypolita. wish we had-his excusing his challenge so
Don M. Ha, ha! that, I perceive, my spark abruptly, makes me, fancy he is in hopes of
did not greatly care for.
carrying his point some other way.-Did not
Trap. No, sir; that he found was catching you observe your daughter's woman whis-
a Tarlar 2). 'Sbud, my master, fought like a per him?
lion, sir.
Hyp. Truly, I did not spare him.
Flora. No, faith-after he was knock'd down.
Don M. Humh!
Flora. They seem'd very busy, that's certain,
Hyp. I can't say about what-but it will
[Aside. be worth our while to be upon our guard.
Don M. I am alarm'd.
rap. But now, sir, comes the cream of
the roguery.
Hyp. Pray observe, sir.
Trap. "Well," says Sly-looks, "and if all
these fail, I have a rare trick in my head,
that will certainly defer the marriage for three
or four days at least; and in that time the
1) You must fight with the young fellow.
2) The story goes, that an Irishman in battle against the
Calmucks, once called to one of his comrades, "Patrick,
go
Hyp. Where is your daughter at this time?
Don M. I think she's pretty safe-but I'll
make her sure.
Flora. Where's her woman?
Don M. I'll be upon her presently - she
shall be search'd for intelligence-you'll excuse
me, gentlemen.
Hyp. Sir, the occasion presses you.
Don M. If I find all safe, I'll return imme-
I have caught a Tartar". "Well, bring him along with diately; and then, if you please, we'll run
you."
"But he won't come." So, of course, the
Irishman was a prisoner.
over some old stories of my good friend Fer-

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
285
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
nando. Your servant.
[Exit. Vil. You may chance to have your bones
Hyp. Sir, your most humble servant-Trap-broke, Mr. Coxcomb.
panti, thou'rt a rare fellow, thou hast an ad- Trap. Sweet honeycomb, don't be so wasp-
mirable face of brass, and when thou diest ish; or if I keep your counsel, d'ye see, I
I'll have thy whole statue cast all in the don't know why my bones mayn't keep their
same metal.
places; but if I peach, whose bones will pay
Flora. 'Twere pity the rogue was not bred for it then?
to the law.
Fil. Ha! the fool says true; I had better
[Aside.
Trap. Don't you love money above any
thing in the world-except one?
Vil. I except nothing.
Trap. So 'tis, indeed, sir.-A man should wheedle him.
not praise himself; but if I had been bred to
the gown, I dare venture to say, I become a
lie as well as any man that wears it, and
that's a bold word.
Trap. Very good.-And pray how many
Hyp. Nay, now thou art modest-but, sir- letters do you expect to be paid for when
rah, we have more work for ye; you must Octavio has married your mistress, and has no
get in with the servants, attack the lady's wo-occasion to write to her? While they are
man: there, there's ammunition, rogue. [Gives lovers, they will always have occasion for a
him Money] Now try if you can make a confidant and a go-between; but when they
breach into the secrets of the family.
marry-Serviteur-good night vails ¹); our har-
Trap. Ah! sir, I warrant you-I could ne- vest is over-what d'ye think of me now?
ver yet meet with a woman that was this sort Vil. Why-I like what you say very well:
of pistol-proof.-I have known a handful of but I don't know, my friend, to me-that
these do more than a barrel of gunpowder. same face of yours looks like the title-page to
[Exit. a whole volume of roguery.-What is't you
Flora, Well, what must we do next?
Hyp. Why, now for the lady-I'll be a
little brisk upon her, and then-
Flora, Victoria!
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The same,
drive at?
Trap. Money, money, money. Don't you
let your mistress marry Octavio. I'll do my
[Exeunt. best to hinder my master: let you and I lay
our heads together to keep them asunder, and
so make a penny of 'em all three.
Enter VILETTA, hastily; DON MANUEL and
TRAPPANTI behind, observing her.
Vil. So! with much ado I have given the old
don the slip; he has dangled with me through
every room in the house, high and low, up
stairs and down; as close to my tail as a
great boy hankering after one of his mother's
maids. Well, now
Well, now we will see what mon-
sieur Octavio says.
[Takes a Letter from her Bosom.
Trap. Hist! there she is, and alone: when
the devil has any thing to do with a woman,
sir, that's his time to take her; stand close.
Vil. Look you, seignior, I'll meet you half
way, and confess to you I had made a rough
draught of this project myself: but say I should
agree with you to go on upon't, what security
can you give me for performance of articles?
Trap. More than bond or judgment-my
person in custody.
Vil. Ah! that won't do.
Trap. No, my love, why, there's many a
sweet bit in't-taste it.
[Offers to kiss her; she puts him away.
Vil. No!
Trap. Faith, you must give me one.
Vil. Indeed, my friend, you are too ugly
[Apart to Don Manuel. for me; though I am not handsome myself, I
Don M. Ah! he's at work already-there's love to play with those that are.
a letter.
[Apart. Trap. And yet, methinks, an honest fellow
Trup. Leave her to me, sir; I'll read it.of my size and complexion, in a careless pos-
[Apart. ture, playing the fool thus with his money.
Vil. Ha! two pistoles!-Well, I'll say that [Tosses a Purse; she catches it, and he
for him, the man knows his business; his let-
kisses her.
ters always come post paid.
Vil. Pshaw! Well, if I must, come then.-
[While she is reading, Trappanti steals To see how a woman may be deceived at
behind, and looks over her Shoulder. first sight of a man.
Dear Viletta-Convey the enclosed im- Trap. Nay then, take a second thought of
mediately to your mistress, and, as you me, child.
[Kisses her again.
prize my life, use all possible means to Don M. Ha! This is laying their heads
keep the old gentleman from the closet till together indeed.
[Aside.
you are sure she is safe out of the window. Vil. Well, now get you gone; I have a
Your real friend-
letter to give to my mistress; slip into the
Trap. Octavio!.
garden-I'll come t'ye presently.
Vil. Ah!
Trap. Is't from Octavio?
Vil, Pshaw! be gone, I say.
[Reading
[Shrieks.
Trap. Madam, your ladyship's most humble
servant.
Vil. You're very impertinent, methinks, to
look over other people's letters.
Trap. Why I never read a letter in my
life without looking it over.
Vil. I don't know any business you had
to look upon this.
Trap. There's the thing-your not knowing
that has put you into this passion.
[Snatches the Letter.
Trap. Hist!
[Beckons Don Manuel, who goes softly
behind.
Vil. Madam! Madam! ah!
Don M. Now, strumpet, give me the other
letter, or I'll murder you.
[Draws.
Vil. Ah! lud! Olud! there! there! [Squeaks.
1) Vails, are perquisites given to servants.

286
[ACT III.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
never come too soon to
Don M. Now we shall see what my gentle- Don M. O! as for that matter, he shall see
man would be at.
[Reads. you presently; and I have made it his interest
My dear angel-Ha! Soft and impudent-to like you-but if you are still positively re-
Depend upon me at the garden-door by solved upon Octavio, I'll make but few words.
seven this evening. Pity my impatience, and -pull off
your clothes and go to him.
believe you can
Ros. My clothes, sir?
the arms of your
OCTAVIO. Dan M. Ay, for the gentleman shan't have a
Ah! Now would this rampant rogue make no rag with you.
more of debauching my gentlewoman, than
the gentlewoman would of him, if he were to
debauch her-hold-let's see, what does he
say here?-um! um!
[Reads to himself.
Ros. I am not in haste to be starved, sir.
Don M. Then let me see you put on your
best airs, and receive don Philip as you should do.
Ros. When do you expect don Philip, sir?
Vil. What a stupid wench was I to be- Don M. Expect him; sir! he has been here
lieve this old fool durst do me any harm! this hour-I only staid to get you out of the
but a fright's the devil.
[Aside. sullens.-He's none of your hum-drums, all
Don M. [Reads] Um! um!-Sure she is life and mettle! Odzooks, he has the courage
safe out of the window. O! there the nine of a cock; a duel's but a dance to him: he
is to be sprung then. Now, gentlewornan, has been at sa! sa!)-sa for you already.
what do you think in your conscience I ought Ros. Well, sir, I shan't be afraid of his
to do to ye?
courage, since I see you are resolved he shall
Vil. What I think in my conscience you'll be the man. He shall find me a woman, sir,
not do to me, make a friend of me-You see, let him win me and wear me as soon as
sir, I dare be an enemy.
you please.
Don M. Ah! now thou art my own girl;
Don M. Nay, thou dost not want courage,
I'll say that for thee: but is it possible any hold but in this humour one quarter of an
thing can make thee honest?
hour, and I'll toss thee t'other bushel of doub-
Vil. What do you suppose would make loons into thy portion-Here, bid a-Come,
me otherwise?
Don M. Money.
Vil. You have nick'd it.
Don M. And would the same sum make
thee surely one as t'other?
Vil. That I can't say neither: one must be
heavier than t'other, or else the scale can't turn.
Don M. Say it be so; would that turn thee
into my interest?
Vil. The very minute you turn into mine,
sir: judge yourself-Here stands Octavio with
a letter, and two pieces to give it to my mis-
tress-there stand you with a hem! and four
pieces-where would the letter go, d'ye think?
Don M. There needs no more-I'm con-
vinced, and will trust thee-there's to encou-
rage thee beforehand; [Gives her Money] and
when thou bring'st me a letter of Octavio's,
I'll double the sum,
Vil. Sir, I'll do't-and will take care he
shall write presently.
[Aside.
Don M. Now, as you expect I should be-
lieve you, be gone, and take no notice of
what I have discover'd.
I'll fetch him myself-she's in a rare cue, faith:
ah! if he does but nick her now.
[Exit.
Ros. Now I have but one card to play-
if that don't hit, my hopes are crush'd indeed:
if this young spark ben't a downright coxcomb,
I may have a trick to turn all yet.-Dear for-
tune, give him but common sense, I'll make
it impossible for him to like me-Here they
[Walks carelessly, and sings.
I
come.
Re-enter DON MANUEL, with HYPOLITA.
Song.
Divinely fair, so heav'nly form'd,
Such native innocence she wears;
You cannot wonder that I'm charm'd
Whene'er the lovely maid appears.
Her smiles might warm an anchorite,
Her artless glances teach him sin;
Yet in her soul such charms unite,
As might the coldest stoic win.
Hyp. Madam, I kiss your ladyship's hands;
find by your gaiety, you are no stranger to
Vil. Oh, I am dumb, dumb, dumb, sir. [Exit. have come in with a grave bow and a long
my business; perhaps you expected I should
Don M. So! this was done like a wise ge- speech; but my affair is in a little more haste;
neral: and now I have taken the counters carp, therefore, if you please, madam, we'll cut
there may be some hopes of making the town the work' short, be thoroughly intimate at the
capitulate.-Rosara! [Unlocks the Closet.
Enter ROSARA.
Ros. Did you call me, sir?
Don M. Ay, child: come, be cheerful; what
I have to say to you, I'm sure ought to make
you so.
first sight, and see one another's humours in
a quarter of an hour, as well as if we had
been weary of them this twelvemonth.
Ros, Troth, sir, I think you are very much
in the right; the sooner I see you, the sooner
I shall know whether I like you or not.
Ros. He has certainly made some discovery:
Hyp. Pshaw! as for that matter, you'll find
Viletta did not cry out for nothing-What me a very fashionable husband. I shan't ex-
[Aside. pect my wife to be over fond of me.
Ros. But I love to be in the fashion too,
shall I do?-dissemble.
Don M. In one word, set your heart at sir, in taking the man I have a mind to.
rest, for you shall marry don Philip this very
evening.
Ros. That's but short warning for the gentle-
man, as well as myself; for I don't know
that we ever saw one another. How are you
sure he will like me?
Hyp. Say you so? why then take me as
soon as you please.
1) The old gentleman here puts himself in a fencing
posture, lifting his stick, and lunging forward, saying,
at every lunge: ça! ça! like a French fencing-master
giving a lesson.

SCENE 1.]
287
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Ros. I only stay for my mind, sir: as soon in the French city fashion, content to a degree.
as ever that comes to me, upon my word I Now here in Spain, child, we have such
am ready to wait upon you.
things as back rooms, barred windows, hard
Hyp. Well, madam, a quarter of an hour fare, poison, daggers, bolts, chains, and
shall break no squares ¹)-Sir, if you'll find so forth.
an occasion to leave us alone, I see we shall Ros. Ay, sir, and there are such things as
come to a right understanding presently. bribes, plots, shams, letters, lies, walls, lad-
Don M. I'll do't, sir; well, child, speak, in ders, keys, confidants, and so forth.
thy conscience, is not he a pretty fellow? Hyp. Hey! a very complete regiment in-
Ros. The gentleman's very well, sir; but deed! what a world of service might these
methinks he's a little too young for a husband. do in a quarter of an hour, with a woman's
Don M. Young! a fiddle: you'll find him courage at the head of 'em! Really, madam,
old enough for a wife, I warrant ye: sir, I your dress and humour have the prettiest loose
must beg your pardon for a moment; but if French air, something so quality, that let me
you please, in the mean time, I'll leave you die, madam, I believe in a month I should
my daughter, and so pray make the best of be apt to poison ye.
her.
[Exit. Ros. So! it takes! [Aside] And let me die,
Hyp. I thank ye, sir. [Hypolita stands sir, I believe I should be apt to deserve it of ye.
some time mute, looks carelessly at Rosara, Hyp. I shall certainly do't.
and smiles as in contempt] Why now Ros. It must be in my breakfast then-for
methinks, madam, you had as good put on a should certainly run away before the wedding
real smile, for I am doom'd to be the happy dinner came up.
man, you see.
Ros. So my father says, sir.
Hyp. I'll take his word.
Ros. A bold man-but he'll break it.
Hyp. He won't.
Hyp. Whether he will or no?
Ros. He must.
Ros. He can't help it now.
I
Hyp. That's over-acted, but I'll startle her.
[Aside] Then I must tell you, madam, a
Spanish husband may be provoked as well as
a wife. As for your inclination, I'll keep your
person honest, however; you shall be lock'd
you don't love me then-I'll stab
up, and if
ye.
[Carelessly.
Ros. With what? Your words? it must
be those you say after the priest then-You'll
Ros. Because he has promised you, you be able to do very little else that will reach
shall marry me; and he has always promised
me I should marry the man I could love.
Hyp. Ay-that is, he would oblige you to
love the man you should marry.
Hyp. How so, pray?
Ros. The man that I marry will be sure of
my love; but for the man that marries me-
mercy on him.
Hyp. No matter for that, I'll marry you.
Ros. Come, I don't believe you are so
natur'd.
my heart, I assure ye.
Hyp. Come, come, this humour is as much
affected as my own: I could no more bear
the qualities you say you have, than I know
you are guilty of 'em: your pretty arts, in
striving to avoid, have charmed me. At my
first view I wooed ye only to secure a sordid
fortune, which now I, overjoy'd, could part
ill-with; nay, with life, with any thing, to
purchase your unrivall'd heart.
Hyp. Why, dost thou not like me, child?
Ros. Um-No.
Hyp. What's the matter?
Ros. The old fault.
Hyp. What?
Ros. I don't like you.
Hyp. Is that all?
Hyp. That's hard-the rest.
Ros. That you won't like.
Ros. No.
Hyp. I'll stand it-try me.
Ros. Now I am plunged indeed. [Aside]
Well, sir, I own you have discovered me;
and since you have obliged me to be serious,
I now from my sincerity protest my heart's
already given, from whence no power nor
interest shall recall it.
Hyp. I hate my interest, and would owe
no power or title but to love.
Ros. If, as you say, you think I find a
charm in virtue, you'll know too there's a
charm in constancy: you ought to scorn me,
Ros. Why then, in short, I like another: should I flatter you with hope, since now
another man, sir, has got into my head, and you are assured I must be false before I can
made such work there, you'll never be able to be yours: if what I have said seems cold, or
set me to rights as long as you live.-What too neglectful of your merit, call it not in-
d'ye think of me now, sir? Won't this serve gratitude or scoru, but faith unmoved, and
for a reason why you should not marry me? justice to the man I love.
Hyp. Um-the reason is a pretty smart sort Hyp. Well, madam, to let you see I am a
of a reason truly, but it won't do-to be short friend to love, though love's an enemy to me,
with ye, madam, I have reason to believe I give me but a seeming proof that Octavio is
shall be disinherited if I don't marry you. the undisputed master of your heart, and I'll
Ros. And what have you reason to believe forego the power your father's obligations give
you shall be if you do marry me?
me, and throw my hopes into his arms with you.
Hyp. In the Spanish fashion I suppose,
jealous to a degree.
Ros. You may be in the English fashion,
and something else to a degree.
Hyp. Oh! if I have not courage enough to
prevent that, madam, let the world think me
1) Make no disagreement.
Ros. Sir, you confound me with this goodness.
Command me to what proof you please; or
if you'll trust to my sincerity, let these tears
of joy convince you: here, on my knees, by
all my hopes of peace I swear.
Hyp. Hold-Swear never to make
any other
your husband but Octavio.

288
[ACT III.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Ros. I swear, and heaven befriend me as not ye give the poor girl a quarter of an
I keep this vow inviolate.
hour's warning?
Hyp. My charmer!
Hyp. Rise, madam, and now receive a
[Embraces her,
secret, which I need not charge you to be Don M. Ah, my cares are over.
careful of, since as well your quiet as my Hyp. O! I told ye, sir-hearts and towns
own depends upon it. A little common pru- are never too strong for a surprise.
dence between us, in all probability, before Don M. Pr'ythee be quiet, I hate the sight
night may make us happy in our separate of ye.- Rosara! come hither, you wicked
thing, come hither, I say.
wishes.
Ros. What mean you, sir? sure you are Ros. I am glad to see you so well pleased, sir.
some angel sent to my deliverance.
Don M. Oh! I cannot live-I can't live; it
Hyp. Truly, madam, I have been often told pours upon me like a torrent, I am as full as
so: but, like most angels of my kind, there a bumper-it runs over at my eyes, I shall
is a mortal man in the world, who I have a choke.-Answer me two questions, and kill
great mind should know that I am-but a me outright.
woman.
Ros. A woman!
Hyp. As arrant a woman from top to toe
as ever a man ran mad for.
Ros. Any thing that will make you more
pleased, sir.
Don M. Are you positively resolved to marry
this gentleman?
Ros. Sir, I am convinced 'tis the first match
that can make me happy.
Ros. Are not you don Philip?
Hyp. His shadow, madam, no more: I just
run before him- nay, and after him too. Don M. I am the miserablest dog alive-
Octavio, madam, your lover, is my brother;
my name Hypolita; my story you shall know
at leisure.
and I warrant you are willing to marry him
to-morrow morning, if I should ask you?
Ros. Sooner, sir, if you think it necessary.
Ros. Hypolita! nay then, from what you Don M. Oh! this malicious jade has a mind
have said, and what I have heard Octavio say to destroy me all at once-Ye cursed toad!
of ye, I guess your story: but this was so how did you do to get in wish her so?
extravagant a thought!
[To Hypolita.
Ros. Come, sir, take heart, your joy won't
Hyp. That's true, madam; it-it-it was a
little round about indeed; I might have found be always so troublesome.
a nearer way to don Philip: but these men
are such tetchy things, they can never stay
one's time; always in haste, just as they please;
now we are to look kind, then grave; now
soft, then sincere-so you see, there is such
a plague, that I don't know-one does not
care to be rid of them neither.
Don M. You lie, hussy, I shall be plagued
with it as long as I live.
Ros. A very generous confession!
Hyp. Well, madam, now you know me
thoroughly, I hope you'll think me as fit for
a husband as another woman.
Ros. Then I must marry ye?
Hyp. Ay, and speedily too; for I expect
don Philip every moment; and if we don't
look about us he will be apt to forbid the banns.
Ros. If he comes, what shall we do?
Hyp. I am provided for him-Here comes
your father-he's secure. Come, put on a
dumb consenting air, and leave the rest to me.
Ros. Well! this getting the better of my
wise papa, won't be the least part of my
satisfaction.
Re-enter DON MANUEL.
Don M. So, son! how does the battle go
now? Ha'ye cannonaded stoutly? Does she
cry quarter?
Hyp. My dear father, let me embrace you
-my life's too poor to make you a return.-
You have given me an empire, sir, I would
not change to be grand seignior.
Don M. Ah, rogue! he has done it; he has
done it! he has her! ha! is't not so, my little
champion?
Hyp. Victoria, sir, the town's my own.
Look here! and here, sir! thus have I been
plundering this half hour; and thus, and thus,
and thus, till my lips ache again. [Kisses her.
Don M. Ah! give me the great chair-I
can't bear my joy.-You rampant rogue, could
Hyp. You must not live above two hours then.
[Aside.
Don M. I warrant this raking rogue will
get her with child too-I shall have a young
squab Spaniard upon my lap, that will so
grandpapa me!-
Enter a Servant.
Well! what want you, gloomy face?
Sero. Sir, here's a gentleman desires to
speak with you; he says he comes from Seville.
Don M. From Seville! ha! pr'ythee let him
go thither again-Tell him I am a little busy
about being overjoyed.
Hyp. My life on't, sir, this must be the
fellow that my servant told you of, employed
by Octavio.
Don M. Very likely.
Re-enter TRAPPANTI.
Trap. Sir, sir-News, news!
Don M. Ay, this fellow has a good merry
face now-I like him. Well! what dost thou
say, lad? - But hold, sirrah! has any body
told thee how it is with me?
Trap. Sir!
Don M. Do you know, puppy, that I am
ready to cry?
Trap. Cry, sir! for what?
Don M. Joy! joy! you whelp! my cares
are over; madam's to marry your master,
sirrah; and I am as wet with joy as if I had
been thrown into a sea of good luck-Why
don't you cry, dog?
Trap. Uh! well, sir, I do-But now if you
please let me tell
you my business.
Don M. Well, what's the matter, sirrah?
Trap. Nay, no great matter, sir, only-
Slylooks is come, that's all.

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.] SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
289
Don M. Slylooks! what, the bamboozler?
ha, ha!
Don M. Impudent rogue! the freedom of
my house! yes, that he may be always at
Trap. He, sir, he.
hand to secure the main chance for my friend
Don M. I'm glad of it, faith-now I shall Octavio:-But now I'll have a touch of the
have a little diversion to moderate my joy-bamboozle with him. [Aside]-Look ye, sir,
I'll wait on the gentleman myself; don't you while I see nothing to contradict what you
be out of the way, son, I'll be with ye pre-say you are, d'ye see, you shall find me a
sently. O my jaws! this fit will carry me off. gentleman.
Ye dear toad, good by. [Exit, with Trappanti.
Hyp. Ha, ha, ha! the old gentleman's as
merry as a fiddle; how he'll start when a
string snaps in the middle of his tune!
Ros. At least we shall make him change
it, I believe.
Hyp. That we shall; and here comes one
that's to play upon him.
Enter FLORA, hastily.
Don P. So my father told me, sir.
Don M. But then, on the other hand, d'ye
see, a man's honesty is not always written in
his face; and (begging your pardon) if you
should prove a damned rogue now, d'ye see.
Don P. Sir, I can't in reason take any thing
ill that proceeds only from your caution.
Don M. Civil rascal. [Aside] No, no, as
you say, I hope you wont take it ill neither;
for how do I know, you know, but what you
tell me (begging your pardon again, sir), may
be all a lie?
Flora. Don Philip! where are ye? I must
needs speak with ye. Begging your ladyship's
pardon, madam. [Whispers Hypolita] Stand Don P. Another man indeed might say the
to your arms, the enemy's at the gate faith. same to you: but I shall take it kindly, sir,
But I've just thought of a sure card to win if you suppose me a villain no oftener than
the lady into our party.
Ros. Who can this youth be she's so
familiar with?
ye.
Hyp. I like your advice so well, that to tell
ye the truth, I have made bold to take it
before you gave it me. Come, I'll introduce
[To Flora.
Flora. Then the business is done.
Hyp. Madam, if your ladyship pleases.
To Rosara.
Ros. Is this gentleman your friend, sir?
Hyp. This friend, madam, is my gentle-
woman, at your service.
Ros. Gentlewoman! what, are we all going
into breeches then?
Flora. That used to be my post, madam,
when I wore a needle: but now I have got a
sword by my side, I shall be proud to be
your ladyship's humble servant.
you have occasion to suspect me.
Don M. Sir, you speak like a man of honour,
'tis confessed; but (begging your pardon again,
sir) so may a rascal too sometimes.
Don P. But a man of honour, sir, can
never speak like a rascal.
Don M. Why then, with your honour's
leave, sir, is there nobody here in Madrid
that knows you?
Don P. Sir, I never saw Madrid till within
these two hours, though there is a gentleman
in town that knew me intimately at Seville;
I met him by accident at the inn where I
alighted; he's known here; if it will give you
any present satisfaction, I believe I could easily
produce him to vouch for me.
Don M. At the inn, say ye, did you meet
this gentleman? What's his name pray?
Don P. Octavio Cruzado.
Ros. Troth I think it's a pity you should
Don M. Ha! my bully confessor: this agrees
either of you ever part with your swords: 1 word for word with honest Trappanti's in-
never saw a prettier couple of adroit cavaliers telligence. [Aside] Well, sir, and pray what
in my life.-Come, ladies-gentlemen, I beg does he give you for this job?
your pardon.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter DON MANUEL and DON PHILIP.
Don P. Job, sir?
Don M. Ay, that is, do you undertake it
out of good fellowship? or are you to have
a sort of fellow-feeling in the matter?
Don P. Sir, if you believe me to be the
son of don Fernando, I must tell ye your
Don M. Well, sir! and so you were robbed manner of receiving me is what you ought
of your portmanteau, you say, at Toledo, in not to suppose can please him, or I can thank
which were all your letters and writings re- you for. If you think me an impostor, I'll
lating to your marriage with my daughter, ease you of the trouble of suspecting me, and
and that's the reason you are come without 'em? leave your house till I can bring better proofs
Don P. Sir, I was not robbed of the regard who I am.
I owe my father's friend: that, sir, I have Don M. Do so, friend; and in the mean
brought with me, and 'twould have been ill time, d'ye see, pray give my humble service
manners not to have paid it on my first arrival. to the politician, and tell him that to your
Don M. Ah! how smooth the spark is! certain knowledge, the old fellow, the old
[Aside] Well, sir, I am pretty considerably rogue, and the old put, d'ye see, knows how
glad to see you: but I hope you'll excuse me, to bamboozle as well as himself.
if in a matter of this consequence, I seem a Don P. Politician, and bamboozle! Pray,
little cautious.
sir, let me understand you, that I may know
how to answer you,
Don P. Sir, I shan't propose any immediate
progress in my affair till you receive fresh Don M. Come, come, don't be discouraged,
advice from my father; in the mean time, I friend-sometimes, you know, the strongest
shall think myself obliged by the bare freedom wits must fail; you have an admirable head,
of your house, and such entertainment as you'd 'tis confess'd, with as able a face to it as ever
at least afford a common stranger.
stuck opon two shoulders; but who the devil
37

290
[ACT IV.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
can help ill luck? for it happens at this time, I'm inform'd an impudent young rascal has
d'ye see, that it won't do.
Don P. Won't do, sir?
Don M. Nay, if you won't understand me
now, here comes an honest fellow now, that
will speak you point blank to the matter.
Enter TRAPPANTI.
Come hither, friend: dost thou know this
gentleman?
Trap. Bless me, sir, is it you? Sir, this
is my old master I lived with at Seville.
Don P. I remember thee: thy name's Trap-
panti; thou wert my servant when I first went
to travel.
Trap. Ay, sir, and about twenty months
after you came home too.
picked it out of some writings in the port-
manteau he robb'd me of, and has brought
it hither before me. d'ye know any such, sir?
Flora. The fellow really does it very well, sir.
[Apart to Don Manuel.
Don M. Oh! to a miracle!
Hyp. Pr'ythee, friend, how long dost thou
expect thy impudence will keep thee out of
gaol? Could not the coxcomb that put thee
upon this, inform thee too that this gentleman
was a magistrate?
[Apart.
Don M. Well said, my little champion.
Don P. Now, in my opinion, child, that
might as well put thee in mind of thy own
condition; for suppose thy wit and impudence
should so far succeed, as to let thee ruin this
Don P. You see, sir, this fellow knows me. gentleman's family, by really marrying his
Don M. O! I never questioned it in the daughter, thou canst not but know 'tis impos-
least, sir.-Pr'ythee what's this worthy gentle- sible thou shouldst enjoy her long; a very
man's name, friend?
few days must unavoidably discover thee; in
Trap. Sir, your honour has heard me talk the mean time, if thou wilt spare me the
of him a thousand times; his name, sir, his trouble of exposing thee, and generously con-
name's Guzman; his father, sir, old don Guz-fess thy roguery, thus far I'll forgive thee;
man, is the most eminent lawyer in Seville; but if thou still proceedest upon his credulity
was the very person that drew up the settle- to a marriage with the lady, don't flatter thy-
ment and articles of my master's marriage self that all her fortune shall buy off my evi-
with your honour's daughter: this gentleman dence; for I'm bound in honour, as well as
knows all the particulars as well as if he had law, to hang thee for the robbery.
drawn 'em up himself. But, sir, I hope there's
no mistake in 'em that may defer the marriage?
Don P. Confusion!
Don M. Now, sir, what sort of answer d'ye
think fit to make me?
Hyp. Sir, you are extremely kind.
Flora. Very civil, 'egad!
Hyp. But mayn't I presume, my dear friend,
this wheedle was offer'd as a trial of this gen-
tleman's credulity? Ha, ha, ha!
Don P. Now, sir, I'm obliged in honour Don M. Indeed, my friend, 'tis a very
not to leave your house, till I at least have shallow one. Canst thou think I'm such a
seen the villain that calls himself don Philip, sot as to believe, that if he knew 'twere in
that has robb'd me; and would you, sir, of thy power to hang him, he would not have
your honour, and your daughter.-As for this run away at the first sight of thee?
rascal--
Trap. Ay, sir, he must be a dull rogue
Trap. Sir, I demand protection.
indeed that would not run away from a halter.
[Runs behind Don Manuel. Ha, ha, ha!
[All laugh.
Don M. Hold, sir, since you are so brisk, Don P. Sir, I ask your pardon: I begin
and in my own house too, call your master, now to be a little sensible of my folly-I
friend; you'll find we have swords within can perceive this gentleman has done his business
match you.
with you effectually: however, sir, the duty
Trap. Ay, sir, I may chance to send you I owe my father obliges me not to leave your
one will take down your courage. [Exit. cause, though I leave your house immediately;
Don P. I ask your pardon, sir, I must con- when you see me next, you'll know don Phi-
fess, the villany I saw designed against my lip from a rascal.
father's friend had transported me beyond good Don M. Ah! 'twill be the same thing, if I
manners: but be assured, sir, use me hence- know a rascal from don Philip: but if you
forward as you please, I will detect it, though please, sir, never give yourself asy further
I lose my life. Nothing shall affront me now, trouble in this business; for what you have
till I have proved myself your friend indeed, done, d'ye see, is so far from interrupting my
and don Fernando's son.
daughter's marriage, that, with this gentle-
Don M. Nay, lookye, sir, I will be very man's leave, I'm resolved to finish it this very
civil too-I won't say a word-you shall e'en hour; so that when you see your friend the
squabble it out by yourselves: not but at the politician, you must tell him you had cursed
same time thou art to me the merriest fellow luck, that's all. Ha, ha, ha!
that ever I saw in my life.
Re-enter TRAPPANTI, with HYPOLITA and
FLORA.
Hyp. Who's this that dares usurp my name,
and calls himself don Philip de las Torres?
Don P. Ha! this is a young competitor
indeed.
[Aside.
Don P. Very well, sir; I may have better
when I see you next.
Hyp. Lookye, sir, since your undertaking
(though you design'd it otherwise) has pro-
moted my happiness, thus far I pass it by,
though I question if a man, that stoops to do
such base injuries, dares defend 'em with his
sword. However, now at least you're warn'd;
Flora. Is this the gentleman, sir?
but be assured your next attempt-
Don M. Yes, yes, that's he-ha, ha!
Don P. Will startle you, my spark: I'm
Don P. Yes, sir, I'm the man, who but afraid you'll be a little humbler when you are
this morning lost that name upon the road, hand-cufi'd. Though you won't take
my word

SCENE 1.]
291
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
against him, sir, perhaps another magistrate Trap. Sir, I will, and a great deal more:
may my oath; which, because I see his mar- but pray, sir, give me leave to recover my
riage is in haste, I am obliged to make im-courage-I protest the keen looks of that
mediately: if he can out-face the law too, I instrument have quite frighted it away. Pray
shall be content to be the coxcomb then you put it up, sir.
think me.
[Exit. Don P. Nay, to let thee see I had rather
Don M. Ah, poor fellow! he's resolved to be thy friend than enemy, I'll bribe thee to
carry it off with a good face, however. Ha, ha! be honest: discharge thy conscience like
Trap. Ay, sir, that's all he has for't indeed. man, and I'll engage to make these five, ten
Hyp. Trappanti, follow him, and do as I pieces.
[Apart to Trappanti.
directed.
Trap. I warrant ye, sir.
[Exit.
Don M. Ha! my little champion, let me
kiss thee; thou hast carried the day like a
hero! man nor woman, nothing can stand
before thee. I'll make thee monarch of my I
daughter immediately.
Hyp. That's the Indies, sir.
Don M. Well said, my lad-Oh, my heart's
going to dance again-Pr'ythee let's in before
it gets the better of me, and give the bride
an account of thy victory
[Exeunt.
Enter a Servant.
Trap. Sir, your business will be done
effectually.
Don P. Here, friend! will ye tell your master
desire to speak with him? [Exit Servant.
Oct. Don Philip!
Don P. Octavio! This is fortunate indeed-
the only place in the world I would have
wish'd to have found you in.
Oct. What's the matter?
Don P. You'll see presently-but pr'ythee
how stands your affair with your mistress?
Oct. The devil take me if I can tell ye-I
Enter OCTAVIO, with a Letter.
Oct. Rosara false! distraction! Sure this letter don't know what to make of her; about an
must be but artifice, a humour, to try how hour ago she was for scaling walls to come
far my love can bear-and yet methinks she at me, and this minute-whip, she's going to
can't but know the impudence of my young marry the stranger I told you of; nay, con-
rival, and her father's importunity, are too fesses too, it is with her own consent; and
pressing to allow her any time to fool away: yet begs by all means to see me as soon as
and if she were really false, she could not her wedding's over.-Isn't it very pretty?
take a pride in confessing it. Death! I know
not what to think; the sex is all a riddle, and
we are the fools that crack our brains to ex-
pound it.
Enter VILETTA.
Now, dear Viletta!
Vil. Sir, she begs your pardon; they have
just sent for the priest; but they will be glad
to see you about an hour hence, as soon as
the wedding's over.
Oct. Viletta!
Vil. Sir, she says, in short, she can't pos-
sibly speak with you now, for she's just going
to be married.
Oct. Death! daggers! blood! confusion! and
ten thousand furies!
Vil. Hey-day! what's all this for?
Oct. My brains are turn'd, Viletta.
Vil. Ay, by my troth, so one would think,
if one could but believe you had any at all;
if you have three grains, I'm sure you can't
but know her compliance with this match must
give her a little liberty; and can you suppose
she'd desire to see you an hour hence, if she
did not design to make use of it?
Oct. Don't flatter me, Viletta.
Vil. Faith, sir, I'll be very plain, you are
to me the dullest person I ever saw in my
life; but if you have a mind, I'll tell her you
won't come.
Oct. No, don't say so, Viletta.
Re-enter a Servant.
Don P. Something gay indeed.
Sero. Sir, my master will wait on you
presently.
[Exit.
Oct. But the plague on't is, my love cannot
bear this jesting.-Well now, how stands your
affair? Have you seen your mistress yet?
Don P. No; I can't get admittance to her
Oct. How so?
Don P. When I came to pay my duty
here to the old gentleman--
Oct. Here!
Don P. Ay, I found an impudent young
rascal here before me, that had taken my
name upon him, robb'd me of my port-
manteau, and by virtue of some papers there,
knew all my concerns to a tittle; he has told
a plausible tale to her father, faced him down.
that I'm an impostor, and if I don't this mi-
nute prevent him, is going to marry the lady.
Oct. Death and hell! [Aside] What sort of
fellow was this rascal?
Don P. A little pert coxcomb; by his im-
pudence and dress, I guess him to be 'some
French page.
Oct. Confusion! my friend at last my rival
too-Yet hold! my rival is my friend, he
owns he has not seen her yet- [Aside.
Don P. You seem concern'd.
Oct. Undone for ever, unless dear Philip's
Vil. Then pray, sir, do as she bids you;
you; still my friend!
don't stay here to spoil your own sport: you'll Don P. What's the matter?
have the old gentleman come thundering down Oct. Let me conjure ye, by all the ties of
upon ye by-and-by, and then we shall have honour, friendship, and pity, never to attempt
ye at your ten thousand furies again-hist! her more!
here's company! good bye t'ye.
[Exit.
Re-enter DON PHILIP, with his Sword drawn,
and TRAPPANTI.
Don P. Come, sir, there's no retreating
you must justify.
now;
this
Don P. You amaze me!
Oct. 'Tis the same dear creature I so pas-
sionately dote on.
Don P. Is't possible? Nay then, be easy in
thy thoughts, Octavio; and now I dare con-

292
[ACT IV
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
fess the folly of my own: I'm not sorry thou'rt stand a little fairer for you; all I beg is but
my rival here. In spite of all my weak philo- your patient hearing.
sophy, I must own the secret wishes of my Don M. Well, sir, you shall have it-Here
soul are still Hypolita's. I know not why, he comes, bring him to trial as soon as you
but-I can't help thinking that my fortune still please,
resolves, spite of her cruelty, to make me
one day happy.
Oct. Quit but Rosara, I'll engage she shall
be yours.
Don P. Not only that, but will assist you
with my life to gain her: I shall easily excuse
myself to my father for not marrying the
mistress of my dearest friend.
Re-enter FLORA and HYPOLITA.
Flora. So Trappanti has succeeded, he's
come without the officers. [Apart to Hypolita,
Hyp. Hearing, sir, you were below, I didn't
care to disturb the family by putting the of
ficers to the trouble of a needless search; let
me see your warrant, I'm ready to obey it,
Don M. Ay, where's your officer?
Flora. I thought to have seen him march
Oct, Dear Philip, let me embrace ye.-But
how shall we manage the rascal of an im-
postor? Suppose you run immediately, and in state, with an alguazil before him.
swear the robbery against him?
Don P. I was afraid, sir, upon second
Don P. I was just going about it, but my thoughts, your business would not stay for a
accidental meeting with this fellow has luckily warrant, though 'tis possible I may provide
prevented me; who, you must know, has been for you, for I think this gentleman's a ma-
chief engineer in the contrivance against me; gistrate: in the mean time-O! here, I have
but between threats, bribes, and promises, prevailed with an alguazil to wait upon ye.
has confessed the whole roguery, and is now
ready to swear it against him: so, because I
understand the spark is very near his marriage,
I thought this would be the best and soonest
way to detect him.
Oct. That's right! the least delay might have
lost all; besides, I am here to strengthen his
evidence, for I can swear that you are the
true don Philip.
Don P. Right!
Enter Alguazil.
Alg. Did you send for me, sir?
Don P. Ay, secure that gentleman.
Don M. Hold! hold! sir, all things in order:
this gentleman is yet my guest; let me be first
acquainted with his crime, and then I shall
better know how he deserves to be treated;
and that we may have no hard words upon
one another, if you please, sir, let me first
Trap. Sir, with humble submission, that talk with you in private. [They whisper.
will be quite wrong?
Oct. Why so?
Hyp. Undone! that fool Trappanti, or that
villain, I know not which, has at least mis-
taken or betray'd me! Ruin'd, past redemption!
[Apart to Flora.
Trap. Because, sir, the old gentleman is
substantially convinced that 'tis you who have
put don Philip upon laying his pretended claim Flora, Death! what d'ye mean? that hanging
to his daughter, purely to defer the marriage, look were enough to confirm a suspicion; bear
that in the mean time you might get an op-up, for shame.
[Apart.
portunity to run away with her; for which Hyp. Impossible! I am dash'd, confounded;
reason, sir, you'll find your evidence will but if thou hast any courage left, show it quickly;
fly in your face, and hasten the match with go speak before my fears betray me. [Apart.
your rival.
Don P. Ha! there's reason in that; all your
endeavours will but confirm his jealousy of me.
Oct. What would you have me do?
Trap. Don't appear at the trial, sir.
Don P. By no means; ra her wait a little
in the street: be within call and leave the
management to me.
Oct. Be careful, dear Philip.
Don P. I always used to be more fortunate
in serving my friend than myself.
Don M. If you can make this appear by
any witness, sir, I confess 'twill surprise me
indeed.
Flora. Ay, sir, if you have any witnesses,
we desire you'd produce 'em.
Don P. Sir, I have a witness at your service,
and a substantial one. Hey! Trappanti!
Re-enter TRAPPANTI.
Now, sir, what think ye?
Don P. Yes, sir, this poor fellow at last, it
seems, happens to be honest enough to con-
fess himself a rogue, and your accomplice.
Hyp. Ha, ha!
Hyp. Ha! the rogue winks- Then there's
Oct. But hark ye! here lives an alguazil at life again. [Aside] Is this your witness, sir?
the next house; suppose I should send him to
you, to secure the spark in the mean time?
Don P. Do so; we must not lose a moment.
Oct. I won't stir from the door.
Don P. You'll soon hear of me; away.
[Exit Octavio.
Trap. So now I have divided the enemy,
there can be no great danger if it should come
to a battle [Aside]-Basta! here comes our
party.
Don P. Stand aside till I call for you.
[Trappanti retires.
Re-enter DON MANUEL.
Don M. Well, sir! what service have you
to command me now, pray?
Don P. Now, sir, I hope my credit will
Don P. Ha, ha! You are very merry, sir.
Don M. Nay, there's a jest between ye, that's
certain-But come, friend, what say you to
the business? Have ye any proof to offer upon
oath, that this gentleman is the true don Philip,
and consequently this other an impostor?
Don P. Speak boldly.
Trap. Ay, sir, but shall I come to no harm
if I do speak?
Don M. Let it be the truth, and I'll protect thee.
Trap. Are you sure I shall be safe, sir?
Don M. I'll give thee my word of honour;
speak boldly to the question,

SCENE 1.]
293
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Trap. Well, sir, since I must speak, then Trap. O lud! O lud! sir, as I hope to die
in the first place, I desire your honour will in my bed, these are the very words, he
be pleased to command the officer to secure threaten'd to stab me if I wouldn't swear against
that gentleman.
my master-I told him at first, sir, I was not
fit for his business; I was never good at a
lie in my life.
Don M. How, friend?
Don P. Secure me, rascal?
Trap. Sir, if I can't be protected, I shall
never be able to speak.
Don M. I warrant thee-What is it you
say, friend?
Trap. Sir, as I was just now crossing the
Alg. Nay, sir, I saw this gentleman's sword
at his breast out of my window.
Trap. Look ye there, sir!
Don P. Damnation!
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!
street, this gentleman, with a sneer in his face, Don M. Really, my friend, thou'rt almost
takes me by the hand, claps five pistoles in turn'd fool in this business.
If thou hadst
my palm (here they are), shuts my fist close prevail'd upon this wretch to perjure himself,
upon 'em; "My dear friend," says he, "you couldst thou think I should not have detected
must do me a piece of service:" upon which, him? You may go, friend.
sir, I bows me him to the ground, and desired
him to open his case.
Don P. What means the rascal?
Don M. Sir, I am as much amazed as you;
but pray let's hear him, that we may know
his meaning.
Trap. So, sir, upon this he runs me over
a long story of a sham and a flam¹) he had
Flora, Ha, ha!
[Exit Alguazil.
Don P, Sir, you're imposed on: defer the
marriage but an hour.
Don M. Ay, and in half that time, I sup-
pose, you are in hopes to defer it altogether.
Don P. Perdition seize me, if I have any
hope or thought but that of serving you.
Don M. Nay, now thou art a downright
just contrived, he said, to defer my master's distracted man. - Dost thou expect I should
marriage only for two days.
take thy bare word, when here were two ho-
nest fellows that have just proved thee in a
lie to thy face?
Don P. Confusion!
Flora. Nay, pray, sir, let's hear the evidence.
Trap. Upon the close of the matter, sir, I
found at last by his eloquence, that the whole
business depended upon my bearing a little
false witness against my master.
Hyp. O ho!
Enter Servant.
Sero. Sir, the priest is come.
Don M. Is he so? Then, sir, if you please,
since you see you can do me no further ser-
Trap. Upon this, sir, I began to demur: vice, I believe it may be time for you to go.
"Sir," says I, "this business will never hold-Come, son, now let's wait upon the bride,
water; don't let me undertake it, I must beg and put an end to this gentleman's trouble
your pardon;" gave him the negative shrug,
and was for sneaking off with the fees in my
pocket.
Don M. Very well!
Don P. Villain!
Flora. Hyp. Ha, ha, ha!
Trap. Upon this, sir, he catches me fast
hold by the collar, whips out his poker, claps
it within half an inch of my guts: "Now,
dog," says he, "you shall do it, or within two
hours rot upon the dunghill you came from."
Don P. Sir, if there be any faith in mortal
man
Don M. Nay, nay, one at a time; you shall
be heard presently.-Go on friend.
altogether.
[Exit.
Hyp. Sir, I'll wait on ye.
Don P. Confusion! I've undone my friend.
[Walks about.
Flora. Trappanti! rogue, this was a master-
piece.
[Apart.
Trap. Sir, I believe it won't be mended in
haste. [Apart. Exeunt Flora and Trappanti.
Hyp. Sir!
Don P. Ha! alone! if we're not prevented
now-[Aside] Well, sir-
Hyp. I suppose you don't think the favours
you have design'd me are to be put without
satisfaction; therefore I shall expect to see you,
early to-morrow, near the Prado, with your
[To Trappanti. sword in your hand: in the mean time, sir,
Trap. Having me at this advantage, sir, I'm a little more in haste to be the lady's
began to think my wit would do me more humble servant than yours.
[Going.
service than my courage; so prudently pre- Don P. Hold, sir!-you and I can't part
tended out of fear to comply with his threats, upon such easy terms.
and swallow the perjury: but now, sir, being
Hyp. Sir!
under protection and at liberty of conscience,
I have honesty enough, you see, to tell you
the whole truth of the matter.
Don M. Ay, this is evidence indeed!
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!
Don P. Dog! Villain! Did not you confess
to me that this gentleman picked you up, not
Don P. You're not so near the lady, sir,
perhaps, as you imagine. [Locks the Door.
Hyp. What d'ye mean?
Don P. Speak softly.
Hyp. Ha!
Don P. Come, sir-draw!
Hyp. My ruin now has caught me; this was
three hours ago, at the same inn where I the very spite of fortune.
alighted? that he had own'd his stealing my
portmanteau at Toledo? that if he succeeded
[Aside.
Don P. Come, sir, my time's but short.
Hyp. And mine's too precious to be lost
to marry the lady, you were to have a con- on any thing but love; besides, this is no pro-
siderable sum for your pains, and these two per place. To-morrow, sir, I shall find a better.
were to share the rest of her fortune between
them?
1) To pop
sham, or a flam, slang for, to deceive.
Don P. No, now, sir, if you please-Draw,
villain, or expect such usage as I am sure don
Philip would not bear.

294
[ACT V.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Hyp. A lover, sir, may bear any thing to
make sure of his mistress-You know it is not
fear that-
Ros. Truly, I began to be afraid I should
lose my little husband.
[Apart.
Hyp. Husband, quotha! Get me but once
Don P. No evasion, sir; either this moment safe out of these breeches, if ever I wear 'em
confess your villainy, your name, and fortune,
or expect no mercy.
Hyp. Nay then-Within there!
Don P. Move but a step, or dare to raise
thy voice beyond a whisper, and this minute
is thy last. [Seizes her, and holds a Sword
to her Breast.
again-
[Apart. Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE 1.-The same.
Enter TRAPPANTI.
Trap. What, in the name of roguery, can
Hyp. Sir!
[Trembling. this new master of mine be? He's either a
Don P. Villain! be quick, confess, or- fool or bewitch'd, that's positive.- First, he
Hyp. Hold, sir-I own I dare not fight with gives me fifty pieces for helping him to marry
the lady; and soon as the wedding is over,
Don P. No, I see thou art too poor a vil- claps me twenty more into the other hand, to
lain-therefore be speedy, as thou hopest I'll help him to get rid of her.-Nay, not only
spare thy life.
that, but gives me a strict charge to observe
you.
Hyp. Nay then, sir-Mercy! mercy! [Throws his directions, in being evidence against him
herself at his Feet] And, since I must con- as an impostor, to refund all the lies I have
fess, have pity on my youth, have pity on my told in his service, to sweep him clear out of
love!
my conscience, and now to swear the robbery
Don P. Thy love! What art thou? Speak. against him! What the bottom of this can be,
Hyp. Unless your generous compassion I must confess, does a little puzzle my wit.-
spares me, sure the most wretched youth that There's but one way in the world I can solve
ever felt the pangs and torments of a success-it.-He must certainly have some secret reason
less passion.
to hang himself, that he's ashamed to own,
Don P. Nay, then I must forgive thee. [Raises and so was resolved first to be married, that
her] For I have known too well the misery his friends might not wonder at the occasion.
not to pity-any thing in love. Yet hold-But here he comes, with his noose in his hand.
nor flatter thy fond hopes too far: you must
defer your marriage with this lady.
Hyp. Sir, on my knees.
Don P. Expect no more from me; either
comply this moment, or my sword shall force
thee.
Hyp. Consider, sir-
Enter HYPOLITA and ROSARA.
Hyp. Trappanti, go to don Pedro, he has
business with you.
Trap. Yes, sir.
Ros. Who's don Pedro pray?
[Exit.
Hyp. Flora, madam; he knows her yet by
Don P. Nay then, discover quick! Tell me no other name. Where's your father, madam?
thy name and family.
Hyp. Hold, sir-
Don P. Speak, or thou diest.
Hyp. Sir, I will-[4 Noise at the Door]
Ha! they are entering -O! for a moment's
courage! Come on, sir.
[Breaks from him and draws, retiring
Ros. I saw him go towards his closet; I
believe he's gone to fetch you part of my for-
tune-be seem'd in mighty good humour.
Hyp. We must be sure to keep it up as
high as we can, that he may be the more
stunn'd when he falls.
Ros. With all my heart; methinks I am
till Don Manuel, Flora, Trappanti, possess'd with the very spirit of disobedience
and Servants rush in and part them.-Now could I, in the humour I am in, con-
Don M. Knock him down! Force him out sent to any mischief that would but heartily
of the room there; call an officer; in the mean plague my old gentleman.
time, secure him in the cellar.
Enter DON MANUEL.
Don P. Hear me but one word, sir!
Don M. Stop his mouth-out with him. [They Don M. Ah, my little conqueror! let me
hurry him off] Come, dear son, be pacified. embrace thee-That ever I should live to see
Hyp. A villain! [Walks in a Heat. this day! this most triumphant day, this day
Flora. Why should he be concern'd, now of all days in my life!
he's secure? Such a rascal would but conta-
minate the sword of a man of honour.
Hyp. I am sorry, sir, such a fellow should
have it in his power to disturb me-but-
Hyp. Ay, and of my life too, sir.
[Embraces him.
Don M. Ay, my cares are over-Now I've
nothing to do but to think of the other world:
for I've done all my business in this: got as
many children as I could; and now I'm
Don M. Look! here's my daughter in a fright old, have set a young couple to work. Look
to seek for you.
Enter ROSARA.
Hyp. Then I'm composed again.
[Runs to Rosara.
Ros. I heard fighting here! I hope you are
not wounded, sir?
grown
you here, children, I have brought you some
baubles that will make you merry as long as
you live; twelve thousand pistoles are the
least value of 'em; and the rest of your for-
tune shall be paid in the best Barbary gold
Hyp. I have no wound but what the priest to-morrow morning.
can heal.
Hyp. Ay, sir, this is speaking like a father!
Don M. Ah! well said, my little champion! this is encouragement indeed!
Hyp. Oh, madam! I have such a terrible
escape to tell you!
Don M. Much good may do thy heart and
Apart to Rosara. soul with 'em-and heaven bless you together

SCENE 1.]
295
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
-I've had a great deal of care and trouble this day! If I were sure to beg for it all my
to bring it about, children; but, thank my life after-Here, sirrah, cook! look into the
stars, 'tis over-'tis over now-Now I may Roman history, see what Mark Anthony had
sleep with my doors open, and never have for supper, when Cleopatra first treated him
my slumbers broken with the fear of rogues with chere entiere: rogue, let me have a re-
and rivals.
past that will be six times as expensive and
Ros. Don't interrupt him, and see how far provoking-Go.-And, d'ye hear? One of you
his humour will carry him?
step to monsieur Vendevin, the king's butler,
for the same wine that his majesty reserves
for his own drinking; tell him he shall have
his price for't.
[Apart to Hypolita.
Don M. But there is no joy lasting in this
world; we must all die when we have done
our best; sooner or later, old or young, prince 1 Serv. How much will you please to have, sir?
or peasant, high or low, kings, lords, and- Don M. Too much, sir! I'll have every thing
common whores, must die! Nothing certain; upon the outside of enough to-day. Go you,
we are forced to buy one comfort with the sirrah, run to my nephew, don Lewis, give
loss of another.-Now I've married my child, my service and tell him to bring all his family
I've lost my companion-I've parted with my along with him.
Don M. Ah! we'll make all the hair in the
world stand an end at our joy.
girl!-Her heart's gone another way now- Hyp. Ay, sir! this is as it should be! now
she'll forget her old father!-I shall never have it begins to look like a wedding.
her wake me more, like a cheerful lark, with
her pretty songs in a morning-I shall have
nobody to chat at dinner with me now, or Hyp. Here comes Flora - Now, madam, ob-
take up a godly book and read me to sleep serve your cue.
in an afternoon. Ah! these comforts are all
gone now!
[Weeps.
Enter FLORA.
Hyp. How very near the extreme of one Flora. Your servant, gentlemen-I need not
passion is to another! Now he is tired with wish you joy-You have it, I see-Don Phi-
joy, till he is downright melancholy. [Aside. lip, I must needs speak with you.
Ros. VVhat's the matter, sir?
Don M. Ah! my child! now it comes to the
test, methinks I don't know how to part with
thee,
Ros. O, sir, we shall be better friends than
ever.
Don M. Uh! uh! shall we? Wilt thou come
and see the old man now and then? Well,
heaven bless thee, give me a kiss-I must kiss
thee at parting! Be a good girl, use thy hus-
band well, make an obedient wife, and I shall
die contented.
Hyp. Pshaw! pr'ythee don't plague me with
business at such a time as this.
Flora. My business won't be deferred, sir.
Hyp. Sir!
Flora. I suppose you guess it, sir; and I
must tell you, I take it ill it was not done
before..
Hyp. What d'ye mean?
Flora. Your ear, sir. [They whisper.
Don M. What's the matter now, 'tro?
Ros. The gentleman seems very free, methinks.
Don M. Troth, I don't like it.
Ros. Don't disturb 'em, sir-We shall know
Hyp. But what have you done with don
Philip?
[Apart to Flora.
Flora. I drew the servants out of the way,
while he made his escape; what we do we
must do quickly: come, conie, put on your
fighting face, and I'll be with 'em presently.
Hyp. Die, sir! Come, come, you have a
great while to live-Hang these melancholy all presently.
thoughts, they are the worst company in the
world at a wedding. Consider, sir, we are
young; if you would oblige us, let us have a
little life and mirth, a jubilee to day at least;
stir your servants, call in your neighbours, let
me see your whole family mad for joy, sir.
Don M. Ha! shall we be merry then?
Hyp. Merry, sir! ah! as beggars at a feast.
What, shall a dull Spanish custom tell me,
when I am the happiest man in the kingdom,
I shan't be as mad as I have a mind to? Let
me see the face of nothing to-day but revels,
friends, feasts, and music, sir.
Don M. Ah! thou shalt have thy humour-
thou shalt have thy humour! Hey, within there!
rogues! dogs! slaves! where are my rascals?
Ah! my joy flows again-I can't bear it.
Enter several Servants.
Serv. Did you call, sir?
Don M. Call, sir! ay, sir: what's the reason
you are not all out of your wits, sir? Don't
you know that your young mistress is mar-
ried, scoundrels?
1 Serv. Yes, sir, and we are all ready to be
mad, as soon as your honour will please to
give any distracted orders.
Hyp. You see, sir, they only want a little
encouragement.
Don M. Ah! there shall be nothing wanting.
[Aside.
Hyp. [Aloud] Sir, I have offer'd you very
fair; if you don't think so, I have married the
lady, and take your course.
a
Flora. Sir, our contract was a full third;
third part's my right, and I'll have it, sir.
Don M. Hey!
Hyp. Then I must tell you, sir, since you
are pleased to call it your right, you
shall not
have it.
Flora. Not, sir?
Hyp. No, sir-Look ye, don't put on your
pert airs to me-'Gad, I shall use you very
scurvily.
Flora. Use me!-You little son of a whore,
draw.
Hyp. Oh! sir, I am for you.
[They fight, and Don Manuel interposes.
Ros. Ah! help! murder! [Runs out.
Don M. Within there! help! murder! Why,
gentlemen, are ye mad? Pray put up.
Hyp. A rascal!
Don M. Friends, and quarrel! for shame.
Flora. Friends I scorn his friendship; and

296
[ACT V.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
since he does not know how to use a gentle-
man, I'll do a public piece of justice, and use
him like a villain.
Don M. Better words, sir. [To Flora.
Flora. Why, sir, d'ye take this fellow for
don Philip?
Don M. What d'ye mean, sir?
Flora. That he has cheated me as well as you
-But I'll have my revenge immediately. [Exit.
[Hyp. walks about, and Don M. stares.
Don M. Hey! what's all this? What is it
-My heart misgives me.
Hyp. Hey! who waits there? Here, you!
[To a Servant] Bid my servant run, and hire
me a coach and four horses immediately.
Serv. Yes, sir.
[Exit Servant
Don M. A coach!
Enter VILETTA.
Vil. Sir, sir!-bless me! What's the matter,
sir? Are not you well?
Don M. Yes, yes-I am-that is-ha!
Vil. I have brought you a letter, sir.
Don M. What business can he have for a
coach?
Hyp. I'm a little vex'd at my servant's be-
ing out of the way, and the insolence of this
other rascal.
Don M. But what occasion have you for
post-horses, sir?
Hyp. Something happens a little cross, sir.
Don M. Pray what is't?
Hyp. I'll tell you another time, sir.
Don M. Another time, sir-pray satisfy me
now.
Hyp. Lord, sir, when you see a man's out
of humour.
Don M. Sir, it may be I'm as much out of
humour as you; and I must tell ye, I don't
like your behaviour, and I'm resolv'd to be
satisfy'd.
Hyp. Sir, what is't you'd have? [Peevishly.
Don M. Lookye, sir-in short-I-I have
receiv'd a letter.
Hyp. Well, sir.
Don M. I wish it may be well, sir.
Hyp. Bless me, sir! what's the matter with
you?
Don M. Matter, sir!-in troth I'm almost
afraid and ashamed to tell ye; but if you must
Vil. I have brought you a letter, sir, from needs know-there's the matter, sir.
Octavio.
Don M. To me?
Vil. No, sir, to my mistress-he charged
me to deliver it immediately; for he said it
concerned her life and fortune.
Don M. How! let's see it-There's what I
promised thee-be gone. What can this be
now?
[Reads.
[Gives the Letter.
Enter DON LEWIS.
Don L. Uncle, I am your humble servant.
Don M. I am glad to see you, nephew.
Don L. I received your invitation, and am
come to pay my duty: but here I met with
the most surprising news.
The person whom your father ignorantly
designs you to marry, is a known cheat, Don M. Pray what is it?
and an impostor; the true don Philip, who Don L. Why, first your servant told me,
is my intimate friend, will immediately ap- my young cousin was to be married to-day
pear with the corregidore, and fresh evi- to don Philip de las Torres; and just as I
dence against him. I thought this advice, was entering your doors, who should I meet
though from one you hate, would be well but don Philip with the corregidore, and se-
received if it came time enough to prevent veral witnesses to prove, it seems, that the
OCTAVIO.
your ruin.
person whom you were just going to marry
O, my heart! this letter was not designed to my cousin to, has usurp'd his name, betray'd
fall into my hands-I am frightened-I dare you, robb'd him, and is in short a rank im-
not think on't.
Re-enter the Servant.
Sero. Sir, your man is not within.
Hyp. Careless rascal! to be out of the way
when my life's at stake-Pr'ythee do thou go
and see if thou canst get me any post horses.
Don M. Post horses!
Re-enter RoSARA.
Ros. O, dear sir, what was the matter?
Don M. Hey!
Ros. What made 'em quarrel, sir?
Don M. Child!
Ros. What was it about, sir? You look
concern'd.
Don M. Concern'd!
postor.
Don M. Dear nephew, don't torture me:
are ye sure you know don Philip when you
see him?
fellows, fellow collegians, and fellow travellers?
Don L. Know him, sir? were not we school-
Don M. But are you sure you mayn't have
forgot him neither?
Don L. You might as well ask me if I had
not forgot you, sir.
Don M. But one question more and I am
dumb for ever-Is that he?
Don L. That, sir? No, nor in the least like
him.-But pray why this concern? I hope we
are not come too late to prevent the marriage?
Don M. Oh! oh! oh! oh! my poor child!
Ros. Oh!
[Seems to faint.
Don M. Ah! look to my child.
Don L. Is this the villain then that has im-
posed on you?
Ros. I hope you are not hurt, sir. [To
Hypolita, who minds her not]-What's the
matter with him, sir? he won't speak to me. Hyp. Sir, I'm this lady's husband; and while
[To Don Manuel. I'm sure that name can't be taken from me,
Don M. A-speak!-a-go to him again- I shall be contented with laughing at any
try what fair words will do, and see if you other you or your party dare give me.
can pick out the meaning of all this.
Ros. Dear sir, what's the matter?
Don M. Ay, sir, pray what's the matter?
Don M. Oh!
Don L. Nay then, within there!-such a
villain ought to be made an example.

SCENE 1.]
297
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Don M. Oh! oh!
Enter Corregidore and Officers, with DON
PHILIP, OCTAVIO, FLORA, TRAPPANTI, and
VILETTA.
O gentlemen, we're undone! all comes too
late! my poor cousin's married to the impostor.
Don P. How!
Oct. Confusion!
Don M. Oh! oh!
Don P. That's the person, sir, and I de-
mand your justice.
Oct. And I.
Trap. And I.
Flora. And all of us.
Oct. Can she repent her falsehood then at
last? Is't possible? then I'm wounded too! O
my poor undone Rosara! [Goes to her] Un-
grateful! cruel! perjured man!
Don M. Oh! don't insult me! I deserve the
worst you can say.-I'm a miserable wretch,
and I repent me.
Vil. So! here's the lady in tears, the lover
in rage, the old gentleman out of his senses,
most of the company distracted, and the bride-
groom in a fair way to be hanged. - The
merriest wedding that ever I saw in my life.
[Apart to Hypolita,
Cor. Well, sir, have you any thing to say
before I make your warrant?
Don M. Will my cares never be over?
Cor. Well, gentlemen, let me rightly un-
derstand what 'tis you charge him with, and
I'll commit him immediately-First, sir, you
say, these gentlemen all know you to be the -Gentlemen, I have reflected on the folly of
true Don Philip?
my action, and foresee the disquiets I am like
Hyp. A word or two, and I obey ye, sir.
Don L. That, sir, I presume my oath will prove. to undergo in being this lady's husband; there-
Oct. Or mine.
Flora. And mine.
Trap. Ay, and mine too, sir.
fore, as I own myself the author of all this
seeming ruin and confusion, so I am willing
[head? (desiring first the officers may withdraw) to
offer something to the general quiet.
Oct. What can this mean?
Don P. Pshaw! some new contrivance-
Don M. Where shall I hide this shameful
Flora. And for the robbery, that I can prove
upon him: he confess'd to me at Toledo, he
stole this gentleman's portmanteau there, to Let's be gone.
carry on his design upon this lady, and agreed Don L. Stay a moment, it can be no harm
to give me a third part of her fortune for my to hear him-Sir, will you oblige us?
assistance; which he refusing to pay as soon Cor. Wait without. [Exeunt Officers.
as the marriage was over, I thought myself
thought myself Vil. What's to be done now, 'trow?
obliged in honour to discover him.
Trap. Some smart thing, I warrant ye; the
Hyp. Well, gentlemen, you may insult me little gentlernan hath a notable head, faith.
if you please; but I presume you'll hardly be Flora. Nay, gentlemen, thus much I know
able to prove that I'm not married to the lady, of him: that if you can but persuade him to
or hav'n't the best part of her fortune in my be honest, 'tis still in his power to make you
pocket; so do your worst: I own my inge-all amends; and, in my opinion, 'tis high time
nuity, and am proud on't.
he should propose it.
Don M. Ingenuity, abandon'd villain!-But, Don M. Ay, 'tis time he were hang'd indeed:
sir, before you send him to gaol, I desire he for I know no other amends he can make us.
may return the jewels I gave him as part of Hyp. Then I must tell you, sir, I owe you
my daughter's portion.
no reparation; the injuries which you com-
Cor. That can't be, sir-since he has mar- plain of, your sordid avarice, and breach of
ried the lady, her fortune's lawfully his: all promise here have justly brought upon you:
we can do, is to prosecute him for robbing therefore, sir, if you are injured, you may
this gentleman.
thank yourself for it.
Don M. O that ever I was born.
Don M. Nay, dear sir, I do confess my
Hyp. Return the jewels, sir! if you don't blindness, and could heartily wish your eyes
pay me the rest of her fortune to-morrow or mine had dropp'd out of our heads before
morning, you may chance to go to gaol be- ever we saw one another.
fore me.
Don M. O that I were buried! Will my
cares never be over?
Hyp. They are pretty near it, sir; you can't
have much more to trouble you.
Cor. Come, sir, if you please; I must desire
to take your deposition in writing.
[Goes to the Table with Flora.
Don P. Now, sir, you see what your own
rashness has brought ye to.
Don M. Pray forbear, sir.
Hyp. Well, sir (however little you have
deserved it), yet for your daughter's sake, if
you'll oblige yourself, by signing this paper,
to keep your first promise, and give her, with
her full fortune, to this gentleman, I'm still
content, on that condition, to disannul my
own pretences, and resign her.
Don M. Sir, I don't know how to answer
you: for I can never believe you'll have good
nature enough to hang yourself out of the
way to make room for him?
Hyp. Keep it up, madam. [Aside to Rosara. Hyp. Then, sir, to let you see I have not
Ros. Oh, sir! how wretched have you made only an honest meaning, but an immediate
me! is this the care you have taken of me for power too, to make good my word, I first
my blind obedience to your commands? this renounce all title to her fortune: these jewels,
my reward for filial duty? [To Don Manuel. which I received from you, I give him free
Don M. Ah! my poor child!
possession of; and now, sir, the rest of her
Ros. But I deserve it all, for ever listening fortune you owe him with her person.
to your barbarous proposal, when my con-
science might have told me, my vows and
person in justice and honour were the wronged
Octavio's.
Don M. This is unaccountable, I must con-
fess-But still, sir, if you disannul your pre-
tences, how you'll persuade that gentleman, to
whom I am obliged in contract to part with his
38

298
[ACT V.
SHE WOULD AND SHE WOULD NOT.
Don P. That, sir, shall be no lett; I am too
well acquainted with the virtue of my friend's
title, to entertain a thought that can disturb it.
Hyp. Now, sir, it only stops at you.
Don M. Well, sir, I see the paper is only
conditional, and since the general welfare is
concern'd, I won't refuse to lend you my help-
ing hand to it; but if you should not make
your words good, sir, I hope you won't take
it ill if a man should poison you.
sued, and carried with this kind surprise at
last, gives me wonder equal to my joy.
Hyp. Here's one that at more leisure shall
inform you all: she was ever a friend to your
love, has had a hearty share in the fatigue,
and now I am bound in honour to give her
part of the garland too.
Don P. How! she!
Flora. Trusty Flora, sir, at your service! I
have had many a battle with my lady upon
Don P. And, sir, let me too warn you how your account; but I always told her we should
you execute this promise; your flattery and do her business at last.
dissembled penitence has deceiv'd me once Don M. Another metamorphosis! Brave girls,
already, which makes me, I confess, a little faith! Odzooks, we shall have 'em make cam-
slow in my belief; therefore take heed, expect paigns shortly.
no second mercy! for be assured of this, I
never can forgive a villain.
Hyp. If I am proved one spare me not-I
ask but this-Use me as you find me.
Don P. That you may depend on.
Don M. There, sir.
[Gives Hypolita the Writing, signed.
Hyp. And now, don Philip, I confess you
are the only injured person here.
Don P. I know not that-do my friend right,
and I shall easily forgive thee.
Hyp. His pardon, with his thanks, I am
sure I shall deserve: but how shall I forgive
myself? Is there in nature left a means that
can repair the shameful slights, the insults,
and the long disquiets you have known from
love?
Don P. Let me understand thee.
Don P. In Seville I'll provide for thee.
Hyp. Nay, here's another accomplice too,
confederate I can't say; for honest Trappanti
did not know but that I was as great a ro-
gue as himself.
Trap. It's a folly to lie; I did not indeed,
madam.-But the world cannot say I have
been a rogue to your ladyship-and if
and if you
had not parted with your money-
Hyp. Thou hadst not parted with thy honesty.
Trap. Right, madam; but how should a
poor naked fellow resist when he had so many
pistoles held against him? [Shows Money.
Don M. Ay, ay, well said, lad.
Vil. Ea? A tempting bait indeed! let him
offer to marry me again if he dares. [Aside.
Don P. Well, Trappanti, thou hast been
serviceable, however, and I'll think of thee.
Oct. Nay, I am his debtor too.
Hyp. Examine well your heart, and if the
fierce resentment of its wrongs has not extin- Trap. Ah! there's a very easy way, gen-
guished quite the usual soft compassion there, ilemen, to reward me; and since you partly
revive at least one spark in pity of my wo-owe your happiness to my roguery, I should
man's weakness,
be very proud to owe mine only to your ge
Oct. As how, pray?
[nerosity.
Don P. Whither wouldst thou carry me?
Hyp. The extravagant attempt I have this Trap. Why, si, I find by my constitution,
day run through to meet you thus, justly may that it is as natural to be in love as to be hun-
subject me to your contempt and scorn, unless gry, and that I han't a jot less stomach than
the same forgiving goodness that used to over- the best of my betters; and though I have oft-
look the failings of Hypolita, prove still my en thought a wife but dining every day upon
friend, and soften all with the excuse of love. the same dish; yet methinks it's better than
[All seem amazed] O Philip-Hypolita is- no dinner at all. Upon which considerations,
yours for ever. [They advance slowly, and gentlemen and ladies, I desire you'll use your
at last rush into one another's Arms. interest with Madona here-To admit me into
Don P. It is, it is, Hypolita! And yet 'tis her good graces.
she! I know her by the busy pulses at my Don M. A pleasant rogue, faith! Odzooks,
heart, which only love like mine can feel, and the jade shall have him. Come, hussy, he's
she alone can give. [Embraces her eagerly. an ingenious person.
Trap. Why then, in plain terms, let me a
lease for life.-Marry me.
Don M. Have I then been pleased, and pla- Vil. Sir, I don't understand his stuff; when
gued, and frighted out of my wits, by a wo- he speaks plain I know what to say to him.
man all this while? Odsbud, she is a notable
contriver! Stand clear, ho! For if I have not
a fair brush at her lips; nay, if she does not
give me the hearty smack too, odds-winds and
thunder, she is not the good-humour'd girl I
take her for.
Vil. Ay, now you say something-I was
afraid, by what you said in the garden, you
had only a mind to be a wicked tenant at will.
Trap. No, no, child, I have no mind to be
Hyp. Come, sir, I won't balk your good turn'd out at a quarter's warning.
humour. [He kisses her] And now I have a Vil. Well, there's my hand-And now meet
favour to beg of you; you remember your me as soon as you will with a canonical
promise: only your blessing here, sir. lawyer, and I'll give you possession of the
rest of the premises.
[Octavio and Rosara kneel,
Don M. Ah! I can deny thee nothing; and Don M. Odzooks, and well thought of, I'll
so, children, heaven bless ye together-And send for one presently. Here, you, sirrah, run
now my cares are over again.
to father Benedick again, tell him his work
Oct. We'll study to deserve your love, sir. don't hold here, his last marriage is dropp'd
Don P. My friend successful too! Then my to pieces; but now we have got better tackle,
joys are double-But how this generous at- he must come and stitch two or three fresh
tempt was started first, how it has been pur- couple together as fast as he can.

THE JEALOUS WIFE.
299
Don P. Now, my Hypolita!
Let our example teach mankind to love;
From thine the fair their favours may improve:
O! never let a virtuous mind despair,
For constant hearts are love's peculiar care.
[Exeunt.
GEORGE COLMAN
Was the son of Francis Colman, Esq., His Majesty's resident at the court of the Grand Duke of Tuscany at Flo-
rence, by a sister of the Countess of Bath. He was born at Florence about 1733, and had the honour of having king
George the Second for his godfather. He received his education at Westminster School, where he very early showed
his poetical talents. The first performance by him was a copy of verses addressed to his cousin Lord Pulteney, writ-
ten in the year 1747, while he was at Westminster, and since printed in The St. Jame's Magazine, a work published
by his unfortunate friend, Robert Lloyd. From Westminster School he removed to Oxford, and became a student of
Christchurch. It was there, at a very early age, that he engaged with his friend Bonnel Thornton, in publishing The
Connoisseur, a periodical paper which appeared once a week, and was continued from Jan. 51. 1754. to Sept. 30. 1756,
When the age of the writers of this entertaining paper is considered, the wit and humour, the spirit, the good sense
and shrewd observations on life and manners, with which it abounds, will excite some degree of wonder; but will, at
the same time, evidently point out the extraordinary talents which were afterwards to be more fully displayed in The
Jealous Wife and The Clandestine Marriage. The recommendation of his friends, or his choice, but probably the
former, induced him to fix upon the law for his profession; and was accordingly entered at Lincoln's Inn, and in due
season called to the bar. He attended there a very short time; though, if our recollection does not mislead us, he was
seen often enough in the courts to prevent the supposition of his abandoning the profession merely for want of encou-
ragement. On the 18th of March 1758, he took the degree ef Master of arts at Oxford; and in the year 1760 his first
dramatic piece, Polly Honeycomb, was acted at Drury Lane, with great success. For several years before, the comic
Muse seemed to have relinquished the stage, No comedy had been produced at either theatre since the year 1751,
when Moore's Gil Blas was with difficulty performed nine nigts. In July 1764 Lord Bath died; and on that event
Mr. Colman found himself in circumstances fully sufficient to enable him to follow the bent of his genius. The first
publication which he produced, after this period, was a translation in blank verse of the comedies of Terence, 1765;
and whoever would wish to see the spirit of an aucient bard transfused into the English language, must look for it
in Mr. Colman's version. The successor of Lord Bath, General Pulteney, died in 1767; and Mr. Colman again found
himself remembered in his will, by a second annuity, which confirmed the independency of his fortune. He seems,
however, to have felt no charms in an idle life; as, in 1767, he united with Messrs. Harris, Rutherford, and Powell,
in the purchase of Covent Garden Theatre, and took upon himself the laborious office of acting manager. After conti-
nuing manager of Covent Garden Theatre seven years, Mr. Colman sold his share and interest therein to Mr. James
Leake, one of his then partners; and, in 1777, purchased of Mr. Foote the Little Theatre in the Haymarket. The
estimation in which the entertainments exhibited under his direction were held by the public, the reputation which
the theatre acquired, and the continual concourse of the polite world during the height of summer, sufficiently spoke
the praises of Mr. Colman's management. Indeed, it has been long admitted, that no person, since the death of Mr.
Garrick, was so able to superintend the entertainments of the stage as the subject of this account. About the year 1785
Mr. Colman gave the public a new translation of, and commentary on, Horace's Art of Poetry; in which he produced
a new system to explain this very difficult roem. In opposition to Dr. Hurd, he supposed, "that one of the sons of
Piso, undoubtedly the elder, hat either written or mediated a poetical work, most probably a tragedy; and that he
had, with the knowledge of the family, communicated his piece or intention to Horace. But Horace either dissaproving
of the work, or doubting of the poetical faculties of the elder Piso, or both, wished to dissuade him from all thought
of publication. With this view he formed the design of writing this epistle; addressing it, with a courtliness and de-
licacy perfectly agreeable to his acknowledged character, indifferently to the whole family, the father and his two sons,
Epistola ad Pisones de arte Poetica." This hypothesis is supported with much learning, ingenuity, and modesty; and,
if not fully established, is at least as well entitled to applause as that adopted by the Bishop of Worcester. On the
publication of the Horace, the Bishop said to Dr. Douglas, "Give my compliments to Colman, and thank him for the
handsome manner in which he has treated me; and tell him, that I think he is right." Mr. Colman died at Paddington,
on the 14th of August 1794, at the age of 62. A few hours before his death he was seized with violent spasms; and
these were succeeded by a melancholy stupor, in which he drew his last breath.
THE JEALOUS WIFE,
Com. by Geo. Colman, 1761. This piece made its appearance at Drury Lane with prodigious success. The ground-
work of it is derived from Fielding's History of Tom Jones, at the period of Sophia's taking refuge at Lady Bellaston's
house. The characters borrowed from that work, however, only serve as a kind of underplot to introduce Mr. and Mrs.
Oakley, viz. the Jealous Wife and her husband. It must be confessed, that the passions of the lady are here worked
up to a very great height; and Mr. Oakley's vexation and domestic misery, in consequence of her behaviour, are very
strongly supported. Yet, perhaps, the author would have better answered his purpose with respect to the passion he
intended to expose the absurdity of, had he made her appear somewhat less of the virago, and Mr. Oakley not so much
of the henpecked husband; since she now appears rather a lady, who, from a consciousness of her own power, is de-
sirous of supporting the appearance of jealousy, to procure her an indue influence over her husband and family, than
one, who, feeling the reality of that turbulent yet fluctuating passion, becomes equally absurd in the suddenness of form-
ing unjust suspicions, and in that hastiness of being satisfied, which love, the only true basis of jealousy, will constantly
occasion. When this play was originally acted, it was remarked, that the scene of Mrs. Oakley's hysteric fits bore a
near resemblance to the like situation of Mrs. Termagant in The Squire of Alsatia. Mr. Colman has been accused of
a misnomer in calling it The Jealous Wife; Mrs. Oakley being totally destitute of that delicacy, which some consider
necessary to constitute jealousy. Many exceptions might be taken to the characters in this piece-that of Lady Freelove
is perhaps too odious for the stage, while that of Captain O'Cutter does little honour to the navy. The play, how-
ever, upon the whole, boasis more than an ordinary share of merit.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
LORD TRINKET. JOHN. MRS. OAKLY.
PARIS.
TOM.
LADY FREELOVE.
WILLIAM.
SERVANT. HARRIOT.
OAKLY.
RUSSET.
MAJOR OAKLY. SIR HARRY BEAGLE.
CHARLES.
CAPTAIN O'CUTTER.
TOILET.
CHAMBERMAID.
300
[ACT I.
fulth
THE JEALOUS WIFE.

ACT I.
SCENE. I.-A Room in OAKLY'S House.
her miseries.- How unfortunate a woman am
I-I could die with vexation-
[Throwing herself into a Chair.
Ouk. There it is-Now dare not I stir a
[Noise heard within. step further-If I offer to go, she is in one of
Mrs. O. [Within] Don't tell me I know her fits in an instant-Never sure was wo-
it is so-It's monstrous, and I will not bear it. man at once of so violent and so delicate a
Oak. [Within] But, my dear!-
Mrs. O. Nay, nay, etc. [Squabbling within.
Enter MRS. OAKLY, with a Letter, followed
by OAKLY.
Mrs. O. Say what you will, Mr. Oakly, you
shall never persuade me but this is some filthy
intrigue of yours.
Oak. I can assure you, my love-
Mrs. O. Your love! Don't I know your-
Tell me, I say, this instant, every circumstance
relating to this letter.
Oak. How can I tell you, when you will
not so much as let me see it?
constitution! What shall I say to sooth her?
[Aside] Nay, never make thyself so uneasy,
my dear-Come, come, you know I love you.
Mrs. O. I know you hate me; and that your
unkindness and barbarity will be the death of
me.
[Whining:
Oak. Do not vex yourself at this rate-I
love you most passionately-Indeed I do-
This must be some mistake.
Mrs. O. Oh, I am an unhappy woman!
[Weeping.
Oak. Dry up thy tears, my love, and be
comforted! You will find that I am not to
blame in this matter-Come, let me see this
letter-Nay, you shall not deny me.
[Takes the Letter,
Mrs. O. There! take it; you know the hand,
Mrs. O. Look you, Mr. Oakly, this usage
is not to be borne. You take a pleasure in
abusing my tenderness and soft disposition.-
To be perpetually running over the whole I am sure.
town, nay, the whole kingdom too, in pursuit Oak. [Reads] To Charles Oakly, Esq.-
of your amours! - Did not I discover that Hand! 'Tis a clerk-like hand, a good round
you was great with mademoiselle, my own text! and was certainly never penned by a
woman?-Did not you contract a shameful fair lady.
familiarity with Mrs. Freeman?-Did not I Mrs. O. Ay, laugh at me, do!
detect your intrigue with lady Wealthy?- Oak. Forgive me, my love, I dit not mean
Was not you-
to laugh at thee-But what says the letter?
Oak. Oons! madam, the grand Turk him- [Reads] Daughter eloped-you must be
self has not half so many mistresses-Yo throw privy to it-scandalous-dishonourable-sa-
me out of all patience-Do I know any body tisfaction-revenge-um, um, um-injured
but our common friends?-Am I visited by father.
HENRY RUSSET.
any body that does not visit you?-Do I ever Mrs. O. [Rising] Well, sir-you see I have
go out, unless you go with me?-And am I detected you-Tell me this instant where she
not as constantly by your side, as if I was is concealed.
tied to your apron-strings?
Oak. So-so-so-This hurts me - I'm
[To himself.
Mrs. O. What, are you confounded with
your guilt? Have I caught you at last?
Mrs. O. Go, go; you are a false man-Have shocked.
not I found you out a thousand times? And
have not I this moment a letter in my hand,
which convinces me of your baseness?-Let
me know the whole affair, or I will-
Oak. Let you know! Let me know what
you would have of me - You stop my letter
before it comes to my hands, and then expect
that I should know the contents of it!
Mrs. O. Heaven be praised, I stopped it!
I suspected some of these doings for some
time past-But the letter informs me who she
is, and I'll be revenged on her sufficiently.
Oh, you base man, you!
Oak. I beg, my dear, that you would mo-
derate your passion!-Show me the letter,
and I'll convince you of my innocence.
Oak. O that wicked Charles! To decoy a
young lady from her parents in the country!
The profligacy of the young fellows of this
age is abominable.
[To himself.
Mrs. O. [Half aside, and musing] Char-
les!-Let me see!-Charles!-No!-Impossible!
This is all a trick.
Oak. He has certainly ruined this poor lady.
[To himself.
Mrs. O. Art! art! all art! There's a sudden
turn now! You have ready wit for an intri-
gue, I find.
Oak. Such an abandoned action! I wish I
had never had the care of him.
Mrs. O. Innocence!- Abonimable!- Inno- Mrs. O. Mighty fine, Mr. Oakly! Go on,
cence!-But I am not to be made such a fool sir, go on! I see what you mean,-Your as-
-I am convinced of your perfidy, and very surance provokes me beyond your very false-
sure that
Oak. 'Sdeath and fire! your passion hurries
you out of your senses-Will you hear me?
Mrs. O. No, you are a base man: and I
will not hear you.
I
hood itself. So you imagine, sir, that this af-
fected concern, this flimsy pretence about
Charles, is to bring you off. Matchless con-
fidence! But I am armed against every thing
-I am prepared for all your dark schemes:
Oak. Why then, my dear, since you will am aware of all your low stratageins.
neither talk reasonably yourself, nor listen to Oak. See there now! Was ever any thing
reason from me, I shall take my leave till so provoking? To persevere in your ridicu-
you are in a better humour. So your servant! lous-For heaven's sake, my dear, don't dis-
[Going. tract me. When you see my mind thus agi-
Mrs. O. Ay, go, you cruel man!-Go to tated and uneasy, that a young fellow, whom
your mistresses, and leave your poor wife to his dying father, my own brother, committed

SCENE 1.]
301
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
to my care, should be guilty of such enor-think the whole family is made of nothing but
mous wickedness; I say, when you are wit- combustibles,
ness of my distress on this occasion, how can Oak. I like this emotion; it looks well: it
you be weak enough and cruel enough to- may serve too to convince my wife of the
Mrs. O. Prodigiously well, sir! You do it folly of her suspicions. Would to heaven I
very well. Nay, keep it up, carry it on; could quiet them for ever!
there's nothing like going through with it. O, Maj. O. Why pray now, my dear, naughty
you artful creature! But, sir, I am not to be brother, what heinous offence have you com-
so easily satisfied. I do not believe a syllable mitted this morning? What new cause of
of all this- Give me the letter-[Snatches the suspicion? You have been asking one of the
Letter] You shall sorely repent this vile bu- maids to mend your ruffle, I suppose, or have
siness, for I am resolved that I will know the been hanging your head out at the window,
bottom of it.
[Exit. when a pretty young woman has passed by,
Oak. This is beyond all patience. Provok-or-
ing woman! Her absurd suspicions interpret Oak. How can you trifle with my distresses,
every thing the wrong way. But this ungra- major? Did not I tell you it was about a
cious boy! In how many troubles will he letter?
involve his own and his lady's family!-I ne- Maj. O. A letter!-hum-A suspicious cir-
ver imagined that he was of such abandoned cumstance, to be sure! What, and the seal
Frinciples.
Enter MAJOR OAKLY and CHARLES.
Charles. Good morrow, sir!
a truelover's knot now, hey? or a heart trans-
fixed with darts; or possibly the wax bore
the industrious impression of a thimble; or
perhaps the folds were lovingly connected by
a wafer, pricked with a pin, and the direction
written in a vile scrawl, and not a word spelt
as it should be! ha, ha, ha!
Maj. O. Good morrow, brother, good mor-
row! What! you have been at the old work,
I find. I heard you-ding! dong! i'faith!
She has rung a noble peal in your ears. But
how now? Why sure you've had a remark-letter, you find, was for Charles, not for me
able warm bout on't.-You seem more ruffled
than usual.
Oak. I am, indeed, brother! Thanks to that
young gentleman there. Have a care, Charles!
you may be called to a severe account for
this. The honour of a family, sir, is no such
light matter.
Charles. Sir!
Oak. Pooh! brother-Whatever it was, the
this outrageous jealousy is the devil.
Maj. O. Mere matrimonial blessings and
domestic comfort, hrother! jealousy is a cer-
tain sign of love.
Oak. Love! it is this very love that hath
made us both so miserable. Her love for me
has confined me to my house, like a state
prisoner, without the liberty of seeing my
Maj. O. Hey-day! What, has a curtain lec- friends, or the use of pen, ink, and paper;
ture produced a lecture of morality? What while my love for her has made such a fool
is all this?
of me, that I have never had the spirit to
contradict her.
Maj. O. Ay, ay, there you've hit it, Mrs.
Oakly would make an excellent wife, if you
did but know how to manage her.
Oak. To a profligate mind, perhaps, these
things may appear agreeable in the beginning.
But don't you tremble at the consequences?
Charles. I see, sir, that you are displeased
with me; but I am quite at a loss to guess Oak. You are a rare fellow indeed to talk
of managing a wife-A debauched bachelor
Oak. Tell me, sir!-where is miss Harriot -a rattle-brained, rioting fellow-who have
Russet?
at the occasion.
Charles. Miss Harriot Russet!-Sir-Explain.
Oak. Have not you decoyed her from her
father?
Charles. 1-Decoyed her-Decoyed my
Harriot!-I would sooner die than do her the
least injury-What can this mean?
Maj. O. I believe the young dog has been
at her, after all.
Oak. I was in hopes, Charles, you had better
principles. But there's a letter just come from
her father-
picked up your commonplace notions of
women in bagnios, taverns, and the camp;
whose most refined commerce with the sex
has been in order to delude country girls at
your quarters, or to besiege the virtue of abi-
gails, milliners, or mantua-makers' 'prentices.
Maj. O. So much the better!-so much the
better! women are all alike in the main,
brother, high or low, married or single, quality or
no quality. I have found them so, from a duchess
down to a milk-maid; every woman is a ty-
rant at the bottom. But they could never make
Charles. A letter!-What letter? Dear sir, a fool of me.-No, no! no woman should
give it me. Some intelligence of my Harriot, ever domineer over me, let her be mistress
major! The letter, sir, the letter this mo- or wife.
ment, for heaven's sake!
Oak. Single men can be no judges in these
Oak. If this warmth, Charles, tends to prove cases. They must happen in all families. But
your innocence-
when things are driven to extremities-to see
Charles. Dear sir, excuse me -I'll prove a woman in uneasiness a woman one loves
any thing-Let me but see this letter, and I'll-too-one's wife-who can withstand it? You
Oak. Let you see it!-I could hardly get a neither speak nor think like a man that has
sight of it myself. Mrs. Oakly has it. loved and been married, major!
Charles. Has she got it? Major, I'll be with Maj. O. I wish I could hear a married man
you again directly.
[Exit hastily. speak my language-I'm a bachelor, it's true;
Maj. O. Hey-day! The devil's in the boy! but I am no bad judge of your case for all
What a fiery set of people! By my troth, I that. I know yours and Mrs. Oakly's dispo-

302
[ACT L
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
sition to a hair. She is all impetuosity and my study. I'll go and steal them out, while
fire-a very magazine of touchwood and gun- she is busy talking with Charles.
powder. You are hot enough too, upon oc- Maj. O. Steal them! for shame! Pr'ythee
casion, but then it's over in an instant. In take them boldly; call for them! make them
comes love and conjugal affection, as you call bring them to you here; and go out with
it; that is, mere folly and weakness--and you spirit, in the face of your whole family.
draw off your forces, just when you should Oak. No, no-you are wrong-let her rave
pursue the attack, and follow your advantage. after I am gone, and when I return, you know,
Have at her with spirit, and the day's your shall exert myself with more propriety, after
own, brother.
this open affront to her authority.
Maj. O. Well, take your own way.
Oak. Ay, ay-let me manage it, let me ma-
[Exit.
I
Oak. Why, what would you have me do?
Maj. O. Do as you please for one month,
whether she likes it or not: and I'll answer nage it.
for it she will consent you shall do as you Maj. O. Manage it! ay, to be sure, you
please all her life after. In short, do but show are a rare manager! It is dangerous, they
yourself a man of spirit, leave off whining say, to meddle between man and wife. I am
about love and tenderness, and nonsense, and no great favourite of Mrs. Oakly's already;
the business is done, brother.
and in a week's time I expect to have the
Enter CHARLES.
Oak. I believe you are in the right, major! door shut in my teeth.
I see you are in the right. I'll do it-I'll cer-
tainly do it. But then it hurts me to the How now, Charles, what news?
soul, to think what uneasiness I shall give her. Charles. Ruined and undone!
The first opening of my design will throw uncle! my Harriot's lost for ever.
her into fits, and the pursuit of it, perhaps, Maj. O. Gone off with a man?-I thought
may be fatal.
so; they are all alike.
She's gone,
Charles. Oh no! Fled to avoid that hateful
match with sir Harry Beagle.
Maj. O. Faith, a girl of spirit; but whence
comes all this intelligence?
Maj. O. Fits! ha, ha, ha!-I'll engage to
cure her of her fits. Nobody understands hy-
sterical cases better than I do; besides, my
sister's symptoms are not very dangerous. Did
you ever hear of her falling into a fit when Charles. In an angry letter from her father
you was not by?-VVas she ever found in -How miserable I am! If I had not offend-
convulsions in her closet?-No, no, these fits, ed my Harriot, much offended her, by that
the more care you take of them, the more foolish riot and drinking at your house in the
you will increase the distemper: let them country, she would certainly, at such a time,
alone, and they will wear themselves out, I have taken refuge in my arms.
warrant you.
Oak. True, very true-you are
the right-I'll follow your advice.
you dine to-day?-I'll order the
go with you.
Maj. O. A very agreeable refuge for a young
certainly in lady to be sure, and extremely decent!
Where do
Charles. What a heap of extravagancies
coach, and was I guilty of!
Maj. O. O brave! keep up this spirit, and
you are made for ever.
Oak. You shall see now, major!-Who's
there?
Enter Servant.
Order the coach directly. I shall dine
to-day.
Serv. The coach, sir?-Now, sir?
Oak. Ay, now, immediately.
Maj O. Extravagancies with a witness! Ah,
you silly young dog, you would ruin your-
self with her father, in spite of all I could do.
There you sat, as drunk as a lord, telling the
old gentleman the whole affair, and swearing
you would drive sir Harry Beagle out of the
country, though I kept winking and nodding,
out pulling you by the sleeve, and kicking your
shins under the table, in hopes of stopping
you; but all to no purpose.
Serv. Now, sir!-the-the-coach, sir?-
that is my mistress-
Maj. O. Sirrah! do as you are bid. Bid
them put to this instant.
[Exit.
Sero. Ye-yes, sir-yes, sir.
Oak. Well, where shall we dine?
Maj. O. At the St. Albans, or where you
will. This is excellent; if you do but hold it.
Oak. I will have my own way, I am de-
termined.
Maj. O. That's right.
Oak. I am steel.
Maj. O. Bravo!
Oak. Adamant.
Maj. O. O Bravissimo!
Oak. Just what you'd have me.
Charles. What distress may she be in at
this instant! Alone and defenceless!-Where,
where can she be?
Maj. O. What relations or friends has she
in town?
Charles. Relations! let me see.- Faith, I
have it!--If she is in town, ten to one but
she is at her aunt's, lady Freelove's. I'll go
thither immediately.
Maj. O. Lady Freelove's! Hold, hold, Char-
les!-do you know her ladyship?
Charles. Not much! but I'll break through
all, to get to my Harriot.
Maj. O. I do know her ladyship.
Charles. Well, and what do you know
of her?
Maj. O. O, nothing! Her ladyship is a
Maj. O. Why that's well said. But will you woman of the world, that's all-
do it?
Oak. I will.
Maj. O. You won't.
Oak. I will. I'll be a fool to her no longer.
But harkye, major, my hat and cane lie in
Charles. What do you mean?
Maj. O. That lady Freelove is an arrant-
By-the by, did not she, last summer, make for-
mal proposals to Harriot's father from lord
Trinket?

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
303
THE JEALOUS VVIFE.
[Apart.
Charles. Yes; but they were received with Maj. O. For shame! hold out, if you are
the utmost contempt. The old gentleman, it a man.
seems, hates a lord, and he told her so in Oak. She has been so much vexed this
plain terms.
morning already, I must humour her a little
Maj. O. Fie! fie! go out, or you are undone.
Maj. O. Such an aversion to the nobility now.
may not run in the blood. The girl, I war-
rant you, has no objection. However, if she's
there, watch her narrowly, Charles. Lady
Freelove is as mischievous as a monkey, and home with thee, my love.
as cunning too. Have a care of her, I say,
have a care of her.
[Apart.
[Apart.
Oak. You see it's impossible.- I'll dine at
[Apart to Mrs. Oakly.
Mrs. O. Ay, ay, pray do, sir,-Dine at a
[Going.
Oak. [Returning] You may depend on me
another time, major.
Charles. If she's there, I'll have her out of tavern indeed!
the house within this half hour, or set fire
to it.
Maj. O. Nay, now you are too violent-
stay a moment, and we'll consider what's best
to be done.
Enter OAKLY.
Oak. Come, is the coach ready? Let us be
gone. Does Charles go with us?
Charles. I go with you!-What can I do?
I am so vexed and distracted, and so many
thoughts crowd in upon me, I don't know
which way to turn myself.
Mrs. O. [Within] The coach!-dines out!
where is your master?
Oak. Zounds, brother! here she is!
Re-enter MRS. OAKLY.
Mrs. O. Pray, Mr. Oakly, what is the mat-
ter you cannot dine at home to-day?
Oak. Don't be uneasy, my dear!-I have
a little business to settle with my brother; so
I am only just going to dinner, with him and
Charles, to the tavern.
Mrs. O. Why cannot you settle your busi-
ness here, as well as at a tavern? but it is
some of your ladies' business, I suppose, and
so you must get rid of my company.-This
is chiefly your fault, major Oakly!
Maj. O. Steel and adamant!-Ah!
Mrs. O. [Returning] Mr. Oakly!
Oak. O, my dear! [Exit, with Mrs. Oakly.
Maj. O. Ha, ha, ha! there's a picture of re-
solution! there goes a philosopher for you!
ha! Charles!
Charles. O, uncle! I have no spirits to
laugh now.
Maj. O. So! I have a fine time on't between
you and my brother. Will you meet me to
dinner at the St. Albans by four? We'll drink
her health. and think of this affair.
Charles. Don't depend on me. I shall be
running all over the town, in pursuit of my
Ilarriol; at all events I'll go directly to lady
Freelove's. If I find her not there, which way
I shall direct myself, heaven knows.
Maj. O. Harkye, Charles! If you meet with
her, you may be at a loss. Bring her to my
house; I have a snug room, and-
Charles. Phoo! Pr'ythee, uncle, don't triffle
with me now.
Maj. O. Well, seriously then, my house is
at your service.
Charles. I thank you; but I must be gone.
Maj. O. Ay, ay, bring her to my house,
Maj. O. Lord, sister, what signifies it, whether and we'll settle the whole affair for you. You
a man dines at home or abroad? [Coolly shall clap her into a post-chaise, take the
Mrs. O. It signifies a great deal, sir! and chaplain of our regiment along with you,
wheel her down to Scotland 1), and when you
I don't choose-
Maj. O. Phoo! let him go, my dear sister, come back, send to settle her fortune with
let him go! he will be ten times better com- her father; that's the modern art of making
pany when he comes back. I tell you what, love, Charles!
sister-you sit a home till you are quite tired
of one another, and then you grow cross,
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
and fall out. If you would but part a little SCENE I.-A Room in the Bull and Gate Inn.
now and then, you might meet again in
humour.
Mrs. O. I beg, major Oakly, that you would
trouble yourself about your own affairs; and
let me tell you, sir, that I-
Enter SIR HARRY BEAGLE 2) and Toм.
Sir H. Ten guineas a mare, and a crown
the man? hey, Tom!
Tom. Yes, your honour.
Oak. Nay, do not put thyself into a passion
with the major, my dear!-It is not his fault; is no flaw in his blood?
and I shall come back to thee very soon.
Sir H. And are you sure, Tom, that there
Mrs. O. Come back;- why need you go
out? I know well enough when you mean
to deceive me; for then there is always a
pretence of dining with sir John, or my lord,
or somebody; but when you tell me that you
are going to a tavern, it's such a bare-faced
affront-
Oak. This is so strange now!-Why, my
dear, I shall only just-
Mrs. O. Only just go after the lady in the
letter, I suppose.
Oak. Well, well, I won't go then. Will
that convince you? I'll stay with you, my
dear. Will that satisfy you?
Tom. He's a good thing, sir, and as little
beholden to the ground, as any horse that
1) A spirited girl in England, when opposed in her choice
of a husband by her parents, used to make nothing of
agreeing with her lover to set off with him to Gretna
Green (on the borders of Scotland), to get married; but
now this custom is abolished, and the blacksmith who
used to perform the marriage ceremony has been for-
bidden to act, since Lord E-took his flight towards
those regions on the same errand; so that, now the lo-
vers are obliged to have the ceremony performed in a
boat on the river there, and this marriage is perfectly.
valid.
2) We have an excellent specimen, in sir H. Beagle, of
one of our racing and fox-hunting country-squires;
as he speaks entirely in the language of the turf (race-
ground), some of his sporting terms require an ex-
planation.

304
[ACT II.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
ever went over the turf upon four legs. Why I lose my match with lord Chokejade, by not
here's his whole pedigree, ¹) your honour!
riding myself, and I shall have no opportunity
Sir H. Is it attested?
to hedge 1) my bets neither-what a damned
Tom. Very well attested; it is signed by piece of work have I made on't-I have knocked
Jack Spur and my lord Startal.
up poor Snip, shall lose my match, and as to
[Giving the Pedigree. Harriot, why the odds are that I lose my
Sir H. Let me see. [Reads] Tom-come-match there too-a skittish young tit! 2) If I
tickle-me was out of the famous Tantivy once get her tight in hand, I'll make her
mare, by sir Aaron Driver's chesnut horse, wince for it.-Her estate, joined to my own,
White Stockings. White Stockings, his dam, I would have the finest stud and the noblest
was got by lord Hedge's South Barb, full kennel in the whole country. But here comes
sister to the Proserpine Filly, and his sire her father, puffing and blowing, like a broken-
Tom Jones; his grandam was the Irish winded horse up hill.
Duchess, and his grandsire Squire Spor-
tley's Trajan; his great and great great
grandam were Newmarket Peggy and Black
Moll; and his great grandsire, and great thing of her?
great grandsire, were sir Ralph Whip's Sir H. Yes, I have been asking Tom about
Regulus, and the famous Prince Anamaboo. her, and he says you may have her for five
hundred guineas.
his
JOHN SPUR.
mark.
STARTAL.
Enter RUSSET.
Rus. Well, sir Harry, have you heard any
Rus. Five hundred guineas! how d'ye mean?
where is she? which way did she take?
Sir H. Why, first she went to Epsom, then
to Lincoln, then to Nottingham, and now she
Tom. All fine horses, and won every thing!
a foal out of your honour's bald-fac'd Venus, is at York.
by this horse, would beat the world.
1
Rus. Impossible! she could not go over half
Sir H. Well then, we'll think on't. But, the ground in the time. What the devil are
plague on't, Tom, I have certainly knocked
up my little roan gelding in this damn'd wild-
goose chase of threescore miles an end. 2)
Tom. He's deadly blown, to be sure, your
honour; and I am afraid we are upon a wrong
scent after all. Madam Harriot certainly took
across the country, instead of coming on to
London.
you talking of?
Sir H. Of the mare you was just now saying
you wanted to buy.
Rus. The devil take the mare!-who would
think of her, when I am mad about an affair
of so much more consequence?
Sir H. You seemed mad about her a little
while ago. She's a fine mare, and a thing of
shape and blood.
Sir H. No, no, we traced her all the way
up.-But d'ye hear, Tom, look out among the Rus. Damn her blood!-Harriot! my dear,
stables and repositories here in town, for a provoking Harriot! Where can she be? Have
smart road nag, and a strong horse to carry you got any intelligence of her?
a portmanteau.
- -
Sir H. No, faith, not I: we seem to be
Tom. Sir Roger Turf's horses are to be quite thrown out 3) here - but, however, I
sold-I'll see if there's ever a tight thing there have ordered Tom to try if he can hear any
-but I suppose, sir, you would have one thing of her among the ostlers.
somewhat stronger than Snip-I don't think Rus. Why don't you inquire after her your-
he's quite enough of a horse for your honour. self? why don't you run up and down the
Sir H. Not enough of a horse! Snip's a whole town after her?-t'other young rascal
powerful gelding; master of two stone more knows where she is, I warrant you. What
than my weight. If Snip stands sound, I a plague it is to have a daughter! When one
would not take a hundred guineas for him. loves her to distraction, and has toiled and
Poor Snip! go into the stable, Tom, see they laboured to make her happy, the ungrateful
give him a warm mash, and look at his heels slut will sooner go to hell her own way-
and his eyes. But where's Mr. Russet all but she shall have him-I will make her happy,
this while?
if I break her heart for it.-A provoking gipsy
Tom. I left the squire at breakfast on a cold-to run away, and torment her poor father,
pigeon pie, and inquiring after madam Harriot, that dotes on her! I'll never see her face
in the kitchen. I'll let him know your honour again.-Sir Harry, how can we get any in-
would be glad to see him here.
-
Sir H. Ay, do; but harkye, Tom, be sure
you take care of Snip.
telligence of her? Why don't you speak? why
don't you tell me?-Zounds! you seem as
indifferent as if you did not care a farthing
about her.
Tom, I'll warrant your honour.
Sir H. I'll be down in the stables myself Sir H. Indifferent! you may well call me
by-and-by. [Exit Tom] Let me see out of indifferent!-this damned chase after her will
the famous Tantwivy by White Stockings; cost me a thousand-if it had not been for
White Stockings, his dam, full sister to the her, I would not have been off the course 4)
Proserpine Filly; and his sire-pox on't, how this week to have saved the lives of my whole
unlucky it is that this damned accident should family-I'll hold you six to two that-
happen in the Newmarket week!-ten to one Rus. Zounds! hold your tongue, or talk
1) The pedigree of a horse, is as religiously kept as that
of any ancient family in Wales, or rather as the same
is done among the Arabians, where as in England the
blood proves the goodness of the horse; and the names
given to the horses are sometimes not a little singular.
2) Without stopping.
1) To draw back.
2) An unmanageable little horse.
5) When the dogs have lost the scent, in fox-hunting,
they are said to be thrown out, The fox, when hard
pursued, will run into a herd of deer, or a flock of
sheep, jump over a wall, any thing to put the dogs out,
4) The race-ground at Newmarket or otherwise.

SCENE 2.1
305
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
more to the purpose-I swear she is too good teach my young mistress to be gadding. She
for you-you don't deserve such a wife-a shall marry you to-night. Come along, sir
fine, dear, sweet, lovely, charming girl!- Harry, come along; we won't lose a minute.
She'll break my heart.-How shall I find her Come along.
out?-Do, pr'ythee, sir Harry, my dear honest Sir H. Soho! hark forward! wind 'em and
friend, consider how we may discover where cross 'em! hark forward! Yoics! Yoics!
she is fled to.
Sir H. Suppose you put an advertisement
into the newspapers, describing her marks,
her age, her height, and where she strayed
from. I recovered a bay mare once by that
method.
SCENE II.-OAKLY'S House.
Enter MRS. OAKLY.
[Exeunt.
Mrs. O. After all, that letter was certainly
Rus. Advertise her!-What! describe my intended for my husband. I see plain enough
daughter, and expose her, in the public papers, they are all in a plot against me. My husband
with a reward for bringing her home, like intriguing, the major working him up to
horses stolen or strayed! recovered a bay affront me, Charles owning his letters, and
mare! the devil's in the fellow! - he thinks so playing into each other's hands. -- They
of nothing but racers, and bay mares, and think me a fool, I find-but I'll be too much
stallions.-'Sdeath, I wish your-
for them yet.-I have desired to speak with
Sir H. I wish Harriot was fairly pounded; 2) Mr. Oakly, and expect him here immediately.
it would save us both a deal of trouble. His temper is naturally open; and if he thinks
Rus. Which way shall I turn myself?-I my anger abated, and my suspicions laid
am half distracted. If I go to that young asleep, he will certainly betray himself by his
dog's house, he has certainly conveyed her behaviour. I'll assume an air of good humour,
somewhere out of my reach-if she does not pretend to believe the fine story they have
send to me to-day, I'll give her up for ever-trumped up, throw him off his guard, and so
perhaps, though, she may have met with some draw the secret out of him.-Here he comes.-
accident, and has nobody to assist her.-No, How hard it is to dissemble one's anger! Oh,
she is certainly with that young rascal.-II could rate him soundly! but I'll keep down
wish she was dead, and I was dead. I'll my indignation at present, though it chokes me.
blow young Oakly's brains out.
Re-enter TOM.
Enter OAKLY,
O, my dear! I am very glad to see you.
Sir H. Well, Tom, how is poor Snip? Pray sit down [They sit] I longed to see
Tom. A little better, sir, after his warm you. It seemed an age till I had an oppor-
mash: but Lady, the pointing bitch that follo-tunity of talking over the silly affair that hap-
wed you all the way, is deadly foot-sore. pened this morning. dobro urb[Mildly.
Oak. Why really, my dear-
Rus. Damn Snip and Lady!-have you heard
any thing of Harriot?
Tom. Why, I came on purpose to let my
master and your honour know, that John
Ostler says as how, just such a lady as I told
him madam Harriot was, came here in a
four-wheel chaise, and was fetched away soon
after by a fine lady in a chariot.
Rus. Did she come alone?
Tom. Quite alone, only a servant maid,
please your honour.
Rus. And what part of the town did they
go to?
Mrs. 0. Nay, don't look so grave now.
Come-it's all over. Charles and you have
cleared up matters. I am satisfied.
Oak. Indeed! I rejoice to hear it! You make
me happy beyond my expectation. This dis-
position will ensure our felicity. Do but lay
aside your cruel, unjust suspicion, and we
should never have the least difference.
Mrs. O. Indeed I begin to think so. I'l
endeavour to get the better of it. And really
sometimes it is very ridiculous. My uneasiness
this morning, for instance, ha, ha, ha! To
Tom. John Ostler says as how they bid be so much alarmed about that idle letter,
the coachman drive to Grosvenor-square.
Sir H. Soho! puss-Yoics! 2)
which turned out quite another thing at last
was not I very angry with you? ha, ha, ha!
Rus. She is certainly gone to that young
[Affecting a Laugh.
rogue-he has got his aunt to fetch her from Oak. Don't mention it. Let us both forget
hence or else she is with her own aunt, lady it. Your present cheerfulness makes amends
Freelove-they both live in that part of the for every thing.
town. I'll go to his house, and in the mean Mrs. O. I am apt to be too violent; I love
while, sir Harry, you shall step to lady Free- you too well to be quite easy about you.
love's. We'll find her, I warrant you. I'll [Fondly] Well-no matter-what is become
1) A horse, or other animal, which has quitted its
of Charles?
master's premises, and is found upon the premises of Oak. Poor fellow! he is on the wing, ram-
another, is taken to the pound, which is a place for bling all over the town, in pursuit of this
confining stray-cattle, and there it must remain till
the owner pays a certain sum, for its release, which young lady.
is called poundage.
2) These are the words used in that most melodious of
all sounds, for a sportsman, the view-halloo! com-
pared to which, the war-whoop of a Cherokee is mere
whispering. The game being in sight, the sudden burst
of this enthusiastic soho! from the mouths of twenty
or thirty riders, inflames the horses, and dogs almost
to madness, while it brings inevitable death to the poor
hare before them; the horns are completely drowned
in the cry.-Puss means hare.
Mrs. O. Where is he gone pray?
Oak. First of all, I believe, to some of her
relations.
Mrs. O. Relations! Who are they? Where
do they live?
Oak. There is an aunt of hers lives just in
the neighbourhood; lady Freelove.
Mrs.
Lady Freelove! Oho! gone to lady
39

306
[ACT II.
THE JEALOUS VVIFE.
Freelove's, is he?-and do you think he will
hear any thing of her?
Oak. I don't know; but I hope so, with all
my soul.
Mrs. O. Hope! with all your soul; do you
hope so?
[Alarmed.
Oak. Hope so! ye-yes-why, don't you
hope so?
Mrs. O. True.
Oak. Now I was thinking, that he might,
with your leave, my dear.
Mrs. O. Well!
Oak. Bring her home here-
Mrs. O. How!
Oak. Yes, bring her home here, my dear;-
[Surprised. it will make poor Charles's mind quite easy:
Mrs. O. VVhy-yes-[Recovering]-O, ay, and you may take her under your protection
to be sure. I hope it of all things. You know, till her father comes to town.
expectation.
Oak. Why!-what!-
my dear, it must give me great satisfaction, Mrs. O. Amazing! this is even beyond my
as well as yourself, to see Charles well settled.
Oak. I should think so; and really I don't
know where he can be settled so well. She
is a most deserving young woman, I assure you.
Mrs. O. You are well acquainted with her
then?
Mrs. O. VVas there ever such assurance!
[Rises] Take her under my protection! What!
would you keep her under my nose?
Oak. Nay, I never conceived- I thought
Oak. To be sure, my dear; after seeing you would have approved-
her so often last summer, at the major's house
in the country, and at her father's.
Mrs. O. So often!
Oak. O, ay-very often-Charles took care
of that almost every day.
Mrs. O. Indeed! But pray-a-a-a-I say
[Confused.
a-a-
Oak. What do you say, my dear?
Mrs. O. I say-a-a-[Stammering] Is she
handsome?
Oak. Prodigiously handsome indeed.
Mrs. O. Prodigiously handsome! and is she
reckoned a sensible girl?
Mrs. O. What! make me your convenient
woman!-No place but my own house to serve
your purposes?
Oak. Lord, this is the strangest misappre-
hension! I am quite astonished.
Mrs. O. Astonished! yes-confused, detected,
betrayed, by your vain confidence of imposing
on me. Why, sure you imagine me an idiot,
a driveller. Charles, indeed! yes, Charles is
a fine excuse for you. The letter this morning,
the letter, Mr. Oakly!
Oak. The letter! why sure that-
Mrs. O. Is sufficiently explained. You have
Oak. A very sensible, modest, agreeable, made it very clear to me. Now I am con-
young lady as ever I knew. You would be vinced. I have no doubt of your perfidy.
extremely fond of her, I am sure. You can't But I thank you for some hints you have given
imagine how happy I was in her company. me, and you may be sure I shall make use
Poor Charles! she soon made a conquest of of them: nor will I rest till I have full con-
him, and no wonder, she has so many elegant viction, and overwhelm you with the strongest
accomplishments! such an infinite fund of proof of your baseness towards me.
cheerfulness and good humour! Why, she's
the darling of the whole country.
Oak. Nay, but-
Mrs. O. Go, go! I have no doubt of your
Mrs. O. Lord! you seem quite in raptures falsehood: away!
about her!
[Exit.
Oak. Was there ever any thing like this?
Oak. Raptures!-not at all. I was only Such unaccountable behaviour! angry I don't
telling you the young lady's character. I know why! jealous of I know not what!
thought you would be glad to find that Charles Hints! - hints I have given her!- What can
had made so sensible a choice, and was so she mean?-
likely to be happy.
Mrs. O. Oh, Charles! True, as you say, Enter TOILET, crossing the Stage.
Charles will be mighty happy.
Oak. Don't you think so?
Toilet! where are you going?
Toil. To order the porter to let in no com-
pany to my lady to-day. She won't see a
single soul, sir.
Mrs. O. I am convinced of it. Poor Charles!
I am much concerned for him. He must be
[Exit.
very uneasy about her. I was thinking whether Oak. What an unhappy woman! Now will
we could be of any service to him in this affair. she sit all day feeding on her suspicions, till
Oak. Was you, my love? that is very good she has convinced herself of the truth of them.
of you. Why, to be sure, we must endeavour
to assist him. Let me see- How can we
manage it? 'Gad! I have hit it. The luckiest Well, sir, what's your business?
thought! and it will be of great service to
Charles.
Enter JOHN, crossing the Stage.
John. Going to order the chariot, sir!-
my lady's going out immediately.
[Exit.
Mrs. O. Well, what is it? [Eagerly]-You Oak. Going out! what is all this? - But
know I would do any thing to serve Charles, every way she makes me miserable. Wild
and oblige you.
[Mildly and ungovernable as the sea or the wind!
Oak. That is so kind! Lord, my dear, if made up of storms and tempests! I can't bear
you would but always consider things in this it: and one way or other I will put an end
proper light, and continue this amiable temper, to it.
we should be the happiest people-
Mrs. O. I believe so; but what's your
proposal?
Oak. I am sure you'll like it.-Charles, you
know, may perhaps be so lucky as to meet
with this lady.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-LADY FREELOVE'S House.
Enter LADY FREELOVE, with a Card; a Ser-
vant following.
Lady F. [Reading as she enters]-And
will take the liberty of waiting on her ladyship

SCENE 3.]
307
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
en cavalier, as he comes from the manège. yours speak a very different language. Indeed
Does any body wait that brought this card? you have fine eyes, child! and they have made
Serv. Lord Trinket's servant is in the hall, fine work with lord Trinket.
madam.
Lady F. My compliments, and I shall be
glad to see his lordship.-Where is miss Russet?
Serv. In her own chamber, madam.
Lady F. What is she doing?
Sero. Writing, I believe, madam.
Har. Lord Trinket! [Contemptuously.
Lady F. Yes, lord Trinket; you know it
as well as I do; and yet, you ill-natured
thing, you will not vouchsafe him a single
smile. But you must give the poor soul a
little encouragement, pr'ythee do."
Lady F. Oh, ridiculous!-scribbling to that Har. Indeed I can't, madam, for of all
Oakly, I suppose. [Apart]-Let her know, mankind lord Trinket is my aversion.
I should be glad of her company here. [Exit Lady F. Why so, child? He is counted a
Servant] It is a mighty troublesome thing to well-bred, sensible, young fellow, and the
manage a simple girl, that knows nothing of women all think him handsome.
the world. Harriot, like all other girls, is Har. Yes, he is just polite enough to be
foolishly fond of this young fellow of her own able to be very unmannerly, with a great
choosing, her first love; that is to say, the deal of good breeding; is just handsome enough
first man that is particularly civil; and the to make him most excessively vain of his per-
first air of consequence which a young lady son; and has just reflection enough to finish
gives herself. Poor silly soul! But Oakly him for a coxcomb; qualifications which are
must not have her, positively. A match with all very common among these whom your
lord Trinket will add to the dignity of the ladyship calls men of quality.
family. I must bring her into it. But here
she comes.
Enter HARRIOT.
Lady F. A satirist too! Indeed, my dear,
this affectation sits very awkwardly upon you.
There will be a superiority in the behaviour
of persons of fashion.
Well, Harriot, still in the pouts! nay, pr'ythee,] Har. A superiority, indeed! for his lordship
my dear little runaway girl, be more cheer-always behaves with so much insolent fami-
ful! your everlasting melancholy puts me into liarity, that I should almost imagine he was
the vapours.
soliciting me for other favours, rather than
Har. Dear madam, excuse me. How can to pass my whole life with him.
I be cheerful in my present situation? I know Lady F. Innocent freedoms, child, which
my father's temper so well, that I am sure every fine woman expects to be taken with
this step of mine must almost distract him. her, as an acknowledgment of her beauty.
I sometimes wish that I had remained in the Har. They are freedoms which I think no
country, let what would have been the con- innocent woman can allow.
sequence.
Lady F. Romantic to the last degree!-
Why, you are in the country still, Harriot!
Enter a Servant.
[Exit.
Lady F. Why, it is a naughty 1) child,
that's certain; but it need not be so uneasy
about papa, as you know that I wrote by
last night's post to acquaint him that his
little lost sheep was safe, and that you were
ready to obey his commands in every parti- to
cular, except marrying that oaf, sir Harry
Beagle.-Lord! Lord! what a difference there Enter LORD TRINKET, in Boots, etc. as from
is between a country and a town education!
the Riding-house.
Sere. My lord Trinket, madam.
Lady F. I swear now I have a good mind
tell him all you have said.
Why, a London lass would have jumped out Your lordship's most obedient humble servant.
of a window into a gallant's arms, and without Lord T. Your ladyship does me too much
thinking of her father, unless it were to have honour. Here I am en bottine as you see-
drawn a few bills on him, been a hundred just come from the manège.
miles off in nine or ten hours, or perhaps
out of the kingdom in twenty-four.
Har. I fear I have already been too preci-
pitate. I tremble for the consequences.
Lady F. Your lordship is always agreeable
in every dress.
Lord T. Vastly obliging,
Lord T. Vastly obliging, lady Freelove.
Miss Russet, I am your slave. I declare it
Lady F. I swear, child, you are a down- makes me quite happy to find you together.
right prude. Your way of talking gives me 'Pon honour, ma'am, [To Harriot] I begin
the spleen; so full of affection, and duty, and to conceive great hopes of you; and as for
virtue, 'tis just like a funeral sermon. And you, lady Freelove, I cannot sufficiently com-
yet, pretty soul! it can love.-Well, I wonder mend your assiduity with your fair pupil.
at your taste; a sneaking, simple gentleman, She was before possessed of every grace that
without a title! and when to my knowledge nature could bestow on her, and nobody is
you might have a man of quality to-morrow. so well qualified as your ladyship to give her
Har. Perhaps so. Your ladyship must ex- the bon ton.
cuse me, but many a man of quality would Har. Compliment and contempt all in a
breath!-My lord, I am obliged to you. But,
Lady F. Indeed, my dear, these antediluvian waving my acknowledgments, give me leave
notions will never do now-a-days; and at the to ask your lordship whether nature and the
same time too, those little wicked eyes of bon ton (as you call it) are so different, that
we must give up one in order to obtain the
make me miserable.
1) The nurses speak to children in this manner, and other?
this is the language used to ridicule persons who still
continue in leading-strings at a time when they are
too old for it.
Lord T. Totally opposite, madam. The
chief aim of the bon ton is to render persons

308
[ACT II.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
of family different from the vulgar, for whom perhaps, is gone to seek you at the Tower,
indeed nature serves very well. For this reason or Westminster Abbey, which is all the idea
it has, at various times, been ungenteel to he has of London; and your faithful lover is
see, to hear, to walk, to be in good health, probably cheapening a hunter, and drinking
and to have twenty other horrible perfections strong beer, at the Horse and Jockey in
of nature. 1) Nature indeed may do very well Smithfield.
sometimes. It made you, for instance, and it
then made something very lovely; and if you
would suffer us of quality to give you the
ton, you would be absolutely divine: but now
-me-madam-me-nature never made such
a thing as me.
Har. Why, indeed, I think your lordship
has very few obligations to her.
Lady F. The whole set admirably disposed of!
Har. Did not your lordship inform him
where I was?
Lord T. Not I, 'pon honour, madam; that
I left to their own ingenuity to discover.
Lady F. And pray, my lord, where in this
town have this polite company
company bestowed
themselves?act
Lord T. Then you really think it's all my Lord T. They lodge, madam, of all places
own? I declare now that is a mighty genteel in the world, at the Bull and Gate Inn, in
compliment: nay, if you begin to flatter already, Holborn.
you improve apace. 'Pon honour, lady Free- Lady F. Ha, ha, ha! The Bull and Gate!
love, I believe we shall make something of Incomparable! What, have they brought any
hay or cattle to town?
her at last.
Lord T. Hum! Why, ay-
Lady F. No doubt on't. It is in your Lord T. Very well, lady Freelove, very
lordship's power to make her a complete well indeed! There they are, like so many
woman of fashion at once.
graziers; and there it seems they have learned
that this lady is certainly in London.
Har. Your lordship must excuse me. I am Har. Do, dear madam, send a card directly
of a very tasteless disposition. I shall never to my father, informing him where I am, and
bear to be carried out of nature.
that your ladyship would be glad to see him
Lady F. You are out of nature now, Har- here. For my part I dare not venture into
riot! I am sure no woman but yourself ever his presence, till you have in some measure
objected to being carried among persons of pacified him; but for heaven's sake, desire
quality. Would you believe it, my lord! here him not to bring that wretched fellow along
has she been a whole week in town, and with him.
would never suffer me to introduce her to a
rout, an assembly, a concert, or even to court,
or the opera; nay, would hardly so much as
mix with a living soul that has visited me.
Lord T. Wretched fellow! Oho! Courage,
Milor Trinket!
[Aside.
Lady F. I'll send immediately. Who's there?
Re-enter Servant.
Lord T. No wonder, madam, you do not
adopt the manners of persons of fashion, when
you will not even honour them with your Beagle is below, madam.
company. Were you to make one in our
Serv. [Apart to Lady Freelove] Sir Harry
Sero. Yes, madam.
Lady F. [Apart to Servant] I am not at
little coteries, we should soon make you sick home. Have they let him in?
of the boors and bumkins of the horrid country.
By-the-by, I met a monster at the riding- Lady F. How abominably unlucky this is!
house this morning who gave me some intel-Well, then, show him into my dressing-
ligence, shat will surprise you, concerning room, I will come to him there. [Exit Servant.
your family.
Har. What intelligence?
Lord T. Lady Freelove! no engagement, I
hope? We won't part with you, 'pon honour.
Lady F. The worst engagement in the world.
A pair of musty old prudes! lady Formal and
miss Prate.
Lady F. Who was this monster, as your
lordship calls him? a curiosity, I dare say.
Lord T. This monster, madam, was formerly
my head groom, and had the care of all my Lord T. O the beldams! As nauseous as
running horses; but growing most abominably ipecacuanha, 'pon honour.
surly and extravagant, as you know all these Lady F. Lud, lud! what shall I do with
fellows do, I turned him off; and ever since them? Why do these foolish women come
my brother, Slouch Trinket, has had the care troubling me now? I must wait on them in
of my stud, rides all my principal matches the dressing-room, and you must excuse the
himself, and-
card, Harriot, till they are gone. I'll dispatch
Har. Dear, my lord, don't talk of your them as soon as I can, but heaven knows
groom and your brother, but tell me the when I shall get rid of them, for they are
Do you know any thing of my father? both everlasting gossips! though the words
Lord T. Your father, madam, is now in come from her ladyship one by one, like
town. This fellow, you must know, is now drops from a still, while the other tiresome
groom to sir Harry Beagle, your sweet rural woman overwhelms us with a flood of im-
swain, and informed me that his master and pertinence. Harriot, you'll entertain his lord-
your father were running all over the town ship till I return.
[Exit.
news.
in quest of you; and that he himself had Lord T. Gone!-'Pon honour, I am not
orders to inquire after you: for which reason, sorry for the coming in of these old tabbies,
I suppose, he came to the riding-house stables and am much obliged to her ladyship for
to look after a horse, thinking it, to be sure, leaving us such an agreeable tête-à-tête.
a very likely place to meet you. Your father,
1) Hlorrid, valgar, healthy red-cheeks, as was once said,
in company, of a beautiful young lady from the country.
Har. Your lordship will find me extremely
bad company.
Lord T. Not in the least, my dear! We'll

SCENE 3.]
309
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
entertain ourselves one way or other, I'll war- in search of whom I troubled your ladyship's
rant you.-'Egad, I think it a mighty good house.
opportunity to establish a better acquaintance
with you.
honour.
but
Lady F. Her lover, I suppose; or what?
Charles. At your ladyship's service; though
not quite so violent in my passion as his lord-
ship there.
Har. I don't understand you.
Lord T. No?-Why then I'll speak plainer.
[Pausing, and looking her full in the
Face] You are an amazing fine creature, 'pon
of amphoto
Har. If this be your lordship's polite con-
versation, I shall leave you to amuse yourself
in soliloquy.bae hy bad bad! [Going. Sir H. But, pray what is become of the lady
Lord T. No, no, no, madam, that must not all this while? Why, lady Freelove, you told
be. [Stopping her] This place, my passion, me she was not here; and i'faith, I was just
the opportunity, all conspire- fem la drawing off another way, if I had not heard
Lord T. Impertinent rascal!
Lady F. You shall be made to repent of
this insolence.
Lord T. Your ladyship may leave that to me.
Charles. Ha, ha!
Har. How, sir! you don't intend to do me the view-halloo.
any violence?
must excuse me.
Lord T. 'Pon honour, ma'am, it will be do-
ing great violence to myself, if I do not. You
[Struggling with her.
Har. Help! help! murder! help!
Lord T. Your yelpiug will signify nothing
-nobody will come.
[Struggling.
Har. For heaven's sake!-Sir!-My lord-
Lady F. You shall see her immediately, sir!
Who's there?
Enter Servant.
Where is miss Russet!
Serv. Gone out, madam.
Lady F. Gone out?-Where?
Serv. I don't know, madam: but she run
[Noise within. down the back stairs, crying for help, crossed
Lord T. Plague on't, what noise! Then I the servants' hall in tears, and took a chair
[Still struggling. at the door. 6ndiciban h
must be quick.
Har. Help! murder! help! help!
Enter CHARLES, hastily.
Lady F. Blockheads! to let her go out in a
chair alone!-Go and inquire after her imme-
diately.hurch
[Exit Servant.
Charles. What do I hear? My Harriot's Sir H. Gone!-When I had just run her
voice calling for help! Ha! [Seeing them] down, and is the little puss stole away at last?
Is it possible?-Turu, ruffian! I'll find you Lady F. Sir, if you will walk in, [To Sir
employment.
[Drawing Harry] with his lordship and me, perhaps
Lord T. You are a most impertinent scoundrel, you may hear some tidings of her; though it
and I'll whip you through the lungs, 'pon honour. is most probable she may be gone to her fa-
[They fight. Harriot runs out, scream- ther. I don't know any other friend she has
ing Help, etc.
Lady F. How's this?-Swords drawn in my
house!-Part them-[They are parted] This
is the most impudent thing-
in town.
-
Charles. I am heartily glad she is gone.
Re-enter LADY FREELOVE, with SIR IIARRY She is safer any where than in this house.
BEAGLE and Servants.
Lady F. Mighty well, sir! My lord, sir
Harry, I attend you.
xusu
Lord T. You shall hear from me, sir!
[To Charles.
Charles. Yery well, my lord.
Sir H. Stole away!-plague on't-stole away!
[Exeunt Sir Harry and Lord
Trinket.m
Lady F. Before I follow the company, give
me leave to tell you, sir, that your behaviour
here has been so extraordinary-
Lord T. Well, rascal, I shall find a time;
I know you, sir!
Charles. The sooner the better; I know
your lordship too.
Sir H. I'faith, madam, [To Lady Freelove]
we had like to have been in at the death. 1)
Lady F. What is all this? Pray, sir, what
is the meaning of your coming hither, to raise
this disturbance? Do you take my house for
a brothel ?
[To Charles.
Charles. Not I, indeed, madam; but I be-
lieve his lordship does.dou
Lord T. Impudent scoundrel!
Charles. My treatment here. madam, has
indeed been very extraordinary.
Lady F. Indeed!-Well, no matter-permit
me to acquaint you, sir, that there lies your
way out, and that the greatest favour you can
do me, is to leave the house immediately.
Lady F. Your conversation, sir, is as inso- Charles. That your ladyship may depend
lent as your behaviour. Who are you? What on. Since you have put miss Russet to flight,
brought you here?
you may be sure of not being troubled with
Charles. I am one, madam, always ready my company. I'll after her immediately.
to draw my sword in defence of innocence in Lady F. If she has any regard for her re-
distress, and more especially in the cause of putation, she'll never put herself into such
that lady I delivered from his lordship's fury; hands as yours.
1) A very honourable thing for a sportsman is, to be on Charles. O, madam, there can be no doubt
the spot-when hounds have caught the game, he then of her regard for that, by her leaving your
leaps from his horse, whips the dogs away, and seiz-ladyship.
ing the game holds it triumphantly over his head giv-
ing the death-halloo; and then he is entitled to the
brush, if a fox, antlers, if a stag, and one of the fore-
feet, if a kid for his reward. These honourable tokens
of prowess are to be seen in all the halls of the gen-
tlemen fox-hunters in the country, tending to bring
back many a moment of pleasure to the sportsman.
a
Lady F. Leave my house.
Charles. Directly-A charming house! and
charming lady of the house too!-Ha, ha, ha!
Lady F. Vulgar fellow!
Charles. Fine lady!
[Exeunt severally.

310
[ACT III.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
ACT, III.
O'Cut. Some advanced wages from my new
SCENE I.-LADY FREELOVE'S House. post, my lord! This pressing is hot work,
though it entitles us to smart) money.
Lady F. And pray in what perilous adven-
ture did you get that scar, captain?
Enter LADY FREELOVE and LORD TRINKET.
1
They made
Lord T. Doucement, doucement, my dear
lady Freelove!-Excuse me, I meant no harm, O'Cut. Quite out of my element, indeed,
'pon honour!
my lady. I got it in an engagement by land.
Lady F. Indeed, indeed, my lord Trinket, A day or two ago, I spied three stout fellows,
this is absolutely intolerable! What, to offer belonging to a merchantman.
rudeness to a young lady in my house! What down Wapping. I immediately gave my lads
will the world say of it?NAL
the signal to chase, and we bore down right
Lord T. Just what the world pleases. It upon them. They tacked, and lay to 2)-We
does not signify a doit what they say.-How-gave them a thundering broadside, which they
ever, I ask pardon; but, 'egad, I thought it resaved 3) like men; and one of them made
was the best way.
use of small arms, which carried off the we-
Lady F. For shame, for shame, my lord! I athermost 4) corner of Ned Gage's hat; so I
am quite hurt at your want of discretion; and immediately stood in with him, and raked 5)
as this is rather an ugly affair in regard to him, but resaved a wound on my starboard")
me as well as your lordship, and may make eye, from the stock of the pistol. However
some noise, I think it absolutely necessary, we took them all, and they now lie under the
merely to save appearances, that you should hatches, with fifty more, aboard a tender 7) off
wait on her father, palliate matters as well as the Tower.
you can, and make a formal repetition of your Lord T. Well done, noble captain!--But
proposal of marriage.
however you will soon have better employ-
ment, for I think the next step to your pre-
sent post, is commonly a ship.
Lord T. Your ladyship is perfectly in the
right. You are quite au fait of the affair. It
shall be done immediately, and then your re- O'Cut. The sooner the better, my lord!
putation will be safe, and my conduct justified Honest Terence O'Cutter shall never flinch, I
to all the world. But should the old rustic warrant you; and has had as much sea-sar-
continue as stubborn as his daughter, your vice as any man in the navy.
ladyship I hope has no objections to my be- Lord T. You may depend on my good of-
ing a little rusé, for I must have her, 'pon fices, captain! But, in the mean time, it is in
your power to do me a favour.
honour. A
Enter Servant.
Sero. Captain O'Cutter, to wait on
ladyship.
now.
your
O'Cut. A favour, my lord?-your lordship
does me honour. I would go round the world,
from one end to the other, by day or by night,
to sarve your lordship, or my good lady here.
Lady F. O the hideous fellow! The Irish Lord T. Dear madam, the luckiest thought
sailor-man, for whom I prevailed on your in nature! [Apart to Lady F.] The favour I
lordship to get the post of regulating captain. have to ask of you, captain, need not carry
I suppose he is come to load me with his you so far out of your way. The whole af-
odious thanks. I won't be troubled with him fair is, that there are a couple of impudent
fellows at an inn in Holborn, who have af-
Lord T. Let him in, by all means. He is fronted me, and you would oblige me infini-
the best creature to laugh at in nature. He tely, by pressing them into his majesty's service.
is a perfect seamonster, and always looks and Lady F. Now I understand-Admirable!
talks as if he was upon deck. Besides, a
thought strikes me-He may be of use.
O'Cut. With all my heart, my lord, and
Lady F. Well-send the creature up then. tank you too, 'fait. 8) But, by-the-by, I hope
[Exit Servant] But what fine thought is this? they are not house-keepers, or freemen of the
Lord T. A coup de maitre, 'pon honour! I city. There's the devil to
pay in meddling
intend-but, hush! here the porpus comes. with them. They boder) one so about li-
berty, and property, and stuff. It was but
t'other day, that Jack Trowser was carried
before my lord mayor, and lost above a twelve-
month's pay for nothing at all, at all.
Enter CAPTAIN O'CUTTER.
Lady F. Captain, your humble servant!
am very glad to see you.
I
O'Cut. I am much obliged to you, my lady!
Upon my conscience, the wind favours me at
all points. I had no sooner got under weigh, 1)
to tank your ladyship, but I have borne down
upon) my noble friend his lordship too. I
hope your lordship's well?
Lord T. Very well, I thank you, captain:-
But you seem to be hurt in the service: what
[Apart.
Lord T. I'll take care you shall be brought
into no trouble. These fellows were formerly
1) The smart is the money which is sometimes taken to
obtain the discharge of any one who has entered as a
sailor, or enlisted as a soldier.
2) Turned round and stood still. 3) Received.
4) Windward-side, that side of any thing from which
the wind comes. 5) I went up to him, and began
fighting. 6) Right eye.
is the meaning of that patch over your right) The tender is la vessel which receives the men who
eye?
1) Captain 'Cutler's mixture of Irish and sea terms is
laughable enough on the stage, because the actor must
not only speak Irish, but look Irish also, if he will
perform his part well. To get under weigh means,
to raise the anchor, set the sails; and when the wind
has filled them, the vessel moves on its way,
2) Sail towards.
have been pressed for the service, previous to their
being sent on board any of the king's ships wanting
hands; from here the parties can appeal to the magis-
trates for their release; and if they can prove they
do not come within the persons denominated by the
act, they are liberated, and the press-gang punished.
8) And thank you too in faith.
9) Bother, Irish for trouble.

SCENE 1.]
311
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
my grooms. If you'll call on me in the mor- me, and gain intelligence, aud so forward the
ning, I'll go with you to the place.
match; but I'll forbid the banus, I warrant you.
O'Cut. I'll be with your lordship, and bring-Whatever she wants, I'll draw some sweet
with me four or five as pretty boys as you'll mischief out of it.-But away! away!--I think
wish to clap your two good looking eyes upon I hear her-slip down the back stairs-or-
of a summer's day.
जीनरी stay, now I think on't, go out this way-meet
Lord T. I am much obliged to you- But, her-and be sure to make her a very respect-
captain, I have another little favour to beg of ful bow, as you go out.
you.
O'Cut. Upon my shoul I'll do it.
Lord T. What, before you know it?
O'Cut. Fore and aft, my lord!
Lord T. A gentleman has offended me in a
point of honour-
O'Cut. Cut his troat!
Lord T. Will you carry him a letter from
me? bed equs or ruk tamod in toll
O'Cut. Indeed and I will:-and I'll take you
in tow¹) too; and you shall engage him yard-
arm and yard-arm. 2)
Lord T. Hush! here she is!
Enter MRS. OAKLY.
[Lord Trinket bows, and exit.
Mrs. O. I beg pardon, for giving your la-
dyship this trouble.
Lady F. I am always glad of the honour of
seeing Mrs. Oakly.
Mrs. O. There is a letter, madam, just come
from the country, which has occasioned some
alarm in our family. It comes from Mr. Russet-
Lady F. Mr. Russet!
is
Lord T. VVhy then, captain, you'll come a Mrs. O. Yes, from Mr. Russet, madam; and
little earlier to-morrow morning than you pro- chiefly concerning his daughter. As she has
posed, that you may attend him with my bil- the honour of being related to your ladyship,
let, before you proceed on the other affair. I took the liberty of waiting on you.
O'Cut. Never fear it, my lord - Your sar- Lady F. She is indeed, as you say, madam,
vant!-My ladyship, your humble sarvant! a relation of mine; but, after what has hap-
Lady F. Captain, yours-Pray give my ser-pened, I scarce know how to acknowledge her.
vice to my friend Mrs. O'Cutter. How does Mrs. O. Has she been so much to blame then?
she do?
Lady F. So much, madam!-Only judge for
O'Cut. I tank your ladyship's axing-The yourself. Though she had been so indiscreet,
dear creature is purely tight and well. not to say indecent in her conduct, as to elope
Lord T. How many children have you, from her father, I was in hopes to have hushed
captain?
up that matter, for the honour of our family.
-But she has run away from me too, ma-
dam:-went off in the most abrupt manner,
not an hour ago.
O'Cut. Four, and please your lordship, and
another upon the stocks.
Lord T. When it is launched, I hope to be
at the christening.-I'll stand godfather, captain. Mrs. O. You surprise me. Indeed, her father,
O'Cut. Your lordship's very good.
by his letter, seems apprehensive of the worst
Lord T. Well, you'll come to-morrow. consequences.-But does your ladyship ima-
O'Cut. Ay, my lord, and every day next week. gine any harm has happened?
-Little Terence O'Cutter never fails, fait, when Lady F. I can't tell I hope not-But in-
a troat is to be cut.
[Exit. deed she's a strange girl. You know, madam,
Lady F. Ha, ha, ha! But, sure you don't young women can't be too cautious in their
intend to ship off both her father and her conduct. She is, I am sorry to declare it, a
country lover for the Indies?
very dangerous person to take into a family.
Mrs. O. Indeed!
Lord T. O no! Only let them contemplate
the inside of a ship, for a day or two.
Lady F. Well, my lord, what use do you
propose to make of this stratagem?
Lord T. Every use in nature. This artifice
must, at least, take them out of the way for
some time; and in the mean while measures
may be concerted to carry off the girl.
Re-enter Servant.
Sero. Mrs. Oakly, madam, is at the door,
in her chariot, and desires to have the honour
of speaking to your ladyship on particular
business.
Lord T. Mrs. Oakly! what can that jealous-
pated woman want with
you?
Lady F. No matter what.-I hate her mor-
tally. Let her in.
[Exit Servant.
Lord T. What wind blows her hither?
Lady F. A wind that must blow us some good.
Lord T. How?-I was amazed you chose
to see her.
[Alarmed.
Lady F. If I was to say all I know-
Mrs. O. Why sure your ladyship knows of
nothing that has been carried on clandestinely
between her and Mr. Oakly? [In disorder.
Lady F. Mr. Oakly!
Mrs. O. Mr. Oakly-no, not Mr. Oakly-
that is, not my husband-I don't mean him-
not him-but his nephew-young Mr. Oakly.
Lady F. Jealous of her husband! So, so!
now I know my game.
[Aside.
Mrs. O. But pray, madam, give me leave to
ask, was there any thing very particular in her
conduct while she was in your ladyship's house?
Lady F. Why really, considering she was
here scarce a week, her behaviour was rather
mysterious;-letters and messages, to and fro,
between her and I don't know who.-I sup-
pose you know that Mr. Oakly's nephew has
been here, madam?
Mrs. O. I was not sure of it. Has he been
to wait on your ladyship already on this oc-
Lady F. How can you be so slow cf ap-casion?
prehension? She comes, you may be sure, Lady F. To wait on me!-The expression
on some occasion relating to this girl: in or- is much too polite for the nature of his visit.
der to assist young Qakly, perhaps, to sooth-My lord Trinket, the nobleman whom you
1) Conduct, defend, 2) Closely.
met as you came in, had, you must know,

312
[ACT III.
THE JEALOUS. WIFE.
madam, some thoughts of my niece, and, as
it would have been an advantageous match, I
was glad of it: but I believe, after what he
has been witness to this morning, he will drop
all thoughts of it.
Mrs. O. I am sorry that any relation of
mine should so far forget himself-
Lord T. Ha, ha, ha!- My dear lady Free-
love, you have a deal of ingenuity, a deal of
esprit, 'pon honour.
Lady F. A little shell 1) thrown into the
enemy's works, that's all.
Both. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
[Exeunt.
Lady F. But I must leave you-I have twenty
Lady F. It's no matter his hehaviour indeed, visits to pay. You'll let me know how you
as well as the young lady's, was pretty extra-succeed in your secret expedition.
ordinary-and yet, after all, I don't believe he Lord T. That you may depend on.
is the object of her affections.
Lady F. Remember then that to-morrow
Mrs. O. Ha!
[Much alarmed. morning I expect to see you. At present, your
Lady F. She has certainly an attachment lordship will excuse me.
somewhere, a strong one; but his lordship, SCENE II.-MR. OAKLY'S House.
who was present all the time, was convinced,
as well as myself, that Mr. Oakly's nephew
was rather a convenient friend, a kind of go-
between, than the lover.-Bless, me, madam,
you change colour!-you seem uneasy! What's
the matter?
Enter HARRIOT, following WILLIAM.
Har. Not at home! Are you sure that Mrs.
Oakly is not at home, sir?bbyLawn
Wil. She is just gone out, madam.
Har. I have something of consequence-If
you will give me leave, sir, I will wait till
she returus.
she returus.If on
Wil. You would not see her, if you did,
His unpar-madam. She has given positive orders not to
donable rudeness-But I am not well-I am be interrupted with any company to-day.
sorry I have given your ladyship so much Har. Sure, sir, if you was to let her know
trouble-I'll take my leave.
that I had particular business
Mrs. O. Nothing-madam-nothing-a little
shocked, that my husband should behave so.
Lady F. Your husband, madam!
Mrs. O. His nephew, I mean.
Lady F. I declare, madam, you frighten me.
Your being so visibly affected makes me quite
uneasy. I hope I have not said any thing-
I really don't believe your husband is in fault. I
Men, to be sure, allow themselves strange li-
berties-But I think, nay, I am sure, it can-
not be so-It is impossible! Don't let what I
have said have any effect on you.
Wil. I should not dare to trouble her, in-
deed, madam.
Har. How unfortunate this is! What can
do?-Pray, sir, can I see Mr. Oakly then?
Wil. Yes, madam: I'll acquaint my master,
if you please.
Har. Pray do, sir.
Wil. Will you favour me with your name,
madam?
Har. Be pleased, sir, to let him know that
lady desires to speak with him.
Wil. I shall, madam.
Mrs. O. No, it has not-I have no idea of
such a thing. Your ladyship's most obedient
[Going, returns] But sure, madam, you a
have not heard-or don't know any thing-
[Exit.
Lady F. Come, come, Mrs. Oakly, I see
Har. I wish I could have seen Mrs. Oakly.
how it is, and it would not be kind to say What an unhappy situation am I reduced to
all I know. I dare not tell you what I have by my father's obstinate perseverance to force
heard. Only be on your guard-there can me into a marriage which my soul abhors.
be no harm in that. Do you be against giv-
ing the girl any countenance, and see what
effect it has.
Mrs. O. I will-I am much obliged - But
does it appear to your ladyship then that Mr.
Oakly-
Enter OAKLY.
Oak. [At entering] Where is this lady?
[Seeing her]-Bless me, miss Russet, is it
you?-Was ever any thing so unlucky? [Asi
de] Is it possible, madam, that I see you here?
Lady F. No, not at all-nothing in't, I dare Har. It is too true, sir; and the occasion
say--I would not create uneasiness in a fa- on which I am now to trouble you, is so
mily-but I am a woman myself, have been much in need of an apology, that-
married, and can't help feeling for you.-But Oak. Pray make none, madam.-If my wife
don't be uneasy; there's nothing in't, I dare say. should return before I get her out of the house
Mrs. O. I think so.-Your ladyship's humble again!
[Aside.
Har. I dare say, sir, you are not quite a
Lady F. Your servant, madam.-Pray don't stranger to the attachment your nephew has
be alarmed; I must insist on your not making professed to me.
yourself uneasy.
servant.
Mrs. O. Not at all alarmed-not in ihe least
uneasy-Your most obedient.
Exit
Lady F. Ha, ha, ha! There she goes, brim-
ful of anger and jealousy, to vent it all on her
husband.-Mercy on the poor man!
Re-enter LORD TRINKET.
Bless me, my lord, I thought you was gone!
Lord T. Only into the next room. My cu-
riosity would not let me stir a step further.
I heard it all, and was never more diverted
in
my life, 'pon honour. Ha, ha, ha!
Lady F. How the silly creature took it.-Ha,
ha, ha!
Oak. I am not, madam.-I hope Charles
has not been guilty of any baseness towards
you. If he has, I'll never see his face again.
Har. I have no cause to accuse him.-But-
Oak. But what, madam? Pray be quick!-
The very person
very person in the world I would not
have seen!
[Aside.
Har. You seem uneasy, sir!
Oak. No, nothing at all-Pray go on, madam.
Har. I am at present, sir, through a con-
currence of strange accidents, in a very un-
fortunate situation, and do not know what
will become of me without your assistance.
1) A bombshell.

SCENE 2.]
313
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
[Aside.
Oak. I'll do every thing in my power to Mrs. O. My dear madam!-Mighty well!-
serve you. I know of your leaving your fa-
ther, by a letter we have had from him. Pray
Oak. Hush!-hark!-what noise?-no-no-
let me know the rest of your story.
thing. But I'll be plain with you, madam;
Har. My story, sir, is very short. When we may be interrupted. The family conside-
I left my father's, I came immediately to Lon- ration I hinted at is nothing else than my wife.
don, and took refuge with a relation; where, She is a little unhappy in her temper, madam;
instead of meeting with the protection I ex--and if you were to be admitted into the
pected, I was alarmed with the most infamous house, I don't know what would be the con-
designs upon my honour. It is not an hour sequence.
ago since your nephew rescued me from the
attempts of a villain. I tremble to think that
I left him actually engaged in a duel.
[Aside.
Mrs. O. Very fine!
Har. My behaviour, sir!-
Oak. My dear life, it would be impossible
Oak. He is very safe. He has just sent home for you to behave in such a manner as not
the chariot from the St. Albans tavern, where to give her suspicion.
he dines today.-But what are your commands
for me, madam?
Har. The favour, sir, I would now request
of you is, that you would suffer me to re-
main, for a few days, in your house.
Oak. Madam!
Har. And that, in the mean time, you will
use your utmost endeavours to reconcile me
to my father, without his forcing me into a
marriage with sir Harry Beagle.
Har. But if your nephew, sir, took every
thing upon himself-
Oak. Still that would not do, madam.-
Why, this very morning, when the letter came
from your father, though I positively denied
any knowledge of it, and Charles owned it,
yet it was almost impossible to pacify her.
Har. What shall I do?-What will become
of me?
Oak. Why lookye, my dear madam, since
Oak. This is the most perplexing situation! my wife is so strong an objection, it is abso-
-Why did not Charles take care to bestow lutely impossible for me to take you into the
you properly?
house. Nay, if I had not known she was gone
Har. It is most probable, sir, that I should out, just before you came, I should be uneasy
not have consented to such a measure myself. at your being here, even now. So we must
The world is but too apt to censure, even manage as well as we can.-I'll take a private
without a cause: and if you are so kind as lodging for you a little way off, unknown to
to admit me into your house, I must desire
not to consider Mr. Oakly in any other light
than as your nephew.
Oak. What an unlucky circumstance!-
Upon my soul, madam, I would do any thing
to serve you-but being in my house creates
a difficulty that-
Har. I hope, sir, you do not doubt the truth
of what I have told you?
Oak. I religiously believe every tittle of it,
madam; but I have particular family conside-
rations, that-
Har. Sure, sir, you cannot suspect me to be
base enough to form any connexions in your
family contrary to your inclinations, while I
am living in your house!
Oak. Such connexions, madam, would do
me and all my family great honour. I never
dreamt of any scruples on that account.
What can I do?-Let me see-let me see-
suppose-
[Pausing.
Enter MRS. OAKLY behind, in a Capuchin,
Tippet, etc.
Mrs. O. I am sure I heard the voice of a
woman, conversing with my husband-Ha!
[Seeing Harriot] It is so indeed! Let me
contain myself-I'll listen.
[Aside.
Har. I see, sir, you are not inclined to serve
me-good heaven! what am I reserved to?
-Why, why did I leave my father's house,
to expose myself to greater distresses?
[Ready to weep.
Charles, or my wife, or any body; and if Mrs.
Oakly should discover it at last, why the whole
matter will light upon Charles, you know.
Mrs. O. Upon Charles!
Har. How unhappy is my situation! [Weep-
ing] I am ruined for ever.
Oak. Ruined! Not at all. Such a thing as
this has happened to many a young lady be-
fore you, and all has been well again-Keep
up your spirits! I'll contrive, if I possibly can,
to visit you every day.
Mrs. O. [Advances] Will you so? O, Mr.
Oakly! have I discovered you at last? I'll visit
you, indeed! And you, my dear madam, I'll-
Har. Madam, I don't understand-
Mrs. O. I understand the whole affair, and
have understood it for some time past. - You
shall have a private lodging, miss!-It is the
fittest place for you, I believe.-How dare you
look me in the face?
Oak. For heaven's sake, my love, don't be
so violent. You are quite wrong in this af-
fair-you don't know who you are a talking
to. This lady is a person of fashion.
Mrs. O. Fine fashion indeed! to seduce other
women's husbands!
Har. Dear madam, how can you imagine-
Oak. I tell you, my dear, this is the young
lady that Charles-
Mrs. O. Mighty well! but that won't do, sir!
Did not I hear you lay the whole intrigue
together? Did not I hear your fine plot of
throwing all the blame upon Charles?
Oak. I would do any thing for your sake, Oak. Nay, be cool a moment. You must
indeed I would. So pray be comforted, and know, my dear, that the letter which came
I'll think of some proper place to bestow you in. this morning related to this lady--
Mrs. O. So! so!
[Aside.
Har. What place can be so proper as your
own house?
Oak. My dear madam, I-I-
Mrs. O. I know it.
Oak. And since that, it seems, Charles has
been so fortunate as to-
Mrs. O. O, you deceitful man!-That trick
40

314
LACT III.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Mrs. O. Did not I hear you say, you would
is too stale to pass again with me.-It is plain | Oak. Upon my soul, she has not been in
now what you meant by your proposing to my house above-
take her into the house this morning. But
the gentlewoman could introduce herself, I see. take her a lodging, a private lodging?
Oak. Fie! fie! my dear, she came on pur-
pose to inquire for you.
Mrs. O. For me!-better and better!--Did
not she watch her opportunity, and come to
you just as I went out? But I am obliged
to you for your visit, madam. It is sufficiently
paid. Pray, don't let me detain you.
Oak. For shame! for shame! Mrs. Oakly!
How can you be so absurd? Is this proper
behaviour to a lady of her character?
Mrs. O. I have heard her character. Go, my
fine, runaway madam! Now you have eloped
from your family, and run away from your
aunt! Go!-You shan't stay here, I promise you.
Oak. Pr'ythee, be quiet. You don't know
what you are doing. She shall stay.
Mrs. O. She shan't stay a minute.
Oak. She shall stay a minute, an hour, a
day, a week, a month, a year!-'Sdeath, ma-
dam, she shall stay for ever, if I choose it.
Mrs. O. How!
Har. For heaven's sake, sir, let me go.
am frightened to death.
I
Oak. Don't be afraid, madam!-She shall
stay, I insist upon it.
Rus. [Within] 1 tell you, sir, I will go up.
I am sure the lady is here, and nothing shall
hinder me.
Har. O, my father! my father! [Faints.
Oak. See! she faints. [Catches her] Ring
the bell! Who's there?
Mrs. O. What! take her into your arms
too!-I have no patience.
Enter RUSSET.
Oak. Yes, but that-
Rus. Has not this affair been carried on a
long time in spite of my teeth?
Oak. Sir, I never troubled myself-
Mrs. O. Never troubled yourself! Did not
you insist on her staying in the house, whether
I would or no?
Oak. No.
Rus. Did not you send to meet her, when
she came to town?
Oak. No.
Mrs. O. Did not you deceive me about the
letter this morning?"
Oak. No-no-no-I tell you, no.
Mrs. O. Yes-yes-yes-I tell you, yes.
Rus. Shan't I believe my own eyes?
Mrs. O. Shan't I helieve my own ears?
Oak. I tell you you are both deceived.
Rus. Zounds, sir, I'll have satisfaction.
Mrs. O. I'll stop these fine doings, I war-
rant you.
Oak. 'Sdeath, you will not let me speak-
and you are both alike, I think.-I wish you
were married to one another with all my heart.
Mrs. O. Mighty well! mighty well!
Rus. I shall soon find a time to talk with
you.
Oak. Find a time to talk! you have talked
enough now for all your lives.
Mrs. O. Very fine! Come along, sir! Leave
that lady with her father. Now she is in the
properest hands.
[Exit.
Oak. I wish I could leave you in his hands,
[Going, returns] One word with you, sir!
-The height of your passion, and Mrs. Oakly's
Rus. Where is this-ha! fainting! [Runs strange misapprehension of this whole affair,
to her] O, my dear Harriot! my child! my makes it impossible to explain matters to you
at present. I will do it when you please,
and how you please.
child!
Oak. Your coming so abruptly shocked her
spirits. But she revives. How do you do,
madam?
Har. [To Russet] O, sir!
Rus. O, my dear girl! how could you run
away from your father, that loves you with
such fondness?-But I was sure I should find
you here-
Rus. Yes, yes; I'll have satisfaction.-So,
madam! I have found you at last.-You have
made a fine confusion here.
Har. I have indeed been the innocent cause
of a great deal of confusion.
Rus. Innocent!-What business had you
to be running hither after-
Mrs. O. There-there!-sure he should find Har. My dear sir, you misunderstand the
her here! Did I not tell you so?-Are not whole affair. I have not been in this house
you a wicked man, to carry on such base half an hour.
underhand doings, with a gentleman's daughter? Rus. Zounds, girl, don't put me in a pas-
Rus. Let me tell you, sir, whatever you sion!-You know I love you-but a lie puts
may think of the matter, I shall not easily me in a passion. But come along-we'll leave
put up with this behaviour.-How durst you this house directly. [Charles sings without.]
encourage my daughter to an elopement, and -Hey-day? what now?
receive her in your house?
Mrs. O. There, mind that!-The thing is as After a Noise without, enter CHARLES, drunk.
plain as the light.
Oak. I tell you, you misunderstand-
Rus. Look you, Mr. Oakly, I shall expect
satisfaction from your family for so gross an
affront.-Zounds, sir, I am not to be used ill
by any man in England.
Har. My dear sir, I can assure you-
Rus. Hold your tongue, girl! You'll put
me in a passion.
Oak. Sir, this is all a mistake.
Charles. [Sings] But my wine neither nur-
ses nor babies can bring,
And a big-bellied bottle's a mighty good thing.
What's here? a woman? Harriot! impossible!
My dearest, sweetest Harriot! I have been
looking all over the town for you, and at
last-when I was tired-and weary-and dis-
appointed-why then the honest major and I
sat down together to drink your health in
[Runing to her.
Rus. A mistake! Did not I find her in pint bumpers.
your house?
Rus. Stand off!-How dare you take any liber-

ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
315
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
ty with my daughter before me? Zounds, sir, O'Cut. Avast, avast, my dear!--I have a
I'll be the death of you.
little business with your name; but as I was
Charles. Ha! 'Squire Russet too!-You jol- to let nobody know it, I can't mention it till
ly old cock, how do you do?-But, Harriot! you clear the decks, fait.
my dear girl; [Taking hold of her] My life,
my soul, my-
der.
[Pointing to the Major.
Charles. This gentleman, sir, is my most
Rus. Let her go, sir-come away, Harriot! intimate friend, and any thing that concerns
-Leave him this instant, or I'll tear you asun- me may be mentioned before him.
[Pulling her. O'Cut. O, if he's your friend, my dear, we
Har. There needs no violence to tear me may do all above board. It's only about your
from a
man who could disguise himself in deciding a deferance with my lord Trinket.
such a gross manner, at a time when he knew He wants to show you a little warm work;
I was in the utmost distress.
and, as I was steering this way, he desired me
[Disengages herself, and exit with Russet. to fetch you this letter. [Gives a Letter.
Charles. Only hear me, sir-madam!-my Maj. O. How, sir, a challenge!
dear Harriot-Mr. Russet-gone!--she's gone! O'Cut. Yes, fait, a challenge. I am to be
-and, 'egad, in very ill humour, and in very his lordship's second; and if you are fond of
bad company!-I'll go after her-but hold!-a hot birth, and will come along with that
I shall only make it worse-as I did-now I jontleman, we'll all go to it together, and
recollect-once before. How the devil came make a little line of battle a-head of our own,
they here?-Who would have thought of my dear.
finding her in my own house ?-My head turns
round with conjectures.-I believe I am drunk
-very drunk-so, 'egad, I'll e'en go and sleep
myself sober, and then inquire the meaning
of all this. For.
I love Sue, and Sue loves me, etc.
[Exit, singing.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-OAKLY'S House.
Enter CHARLES and MAJOR OAKLY.
Charles. [Reads] Ha! what's this? This
may be useful.
[Aside.
Maj. O. Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you.-
A rare fellow this! [Aside] Yes, yes, I'll meet
all the good company. I'll be there in my
waistcoat and pumps, and take a morning's
breathing with you. Are you very fond of
fighting, sir?
O'Cut. Indeed, and I am; I love it better
than grog.
Maj. O. But pray, sir, how are you inter-
ested in this difference? Do you know what
Maj. O. Poor Charles! What a scene of it is about?
confusion! I would give the world to have
been there.
Charles. And I would give the world to
have been any where else.--May wine be my
poison, if ever I am drunk again!
Maj. O. Ay, ay, so every man says the next
morning.
Charles. Where, where can she be? Her
father would hardly carry her back to lady
Freelove's, and he has no house in town
himself, nor sir Harry-I don't know what to
think I'll go in search of her, though I don't
know where to direct myself.
Enter WILLIAM.
O'Cut. O, the devil burn me, not I. What
signifies what it's about, you know? so we
do but tilt a little.
Maj. O. What, fight, and not know for what?
O'Cut. When the signal's out for engaging,
what signifies talking?
Maj. O. I fancy, sir, a duel's a common
breakfast with you. I'll warrant now, you
have been engaged in many such affairs.
O'Cut. Upon my shoul, and I have: sea or
land, it's all one to little Terence O'Cutter.-
When I was last in Dublin, I fought one
jontleman for cheating me out of a tousand
pounds; I fought two of the Mermaid's crew
about Sally Macguire; tree about politics; and
one about the playhouse in Smock Alley. But
upon my fait, since I am in England, I have
bo-done noting at all, at all.
Wil. A gentleman, sir, that calls himself
captain O'Cutter, desires to speak with you.
Charles. Don't trouble me-I'll see no
dy-I'm not at home-
Wil. The gentleman says he has very
ticular business, and he must see you.
Charles. What's his name? Who did you
say?
Wil. Captain O'Cutter, sir.
Charles. This is lucky-but my transport
par-will discover me. [Aside] -Will you be so
kind, sir, [To O'Cutter] as to make my com-
pliments to his lordship, and assure him, that
I shall do myself the honour of waiting on
him.
Charles. Captain O'Cutter! I never heard
of him before. Do you know any thing of
him, major?
O'Cut. Indeed, and I will.-Arrah, my dear,
won't you come too? [To Major Oakly.
Maj. O. Depend upon it, captain.-A very
[Aside.
Maj. O. Not I-But you hear he has par- extraordinary fellow!
ticular business. I'll leave the room.
Charles. Now to get my intelligence. [Aside]
Charles. He can have no business that need-I think, the time, sir, his lordship appoints
be a secret to you.-Desire the captain to in his letter, is-a-
walk up.
of
[Exit William.
Enter CAPTAIN O'CUTTER.
O'Cut. Jontlemen, your sarvant. Is either
your names Charles Oakly, esq.?
Charles. Charles Oakly, sir, is my name,
if you have any business with it.
O'Cut. You say right-Six o'clock.
Charles. And the place-a-a-is-I think,
behind Montague House?
O'Cut. No, my dear!-Avast, by the ring
in Hydepark, 'fait-I settled it there myself,
for fare of interruption.
Charles. True, as you say, the ring in

316
[ACT IV.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Hyde-park-I had forgot-Very well, I'll not for me, perhaps !-What a strange world we
fail you, sir.
live in! No two people in it love one another
O'Cut. Devil burn me, nor I. Upon my better than my brother and sister, and yet
shoul, little Terence O'Cutter will see fair play, the bitterest enemies could not torment each
or he'll know the reason-And so, my dear, other more heartily. However, yesterday, to
your sarvant.-You'll not forget to come, my give him his due, he behaved like a man,
dear?
[Exit. Keep it up, brother! keep it up! or it's all
Maj. O. Ha, ha, ha! What a fellow!-He over with you. Since mischief is on foot,
loves fighting like a game cock.
Charles. O uncle! the luckiest thing in the
world!
Maj. O. What, to have the chance of being
run through the body? I desire no such good
I'll even set forwards on all sides, I'll in
to him directly, read him one of my mor-
ning lectures, and persuade him, if I pos-
sibly can, to go out with me immediately: or
work him to some open act of rebellion against
fortune.
the sovereign authority of his lady wife. Zounds,
Charles. Wish me joy, wish me joy! I brother! rant, and roar, and rave, and turn
have found her, my dear girl, my Harriot!-the house out of the window. If I was a
She is at an inn in Holborn, major!
husband!-'Sdeath, what a pity it is that nobody
Maj. O. Ay! how do you know?
knows how to manage a wife but a bachelor,
Charles. Why, this dear, delightful, charm-
ing, blundering captain has delivered me a
wrong letter.
Maj. C. A wrong letter!
Charles. Yes, a letter from lord Trinket to
lady Freelove.
[Exit
SCENE II. The Bull and Gate Inn.
-
Enter HARRIOT.
Har. What will become of me? Among
all my distresses, I must confess that Charles's
Maj. O. The devil! What are the contents? behaviour yesterday is not the least. So wild!
Charles. The news I told you just now, so given up to excesses! And yet I am
that she's at an inn in Holborn: and, besides, ashamed to own it even to myself-I love him:
an excuse from my lord, for not waiting on and death itself shall not prevail on me to
her ladyship this morning according to his give my hand to sir Harry-But here he co-
promise, as he shall be entirely taken up with mes! What shall I do with him?
his design upon Harriot.
Maj. O. So! so!-A plot between the lord
and the lady.
Charles. There! read, read, man!
[Giving the Letter.
Maj. O. [Reading] Um-um-um-Very
fine! And what do you propose doing?
Charles. To go thither immediately.
Maj. O. Then you shall take me with you.
Who knows what his lordship's designs may
be? I begin to suspect foul play.
Charles. No, no; pray mind your own
business. If I find there is any need of your
assistance, I'll send for you.
Enter SIR HARRY BEAGLE.
Sir H. Your servant, miss!-What! Not
speak!-Bashful, mayhap-Why then I will
-Lookye, miss, I am a man of few words-
What signifies haggling? It looks just like a
dealer. What d'ye think of me for a hus-
band? I am a tight young fellow-sound
wind and limb-free from all natural blemishes
-Rum ¹) all over, damme.
Har. Sir, I don't understand you, Speak
English, and I'll give you an answer.
Sir H. English! Why so I do-and good
plain English too. What d'ye think of
me for a husband? That's English-e'nt it?
Maj. O. You'll manage this affair like a boy,-I know none of your French lingo, none
now-Go on rashly with noise and bustle, of your parlyvoos, not I.-What d'ye think
and fury, and get yourself into another scrape. of me for a husband? The squire says you
Charles. No-no-Let me alone; I'll go shall marry me.
incog.-Leave my chariot at some distance- Har. What shall I say to him? I had best
Proceed prudently, and take care of myself, be civil. [Aside]-I think, sir, you deserve
I warrant you.
I did not imagine that I a much better wife, and beg-
should ever rejoice at receiving a challenge, Sir H. Better! No, no,-though you're so
but this is the most fortunate accident that knowing, I'm not to be taken in so.-You're
could possibly have happened. B'ye, b'ye, uncle! a fine thing-Your points are all good2).
[Exit, hastily. Har, Sir Harry! Sincerity is above all ce-
Maj. O. I don't half approve of this-and remony. Excuse me, if I declare I never will
yet I can hardly suspect his lordship of any be your wife.
very deep designs neither.-Charles may eas-
ily outwit him-Harkye, Willliam!
[At seeing William at some distance.
Re-enter WILLIAM.
Wil. Sir!
Maj. O. VVhere's my
Wil. In his study. sir.
Maj. O. Is he alone?
Wil. Yes, sir.
brother?
Maj. O. And how is he, William?
Wil. Pretty well, I believe, sir.
Maj. O. Ay, ay, but is he in good humour, or-
Wil. I never meddle in family affairs, not
I, sir.
[Exit.
Maj. O. Well said, William!-No bad hint
Sir H. Hey! how! what! be off!-Why,
it's a match, miss!-It's done and done on
both sides 3).
Har. For heaven's sake, sir, withdraw your
claim to me.-I never can be prevailed on-
indeed I can't-
Sir H. What, make a match and then draw
stakes! That's doing of nothing-Play or pay
all the world over.
Har. I am determined not to marry you,
at all events.
1) Good.
2) Expressions in speaking of a horse.
3) In making a bargain, or betting a wager, on the turf,
it is customary to shake hands and say done.

SCENE 2.]
317
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Sir H. But your father's determined you You know your poor fond father dotes on
shall, miss-So the odds are on my side. you to madness.-I would not force you, if
I am not quite sure of my horse, but I have I did not love you-Don't I want you to be
the rider hollow ¹)
happy?-But I know what you would have.
Har. Your horse! sir-d'ye take me for-You want young Oakly, a rakehelly, drunken-
but I forgive you.-I beseech you, come into
my proposal. It will be better for us both in
the end.
Sir H. I can't be off 2).
Har, Let me entreat you.
Sir H. I tell you, it's impossible.
Har. Pray, pray do, sir.
Sir H. I can't, damme.
Har. I beseech you. [Sir Harry whistles]
How! laughed at?
Har. Peace, wretch!- Do you talk to me
Har, Release me from sir Harry, and if I
ever marry against your consent, renounce
me for ever.
Rus. I will renounce you, unless you'll have
sir Harry.
Har. Consider, my dear sir, you'll make me
miserable.-Absolve me from this hard com-
mand, and in every thing else it will be hap-
piness to obey you,
Rus. You'll break my heart, Harriot, you'll
Sir H. Will you marry me, dear Ally, break my heart-Make you miserable!-Don't
Ally Croker?
[Singing. I want to make you happy? Is not he the
Har. Marry you! I had rather be married richest man in the county?-That will make
to a slave, a wretch-You! [Walks about. you happy. Don't all the pale-faced girls in
Sir H. A fine going thing-She has a deal the country long to get him?-And yet you
of foot 3)-treads well upon her pasterns-are so perverse, and wayward, and stubborn
goes above her ground-
Zounds, you shall have him.
Har, For heaven's sake, sir-
Rus. Hold your tongue, Harriot!-I'll hear
Sir H. Horse! Why not speak of my horse? none of your nonsense.-You shall have him,
If your fine ladies had half as many good I tell you, you shall have him-He shall marry
qualities, they would be much better bargains. you this very night-I'll go for a licence and
Har. And if their wretches of husbands a parson immediately. Zounds! Why do I
liked them half so well as they do their horses, stand arguing with you? An't I your father?
they would lead better lives.
Have not I a right to dispose of you? You
Sir H. Mayhap so.-But what signifies talk-shall have him.
ing to you?-The squire shall know your tricks Har. Sir!-
as if I were your horse?
Har. Sir!-Hear me !-but one word?-He
- He'll doctor you.-I'll go and talk to him. Rus. I won't hear a word, You shall have
Har. Go any where, so that you go from me. him.
[Exit.
Sir H. He'll break you in-If you won't go
in a snaffle, you must be put in a curb-will not hear me, and is gone to prepare for
He'll break you, damme.
[Exit. this odious marriage. I will die before I con-
Har. A wretch!-But I was to blame to sent to it.
suffer his brutal behaviour to ruffle my temper
-I could expect nothing else from him, and
he is below my anger.
Enter RUSSET.
Enter CHARLES, in a Frock, etc.
Ha! What do I see?
[Screaming.
Charles. Peace, my love!-My dear life,
make no noise! I have been hovering about
Rus. Are not you a sad girl! a perverse, the house this hour-I just now saw your father
stubborn, obstinate-
Har. My dear sir-
and sir Harry go out, and have seized this pre-
cious opportunity to throw myself at your feet.
Rus. Lookye, Harriot, don't speak, you'll Har. You have given yourself, sir, a great
put me in a passion-Will you have him?- deal of needless trouble. I did not expect or
Answer me that-Why don't the girl speak? hope for the favour of such a visit.
Will you have him?
Har. Dearest sir, there is nothing in the
world else-
Rus. Why there!-there!-Lookye there!
-Zounds, you shall have him-Hussy, you shall
have him-you shall marry him to-night-Did
not you promise to receive him civilly?-How
came you to affront him
Charles. O, my Harriot, upbraid me, re-
proach me, do any thing but look and talk
with that air of coldness and indifference. Let
me, while their absence allows it, convey you
from the brutal violence of a constrained mar-
riage.
Har. No, I will wait the event, be it what
it may;-Oh, Charles, I am too much inclined
Har. Sir, I did receive him very civilly; they shan't force me to marry sir Harry-
but his behaviour was so insolent and insup- but your behaviour - Not half an hour ago,
portable-
my father reproached me with the looseness
Rus. Insolent!-Zounds, I'll blow his brains of your character.
[Weeping
out.-Insolent to my dear Harriot!-A rogue, Charles. I see my folly, and am ashamed
a villain! a scoundrel! I'll-but it's a lie of it;-you have reclaimed me, Harriot, on my
I know it's a lie-He durst not behave insolent-soul you have. If all women were as atten-
Will you have him? Answer me that. Will tive as yourself to the morals of their lovers,
you have him?-Zounds, you shall have him. a libertine would be an uncommon character.
Har. If you have any love for me, sir-
But let me persuade you to leave this place
Rus. Love for you! You know I love you while you may. Major Oakly will receive us
at his house with pleasure. I am shocked at
the thougths of what your stay here may re-
serve you to.
1) To have a person hollow, is to be sure of him.
2) To be off is the same as to hedge.
3) A good strong foot-Walks well on her houghs-lifts
her feet gracefully from the ground..
Har. No, I am determined to remain. To

318
[ACT V.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Enter Chambermaid.
leave my father again, to go off openly with nate! Plague on't, captain, how could you
a man, of whose libertine character he has make such a strange blunder?
himself so lately been a witness, would justify O'Cut. I never thought of a blunder. I was
his anger, and impeach my reputation. to deliver two letters; and if I gave them one
a piece, I thought it would do.
Chamb. O law, ma'am!-Such a terrible Lady F. And so, my lord, the ingenious
accident!-As sure as I am here, there's a captain gave the letter intended for me to
pressgang has seized the two gemmin, and is young Oakly, and here has brought me a
carrying them away, thof so be one an'em challenge.
says as how he's a knight and baronight, and
that t'other's a squire and a housekeeper.
Har. Seized by a pressgang! impossible!
Charles. Oh, now the design comes out.-
But I'll balk his lordship.
Lord T. Ridiculous! Never was any thing
so mal apropos. Did you read the direction,
captain?
O'Cut. Who, me?-Devil burn me, not I.
I never rade at all.
Chamb. Lack-a-daisy, ma'am, what can we Lord T. 'Sdeath! how provoking! When I
do? There is master, and John Ostler, and had secured the servants, and got all the
Bootcatcher, all gone a'ter'em.-There is such people out of the way-when every thing was
[Exit. en train.
an uproar as never was!
Har. If I thought this was your contrivance, Lady F. Nay, never despair, my lord! I've
sir, I would never speak to you again. hit upon a method to set every thing to rights
How? how? my dear lady Free-
Charles. I would sooner die than be guilty again.
of it. This is lord Trinket's doing, I am sure. Lord T.
I knew he had some scheme in agitation, by love, how?
a letter I intercepted this morning. [Harriot Lady F. Suppose then your lordship was
screams] Ha! here he comes. Nay, then, it's to go and deliver these country gentlemen
plain enough. Don't be frightened, my love! from their confinement; make them believe it
I'll protect you. But now I must desire you was a plot of young Oakly's to carry off my
to follow my directions.
niece; and so make a merit of your own ser-
vices with the father.
Enter LORD TRINKET.
Lord T. Now, madam.-Pox on't, he here
again!-Nay then, [Draws] come, sir! You're
Lord T. Admirable! I'll about it immediately.
O'Cut. Has your lordship any occasion for
unarm'd, I see. Give up the lady: give her my sarvice in this expedition?
up, I say, or I am through you in a twink- Lord T, 0, no-Only release me these
ling. [Going to make a Pass at Charles. people, and then keep out of the way, dear
Charles. Keep your distance, my lord! I captain.
O'Cut. With all my heart, 'fait. But you
have arms. [Produces a Pistol If you come
a foot nearer, you have a brace off balls are all wrong:-this will not signify a brass
through your lordship's head.
farding. If you would let me alone, I would
give him a salt eel¹), I warrant you. But
upon my credit, there's noting to be done
without a little tilting.
-
Lord T. How? what's this? pistols!
Charles. At your lordship's service.-Sword
and pistol, my lord.-Those, you know, are
our weapons. If this misses, I have the fellow
to it in my pocket. - Don't be frightened, ma- I
dam. His lordship has removed your friends
and relations, but he will take great care of
you. Shall I leave you with him?
Har. Cruel Charles! you know I must go
with you now.
Charles. A little way from the door, if your
lordship pleases.
[Waves his Hand.
Lord T. Sir!-'Sdeath!-Madam!-
Charles. A little more round, my lord.
[Exit..
Lord T. But where shall I carry them, when
have delivered them?
Lady F. To Mr. Oakly's, by all means; you
may be sure my niece is there.
Lord T. To Mr. Oakly's!-Why, does your
ladyship consider! 'Tis going directly in the
fire of the enemy-throwing the dementi full
in their teeth.
Lady F. So much the better. Face your
enemies-nay, you shall outface them too. I'll
certainly meet you there. It's hard indeed if
[Waves. two persons of condition can't bear themsel-
ves out against such trumpery folks as the
Charles. I have no leisure to talk with your family of the Oakly's.
Lord T. But, sir!-Mr. Oakly!
lordship now.-A little more that way, if you Lord T. Odious low people! But I lose
please. [Waves]-You know where I live.- time-I must after the captain-and so, till
If you have any commands for miss Russet, we meet at Mr. Oaklys, I kiss your ladyship's
you will hear of her too at my house.-Nay, hands-you won't fail me?
keep back, my lord. [Presents] Your lordship's
most obedient, humble servant.
Lady F. You may depend on me. [Exit
Lord Trinket] So, here is fine work! this
[Exit, with Harriot. artful little hussy has been too much for "s
Lord T. [Looks at them, and pauses for all. Well, what's to be done? Why, when
a short Time]-I cut a mighty ridiculous a woman of fashion gets into a scrape, no-
figure here, 'pon honour.
[Exit. thing but a fashionable assurance can get her
out of it again. I'll e'en go boldly to Mr.
Oakly's, as I have promised, and if it appears
practicable, I will forward lord Trinket's match;
but if I find that matters have taken another
turn, his lordship must excuse me. In that
ACT V.
SCENE I.-LADY FREELOVE's House.
Enter LORD TRINKET, LADY FREELOVE, with
a Letter, and CAPTAIN O'CUTTER.
Lord T. Was ever any thing so unfortu-
1) A salt eel is a sailor's term for a beating. The phrase
is generally "I'll give him a salt eel for his supper,"

SCENE 2.]
319
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Enter JOHN.
case, I'll fairly drop him, seem a perfect Toil. Yes, ma'am, I'll go this minute.-O
stranger to all his intentions, and give my here, John! my lady wants you.
visit an air of congratulation to my niece and
any other husband, which fortune, her wise
father, or her ridiculous self has provided for
her.
SCENE II.-MRS. OAKLY'S Dressing-room.
Enter MRS. OAKLY.
[Exit.
Mrs. O. This is worse and worse!-He never
held me so much in contempt before-To go
out without speaking to me, or taking the
least notice. I am obliged to the major for
this. How could he take him out? and how
could Mr. Oakly go with him?-
Well, Toilet.
Enter TOILET.
Mrs. O. Where's your master?
John. Gone out, madam.
Mrs. O. Why did not you go with him?
John. Because he went out in the major's
chariot, madam.
Mrs. O. VV here did they go to?
John. To the major's, I suppose, madam.
Mrs. O. Suppose! Don't you know?
John. I believe so, but can't tell for cer-
tain, indeed, madam.
Mrs. O. Believe and suppose!-and don't
know, and can't tell!-You are all fools.-Go
about your business. [John going] Come here.
[Returns] Go to the major's-no-it does not
Toil. My master is not come back yet, signify-go along-[John going] Yes, harkye,
ma'am.
Mrs. O. Where is he gone?
Toil. I don't know, I can assure your ladyship.
Mrs. O. Why don't you know?-You know
nothing. But I warrant you know well enough,
if you would tell.-You shall never persuade
me but you knew of Mr. Oakly's going out
to-day.
Toil. I wish I may die, ma'am, upon my
honour, and I protest to your ladyship I knew
[Returns] go to the major's, and see if your
master is there.
Get
John. Give your compliments, madam?
Mrs. O. My compliments, blockhead!
along. [John going] Come hither. [Returns]
Can't you go to the major's, and bring me
word if Mr. Oakly is there, without taking
any further notice?
John. Yes, ma'am.
Mrs. O. Well, why don't you go then?
nothing in the world of the matter, no more And make haste back.-And, d'ye hear, John?
than the child unborn. There is Mr. Paris,
my master's gentleman, knows-
Mrs. O. What does he know?
Toil. That I knew nothing at all of the
matter.
Mrs. O. Where is Paris? What is he doing?
Toil. He is in my master's room, ma'am.
Mrs. O. Bid him come here.
Toil. Yes, ma'am.
[Exit.
Mrs. O. He is certainly gone after this young
flirt. His confidence and the major's insolence
provoke me beyond expression.
Re-enter TOILET, with PARIS.
Where's your master?
Par. Il est sorti. He is gone out.
Mrs. O. Where is he gone?
Par. Ah, madame, je n'en scais rien. I know
nothing of it.
Why
Mrs. O. Nobody knows any thing.
did not you tell me he was going out?
Par. I dress him-Je ne m'en soucie pas
du plus-He go where he will-I have
business with it.
John. Madam!
[John going, returns.
Mrs. O. Nothing at all-go along-[John
goes] How uneasy Mr. Oakly makes me!-
Harkye, John!
[John returns.
John. Madam!
Mrs. O. Send the porter here.
John. Yes, madam.
Exit.
Toil. So, she's in a rare humour! shall
have a fine time on't. [Aside] Will your la-
dyship choose to dress?
Mrs. O. Pr'ythee, creature, don't tease me
with your fiddle-faddle stuff-I have a thou-
sand things to think of. Where is the porter?
why has not that booby sent him? What is
the meaning-
Re-enter JOHN.
John. Madam, my master is this moment
returned, with major Oakly, and my young
master, and the lady that was here yesterday.
Mrs. O. Very well. [Exit John] Returned
no-yes, truly, he is returned-and in a very
extraordinary manner. This is setting me at
Mrs. O. Yes, you should have told me-open defiance. But I'll go down, and show
that was your business-and if you don't mind them I have too much spirit to endure such
your business better, you shan't stay here, I usage. [Going] Or, stay-I'll not go amongst
can tell you, sir.
his company-I'll go out-Toilet!
Par. Voila quelque chose d'extraordinaire!
Mrs. O. Don't stand jabbering and shrug-
ging your shoulders, but go and inquire-go
and bring me word where he is gone.
Par. I don't know what I am do.
Mrs. O. Bid John come to me.
Toil. Ma'am!
Mrs. O. Order the coach; I'll go out. [Toilet
going] Toilet, stay-I'll e'en go down to them
No-Toilet!
Toil. Ma'am!
Mrs. O. Order me a boiled chicken-I'll not
Par. De tout mon cœur.-Jean! ici! Jean!-go down to dinner-I'll dine in my own
speak, my lady.
[Exit. room, and sup there-I'll not see his face
[Exeunt.
Mrs. O. Impudent fellow! His insolent gra- these three days.
vity and indifference is insupportable-Toilet!
Toil. Ma'am!
Mrs. O. Where's John? Why don't he
come? Why do you stand with your hands.
before you? Why don't you fetch him?
Enter OAKLY, MAJOR OAKLY, CHARLES, and
HARRIOT.
Charles. My dear Harriot, do not make
yourself so uneasy.

320
[ACT V
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Har. Alas! I have too much cause for my Charles. I can assure you, sir, that your
uneasiness. Who knows what that vile lord daughter is entirely-
has done with my father?
Oak. Be comforted, madam; we shall soon
hear of Mr. Russet, and all will be well, I
dare say.
Har. You are too good to me, sir; I shall
never forgive myself for having disturbed the
peace of such a worthy family.
Maj 0. Don't mind that, madam; they'll be
very good friends again. This is nothing
among married people-'Sdeath, here she is!
-No-its only Mrs. Toilet.
Re-enter TOILET.
Oak. Well, Toilet, what now? [Toilet
whispers] Not well?- Can't come down to
dinner? Wants to see me ahove?-Harkye,
brother, what shall I do?
Maj. O. If you go, you are undone.
Har. Go, sir, go to Mrs. Oakly-Indeed
you had better-
Maj. O. 'Sdeath, brother, don't budge a foot
-This is all fractiousness and ill humour-
Oak. No, I'll not go-Tell her I have com-
pany, and we shall be glad to see her here.
[Exit Toilet.
Maj. O. That's right.
Oak. Suppose I go and watch how she
proceeds?
Maj. O. What d'ye mean? You would not
go to her? Are you mad?
Oak. By no means go to her-I only want
to know how she takes it. I'll lie perdue in
my study, and observe her motions.
Rus. You assure me! You are the fellow
that has perverted her mind-That has set my
own child against me-
Charles. If you will but hear me, sir-
Rus. I won't hear a word you say. I'll have
my daughter-I won't hear a word.
Maj. O. Nay, Mr. Russet, hear reason. If
you will but have patience-
Rus. I'll have no patience, I'll have my
daughter, and she shall marry sir Harry to-night.
Lord T. That is dealing rather too much
en cavalier with me, Mr. Russet, 'pon honour.
You take no notice of my pretensions, though
my rank and family-
Rus. What care I for rank and family? I
don't want to make my daughter a rantipole
woman of quality. I'll give her to whom I
please. Take ker away, sir Harry; she shall
marry you to-night.
Maj. O. Only three words, Mr. Russet-
Rus. Why don't the booby take her?
Sir H. Hold hard! Hold hard!1) You are
all on a wrong seent; Hold hard! I say, hold
hard!-Harkye, squire Russet.
Rus. Well, what now?
Sir H. It was proposed, you know, to match
me with miss Harriot-But she can't take kind-
ly to me.-When one has made a bad bet,
it is best to hedge off, you know-and so I
have e'en swopped 2) her with lord Trinket
here for his brown horse, Nabob.
Rus. Swopped her? Swopped my daughter
for a horse! Zounds, sir, what d'ye mean?
Maj. O. I don't like this pitiful ambuscade Sir H. Mean? Why I mean to be off, to
work-this bush fighting. Why can't you stay be sure-It won't do I tell you it won't do
here?-Ay, ay!-I know how it will be--First of all I knocked up myself and my
She'll come bounce in upon you with a tor- horses, when they took for London-and now
rent of anger and passion, or, if necessary a I have been stewed aboard a tender-I have
whole flood of tears, and carry all before her wasted three stone at least-If I could have
rid my match it would not have grieved me
-And so, as I said hefore, I have swopped
her for Nabob.
at once.
Oak. You shall find that you are mistaken,
major. Now I am convinced I'm in the right,
I'll support that right with ten times your
steadiness.
Maj. O. You talk this well, brother.
Oak. I'll do it well, brother.
Maj. O. If you don't, you are undone.
Oak. Never fear, never fear.
Maj. O. Well, Charles.
[Exit.
Rus. The devil take Nabob, and yourself,
and lord Trinket, and-
Lord T. Pardon! je vous demande pardon,
monsieur Russet, 'pon honour.
Rus. Death and the devil! I shall go dis-
tracted! My daughter plotting against me
-the-
Charles. I can't bear to see my Harriot so Maj. O. Come, come, Mr. Russet, I am your
uneasy. I'll
go immediately in quest of Mr. man after all. Give me but a moment's hear-
Russet. Perhaps I may learn at the inn where ing, and I'll engage to make peace between
his lordship's ruffians have carried him. you and your daughter, and throw the blame
Rus. [Without] Here! Yes, yes, I know where it ought to fall most deservedly.
she's here well enough. Come along, sir Harry, Sir H. Ay, ay, that's right. Put the saddle
come along.
on the right horse, my buck!
Har. He's here!- My father; I know his
voice. Where is Mr. Oakly? O, now, good-I don't know what to do.
sir, [To the Major] do but pacify him, and
you'll be a friend indeed.
Rus. Well, sir-What d'ye say?-Speak
Enter RUSSET, LORD TRINKET, and SIR HARRY
BEAGLE.
Lord T. There, sir-I told you it was so!
Rus. Ay, ay, it is too plain.-O you pro-
voking slut! Elopement after elopement!
And at last to have your father carried off by
violence! to endanger my life! Zounds! I am
so angry I dare not trust myself within reach
of you.
Maj. O. I'll speak the truth, let who will be
offended by it.-I have proof presumptive and
positive for you, Mr. Russet. From his lord-
ship's behaviour at lady Freelove's, when my
nephew rescued her, we may fairly conclude
that he would stick at no measures to carry
his point-there's proof presumptive.-But, sir,
we can give you proof positive too-proof
under his lordship's own hand, that he like-
wise was the contriver of the gross affront
that has just been offered you.
1) Stop, stop.
2) Exchanged,

SCENE 1.]
321
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Rus. Hey! how?
Lord T. Every syllable romance, 'pon honour.
Maj. O. Gospel, every word on't.
Charles. This letter will convince you, sir!
In consequence of what happened at lady
Freelove's, his lordship thought fit to send me
a challenge; hut the messenger blundered,
and gave me this letter instead of it. [Giving
the Letter] I have the case which enclosed it
in my pocket.
Lord T. Forgery from beginning to end,
'pon honour.
Maj. O. How easy, impudent, and familiar!
[Aside
Lady F. Lord Trinket here too! I vow I
did not see your lordship before.
Lord T. Your ladyship's most obedient slave.
[Bowing.
Lady F. You seem grave, my lord! Come,
come, I know there has been some difference
between you and Mr. Oakly-You must give
me leave to be a mediator in this affair.
Lord T. Here has been a small fracas, to
be sure, madam!-We are all blown ¹), 'pon
honour.
Lady F. Blown! what do you mean, my
Maj. O. Truth, upon my honour.-But read,
read, Mr. Russet, read, and be convinced.
Rus. Let me see-let me see-[Reads]-lord?
Um-um-um-um-so, so-um-um-um- Lord T. Nay, your ladyship knows that I
damnation!-Wish me success - obedient never mind these things, and I know that
slave-TRINKET-Fire and fury! How dare they never discompose your ladyship - But
you do this?
things have happened a little en travers--The
Lord T. When you are cool, Mr. Russet, little billet I sent your ladyship has fallen
I will explain this matter to you.
into the hands of that gentleman-[Pointing
to Charles]-and so there has been a
brouillerie about it-that's all.
Rus. Cool! 'Sdeath and hell!-I'll never be
cool again-I'll be revenged-So my Harriot,
my dear girl, is innocent at last. Say so,
my Harriot; tell me your are innocent.
[Embraces her.
Har. I am indeed, sir, and happy beyond
expression at your being convinced of it.
Rus. I am glad on't-I am glad on't-I be-
lieve you, Harriet! You was always a good
girl.
Rus. Marry!-she durst not do it.
-
little
Lady F. You talk to me, my lord, in a very
extraordinary style-If you have been guilty
of any misbehaviour, I am sorry for it; but
your ill conduct can fasten no imputation on
me.-Miss Russet will justify me sufficiently.
Maj. O. Had not your ladyship better ap-
peal to my friend Charles here?-The letter,
Charles!-Out with it this instant!
Maj. O. So she is, an excellent girl!. Charles. Yes, I have the credentials of her
Worth a regiment of such lords and baronets ladyship's integrity in my pocket.-Mr. Russet,
-Come, sir, finish every thing handsomely at the letter you read a little while ago was
once.--Come, Charles will have a handsome enclosed in this cover, which also I now think
fortune.
it my duty to put into your hands.
Rus. [Reading] To the Right Honourable
Maj. O. Consider, sir, they have long been Lady Freelove-'Sdeath and hell!-and now
fond of each other-old acquaintance-faith-I recollect, the letter itself was pieced with
ful lovers-turtles-and may be very happy. scraps of French, and madam, and your lady-
Rus. Well, we'l-since things are so-Iship-Fire and fury! madam, how came you
love my girl.-Harkye, young Oakley, if you to use me so? I am obliged to you, then,
don't make her a good husband, you'll break for the insult that has been offered me!
my heart, you rogue.
Maj. O. I'll cut his throat if he don't.
Charles. Do not doubt it, sir! my Harriot
has reformed me altogether.
Rus. Has she?-Why then-there-heaven
bless you both-there-now there's an end on't.
Sir H. So, my lord, you and I are both
distanced¹)-A hollow thing, damme,
Lord T. N'importe.
Sir H. Now this stake is drawn, my lord
may
be for hedging off, mayhap. Ecod! I'll
go to Jack Speed's, secure Nabob, and be out
of town in an hour. [Aside, and exit.
Lady F. What is all this? Your obliga-
tions to me, Mr. Russet, are of a nature, that
Rus. Fine obligations! I dare say, I am
partly obliged to you too for the attempt on
my daughter by that thing of a lord yonder.
at your house. Zounds, madam! these are
injuries never to be forgiven-They are the
grossest affronts to me and my family - All
the world shall know them-Zounds! - I'll
Lady F. Mercy on me! how boisterous are
these country gentlemen! Why, really, Mr.
Russet, you rave like a man in Bedlam-I am
afraid you'll beat me-and then you swear
most abominably.-How can you be so vul-
gar?-I see the meaning of this low malice-But
Lady F. My dear miss Russet, you'll excuse-the reputations of women of quality are not
Charles. Mrs. Oakly, at your ladyship's,
service.
Enter LADY FREELOVE.
Lady F. Married?
Har. Not, yet, madam; but my father has
been so good as to give his consent.
so easily impeached-My rank places me above
the scandal of little people, and I shall meet
such petty insolence with the greatest ease
and tranquillity. But you and your simple
girl will be the sufferers. I had some thoughts
Lady F. I protest I am prodigiously glad of introducing her into the first company-
of it. My dear, I give you joy-and you, But now, madam, I shall neither receive nor
Mr. Oakly. I wish you joy, Mr. Russet and return your visits, and will entirely withdraw
all the good company-for I think the most my protection from the ordinary part of the
of them are parties concerned.
1) In racing one horse gets to the winning-post before
another, and being at distance before the other thus
distances him.
family,
[Exit.
Rus. Zounds, what impudence! that's worse
than all the rest.
1) What we would do is made public.
41

322
[ACT V.
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
Lord T. Fine presence of mind, faith!-sure, as you say, and make my friends welcome.
The true French nonchalance-But, good folks, Mrs. O. Excellent raillery! Lookye, Mr.
why such a deal of rout and tapage about Oakly, I see the meaning of all this affected
nothing at all?-If mademoiselle Harriot had coolness and indifference.
rather be Mrs. Oakly than lady Trinket-
Why-I wish her joy-that's all.-Mr. Rus-
Oak. My dear, consider where you are-
Mrs. O. You would be glad, I find, to get
set, I wish you joy of your son-in-law-Mr. me out of your house, and have all your flirts
Oakly, I wish you joy of the lady-and you, about you.
madam, [To Harriot] of the gentleman-And, Oak. Before all this company! Fie!
in short, I wish you all joy of one another,
'pon honour!
[Exit.
Rus. There's a fine fellow of a lord now!
The devil's in your London folks of the first
fashion, as you call them. They will rob you
of your estate, debauch your daughter, or lie
with your wife-and all as if they were doing
you a favour-'pon honour!-
Maj. O. Hey! what now?
Mrs. O. But I'll disappoint you, for I shall
remain in it, to support my due authority--
as for you, major Oakly-
Maj. O., Hey-day! What have I done?
Mrs. O. I think yon might find better employ-
ment, than to create divisions between mar-
ried people-and you, sir!
Ook. Nay but, my dear!-
Mrs. O. Might have more sense, as well as
[Bell rings violently. tenderness, than to give ear to such idle stuff.
Oak. Lord, Lord!
Re-enter OAKLY.
Oak. D'ye hear, major, d'ye hear?
I
Mrs. O. You and your wise counsellor there,
suppose, think to carry all your points
Maj. O. Zounds! what a clatter!-She'll with me-
pull down all the bells in the house.
Oak. Was ever any thing-
Oak. My observations since I left you, have Mrs. O. But it won't do, sir. You shall
confirmed my resolution. I see plainly that find that I will have my own way, and that
her good humour, and her ill humour, her I will govern my own family.
smiles, her tears, and her fits, are all calcu- Oak. You had better learn to govern your-
lated to play upon me.
self, by half. Your passion makes you ridi-
Maj. O. Did not I always tell you so? It's culous. Did ever any body see so much fury
the way with them all-they will be rough and violence; affronting your best friends,
and smooth, and hot and cold, and all in a breaking my peace, and disconcerting your
breath. Any thing to get the better of us. own temper. And all for what? For nothing.
Oak. She is in all moods at present, I'Sdeath, madam! at these years you ought to
promise you-There has she been in her know better.
chamber, fuming and fretting, and dispatching Mrs. O. At these years!-Very fine!-Am
a messenger to me every two minutes-servant I to be talked to in this manner?
after servant-now she insists on my coming Oak. Talked to!- Why not? - You have
to her now again she writes a note to entreat talked to me long enough-almost talked me
-then Toilet is sent to let me know that she to death-and I have taken it all, in hopes of
is ill, absolutely dying-then the very next making you quiet-but all in vain. Patience,
minute, she'll never see my face again-she'll I find, is all thrown away upon you; and
go out of the house directly. [Bell rings] henceforward, come what may, I am resolved
Again! now the storm rises!-
to be master of my own house.
Maj. O. It will soon drive this way then- Mrs. O. So, so!-Master, indeed! - Yes,
now, brother, prove yourself a man-You sir; and you'll take care to have mistresses
have gone too far to retreat.
enough too, I warrant you.
-
Oak Retreat!-- Retreat!- No, no! - I'll Oak. Perhaps I may; but they shall be
preserve the advantage I have gained, I am quiet ones, I can assure you.
determined.
Mrs. O. Indeed! And do you think I am
Maj. O. Ay, ay!-keep your ground!-fear such a tame fool, as to sit quietly and bear
nothing-up with your noble heart! Good all this? You shall know, sir, that I will
discipline makes good soldiers; stick close to resent this behaviour - You shall find that I
my advice, and you may stand buff to a have a spirit-
tigress-
Oak. Of the devil.
Oak. Here she is, by heavens! now, brother! Mrs. O. Intolerable! - You shall find then
Maj. O. And now, brother!-Now or never! that I will exert that spirit. I am sure I have
need of it. As soon as the house is once
cleared again, I'll shut my doors against all
company. You shan't see a single soul for
this month.
Re-enter MRS. OAKLY.
Mrs O. I think, Mr. Oakly, you might
have had humanity enough to have come to
see how I did. You have taken your leave, Oak. 'Sdeath, madam, but I will!-I'll keep
I suppose, of all tenderness and affection-open house for a year. I'll send cards to the
but I'll be calm-I'll not throw myself into a whole town-Mr. Oakly's rout!-All the world
passion-you want to drive me out of your will come-and I'll go among the world too-
house-I see what you aim at, and will be I'll be mewed up no longer.
aforehand with you-let me keep my temper! I'll Mrs. O. Provoking insolence! This is not
send for a chair, and leave the house this instant. to be endured-Lookye, Mr. Oakly-
Oak. True, my love: I knew you would
not think of dining in your chamber alone,
when I had company below. You shall sit
at the head of the table, as you ought, to be
Oak. And lookye, Mrs. Oakly, I will have
my own way.
Mrs. O. Nay, then let me tell you, sir-
Oak. And let me tell you, madam, I

SCENE 2.]
323
THE JEALOUS WIFE.
will not be crossed-I won't be made a fool. had ruined my girl. But it's all over now,
Mrs. O. Why, you won't let me speak.
and so-
Oak. Because you don't speak as you ought.
Madam, madam! you shan't look, nor walk,
nor talk, nor think, but as I please.
Mrs. O. Was there ever such a monster!
I can bear this no longer. [Bursts into Tears]
O you vile man! I can see through your
design-you cruel, barbarous, inhuman-such
usage to your poor wife!-you'll be the death
of her.
Oak. She shan't be the death of me, I am
determined.
Mrs. O. You was here yesterday, sir?
Rus. Yes; I came after Harriot. I thought
should find my young madam with my
young sir here.
I
Mrs. O. With Charles, did you say, sir?
Rus. Ay, with Charles, madam! The young
rogue has been fond of her a long time, and
she of him, it seems.
Mrs. O. I fear I have been to blame. [Aside.
Ras. I ask pardon, madam, for the disturb-
ance I made in your house.
Mrs. O. That it should ever come to this!- Har. And the abrupt manner in which I
To be contradicted - [Sobbing]-insulted-came into it demands a thousand apologies.
abused-hated-'tis too much-my heart will But the occasion must be my excuse.
burst with-oh-oh!-
Mrs. O. How have I been mistaken! [Aside]
[Falls into a Fit. Harriot, Charles, But did not I overhear you and Mr. Oakly-
elc. run to her assistance.
Oak. [Interposing] Let her alone.
Har. Sir, Mrs. Oakly-
[To Harriot.
Har. Dear madam! you had but a partial
hearing of our conversation. It related entirely
this gentleman.
Charles. For heaven's sake, sir, she will be-to
Oak. Let her alone-let her alone.
Har. Pray, my dear sir, let us assist her.
She may-
Oak. I don't care-Let her alone, I say.
Mrs. O. [Rising] 0, you monster!-you
villain!-you base man!-Would you let me
die for want of help?-would you-
Oak. Bless me! madam, your fit is very
violent-take care of yourself.
Charles. To put it beyond doubt, madam,
Mr. Russet and my guardian have consented
to our marriage; and we are in hopes that
you will not withhold your approbation.
Mrs. O. I have no further doubt-I see. you
are innocent, and it was cruel to suspect you-
You have taken a load of anguish off my mind-
and yet your kind interposition comes too
late; Mr. Oakly's love for me is entirely
Mrs. O. Despised, ridiculed - but I'll be destroyed.
revenged-you shall see, sir-
Oak. Tol-de-rol lol-de-rol lol-de-rol lol.
-
[Singing.
[Weeping.
[Apart.
Apart.
Oak. I must go to her-
Maj. O. Not yet!-Not yet!
Har. Do not disturb yourself with such
Mrs. O. What, am I made a jest of? Ex-apprehensions; I am sure Mr. Oakly loves
posed to all the world? If there's law or you most affectionately.
justice-
Oak. I can hold no longer. [Going to her]
Oak. Tol-de-rol lol-de-rol lol-de-rol lol. My affection for you, madam, is as warm as
[Singing. ever. My constrained behaviour has cut me
Mrs. O. I shall burst with anger. Have a to the soul-for it was all constrained—and it
care, sir; you may repent this.-Scorned and was with the utmost difficulty that I was able
made ridiculous! No power on earth shall to support it.
hinder my revenge!
[Going. Mrs. O. O, Mr. Oakly, how have I exposed
myself! What low arts has my jealousy in-
duced me to practise! I see my folly, and
fear that you can never forgive me.
Har. [Interposing] Stay, madam.
Mrs. O. Let me go. I cannot bear this place.
Har. Let me beseech you, madam.
Maj. O. Courage, brother! you have done
wonders.
Oak. Forgive you! This change transports
[Apart. me!-Brother! Mr. Russet! Charles! Harriot!
Oak. I think she'll have no more fits. Apart. give me joy!-I am the happiest man in the
Har. Stay, madam - Pray stay but one world!
moment. I have been a painful witness of Maj. O. Joy, much joy, to you both! though,
your uneasiness, and in great part the innocent by-the-by, you are not a little obliged to me
occasion of it. Give me leave then-
for it. Did not I tell you I would cure all
Mrs. O. I did not expect, indeed, to have the disorders in your family? I beg pardon,
found you here again. But however- sister, for taking the liberty to prescribe for
Har. I see the agitation of your mind, and you. My medicines have been somewhat
it makes me miserable. Suffer me to tell the rough, I believe, but they have had an ad-
real truth. I can explain every thing to your mirable effect, and so don't be angry with
satisfaction.
your physician.
Mrs. O. I am indeed obliged to you, and
I feel-
Oak. Nay, my dear, no more of this. All
that's past must be utterly forgotten.
Mrs. O. I have not merited this kindness,
Mrs. O. May be so-I cannot argue with you.
Charles. Pray, madam, hear her-for my
sake for your own-dear madam!
Mrs. O. Well, well-proceed.
Har. I understand, madam, that your first
alarm was occasioned by a letter from my but it shall hereafter be my study to deserve
father to your nephew.
it. Away with all idle jealousies! And since
Rus. I was in a bloody passion, to be sure, my suspicions have hitherto been groundless,
madam! The letter was not over civil, II am resolved for the future never to suspect
believe. I did not know but the young rogue at all.
[Exeunt.

324
[ACT I.
THE DOUBLE DEALER,
Comedy by W. Congreve, acted at the Theatre Royal 1694. This is the second play this author wrote; the characters
of it are strongly drawn, the wit is genuine and original, the plot finely laid, and the conduct inimitable: yet such is,
and ever has been, the capricious disposition of audiences, that it met not equal encouragement with his Old Bachelor
(in some respects a much more exceptionable play,, nor had it the same success with his later performances.
LORD TOUCHWOOD.
LORD FROTH.
SIR PAUL PLIANT.
MELLEFONT.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
CARELESS.
THOMAS.
TIMOTHY.
BRISK.
SAYGRACE.
MASKWELL.
LADY TOUCHWOOD.
LADY FROTH.
LADY PLIANT.
CYNTHIA.
SCENE. A Gallery in LORD TOUCHWOOD's House, with Chambers adjoining.
ACT I.
SCENE I-4 Gallery in LORD TOUCHWOOD's
House.
CARELESS crosses the Stage, as just risen
from Table; MELLEFONT following.
Mel. NED, Ned, whither so fast? VVhat,
turned flincher? 1) Why, you wo'ndt leave us?
Care. Where are the women? I'm weary
of drinking, and begin to think them the
better company.
Mel. Then thy reason staggers, and thou'rt
almost tipsy.
'egad, I could not have said it out of thy
company. Careless, ha?
Care. Hum, ay, what is't?
Brisk. O mon coeur! What is't? Nay, 'gad,
I'll punish you for want of apprehension: the
deuce take me, if I tell you.
Mel. No, no, hang him, he has no taste.
But, dear Brisk, excuse me; I have a little
business.
Care. Pr'ythee, get thee gone; thou seest
we are serious.
But
Mel. We'll come immediately, if you'll but
go in and keep up good humour and sense in
Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; the company; pr'ythee do, they'll fall asleep else.
and if a man must endure the noise of words Brisk. Egad, so they will. Well, I will,
without sense, I think the women have more I will: 'gad, you shall command me from the
musical voices, and become nonsense better. zenith to the nadir. But, the deuce take me,
Mel. Why, they are at the end of the if I say a good thing till you come.
gallery, retired to their tea and scandal. But pr'ythee, dear rogue, make haste; pr'ythee,
I made a pretence to follow you, because I make haste, I shall burst else; and yonder
had something to say to you in private, and your uncle, my lord Touchwood, swears he'll
I am not like to have many opportunities disinherit you; and Sir Paul Pliant threatens
this evening.
to disclaim you for a son-in-law; and my
Care. And here's this coxcomb most criti-lord Froth won't dance at your wedding to-
cally come to interrupt you.
Enter BRISK.
Brisk. Boys, boys, lads, where are you?
What, do you give ground? Mortgage for a
bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick; you're
always spoiling company by leaving it.
Care. And thou art always spoiling com-
pany by coming into't.
morrow; nor, the deuce take me, I won't
write your epithalamium; and see what a con-
dition you're like to be brought to.
Mel. Well, I'll speak but three words, and
follow you.
Brisk. Enough, enough. Careless, bring
your apprehension along with you.
Care. Pert coxcomb!
[Exit.
Mel. Faith, 'tis a good-natured coxcomb,
Brisk. Pho! ha, ha, ha! I know you envy and has very entertaining follies; you must
ine. Spite, proud spite, by the gods, and be more humane to him; at this juncture it
burning envy. I'll be judged by Mellefont will do me service. I'll tell
I'll tell you, I would
here, who gives and takes raillery better, you have mirth continued this day at any rate,
or I. Pshaw, man, when I say you spoil though patience purchase folly, and attention
company by leaving it, I mean you leave be paid with noise: there are times when
nobody for the company to laugh at. I think sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth:
there I was with you. Ha, Mellefont? pr'ythee, do thou wear none to-day; but allow
Mel. O'my word, Brisk, that was a home Brisk to have wit, that thou may'st seem
thrust: you have silenced him.
a fool.
Brisk. O, my dear Mellefont, let me perish, Care. Why, how now? Why this extra-
if thou art not the soul of conversation, the vagant proposition?
very essence of wit, and spirit of wine. The Mel. O, I would have no room for serious
deuce take me, if there were three good design, for I am jealous of a plot. I would
things said, or one understood, since thy have noise and impertinence, to keep my lady
amputation from the body of our society. He! Touchwood's head from working.
I think, that's pretty, and metaphorical enough: Care. I thought your fear of her had been
over. Is not to-morrow appointed for your
bottle; but very happily at the present day, drinking
1) To he afraid of drinking half a dozen bottles of claret marriage with Cynthia? and her father, sir
at a sitting, used to be called flinching from your Paul Pliant, come to settle the writings this
is not one of the necessary accomplishments; and a day, on purpose?
party of Englishmen can meet together now, enjoy
themselves, and separate, without being any thing more Mel. True; but you shall judge whether I
have not reason to be alarmed. None, besides
than a little merry.

SCENE 1.]
-325
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
you and Maskwell, are acquainted with the Care. I'm mistaken if there be not a fa-
secret of my aunt Touchwood's violent passion miliarity between them you do not suspect,
Since my first refusal of her ad- for all her passion for you.
for me.
dresses, she has endeavoured to do me all Mel. Pho, pho! nothing in the world but
ill offices with my uncle; yet has managed his design to do me service; and he endeavours
'em with that subtilty, that to him they have to be well in her esteem that he may be able
borne the face of kindness; while her malice, to effect it.
like a dark lantern, only shone upon me Care. Well, I shall be glad to be mistaken;
where it was directed; but, whether urg'd but your aunt's aversion in her revenge, can-
by her despair, and the short prospect of time not be any way so effectually shown, as in
she saw to accomplish her designs, whether promoting a means to disinherit you. She is
the hopes of revenge, or of her love, termi- handsome, and cunning, and naturally amorous:
nated in the view of this my marriage with Maskwell is flesh and blood at best, and op-
Cynthia, I know not; but this morning she portunities between them are frequent. His
surprised me in my own chamber.
affection for you, you have confessed, is
Care Was there ever such a fury? Well, grounded upon his interest; that you have
bless us! proceed. What followed?
transplanted; and, should it take root in my
Mel. It was long before either of us spoke; lady, I don't see what you can expect from
passion had tied her tongue, and amazement the fruit.
mine. In short, the consequence was thus; Mel. I confess the consequence is visible
she omitted nothing that the most violent love were your suspicions just. But see, the
could urge, or tender words express; which company is broke up: let's meet 'em.
FROTH, and SIR PAUL PLIANT.
Lord T. Out upon't, nephew; leave your
father-in-law and me to maintain our ground
against young people.
when she saw had no effect, but still I pleaded
honour and nearness of blood to my uncle, Re-enter BRISK, with LORD TOUCHWOOD, LORD
then came the storm I fear'd at first; for,
starting from my bedside, like a fury she flew
to my sword, and with much ado I prevented
her doing me or herself a mischief. Having
disarmed her, in a gust of passion she left
me, and in a resolution, confirmed by a
thousand curses, not to close her eyes till
they had seen my ruin.
Care. Exquisite woman! But, what the
devil, does she think thou hast no more sense
than to disinherit thyself? For, as I take it,
this settlement upon you is with a proviso
that your uncle have no children.
Mel. I beg your lordship's pardon. We
were just returning-
—
Sir P. Where you, son? 'Gadsbud, much
better as it is-Good, strange! I swear I'm
almost tipsy; t'other bottle would have been
too powerful for me as sure as can be, it
would: we wanted your company; but, Mr.
Brisk-where is he? I swear and vow he's a
most facetious person, and the best company;
Mel. It is so. Well, the service you are and, my lord Froth, your lordship is so merry
to do me, will be a pleasure to yourself: I must a man, he, he, he!
get you to engage my lady Pliant all this Lord F. O fie, sir Paul, what do you mean?
evening, that my pious aunt may not work Merry! O, barbarous! I'd as lieve you call'd
her to her interest: and if you chance to me--fool.
secure her to yourself, you may incline her Sir P. Nay, I protest and vow now 'tis
to mine, She's handsome, and knows it; is true; when Mr. Brisk jokes, your lordship's
very silly, and thinks she has sense; and has laugh does so become you, he, he, he.
on old fond husband.
Lord F. Ridiculous, sir Paul! you are
Care. I confess a very fair foundation for strangely mistaken: I find champaign is power-
a lover to build upon.
ful. I assure you, sir Paul, I laugh at nobody's
Mel. For my lord Froth, he and his wife jest but my own, or a lady's, I assure you,
will be sufficiently taken up with admiring sir Paul.
one another, and Brisk's gallantry, as they Brisk. How! how, my lord? What, affront
call it. I'll observe my uncle myself; and my wit! Let me perish! do I never say any
Jack Maskwell has promised me to watch my thing worthy to be laugh'd at?
aunt narrowly, and give me notice upon any Lord F. O fie, don't misapprehend me: I
suspicion. As for sir Paul, my wise father- don't say so; for I often smile at your con-
in-law that is to be, my dear Cynthia has ceptions. But there is nothing more unbe-
such a share in his fatherly fondness, he coming a man of quality than to laugh: 'tis
would scarce make her a moment uneasy to such a vulgar expression of the passion! every
have her happy hereafter.
body can laugh. Then especially to laugh at
Care. So, you have manned your works: the jest of an inferior person, or when any
but I wish you may not have the weakest body else of the same quality does not laugh
guard, where the enemy is strongest. with him: ridiculous! to be pleased with what
Mel. Maskwell, you mean: pr'ythee, why pleases the crowd! Now, when I laugh, I
should you suspect him?
always laugh alone.
Care. Faith, I cannot help it: you know I
never lik'd him; I am a little superstitious in
physiognomy.
Mel. He has obligations of gratitude to bind
him to me; his dependance upon my uncle is
through my means.
Care. Upon your aunt, you mean.
Mel. My aunt?
Brisk. I suppose that's because you laugh
at your own jests, 'egad; ha, ha, ha!
Lord F. He, he! I swear though your rail-
lery provokes me to a smile.
Brisk. Ay, my lord, it's a sign I hit you
in the teeth, if you show 'em.
Lord F. He, he, he! I swear that's so very
pretty, I can't forbear.

326
[ACT I.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lord T. Sir Paul, if you please we'll retire prehend.-Take it t'other way: suppose I
to the ladies, and drink a dish of tea to settle a witty thing to you.
our heads.
Sir P. With all my heart.-Mr. Brisk, you'll
come to us or call me when you're going
to joke: I'll be ready to laugh incontinently.
[Exeunt Lord Touchwood and
Sir Paul Pliant.
Mel. But does your lordship never see
comedies?
Lord F. O yes, sometimes; but I never laugh.
Mel. No!
Lord F.
say
[To Careless.
Care. Then I shall be disappointed indeed.
Mel. Let him alone, Brisk; he is obstinately
bent not to be instructed.
Brisk. I'm sorrry for him, the deuce take me.
Mel. Shall we go to the ladies, my lord?
Lord F. With all my heart; methinks we
are a solitude without 'em.
Mel. Or, what say you to another bottle
of champaign?
Lord F. O, for the universe, not a drop
more, I beseech you. Oh, intemperate! I
have a flushing in my face already.
Oh no-Never laugh, indeed, sir.
Care. No! why what d'ye go there for?
Lord F. To distinguish myself from the [Takes out a pocket Glass, and looks in it.
commonality, and mortify the poets; the fel- Brisk. Let me see, let me see, my lord-
lows grow so conceited when any of their I broke my glass that was in the lid of my
foolish wit prevails upon the side boxes!-snuff-box. Hum! Deuce take me, I have en-
I swear-he, he, he-I have often constrain'd couraged a pimple here too.
my inclinations to laugh-he, he, he-to avoid
giving them encouragement.
Mel. You are cruel to yourself, my lord,
as well as malicious to them.
Lord F. I confess I did myself some violence
at first; but now I think I have conquered it.
Brisk. Let me perish, my lord, but there
is something very particular and novel in the
humour; 'tis true, it makes against wit, and
I'm sorry for some friends of mine that write;
but-'egad, I love to be malicious. Nay,
deuce take me, there's wit in't too; and wit
must be foil'd by wit: cut a diamond with a
diamond; no other way, 'egad.
Lord F. Oh, I thought you would not be
long before you found out the wit.
Care. Wit! in what? Where the devil's
the wit, in not laughing when a man has a
mind to't?
[Takes the Glass, and looks in it.
Lord F. Then you must fortify him with a
patch; my wife shall supply you. Come, gen-
tlemen, allons.
[Exeunt.
-
Enter MASKWELL and LADY TOUCHWOOD,
Lady T. I'll hear no more. You're false
and ungrateful; come, I know you false.
Mask. I have been frail, I confess, madam,
for your ladyship's service.
I
Lady T. That I should trust a man whom
had known betray his friend!
Mask. What friend have I betray'd? or to
whom?
Lady T. Your fond friend, Mellefont, and
to me; can you deny it?
Mask. I do not.
Lady T. Have you not wrong'd my lord,
who has been a father to you in your wants,
Brisk. O Lord, why can't you find it out?- and given you being? Have you not wrong'd
Why, there 'tis, in the not laughing.-Don't him in the highest manner?
you apprehend me? My lord, Careless is a Mask. With your ladyship's help, and for
very honest fellow; but, harkye, you under- your service, as I told you before-I can't
stand me, somewhat heavy; a little shallow, deny that neither. Any thing more, madam?
or so. Why, I'll tell you now: suppose now Lady T. More, audacious villain! O, what's
you come up to me-nay, pr'ythee, Careless, more is most my shame-Have you not dis-
be instructed-Suppose, as I was saying, you honour'd me?
come up to me, holding your sides, and Mask. No, that I deny; for I never told in
laughing as if you would-Well! I look grave, all my life; so that accusation's answer'd—on
and ask the cause of this immoderate mirth: to the next.
you laugh on still, and are not able to tell Lady T. Death! do you dally with my pas-
me: still I look grave; not so much as smile- sion? insolent devil! But have a care; provoke
Care. Smile! no; what the devil should me not; you shall not escape my vengeance.
you smile at, when you suppose I can't-Calm villain! how unconcern'd he stands,
tell you?
confessing treachery and ingratitude! Is there
Brisk. Pshaw, pshaw, pr'ythee don't inter- a vice more black? O, I have excuses, thou-
rupt me-but I tell you, you shall tell me at sands, for my faults: fire in my temper; pas-
last; but it shall be a great while first. sions in my soul, apt to every provocation;
Care. Well, but pr'ythee don't let it be a oppressed at once with love, and with despair.
great while, because I long to have it over. But a sedate, a thinking villain, whose black
Brisk. Well then, you tell me some good blood runs temperately bad, what excuse can
jest, or very witty thing, laughing all the clear?
while as if you were ready to die- and I
hear it, and look thus; would not you be
disappointed?
Care. No; for if it were a witty thing, I
should not expect you to understand it,
Mask. Will you be in temper, madam? I
would not talk not to be heard. I have been
a very great rogue for your sake, and you
reproach me with it; I am ready to be a rogue
still to do you service; and you are flinging
Lord F. O fie, Mr. Careless; all the world conscience and honour in my face, to rebate
allow Mr. Brisk to have wit: my wife says my inclinations, How am I to behave myself?
he has a great deal; I hope you think her You know I am your creature; my life and
a judge.
fortune in your power; to disoblige you brings
Brisk. Pho, my lord, his voice goes for me certain ruin. Allow it, I would betray
nothing-I can't tell how to make him ap-you, I would not be a traitor to myself: I

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
327
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lady T. How, how? thou dear, thou pre-
cious villain, how?
Mask. You have already been tampering
Lady T. I have: she is ready for any im-
pression I think fit.
don't pretend to honesty, because you know
I am a rascal: but I would convince you,
from the necessity, of my being firm to you.
Lady T. Necessity, impudence! Can no gra- with my lady Pliant.
titude incline you? no obligations touch you?
Were you not in the nature of a servant?
and have not I, in effect, made you lord of Mask. She must be thoroughly persuaded
all, of me, and of my lord? Where is that that Mellefont loves her.
humble love, the languishing, that adoration
which was once paid me, and everlastingly turally, and likes him so well, that she will
engaged?
Mask. Fixed, rooted in my heart, whence
nothing can remove 'em; yet you
Lady T. Yet; what yet?
Mask. Nay, misconceive me not, madam,
when I say I have had a generous, and a
faithful passion, which you had never favoured
but through revenge and policy.
Lady T. Ha!
Lady T. She is so credulous that way na-
believe it faster than I can persuade her. But
I don't see what you can propose from such
a trifling design; for her first conversing with
Mellefont will convince her of the contrary.
Mask. I know it.-I don't depend upon it;
but it will prepare something else, and gain
us leisure to lay a stronger plot: if I gain a
little time, I shall not want contrivance.
One minute gives invention to destroy
What, to rebuild, will a whole age employ.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The same.
Mask. Look you, madam, we are alone-
pray contain yourself, and hear me. You
know you lov'd your nephew, when I first
sigh'd for you; I quickly found it: an argu-
ment that I loved; for, with that art you veil'd
Enter LADY FROTH and CYNTHIA.
your passion, 'twas imperceptible to all but
jealous eyes. This discovery made me bold, Cyn. Indeed, madam! is it possible your
I confess it; for by it I thought you in my ladyship could have been so much in love?
power: your nephew's scorn of you added to Lady F. I could not sleep; I did not sleep
my hopes; I watched the occasion, and took one wink for three weeks together.
you, just repulsed by him, warm at once with Cyn. Prodigious! I wonder want of sleep,
love and indignation; your disposition, my and so much love, and so much wit as your
arguments, and happy opportunity, accom- ladyship has, did not turn your brain.
plish'd my design. How I have loved you Lady F. O, my dear Cynthia, you must not
since, words have not shown; then how should rally your friend. But really, as you say, I
words express?
wonder too-But then I had a way; for, be-
tween you and I, I had whimsies and vapours;
but I gave them vent.
Lady T. Well, mollifying devil! and have
I not met your love with forward fire?
Mask. Your zeal, I grant, was ardent, but
misplaced: there was revenge in view; that
woman's idol had defil'd the temple of the god,
and love was made a mock-worship. - A son
and heir would have edg'd young Mellefont
upon the brink of ruin, and left him nought
but you to catch at for prevention.
Lady T. Again, provoke me! Do you wind
me like a larum, only to rouse my own still'd
soul for your diversion? Confusion!
Cyn. How pray, madam?
Lady F. O, I writ; writ abundantly. - Do
you never write?
Cyn. Write! what?
Lady F. Songs, elegies, satires, encomiums,
panegyrics, lampoons, plays, or heroic poems.
Cyn. O Lord, not I, madam; I'm content
to be a courteous reader.
Lady F. O, inconsistent! In love, and not
write! If my lord and I had been both of
Mask. Nay, madam, I'm gone, if you re- your temper, we had never come together.--
lapse. What needs this? I say nothing but O, bless me! what a sad thing would that have
what yourself, in open hours of love, have been, if my lord and I should never have met!
told me. Why should you deny it? Nay, Cyn. Then neither my lord or you would
how can you? Is not all this present heat ever have met with your match, on my con-
owing to the same fire? Do not you love him science.
still? How have I this day offended you, but
in not breaking off his match with Cynthia?
which, ere to-morrow, shall be done, had you
but patience.
Lady T. How! what said you, Maskwell?
-Another caprice to unwind my temper?
Lady F
Lady F. O'my conscience, no more we
should; thou say'st right; for sure my lord
Froth is as fine a gentleman, and as much a
man of quality!-Ah! nothing at all of the
common air-I think I may say, he wants no-
thing but a blue ribbon and a star to make
Mask. No, by my love, I am your slave; him shine the very phosphorus of our hemi-
the slave of all your pleasures; and will not sphere. Do you understand those two hard
rest till I have given you peace, would you words? If you don't I'll explain 'em to you.
suffer me.
Cyn. Yes, yes, madam, I'm not so ignorant.
Lady T. O, Maskwell, in vain do I disguise-At least I won't own it, to be troubled with
me from thee; thou knowest me; knowest the your instructions.
[Aside.
very inmost windings and recesses of my soul. Lady F. Nay, I beg your pardon; but, be-
O Mellefont!-Married to-morrow!-Despair ing derived from the Greek, I thought you
strikes me. Yet my soul knows I hate him might have escap'd the etymology. But I'm
too: let him but once be mine, and next im- the more amazed, to find you a woman of
mediate ruin seize him.
letters, and not write! Bless me, how can Mel-
Mask. Compose yourself; you shall have lefont believe you love him?
your wish.-Will that please you?
Cyn. Why faith, madam, he that won't take

328
[ACT II.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
my word shall never have it under my hand.
Lady F. I vow, Mellefont's a pretty gentle- as I do my wife? I'm afraid not.
man; but methinks he wants a manner.
Cyn. A manner! what's that, madam?
Lady F. Some distinguishing quality; as,
for example, the bel air, or brilliant, of Mr.
Brisk; the solemnity, yet complaisance, of my
lord; or something of his own, that should
look a little je-ne-sais-quoi-ish; he is too much
a mediocrity, in my mind.
Lord F. D'ye think he'll love you as well
Cyn. I believe he'll love me better.
Lord F. Heavens! that can never be: but
why do you think so?
Cyn. He does not, indeed, affect either pert-
ness or formality; for which I like him: here
he comes.
Lady F. And my lord with him: pray ob-
serve the difference.
Enter LORD FROTH, MELLEFONT, and BRISK.
Cyn. Impertinent creature! I could almost
be angry with her now.
[Aside.
Cyn. Because he has not so much reason
to be fond of himself.
Lady F. O, your humble servant for that,
dear madam. Well, Mellefont, you'll be a
happy creature.
Mel. Ay, my lord, I shall have the same
reason for my happiness that your lordship
has, I shall think myself happy.
Lord F. Ah, that's all.
Brisk. Your ladyship is in the right; [To
Lady Froth] but, 'egad, I'm wholly turned
when I do-keen i mbics, 'egad. But my lord
into satire. I confess I write but seldom; but
was telling me, your ladyship has made an
essay toward an heroic poem.
Lady F. My lord, I have been telling Cyn- Lady F. Did my lord tell you? Yes, I vow,
thia how much I have been in love with you; and the subject is my lord's love to me. And
I swear I have; I'm not ashamed to own it what do you think I call it? I dare swear you
now; ah! it makes my heart leap; I vow I won't guess-The Syllabub, ha, ha, ha!
sigh when I think on't.-My dear lord! Ha,
ha, ha! do you remember, my lord?
Brisk. Because my lord's title's Froth, 'egad,
ha, ha, ha!-deuce take me, very apropos and
surprising, ha, ha, ha!
-
[Squeezes him by the Hand, looks kindly
on him, sighs, and then laughs out. Lady F. Hey, ay, is not it? And then I call
Lord F. Pleasant creature! Perfectly well. my lord Spumoso; and myself what d'ye
Ah! that look, ay, there it is; who could re-think I call myself?
sist? 'Twas so my heart was made a captive
first, and ever since it has been in love with
happy slavery.
Brisk. Lactilla, may be 'gad, I cannot tell.
Lady F. Biddy, that's all; just my own name.
Brisk Biddy! 'egad, very pretty-deuce
Lady F. O that tongue, that dear deceitful take me, if your ladyship has not the art of
tongue! that charming softness in your mien surprising the most naturally in the world. I
and your expression!-and then your bow! hope you'll make me happy in communicating
Good, my lord, bow as you did when I gave the poem.
you my picture. Here, suppose this my pic-. Lady F. O, you must be my confidant; I
ture-[Gives him a pocket Glass] Pray mind must ask your advice.
my lord; ah! he bows charmingly. [Lord Brisk. I'm your humble servant, let me pe-
Froth bows profoundly low, then kisses the
Glass] Nay, my lord, you shan't kiss it so
much; I shall grow jealous, I vow now..
Lord F. I saw myself there, and kissed it
for your sake.
Lady F. Ah! gallantry to the last degree.
Mr. Brisk, you're a judge; was ever any thing
so well bred as my lord?
Brisk. Never any thing-but your ladyship,
let me perish.
Lady F. O, prettily turned again! let me
die but you have a great deal of wit.-Mr.
Mellefont, don't you think Mr. Brisk has a
world of wit?
Mel. O yes, madam.
Brisk. O dear, madam.
Lady F. An infinite deal.
Brisk. O heavens, madam-
Lady F. More wit than any body.
Brisk. I'm everlastingly your humble ser-
vant, deuce take me, madam.
rish. I presume your ladyship has read Bossu?
Lady F. O yes; and Rapin, and Dacier upon
Aristotle and Horace. My lord, you must not
be jealous, I'm communicating all to Mr. Brisk.
Lord F. No, no, I'll allow Mr. Brisk. Have
you nothing about you to show him, my dear?
Lady F. Yes, I believe I have. Mr. Brisk,
come, will you go into the next room? and
there I'll show you what I have.
[Exit with Brisk.
Lord F. I'll walk a turn in the garden, and
come to you.
[Exit
Mel. You're thoughtful, Cynthia.
Cyn. I'm thinking that though marriage
makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em
still two fools; and they become more con-
spicuous by setting off1) one another.
Mel. That's only when two fools meet, and
their follies are opposed.
Cyn. Nay, I have known two wits meet,
and by the opposition of their wit, render
Lord F. Don't you think us a happy cou- themselves as ridiculous as fools. Matrimony
ple?
[To Cyn. is a hazardous game to engage in. What
Cyn. I vow, my lord, I think you are the think you of drawing stakes, and giving over
happiest couple in the world; for you're not in time?
only happy in one another, and when you are Mel. No, hang't, that's not endeavouring to
together, but happy in yourselves, and by win, because it's possible we may lose; since
yourselves.
we have shuffled and cut, let's e'en turn up
trump now.
Lord F. I hope Mellefont will make a good
husband too.
Cyn. 'Tis my interest to believe he will, my
lord.
1) For instance, a lady's white hand is set off embellish-
ed) by the contrast of the black keys of the piano-
forte; and gentlemen generally prefer to play on an
ebony flute.

SCENE 1.]
329
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lady P. Inhuman and treacherous-
Sir P. Thou serpent and first tempter of
Cyn. Bless me! Sir-madam-what mean
Cyn. Then I find it's like cards; if either of
us have a good hand, it is an accident of fortune.
Mel. No, marriage is rather like a game at womankind--
bowls; fortune indeed makes the match, and
the two nearest, and sometimes the two fur-you?
thest are together; but the game, depends en- Sir P. Thy, Thy, come away, Thy; touch
tirely upon judgment.
him not; come hither, girl; go not near him,
Cyn. Still it is a game, and consequently there's nothing but deceit about him; snakes
one of us must be a loser.
are in his looks, and the crocodile of Nilus is
in his wicked appetite; he would devour thy
fortune, and starve thee alive.
Mel. Not at all; only a friendly trial of skill,
and the winnings to be laid out in an enter-
tainment.
Enter SIR PAUL and LADY PLIANT.
Sir P. 'Gadsbud! I am provoked into a fer-
mentation, as my lady Froth says. Was ever
the like read of in story?
Lady P. Sir Paul, have patience, let me
alone to rattle him up.
Sir P. 'Pray your ladyship, give me leave
to be angry; I'll rattle him up, I warrant you;
I'll teach him, with a certiorari, to make love
to my wife.
Lady P. Dishonourable, impudent creature!
Mel. For heaven's sake, madam, to whom
do you direct this language?
Lady P. Have I behaved myself with all the
decorum and nicety befitting the person of sir
Paul's wife; have I preserved my honour as
it were in a snow-house; have I, I say, pre-
served myself like a fair sheet of paper, for
you to make a blot upon?
Sir P. And she shall make a simile with
any woman in England.
Mel. I am so amazed, I know not what to
say.
Lady P. You teach him! I'll teach him my-
self; so pray, sir Paul, hold you contented. Sir P. Do you think my daughter - this
Sir P. Hold yourself contented, my lady Pli- pretty creature-'Gadsbud, she's a wife for a
ant; I find passion coming upon me even to cherubim!-Do you think her fit for nothing
desperation, and I cannot submit as formerly,
therefore give way.
Lady P. How now? will you be pleased to
retire, and-
but to be a stalking-horse, 1) to stand before
you while you take aim at my wife? 'Gads-
bud, I was never angry before in my life, and
I'll never be appeased again.
Sir P. No, marry, will I not be pleased; I Mel. Confusion! this is my aunt; such ma-
am pleased to be angry, that's my pleasure at lice can be engendered no where else. [Aside.
Mel. What can this mean? [this time, Lady P. Sir Paul, take Cynthia from his
Lady P. 'Gads my life, the man's distracted. sight; leave me to strike him with the remorse
Why, how now, who are you? What am I? of his intended crime.
Slidikins, can't I govern you? What did I Cyn. Pray, sir, stay; hear him; I dare af-
marry you for? Am I not to be absolute and firm he's innocent.
uncontrolable? Is it fit a woman of my spirit Sir P. Innocent! Why, harkye; come hi-
and conduct should be contradicted in a mat-ther, Thy, harkye, I had it from his aunt, my
ter of this concern?
sister Touchwood. 'Gadsbud, he does not care
Sir P. It concerns me, and only me; besi- a farthing for any thing of thee, but thy por-
des, I'm not to be governed at all times. When tion; why he's in love with my wife; he
I am in tranquillity, my lady Pliant shall com- would have tantalized thee, and dishonour'd
mand sir Paul; but when I'm provoked to thy poor father, and that would certainly have
fury, I cannot incorporate with patience and broke my heart. I'm sure, if ever I should
reason; as soon may tigers match with tigers, have horns, they would kill me; they would
lanibs with lambs, and every creature couple never come kindly; I should die of 'em, like
with its foe, as the poet says.
any child that was cutting his teeth-I should
Lady P. He's hot-headed still! 'Tis in vain indeed, Thy, therefore come away; but Pro-
to talk to you; but remember I have a cur-vidence has prevented all, therefore come away
tain-lecture¹) for you, you disobedient, head- when I bid you.
strong brute.
Cyn. I must obey. [Exit with Sir Paul.
Sir P. No, 'tis because I won't be headstrong, Lady P. O, such a thing! the impiety of it
because I won't be a brute, and have my head startles me; to wrong so good, so fair a crea-
fortified, that I am thus exasperated. But I ture, and one that loves you tenderly: 'tis a
will protect my honour: and yonder is the barbarity of barbarities, and nothing could be
violater of my fame.
guilty of it-
Lady P. 'Tis my honour that is concerned, Mel. But the greatest villain imagination can
and the violation was intended to me. Your form, I grant it; and next to the villany of
honour! you have none! but what is in my such a fact, is the villany of aspersing me with
keeping, and I can dispose of it when I please; the guilt. How? which way was I to wrong
therefore don't provoke me.
her? for yet I understand you not.
Sir P. Hum, gadsbud, she says true. [Aside]
Well, my lady, march on; I will fight under
you then: I am convinced, as far as passion
will permit.
[Sir Paul and Lady Pliant
come up to Mellefont.
1) 'Tis a dreadful thing for a man to be subject to the
threats of a curtain-lecture; but what a scene when
put in practice. The lady commences her discourses
in bed, depriving the husband of his sleep-It is
called curtain-lecture from the bed curtains.
Lady P. Why, 'gads my life, cousin Mel-
lefont, you cannot be so peremptory as to
1
It is a custom to go on moonlight nights shooting cur-
liews on the sea-shore; but as these birds are very
shy, there is no means of approaching them, but by
hiding behind any old horse, which is made to ge
backwards to the place, for the purpose, The birds
not being frightened, by this means are easily aimed
at, though it is difficult to get more than one shot in
the same place the same night,
42

330
[ACT II.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
or
deny it, when I tax you with it to your face; all thoughts of the marriage; for though I
for, now sir Paul's gone, you are corum nobus. know you don't love Cynthia, only as a blind
Mel. By heaven, I love her more than life, for your passion to me, yet it will make me
jealous-O Lord, what did I say? Jealous!
Lady P. Fiddle, faddle, don't tell me of this no, no, I can't be jealous; for I must not love
and that, and every thing in the world; but you therefore don't hope-but don't despair
give me mathemacular demonstration, answer neither. O, they're coming, I must fly. [Exit.
me directly. But I have not patience. Oh! Mel. [After a Pause] So then, spite of my
the impiety of it, as I was saying, and the un-care and foresight, I am caught, caught in my
paralleled wickedness! O merciful father! how security: yet this was but a shallow artifice,
could you think to reverse nature so, to make unworthy of my machiavilian aunt: there must
the daughter the means of procuring the mother! be more behind: destruction follows hard, if
Mel. The daughter procure the mother! not presently prevented.
Lady P. Ay; for though I am not Cynthia's
own mother, I am her father's wife; and that's
near enough to make it incest.
Enter MASKWELL.
Maskwell, welcome! Thy presence is a view
Mel. O my precious aunt, and the devil in of land appearing to my shipwrecked hopes:
'conjunction!
[Aside. the witch has raised the storm, and her mini-
Lady P. O reflect upon the horror of that, sters have done their work; you see the ves-
and then the guilt of deceiving every body; sels are parted.
marrying the daughter, only to dishonour the
father; and then seducing me
Mel. Where am I? is it day? and am
awake? Madam-
I
Mask. I know it: I met sir Paul towing
away Cynthia. Come, trouble not your head,
I'll join you together ere to-morrow morning,
or drown between you in the attempt.
Lady P. And nobody knows how circum- Mel. There's comfort in a hand stretch'd
stances may happen together. To my think-out to one that's sinking, though never so far
ing now, I could resist the strongest tempta- off.
tion; but yet I know 'tis impossible for me Mask. No sinking, nor no danger. Come,
to know whether I could or no; there's no cheer up; why, you don't know that, while I
certainty in the things of this life.
plead for you, your aunt has given me a re-
taining fee; nay, I am your greatest enemy,
and she does but journey-work under me.
Mel. Ha! how's this?
Mel. Madam, pray give me leave to ask you
one question.
Lady P. O Lord, ask me the question! I'll
swear I'll refuse it; I swear I'll deny it, there- Mask. What d'ye think of my being em-
fore don't ask me; nay, you shan't ask me; ployed in the execution of all her plots? Ha,
I swear I'll deny it. O gemini, you have ha, ha! Nay, it's true: I have undertaken to
brought all the blood into my face; I warrant, break the match: I have undertaken to make
I am as red as a turkey-cock. O fie, cousin your uncle disinherit you; to get you turn'd
Mellefont!
out of doors, and to Ha, ha, ha!-I can't tell
Mel. Nay, madam, hear me -
you for laughing-O she has opened her heart
Lady P. Hear you? No, no: I'll deny you to me-I'm to turn you a grazing, and to-
first, and hear you afterwards; for one does Ha, ha, ha! marry Cynthia myself; there's a
not know how one's mind may change upon plot for you.
hearing. Hearing is one of the senses, and Mel. Ha! O see, I see my rising sun! Light
all the senses are fallible; I won't trust my breaks through clouds upon me, and I shall
honour, I assure you; my honour is infallible live in day.-O, my Maskwell, how shall I
and un-come-at-ible.
thank or praise thee! thou hast outwitted wo-
Mel. For heaven's sake, madam-
man. But tell me, how couldst thou thus get
Lady P. O name it no more.-Bless me, into her confidence, ha-how? But was it her
how can you talk of heaven, and have so much contrivance to persuade my lady Pliant to this
wickedness in your heart? May be, you don't extravagant belief?
think it a sin-they say some of you gentle- Mask. It was; and, to tell you the truth, I
men don't think it a sin-Indeed, if I did not encouraged it for your diversion: though it
think it a sin-But still my honour, if it were made you a little uneasy for the present, yet
no sin-But then, to marry my daughter, for the reflection of it must needs be entertaining.
the conveniency of frequent opportunities-I'll I warrant she was very violent at first.
never consent to that; as sure as can be, I'll Mel. Ha, ha, ha! Ay, a very fury.
break the match.
Mask. Ha, ha, ha! I know her temper. Well,
Mel. Death and amazement! Madam, upon you must know then that all my contrivances
my knees-
were but bubbles; till at last I pretended to
Lady P. Nay, nay, rise up: come, you shall have been long secretly in love with Cynthia;
see my good nature. I know love is power-that did my business; that convinced your
ful, and nobody can help his passion: 'tis not aunt I might be trusted; since it was as much
your fault, nor I swear it is not mine. How my interest as hers to break the match: then
can I help it, if I have charms? And how can she thought my jealousy might qualify me to
you help it, if you are made a captive? O assist her in her revenge; and, in short, in
Lord, here's somebody coming; I dare not that belief, told me the secrets of her heart.
stay. Well, you must consider of your crime, At length we made this agreement: if I ac-
and strive as much as can be against it-strive, complish her designs (as I told you before),
be sure: but don't be melancholy, don't de- she has engaged to put Cynthia, with all her
spair: but never think that I'll grant you any fortune, into my power.
thing-O Lord, no: but be sure you lay aside Mel. She is most gracious in her favour.-

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
331
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lady T. So I suppose there was.
Lord T. How? where? when?
Lady T. That I can't tell; nay, I don't say
there was; I am willing to believe as favour-
ably of my nephew as I can.
Lord T. I don't know that. [Half aside.
Lady T. How? Don't you believe that, say
Lord T. No, I don't say so. I confess I am
troubled to find you so cold in his defence.
Lady T. His defence? Bless me, would you
have me defend an ill thing?
Lord T. You believe it then?
Well, and, dear Jack, how hast thou contrived?| Lord T. There should have been demon-
Mask. I would not have you stay to hear stration of the contrary too, before it had been
it now; for I don't know but she may come believed.
this way. I am to meet her anon; after that
I'll tell you the whole matter. Be here in this
gallery an hour hence: by that time, I ima-
gine, our consultation may be over.
Mel. I will. Till then, success attend thee.
[Exit.
Mask. Till then, success will attend me;
for when I meet you, I meet the only obstacle you, my lord?
to my fortune.-Cynthia, let thy beauty gild
my crimes; and whatsoever I commit of treach-
ery or deceit shall be imputed to me as a
merit.-Treachery! what treachery? Love can-
cels all the bonds of friendship, and sets men
right upon their first foundations. Duty to Lady T. I don't know; I am very unwill-
kings, piety to parents, gratitude to benefacing to speak my thoughts in any thing that
tors, and fidelity to friends, are different and may be to my cousin's disadvantage; besides,
particular ties: but the name of rival cuts 'em I find, my lord, you are prepared to receive
all asunder, and is a general acquittance. Ri- an ill impression from any opinion of mine,
val is equal; and love, like death, a universal which is not consenting with your own; but
leveller of mankind.-Ha! but is there not such since I am like to be suspected in the end,
a thing as honesty? Yes, and whosoever has and 'tis a pain any longer to dissemble, I own
it about him bears an enemy in his breast; it to you: in short, I do believe it; nay, and
for your honest man, as I take it, is that nice, can believe any thing worse, if it were laid
scrupulous, conscientious person, who will to his charge.-Don't ask me my reasons, my
cheat nobody but himself: such another cox-lord; for they are not fit to be told you.
comb as your wise man, who is too hard for Lord T. I'm amazed! Here must be some-
all the world, and will be made a fool of by thing more than ordinary in this. [Aside] Not
nobody but himself.-Ha, ha, ha! Well, for fit to be told me, madam? You can have no
wisdom and honesty, give me cunning and interests wherein I am not concerned; and
hypocrisy! Oh, 'tis such a pleasure to angle consequently the same reasons ought to be
for fairfaced fools! Then that hungry gudgeon, convincing to me, which create your satisfac-
credulity, will bite at any thing.-Why, let tion or disquiet.
me see: I have the same face, the same words Lady T. But those which cause my disquiet,
and accents, when I speak what I do think, I am willing to have remote from your hear-
and when I speak what I do not think; the ing. Good my lord, don't press me.
very same; and dear dissimulation is the only Lord T. Don't oblige me to press you.
art not to be known from nature.
Lady T. Whatever it was, 'tis past; and
Why will mankind be fools, and be deceiv'd? that is better to be unknown, which cannot
And why are friends and lovers' oaths believ'd? be prevented; therefore let me beg of you to
When each, who searches strictly his own rest satisfied.
mind,
May so much fraud and power of baseness
find.
ACT III.
SCENE I. The same.
[Exit.
Enter LORD and LADY TOUCHWOOD.
Lord T. When you have told me I will.
Lady T. You won't.
Lord T. By my life, my dear, I will.
Lady T. What if you can't?
Lord T. How? Then I must know; nay, I
will: no more trifling-I charge you tell me
-by all our mutual peace to come, upon
your duty-
Lady T. My lord, can you blame my bro- Lady T. Nay, my lord, you need say no
ther Pliant, if he refuse his daughter upon this more, to make me lay my heart before you;
provocation? The contract's void by this un- but don't be thus transported; compose your-
heard-of impiety.
self: it is not of concern, to make you lose
Lord T. I don't believe it true; he has bet-one minute's temper. 'Tis not indeed, my
ter principles-pho, 'tis nonsense. Come, come, dear. O Lord, I wish I had not told you
I know my lady Pliant: 'tis not the first any thing.-Indeed, my lord, you have fright-
time she has mistaken respect for love, and ened me. Nay, look pleased, I'll tell you.
made sir Paul jealous of the civility of an Lord T. Well, well.
undesigning person, the better to bespeak his
security in her unfeigned pleasures.
Lady T. You censure hardly, my lord: my
sister's honour is very well known.
Lady T. Nay, but will you be calm? In-
deed it's nothing but-
Lord T. But what?
Lady T. But will you promise me not to
Lord T. Yes, I believe I know some that be angry?-nay, you must not to be angry
have been familiarly acquainted with it. This with Mellefont?-I dare swear he's sorry; and,
is a little trick wrought by some pitiful con- were it to do again, would not-
triver, envious of my nephew's merit.
Lord T. Sorry for what? 'Death, you rack
Lady T. Nay, my lord, it may be so, and me with delay.
I hope it will be found so; but that will re- Lady T. Nay, no great matter, only-well,
quire some time; for, in such a case as this, I have your promise-pho, why nothing, only
demonstration is necessary.
your nephew had a mind to amuse himself

332
[ACT III.
THE DOUBLE DEALER,
sometimes with a little gallantry towards must be performed in the remaining part of
me. Nay, I can't think he meant any thing this evening, and before the company break
seriously; but methought it looked oddly. up, lest my lord should cool, and have an
Lord T. Confusion! what do I hear? opportunity to talk with him privately: my
Lady T. Or, may be, he thought he was lord must not see him again.
not enough akin to me upon your account, Mask. By no means; therefore you must
and had a mind to create a nearer relation aggravate my lord's displeasure to a degree
on his own; a lover, you know, my lord-ha, that will admit of no conference with him.-
ha, ha!--Well, but that's all. Now you have What think you of mentioning me?
it. Well, remember your promise, my lord; Lady T. How?
and don't take any notice of it to him.
Lord T. No, no, no.
Mask. To my lord, as having been privy
to Mellefont's design upon you, but still using
Lady T. Nay, I swear you must not a little my utmost endeavours to dissuade him: though
harmless mirth-only misplaced, that's all.-my friendship and love to him has made me
But if it were more, 'tis over now, and all's conceal it, yet you may say I threatened the
well. For my part, I have forgot it; and so next time he attempted any thing of that kind,
has he, I hope; for I have not heard any thing to discover it to my lord.
from him these two days.
Lady T. To what end is this?
Lord T. These two days! Is it so fresh ?- Mask. It will confirm my lord's opinion of
Unnatural villain! I'll have him stripped, and my honour and honesty, and create in him a
turned naked out of my doors this moment, new confidence in me, which (should this de-
and let him rot and perish!
sign miscarry) will be necessary to the form-
ing of another plot that I have in my head
a-to cheat you, as well as the rest. [Aside,
Lady T. O, my lord, you'll ruin me, if you
take such public notice of it; it will be
town-talk: consider your own and my honour.
-Stay, I told you you would not be satisfied
when you knew it.
Lady T. Tll do it.
Mask. You had best go to my lord, keep
him as long as you can in his closet, and I
Lord T. Before I've done, I will be satis-doubt not but you will mould him to what
fied. Ungrateful monster! How long- you please: your guests are so engaged in
Lady T. Lord, I don't know; I wish my their own follies and intrigues, they'll miss
lips had grown together when I told you. neither of you.
Almost a twelvemonth-nay, I won't tell you Lady T. When shall we meet?-At eight
any more, till you are yourself. Pray, my this evening in my chamber; there rejoice at
lord, don't let the company see you in this our success, and toy away an hour in mirth,
disorder: yet I confess I can't blame you; Mask. I will not fail. [Exit Lady Touch-
for I think I was never so surprised in my wood] I know what she means well enough.
life. Who would have thought my nephew I have lost all appetite to her; yet she's a fine
could have so misconstrued my kindness?-woman, and I loved her once; but I don't
But will you go into your closet, and recover know, the case is altered; what was my plea-
your temper? I'll make an excuse of sudden sure is become my duty; and I am as indif-
business to the company, and come to you. ferent to her now, as if I were her husband.
Pray, good, dear my lord, let me beg you do Should she smoke my design upon Cynthia,
now: I'll come immediately, and tell you all. I were in a fine pickle. She has a penetra-
Will you, my lord?
ting head, and knows how to interpret a cold-
ness the right way; therefore I must dissemble
ardour and ecstacy, that's resolved. How easily
and pleasantly is that dissembled before frui-
Lord T. Well, I go. You won't stay; for tion! Plague on't, that a man can't drink with-
I would hear more of this.
Lady T. I'll follow instantly.
Lord T. I will. I am mute with wonder.
Lady T. Well, but go now; here's some-
body coming.
So!
[Exit Lord Touchwood.
Enter MASKWELL.
Mask. This was a masterpiece, and did not
need my help; though I stood ready for a
cue to come in, and confirm all, had there
been occasion.
out quenching his thirst.-Ha! yonder comes
Mellefont, thoughtful. Let me think: meet her
at eight-hum-ha! I have it. If I can speak
to my lord before, I will deceive 'em all, and
yet secure myself. 'Twas a lucky thought!
Well, this double dealing is a jewel. Here
he comes-now for me.
Enter MELLEFONT, musing.-MASKWELL, pre-
tending not to see him, walks by him, and
speaks, as it were, to himself.
Lady T. Have you seen Mellefont?
Mask. I have; and am to meet him here Mercy on us! what will the wickedness of this
about this time.
world come to!
Lady T. How does he bear his disappoint-
ment?
Mel. How now, Jack? What, so full of
contemplation that you run over?
Mask. Secure in my assistance, he seemed Mask. I'm glad you're come, for I could
not much afflicted, but rather laughed at the not contain myself any longer; and was just
shallow artifice, which so little time must of going to give vent to a secret, which nobody
necessity discover: yet he is apprehensive of but you ought to drink down. Your aunt's
some further design of yours, and has engaged just gone from hence.
me to watch you. I believe he will hardly Mel. And having trusted thee with the se-
be able to prevent your plot; yet I would crets of her soul, thou art villanously bent to
have you use caution and expedition.
discover 'em all to me, ha?
Lady T. Expedition indeed; for all we do
Mask. I'm afraid my frailty leans that way;

SCENE 1.]
333
THE DOUBLE DEALER,
but I don't know whether I can in honour
discover all.
Mel. All, all, man. What, you may in
honour betray her as far as she betrays her-
self. No tragical design upon my person, I
hope?
Mel. Why, what's the matter? She's con-
vinced that I don't care for her.
Care. I can't get an answer from her, that
does not begin with her honour, or her virtue,
or some such cant. Then she has told me
the whole history of sir Paul's nine years'
Mask. No, but it's a comical design upon courtship; how he has lain for whole nights
mine.
Mel. What dost thou mean?
Mask. Listen, and be dumb: we have been
bargaining about the rate of your ruin-
Mel. Like any two guardians to an orphan
heiress. Well.
Musk. And whereas pleasure is generally
paid with mischief, what mischief I shall do
is to be paid with pleasure.
17
together upon the stairs, before her chamber-
door; and that the first favour he received
from her, was a piece of an old scarlet pet-
ticoat for a stomacher; which, since the day
of his marriage, he has, out of a piece of gal-
lantry, converted into a night-cap; and wears
it still, with much solemnity, on his anniver-
sary wedding-night,
Mel. You are very great with him. I won-
der he never told you his grievances: he will,
I warrant you.
Mel. So when you've swallowed the potion,
you sweeten your mouth with a plum?
Mask. You are merry, sir; but I shall probe Care. Excessively foolish!-But that which
your constitution: in short, the price of your gives me most hopes of her, is her telling me
banishment is to be paid with the person of-of the many temptations she has resisted.
Mel. Of Cynthia, and her fortune. VVhy, Mel. Nay, then you have her; for a WO-
you forget, you told me this before.
man's bragging to a man that she has over-
Mask. No, no; so far you are right; and come temptations, is an argument that they
I am, as an earnest of that bargain, to have were weakly offered, and a challenge to him
full and free possession of the person of-to engage her more irresistibly. Here she
comes with sir Paul. I'll leave you. Ply her
close, and by-and-by clap a billet-doux into
her hand; for a woman never thinks a man
truly in love with her, till he has been fool
enough to think of her out of her sight, and
to lose so much time as to write to her. [Exit.
your aunt.
Mel. Ha!-Pho! you trifle.
Mask. By this light, I'm serious, all raillery
apart. I knew 'twould stun you. This eve-
ning, at eight, she will receive me in her bed-
chamber.
Mel. Hell and the devil! is she abandoned
of all grace?-Why, the woman is possessed,
Mask. Well, will you go in my stead?
Mel. Into a hot furnace sooner.
Mask. No you would not; it would not be
so convenient, as I can order matters.
Mel. What d'ye mean?
Enter SIR PAUL and LADY PLIANT.
Sir P. Shan't we disturb your meditation,
Mr. Careless? you would be private?
Care. You bring that along with you, sir
Paul, that shall be always welcome to my
privacy.
Sir P. O, sweet sir, you load your humble
servants, both me and my wife, with conti-
nual favours.
Mask. Mean! not to disappoint the lady, I
assure you.-Ha, ha, ha! how gravely he looks.
-Come, come, I won't perplex you. 'Tis the
only thing that Providence could have contrived
Lady P. Sir Paul, what a phrase was there!
to make me capable of serving you, either to You will be making answers, and taking that
my inclination or your own necessity,
upon you which ought to lie upon me: that
Mel. How, how, for heaven's sake, dear you should have so little breeding, to think
Maskwell?
Mr. Careless did not apply himself to me.
Mask, Why thus: I'll go according to ap- Pray what have you to entertain any body's
pointment; you shall have notice, at the cri- privacy? I swear and declare, in the face of
tical minute, to come and surprise your aunt the world, I'm ready to blush for your igno-
and me together. Counterfeit a rage against rance.
me, and I'll make my escape through the pri- Sir P. I acquiesce, my lady; but don't snub
vate passage from her chamber, which I'll take so loud.
[Apart.
care to leave open. 'Twill be hard if then. Lady P. Mr. Careless, if a person that is
you can't bring her to any conditions; for wholly illiterate might be supposed to be ca-
this discovery will disarm her of all defence, pable of being qualified to make a suitable
and leave her entirely at your mercy: nay, return to those obligations, which you are
she must ever after be in awe of you. pleased to confer upon one that is wholly in-
Mel. Let me adore thee, my better genius! capable of being qualified in all those circum
I think it is not in the power of fate now to stances, I'm sure I should rather attempt it
disappoint my hopes-my hopes? my certainty! than any thing in the world; [Courtesies]
Mask. Well, I'll meet you here, within a for, I'm sure, there's nothing in the world
quarter of eight, and give you notice. that I would rather, [Courtesies] But I know
Mel. Good fortune ever go with thee! Mr. Careless is so great a critic, and so fine
[Exit Maskwell. a gentleman, that it is impossible for me--
Care. O heavens, madam! you confound me.
Sir P. 'Gadsbud, she's a fine person.
Care. Mellefont, get out o'the way. My Lady P. O Lord, sir, pardon me, we wo-
lady Pliant's coming, and I shall never suc- men have not those advantages: I know my
ceed while thou art in sight, though she be- own imperfections; but, at the same time, you
gins to tack about; but I made love a great must give me leave to declare in the face of
while to no purpose.
the world, that nobody is more sensible of
Enter CARELESS.
1

334
[ACT III.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
favours and things; for, with the reserve of great grief to me, indeed it is, Mr. Careless,
my honour, I assure you, Mr. Careless, I that I have not a son to inherit this.-'Tis
don't know any thing in the world I would true, I have a daughter; and a fine dutiful
refuse to a person so meritorious. You'll par- child she is, though I say it-blessed be Pro-
don my want of expression.
Care. O, your ladyship is abounding in all
excellence, particularly that of phrase.
Lady P. You are so obliging, sir,
Care. Your ladyship is so charming.
Sir P. So, now, now; now, my lady.
Lady P. So well bred,
Care. So surprising.
Lady P. So well dressed, so bonne
mine,
so eloquent, so unaffected, so easy, so free,
so particular, so agreeable-
Sir P. Ay, so, so, there.
vidence, I may say; for indeed, Mr. Careless,
I am mightily beholding to Providence-a poor
unworthy sinner!-But if I had a son-ah,
that's my affliction, and my only affliction;
indeed, I cannot refrain from tears when it
comes in my mind.
[Cries.
Care. Why, methinks that might be easily-
remedied-my lady's a fine likely woman.
Sir P. Oh, a fine likely woman as you shall
see in a summer's day-indeed she is, Mr.
Careless, in all respects.
Care. And I should not have taken you to
Care. O Lord, I beseech you, madam, don't-have been so old-
Lady P. So gay, so graceful, so good teeth,
Sir P. Alas, that's not it, Mr. Careless; ah!
so fine shape, so fine limbs, so fine linen; that's not it; no, no, you shoot wide of the
and I don't doubt but you have a very good mark a mile, indeed you do; that's not it,
skin, sir.
Mr. Careless; no, no, that's not it.
Care. For heaven's sake, madam-I'm quite
out of countenance.
Sir P. And my lady's quite out of breath,
or else you should hear.-'Gadsbud, you may
talk of my lady Froth -
Care. No! what can be the matter then?
Sir P. You'll scarcely believe me, when I
shall tell you.-Why, my lady is so nice-I
am her husband, as I may say, though far
unworthy of that honour; yet I am her hus-
Care. O fie, fie; not to be nam'd of a day. band; but, alas-a-day, I have no more fami-
My lady Froth is very well in her accom-liarity with her person, as to that matter, than
plishments, but it is when my lady Pliant is with my own mother; no indeed.
not thought of; if that can ever be.
Lady P. O, you overcome me-that is so
excessive.
Sir P. Nay, I swear and vow, that was pretty.
Care. O, sir Paul, you are the happiest
man alive. Such a lady! that is the envy of
her sex, and the admiration of ours.
Care. Alas-a-day, this is a lamentable story;
'tis an injury to the world; my lady must be
told on't; she must, i'faith, sir Paul.
Sir P. Ah! would to heaven you would,
Mr. Careless; you are mightily in her favour,
Care. I warrant you;-what! we must have
a son some way or other.
Sir P. Your humble servant.-I am, I thank Sir P. Indeed I should be mightily bound
heaven, in a fine way of living, as I may say, to you, if you could bring it about, Mr. Ca-
peacefully and happily; and, I think, need reless.
[Gives him the Letter.
not envy any of my neighbours, blessed be Lady P. Sir Paul, it's from your steward;
Providence!-Ay, truly, Mr. Careless, my lady here's a return of six hundred pounds; you
is a great blessing; a fine, discreet, wellspo- may take fifty of it for your next half year.
ken woman, as you shall see, if it becomes
me to say so; and we live very comfortably
together: she is a little hasty sometimes, and
so am I; but mine is soon over, and then
I'm so sorry. O, Mr. Careless, if it were not
for one thing-
Enter TIMOTHY, with a Letter, and offers
it to SIR PAUL PLIANT.
'Gadso, 'gadsbud-Tim, carry it to my lady;
you should have carried it to my lady first.
Tim. 'Tis directed to your worship.
Sir P. Well, well, my lady reads all let-
ters first.
Enter LORD FROTH and CYNTHIA.
Sir P. How does my girl? Come hither
to thy father-poor lamb, thou'rt melancholy.
Lord F. Heaven's, sir Paul! you amaze me,
of all things in the world-You are never
pleased but when we are all upon the broad
grin; all laugh, and no company: ah, then
'tis such a sight to see some teeth-Sure you're
a great admirer of my lady Whifler, Mr.
Sneer, and sir Lawrence Loud, and that gang.
Sir P. I vow and swear she's a very merry
woman; but I think she laughs a little too
Lady P. How often have you been told of much.
that, you jackanapes?
--
Lord F. Merry! O Lord, what a character
Sir P. Child, do so no more; d'ye hear, that is of a woman of quality! You have
Tim?
been at my lady Whifler's upon her day,
[Exit. madam?
[To Cynthia.
Cyn. Yes, my lord.-I must humour this
[Aside.
Tim. No, and please you.
Sir P. A humour of my wife's-you know,
women have little fancies. But, as I was tell-fool.
ing you, Mr. Careless, if it were not for one Lord F. Well, and how? he! What is
thing, I should think myself the happiest man your sense of the conversation there?
in the world; indeed, that touches me near,
very near.
Care. What can that be, sir Paul?
Cyn. O, most ridiculous! a perpetual con-
cert of laughing without any harmony; for
sure, my lord, to laugh out of time is as dis-
Sir P. Why, I have, I thank heaven, a very agreeable as to sing out of time, or out of tune.
plentiful fortune, a good estate in the country, Lord F. He, he, he! right; and then, my
some houses in town, and some money, a lady Whifler is so ready, she always comes
pretty tolerable personal estate; and it is al in three bars too soon: and then what do

SCENE 1.]
335
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lady F. [Reads] And when at night his
labour's done,
they laugh at? For, you know, laughing
without a jest, is as impertinent, he! as, as
Cyn. As dancing without a fiddle.
Lord F. Just, 'ifaith-that was at my ton-Ay,
gue's end.
Cyn. But that cannot be properly said of
them; for, I think, they are all in good na-
ture with the world, and only laugh at one
another; and, you must allow, they have all
jests in their person's, though they have none
in their conversation.
Lord F. True, as I'm a person of honour:
for heavens sake, let us sacrifice 'em to mirth
a little.
Re-enter TIMOTHY, and whispers SIR PAUL
PLIANT.
Sir P. 'Gadso-Wife, wife; my lady Pliant,
I have a word-
Lady P. I'm busy, sir Paul, I wonder at
your impertinence.
Then too, like heaven's charioteer, the sun-
charioteer does better.
[Reads.
Into the dairy he descends,
And there his whipping and his driving ends;
There he's secure from danger of a bilk,
His fare is paid him, and he sets in milk.
For Susan, you know, is Thetis, and so-
Brisk. Incomparable well and proper, 'egad;
but I have one exception to make-Don't you
think bilk (I know it's good rhyme); but don't
you think bilk and fare too like a hackney-
coachman?
Lady F. I swear and vow I'm afraid so;
and yet our Jehu was a hackney-coachman
when my lord took him.
Brisk. Was he? I'm answered, if Jehu
was a hackney-coachman-You may put that
into the marginal notes though, to prevent
criticism: only mark it with a small asterism,
Care. Sir Paul, hearkye, I'm reasoning the and say, Jehu was formerly a hackney coachman.
matter, you know.-Madam, if your ladyship Lady F. I will. You'd oblige me extremely
pleases, we'll discourse of this in the next room. to write notes to the whole poem.
[Exit, with Lady Pliant. Brisk. With all my heart and soul; and
Sir P. O ho, I wish you good success; I proud of the vast honour, let me perish.
wish you good success!-Boy, tell my lady, Lord F. He, he, he! My dear, have you
when she has done, I would speak with her done? Won't you join with us? we were
below.
laughing at my lady Whifle, and Mr. Sneer.
Lady F. Ay, my dear, were you? O, filthy
Enter LADY FROTH and BRISK.
Mr. Sneer! he's a nauseous figure, a most
Lady F. Then you think that episode be- fulsamic fop, pho! He spent two days to-
tween Susan the dairy-maid, and our coach-gether in going about Coventgarden to suit the
man, is not amiss? you know, I may suppose lining of his coach with his complexion.
the dairy in town, as well as in the country. Lord F. O, silly! yet his aunt is as fond
Brisk. Incomparable, let me perish.-But of him, as if she had brought the ape into
then, being an heroic poem, had not you bet-the world herself.
[Exeunt.
ter call him a charioteer? Charioteer sounds Brisk. Who, my lady Toothless? O, she's
great; besides, your ladyship's coachman ha-a mortifying spectacle; she's always chewing
ving a red face, and you comparing him to the cud, like an old ewe.
the sun-and, you know, the sun is called
heaven's charioteer.
Lady F. Oh, infinitely better; I'm extremely
beholding to you for the hint. Stay, we'll
read over those half a score lines again. [Pulls
out a Paper] Let me see here- you know
what goes before-the comparison, you know.
[Reads.
Cyn. Eie, Mr. Brisk; 'tis eringoes for her
cough.
Lady F. Then she's always ready to laugh
when Sneer offers to speak; and sits in ex-
pectation of his no jest, with her mouth open.
Brisk. Like an oyster at low ebb, 'egad.
Ha, ha, ha!
Lady F. Then that t'other great strapping
lady; I can't hit of her name; the old fat fool
that paints so exorbitantly.
For as the sun shines ev'ry day,
So of our coachman 1 may say-
Brisk. I'm afraid that simile won't do in Brisk. I know whom you mean: but deuce
wet weather, because you say the sun shines take me, I can't hit of her name neither.
every day.
Paints, d'ye say? why she lays it on with a
Lady F. No, for the sun it won't; but it trowel; then she has a great beard that brist-
will do for the coachman; for, you know, les through it, and makes her look as if she
there's most occasion for a coach in wet were plastered with lime and hair, let me
weather.
perish.
Lady F. O, you made a song upon her,
Mr. Brisk.
Brisk. Right, right, that saves all.
Lady F. Then, I don't say the sun shines
all the day; but, that he peeps now and then: Brisk. He! 'egad, so I did. My Lord can
yet he does shine all the day too, you know, sing it. Tis not a song, neither: it's a sort
though we don't see him.
of an epigram, or rather an epigrammatic
Brisk. Right; but the vulgar will never sonnet: I don't know what to call it, but it's
comprehend that.
satire. Sing it, my lord.
Lady F. Well, you shall hear-Let me see.
[Reads.
For as the sun shines ev'ry day,
So of our coachman I may say.
He shows his drunken fiery face,
Just as the sun does, more or less.
Brisk. That's right; all's well, all's well-
more or less.
SONG. LORD FROTH.
Ancient Phillis has young graces,
'Tis a strange thing, but a true one;
Shall I tell you how?
She herself makes her own faces,
And each morning wears a new one;
Where's the wonder now?

336
[ACT IV.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Brisk. Short, but there's salt in it; my way
of writing, 'egad.
Enter THOMAS.
Lady F. How now?
Tho. Your ladyship's chair is come.
Lady F. Is nurse and the child in it?
Tho. Yes, madam.
Cyn. Well, if the devil should assist her,
and your plot miscarry.
Mel. Ay, what am I to trust to then?
Cyn. Why, if you give me very clear de-
monstration that is was the devil, I'll allow
for irresistible odds. Here's my mother-in-law,
and your friend Careless: I would not have
'em see us together yet.
[Exeunt.
[Frit.
Lady F. O the dear creature! let's go see it.
Enter CARELESS and LADY PLIANT.
Lord F. I swear, my dear, you'll spoil that
child with sending it to and again so often; Lady P. I swear, Mr. Careless, you are
this is the seventh time the chair has gone very alluring, and say so many fine things,
for her to-day.
and nothing is so moving to me as a fine
Lady F. O law, I swear it's but the sixth, thing. Well, I must do you this justice, and
and I han't seen her these two hours. The declare in the face of the world, never any
poor dear creature! I swear, my lord, you body gained so far upon me as yourself;
don't love poor little Sapho. Come, my dear with blushes I must own it, you have sha-
Cynthia; Mr. Brisk, we'll go see Sapho, though ken, as I may say, the very foundation of my
my lord won't.
honour. Well, sure if I escape your impor-
tunities, I shall value myself as long as I
live, I swear.
Cyn. I'll wait upon your ladyship.
Brisk. Pray, madam, how old is lady Sapho?
Lord F. Three quarters; but I swear she Care. And despise me.
[Sighing
has a world of wit, and can sing a tune al- Lady P. The last of any man in the world,
ready. My lord, won't you go? won't you? by my purity; now you make me swear. 0
what, not to see Saph? Pray, my lord, come gratitude, forbid that I should ever be wanting
see little Saph. I knew you could not stay, in a respectful acknowledgment of an entire
[Exeunt. resignation of all my best wishes, for the
person and parts of so accomplished a per-
son, whose merit challenges much more I'm
sure than my illiterate praises can description.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-The same.
Enter MELLEFONT and CYNTHIA.
Cyn. I heard him loud as I came by the
closet-door, and my lady with him: but she
seemed to moderate his passion.
Mel. Ay, as gentle breezes moderate a fire;
hut I shall counterwork her spells.
Cyn. It's impossible; she'll cast beyond you
still. I'll lay my life it will never be a match.
Mel. What?
Cyn. Between you and me.
Mel. Why so? I don't know why we
should not stea out of the house this moment,
and marry one another without consideration
or the fear of repentance. Hang fortune, por-
tion, settlements, and jointures.
Cyn. Ay, ay, what have we to do with
them? You know we marry for love.
Mel. Love, love, downright, very villanous
love.
Cyn. Here then, I give you my promise,
in spite of duty, any temptation of wealth,
your inconstancy, or my own inclination to
change-
Mel. To run most wilfully and unreasona-
bly away with me this moment, and be married.
Cyn. Hold-never to marry any body else.
Mel. That's but a kind of negative consent.
Why, you won't balk the frolic?
Care. Ah, heavens, madam, you ruin me
with kindness! Your charming tongue pursues
the victory of your eyes, while at your feet
your poor adorer dies. [In a whining Tone.
Lady P. Ah! very fine.
Care. Ah, why are you so fair, so be-
witching fair? O let me grow to the ground
here, and feast upon that hand! O let me
press it to my heart, my trembling heart! the
nimble movement shall instruct your pulse,
and teach it to alarm desire. [Still whining]
I'm almost at the end of my cant, if she does
not yield quickly.
[Aside.
Lady P. O that's so passionate and fine, I
cannot hear it. I am not safe if I stay, and
must leave you.
Care. And must you leave me? Rather let
me languish out a wretched life, and breathe
my soul beneath your feet. I must say the
same thing over again, and can't help it.
[Aside.
Lady P. I swear, I'm ready to languish too.
O my honour! whither is it going? I protest
you have given me the palpitation of the heart.
Care. Can you be so cruel?
Lady P. O rise, I beseech you; say no
more till you rise. Why did you kneel so
long? I swear I was so transported, I did
not see it. Well, to show you how far you
Cyn. If you had not been so assured of have gained upon me, I assure you, if sir
your own conduct, I would not. But 'tis but Paul should die, of all mankind there's none
reasonable that, since I consent to like a man I'd sooner make my second choice.
without the vile consideration of money, he Care. O heaven! I can't outlive this night
should give me a very evident demonstration without your favour. I feel my spirits faint,
of his wit: therefore let me see you under- a general dampness overspreads my face, a
mine my lady Touchwood, as you boasted, cold deadly dew already vents through all my
and force her to give her consent, and then-pores, and will to-morrow wash me for ever
Mel. I'll do't.
Cyn. And I'll do't.
Mel. This very next ensuing hour of eigh
o'clock is the last minute of her reign, unles
the devil assist her in propria persona.
from your sight, and drown me in my tomb.
Lady P. O, you have conquer'd; sweet,
tmelting, moving sir, you have conquered. What
sheart of marble can refrain to weep, and
yield to such sad sayings?
[Cries.

SCENE 1.]
337
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Care. I thank heaven they are the saddest value for, not only for that, but because he has
that I ever said [Aside] Oh!
a great veneration for your ladyship.
Lady P. O law, no indeed, sir Paul; 'tis
upon your account.
Lady P. O! I yield myself all up to your
uncontrolable embraces. Say, thou dear dying
man, when, where, and how? Ah, there's
sir Paul.
Care. 'Slife, yonder's sir Paul; but if he
were not come, I'm so transported I cannot
speak. This note will inform you.
[Gives her a Note, and exit.
Re-enter CYNTHIA, with SIR PAUL PLIANT.
Sir P. Thou art my tender lambkin, and
shalt do what thou wilt; but endeavour to
forget this Mellefont,
Cyn. I would obey you to my power, sir;
but, if I have not him, I have sworn never
to marry.
Sir P. No, I protest and vow I have no
title to his esteem, but in having the honour
to appertain in some measure to your lady-
ship, that's all.
Lady P. O law, now, I swear and declare,
it shan't he so; you're too modest, sir Paul.
Str P. It becomes me, when there is any
comparison made between-
Lady P. O fie, fie, sir Paul, you'll put me
out of countenance. Your very obedient and
affectionate wife, that's all, and highly ho-
noured in that title.
Sir P. 'Gadsbud, I am transported! Give
me leave to kiss your ladyship's little finger.
Sir P. Never to marry! Heaven's forbid! Lady P. My lip indeed, sir Paul; I swear
must I neither have sons nor grandsons? must you shall. [He kisses her, and bows very low.
the family of the Pliants be utterly extinct for Sir P. I humbly thank your ladyship; I
want of issue male? Oh, impiety! but did don't know whether I fly on ground, or walk
you swear? did that sweet creature swear, in air. 'Gadsbud, she was never thus before,
ha? How durst you swear without my con- Well, I must own myself the most beholden
sent, ha? 'Gadsbud, who am I?
to Mr. Careless; as sure as can be this is all
Cyn. Pray don't be angry, sir; when I his doing, something that he has said; well,
swore I had your consent; and therefore I'tis a rare thing to have an ingenious friend.
Well, your ladyship is of opinion that the match
may go forward?
swore.
Sir P. Why then the revoking my consent
does annul or make of non effect your oath:
so you may unswear it again; the law will
allow it.
Cyn. Ay, but my conscience never will.
Sir P. Gadsbud, no matter for that; con-
science and law never go together; you must
not expect that.
Lady P. By all means. Mr. Careless has
satisfied me of the matter.
Sir P. Well, why then, lamb, you may
keep your oath: but have a care of making
rash vows. Come hither to me, and kiss papa.
Lady P. I swear and declare, I am in such
a twitter to read Mr. Careless's letter, that I
Lady P. Ay, but sir Paul, I conceive, if she can't forbear any longer; but though I may
has sworn, d'ye mark me? if she has once read all letters first by prerogative, yet I'll be
sworn, it is most unchristian, inhuman, and sure to be unsuspected this time. [Aside]
obscene that she should break it. I'll make Sir Paul.
up the match again, because Mr. Careless said Sir P. Did your ladyship call?
it would oblige him.
[Aside. Lady P. Nay, not to interrupt you, my
Sir P. Does your ladyship conceive so? dear. Only lend me your letter which you
Why I was of that opinion once too. Nay, had from your steward to-day: I would look
if your ladyship conceives so, I'm of that upon the account again, and may be increase
opinion again; but I can neither find my lord
your allowance.
nor my lady, to know what they intend.
Lady P. I am satisfied that my cousin Mel-
lefont has been much wronged.
Sir P. There it is, madam. Do you want
a pen and ink? [Bows and gives the Letter.
Lady P. No, no, nothing else, I thank you,
Cyn. I'm amazed to find her of our side, sir Paul. So now I can read my own letter
for I'm sure she loved him.
[Aside. under the cover of his.
[Aside.
Lady P. I know my lady Touchwood has Sir P. He! and shall I have a grandson, a
no kindness for him; and besides I have been brave chopping boy, to perpetuate the line of
informed by Mr. Careless, that Mellefont had the Pliant's? I'll settle a thousand pounds. a
never any thing more than a profound re- year upon the rogue as soon as
spect. That he has owned himself to be my looks me in the face, I will. 'Gadsbud, I hope
admirer, 'tis true; but he was never so pre- the young cherub will be like me: I would
sumptuous as to entertain any dishonourable no- fain have some resemblance of myself in my
tions of things; so that if this be made plain, posterity. Ha, Thy, shouldn't you wish he
I don't see how my daughter can in conscience, was like his grand-papa?
or honour, or any thing in the world -
ever he
Cyn. I'm glad to see you so merry, sir.
Sir P. Indeed if this be made plain, as my Sir P. Merry! 'gadsbud, I'm serious; I'll
lady your mother says, child-
give thee five hundred pounds for every fea-
Lady P. Plain! I was informed of it by ture of him that resembles me. Ah, this eye,
Mr. Careless; and I assure you Mr. Careless this left eye! a thousand pounds for this left
is a person--that has a most extraordinary eye: this has done execution in its time, girl.
respect and honour for you, sir Paul. Why thou hast my leer, hussy; just thy fa-
Cyn. And for your ladyship, too, I believe; ther's leer. Let it be transmitted to the young
or else you had not changed sides so soon. rogue by the help of imagination. Why, 'tis
[Aside] Now I begin to find it.
the mark of our family, Thy: our house is
Sir P. I am much obliged to Mr. Careless distinguished by a languishing eye, as the
really; he is a person that I have a great house of Austria is by a thick lip.
43

338
[ACT IV.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lady P. O, dear Mr. Careless! I swear he madam; nothing at all, 'egad: I was fallen
writes charmingly, and he looks charmingly, into the most agreeable amusement in the whole
and he has charmed me as much as I have province of contemplation, that's all.-I'll seem
charmed him; and so I'll tell him in the to conceal my passion, and that will look like
wardrobe, when 'tis dark. O crimine! I hope respect.
[Aside.
sir Paul has not seen both letters. [Aside.
Lady F. Bless me, why did you call out
Puts up the wrong Letter, and gives him upon me so loud?
her own] Sir Paul, here's your letter: to- Brisk. O Lord! I, madam? I beseech your
morrow morning I'll settle accounts to your ladyship, when?
advantage.
Lady F. Just now, as I came in. Bless me,
why don't you know it?
Sir P. I humbly thank your ladyship.
Lady P. So, now I'll retire, and study a Brisk. Not I, let me perish; but did I?
complimentary rebuke to Mr. Careless, for the strange! I confess your ladyship was in my
pathetic tender of his regards; but it shall not thoughts; and I was in a sort of dream, that
be too severe neither. [Aside, and exit. did in a manner represent a very pleasing ob-
ject to my imagination: but-but did I indeed?
-To see how love and murder will out! But
did I really name my lady Froth?
Enter BRISK.
Brisk. Sir Paul, 'gadsbud, you're an unci-
vil person, let me tell yon, and all that; and
I did not think it had been in you.
Str P. O law, what's the matter now?
hope you are not angry, Mr. Brisk?
Lady. F. Three times aloud, as I love let-
ters. But did you talk of love?-O, Parnas-
Isus! who would have thought Mr. Brisk could
have been in love? ha, ha, ha! O heaven's,
I thought you could have no mistress but the
al-nine muses.
Brisk. Deuce take me, I believe you intend
to marry your daughter yourself; you're
ways brooding over her like an old hen, as Brisk. No more I have, 'egad, for I adore
if she were not well hatched, 'egad, he!
Sir P. Good, strange! Mr. Brisk is such a
merry facetious person; he, he, he. No, no,
I have done with her, I have done with her now.
Brisk. The fiddles have stayed this hour in
the hall, and my lord Froth wants a partner;
we can never begin without her.
Sir P. Go, go, child; go, get you gone,
and dance and be merry; I'll come and look
at you by-and-by. [Exit Cynthia] Where's
my son Mellefont?
Brisk. I'll send him to them; I know where
he is; and, sir Paul, will you send Careless
into the hall, if you meet him?
Parts
'em all in your ladyship. Let me perish, I
don't know whether to be splenetic or airy
upon't; the deuce take me, if I can tell wheth-
er I am glad or sorry, that your ladyship
has made the discovery.
Lady F. O be merry, by all means.-Prince
Volscius in love! Ha, ha, ha!
Brisk. O, barbarous, to turn me into ridi-
cule! yet, ha, ha, ha, the deuce take me, I
can't help laughing myself, ha, ha, ha! yet,
by heaven's, I have a violent passion for your
ladyship, seriously.
Lady F. Seriously? ha, ha, ha!
Brisk. Seriously, ha, ha, ha! 'Gad, I have,
Lady F. Ha, ha, ha! What d'ye think I
laugh at? ha, ha, ha!
Brisk. Me, 'egad; ha, ha!
Brisk. Seriously?
Sir P. I will, I will; I'll go and look for for all I laugh.
him on purpose.
[Exit.
Brisk. So, now they are all gone, and I
have an opportunity to practise.-Ah! my dear
lady Froth! she's a most engaging creature, Lady F. No; the deuce take me if I don't
if she were not so fond of that damn'd cox- laugh at myself; for, hang me, if I have not
combly lord of hers; and yet I am forc'd to a violent passion for Mr. Brisk; ha, ha, ha!
allow him wit too, to keep in with him. No
matter; she's a woman of parts, and, 'egad, Lady F. Seriously; ha, ha, ha!
parts will carry her. She said she would fol- Brisk. That's well enough, let me perish;
low me into the gallery. Now, to make my ha, ha, ha! O, miraculous! what a happy
approaches-Hem, hem! Ah! ma-[Bows] discovery! Ah, my dear charming lady Froth.
dam!-Plague on't, why should I disparage Lady F. Oh, my adored Mr. Brisk!
my parts by thinking what to say? None but
dull rogues think: witty men, like rich fellows,
are always ready for all expenses; while your
blockheads, like poor needy scoundrels, are
forc'd to examine their stock, and forecast the
charges of the day. Here she comes; I'll seem
not to see her, and try to win her with a
new airy invention of my own, hem!
[Sings, walking about.
Enter LADY FROTH.
[They embrace.
Enter LORD FROTH.
Lord F. The company are all ready.- How
now?
Brisk. Zoons, madam, there's my lord.
[Apart to her.
Lady F. Take no notice; but observe me.
[Aside] Now cast off, and meet me at the
lower end of the room, and then join hands
again. I could teach my lord this dance pur-
I'm sick with love, ha, ha, ha! pr'ythee come ely; but I vow, Mr. Brisk, I can't tell how
cure me-I'm sick with, etc.-O, ye powers! to come so near any other man.-Oh, here's
O, my lady Froth, my lady Froth, my lady my lord; now you shall see me do it with
Froth! Heigho, break heart! Gods, I thank him. [They pretend to practise part of a
you. [Stands musing with his arms across. Country Dance.
Lady F. O heaven's, Mr. Brisk! what's the
matter?
Lord F. Oh, I see there's no harm yet; but
I don't like this familiarity.
[Aside.
Brisk. My lady Froth! your ladyship's most Lady F. Shall you and I do our close dance,
humble servant. The matter, madam? nothing, to show Mr. Brisk? [To Lord Froth

SCENE 1.]
339
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Lord F. No, my dear, do it with him. virtue? D'ye see here? [Snatches the Letter
Lady F. I'll do it with him, my lord, when as in anger] Look, read it!-'Gad's my life,
you are out of the way.
if I thought it were so, I would this moment
Brisk. That's good, 'egad, that's good; deuce renounce all communication with you. Un-
take me, I can hardly hold laughing in his grateful monster! He? is it so? Ay, I see it;
[Aside. a plot, upon my honour: your guilty cheeks
face.
Lord F. Any other time, my dear; or we'll confess it. Oh, where shall wrong'd virtue fly
dance it below.
Lady F. With all my heart.
Brisk. Come, my lord, I'll wait on you.-
My charming witty angel!
---
[Apart to Lady Forth.
Lady F. We shall have whispering time
enough, you know, since we are partners.
[Apart, and exeunt.
for reparation? I'll be divorced this instant.
Sir P. 'Gadsbud, what shall I say? this is
the strangest surprise! [Aside] Why, I don't
know any thing at all; nor I don't know
whether there be any thing at all in the world
or no.
Lady P. I thought I should try you, false
man. I, that never dissembled in my life, yet,
to make trial of you, pretended to like that
monster of iniquity, Careless; and found out
that contrivance, to let you see this letter,
which now I find was of your own inditing,
I do, heathen, I do! See my face no more;
I'm I'll be divorced presently.
Re-enter LADY PLIANT and CARELESS.
Lady P. O, Mr. Careless, Mr. Careless, I'm
ruin'd, I'm undone.
Care. What's the matter, madam?
Lady P. O the unluckiest accident!
afraid I shan't live to tell it you.
Care. Heaven forbid! What is it?
Lady P. I'm in such a fright; the strangest
quandary and premunire! I'm all over in a
universal agitation.-O your letter, your letter!
By an unfortunate mistake, I have given sir
Paul your letter instead of his own.
Care. That was unlucky.,
Lady P. O, yonder he comes reading of it;
step in here, and advise me quickly, before
[Exeunt.
he sees.
Sir P. O strange, what will become of me?
-I'm so amazed, and so overjoy'd, so afraid,
and so sorry. But did you give me this letter
on purpose? he? Did you?
Lady P. Did you so, presumption? Oh, he
comes, he comes; I cannot bear his sight.
Lady P. Did I? Do you doubt me, Turk,
Saracen? I have a cousin that's a proctor in
the Commons; I'll go to him instantly. [Going.
Sir P. Hold, stay, I beseech your ladyship
I'm so overjoyed-stay, I'll confess all.
Lady P. What will you confess, Jew?
Sir P. Why now, as I hope to be saved,
I had no hand in this letter. Nay, hear me,
Re-enter SIR PAUL PLIANT, with the Letter. I beseech your ladyship, the devil take me
Sir P. O Providence, what a conspiracy now, if he did not go beyond my commission.
have I discovered;-but let me see to make If I desired him to do any more than speak
an end on't. [Reads] Hum-After supper in a good word only just for me, 'gadsbud, only
the wardrobe by the gallery. If sir Paul for poor sir Paul, I'm an Anabaptist or a Jew,
should surprise us, I have a commission or what you please to call me.
from him, to treat with you about the very Ludy P. Why, is not here matter of fact?
matter of fact-Matter of fact! very pretty; Sir P. Ay; but by your own virtue and
it seems then I'm conducing to my own dis- continency, that matter of fact is all his own
honour: why this is the very traitorous posi- doing. I confess I had a great desire to have
tion of taking up arms by my authority against some honours conferred upon me, which lay
my person! Well, let me see. [Reads] Till all in your ladyship's breast; and he being a
then I languish in expectation of my a- well-spoken man, I desired him to intercede
dored charmer.-Dying NED CARELESS.-
for me.
'Gadsbud, would that were matter of fact too!
Die and be damn'd, for a Judas Maccabeus,
and Iscariot both. O friendship! what art thou
but a name! Henceforward let no man take
a friend into the bosom of his family; for if
he does-O, we know what will follow, from Care. Sir Paul, I'm glad I've met with you.
the example of sir Paul Pliant, and his bosom 'Gad, I have said all I could, but can't pre-
friend, Ned Careless. Have I for this been vail. Then my friendship to you has carried
pirion'd night after night for three years past? me a little further in this matter-
Have I approached the marriage bed with re- Sir P. Indeed! Well, sir-I'll dissemble
verence, as to a sacred shrine, and must 1 with him a little,
[Aside.
now find it polluted by foreign iniquity? O, Care, Why, faith, I have in my time known
my lady Pliant, you were chaste as ice; but honest gentlemen abused by a pretended coy-
you are melted now, and false as water! But ness in their wives, and I had a mind to try
Providence has been constant to me in dis- my lady's virtue: and when I could not pre-
covering this conspiracy; still I am beholden vail for you, 'gad, I pretended to be in love
to Providence: if it were not for Providence, myself; but all in vain; she would not hear
sure, poor sir Paul, thy heart would break. a word upon that subject: then I writ a let-
ter to her; I don't know what effect that
will have, but I'll be sure to tell you when I
Lady P. So, sir, I see you have read the do; though, by this light, I believe her virtue
letter, Well, now, sir Paul, what do you is impregnable.
think of your friend Careless? Has he been Sir P. O Providence, Providence! what dis-
treacherous? or did you give his insolence a coveries are here made! Why, this is better,
license to make trial of your wife's suspected and more miraculous than the rest.
Re-enter LADY PLIANT.
Re-enter CARELESS.
[Exit.

340
[ACT IV.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
Care. What do you mean?
Sir P. I can't tell you, I'm so overjoyed;
come along with me to my lady; I can't
contain myself; come, my dear friend.
Care. So, so, so! this difficulty's over.
[Aside, and exeunt.
Lord T. He is your friend-and what am I?
Mask. I am answered.
Lord T. Fear not his displeasure; I will
put you out of his, and fortune's power: and,
for that thou art scrupulously honest, I will
secure thy fidelity to him, and give my ho-
nour never to own any discovery that you
shall make me.-Can you give me a demon-
strative proof? speak.
Re-enter MELLEFONT, with MAskwell.
Mel. Maskwell, I have been looking for
you; 'tis within a quarter of eight.
Mask. I wish I could not. To be plain, my
Mask. My lady is just gone into my lord's lord, I intended this evening to have tried all
closet; you bad best steal into her chamber arguments to dissuade him from a design,
before she comes, and lie concealed there; which I suspect; and if I had not succeeded,
otherwise she may lock the door when we to have informed your lordship of what I knew.
are together, and you not easily get in to sur- Lord T. I thank you. What is the villain's
prise us.
purpose?
Mel. He! you say true.
Mask. He has owned nothing to me of late;
Mask. You had best make haste; for, after and what I mean now is only a bare suspi-
she has made some apology to the company cion of my own.-If your lordship will meet
for her own and my lord's absence all this me a quarter of an hour hence-there-in
while, she'll retire to her chamber instantly. that lobby by my lady's bed-chamber, I shall
Mel. I go this moment.
this moment. Now, fortune, I be able to tell you more.
[Exit.
defy thee.
Mask. I confess you may be allowed to be
secure in your own opinion: the appearance
is very fair; but I have an after-game tog
play that shall turn the tables; and here come
the man that I must manage.
Enter LORD TOUCHWOOD.
Lord T. Maskwell, you are the man I wish'd
to meet.
Lord T. I will.
Mask. My duty to your lordship makes me
do a severe piece of justice.
Lord T. I will be secret, and reward your
honesty beyond your hopes. [Exeunt
SCENE II.-LADY TOUCHWOOD's Bed-chamber.
Enter MELLEFONT.
Mel. Pray heaven my aunt keep touch with
Mask. I am happy to be in the way of her assignation.-O, that her lord were but
your lordship's commands.
sweating behind this hanging, with the expec-
Lord T. I have always found you prudent tation of what I shall see!-Hist, she comes.
and careful in any thing that has concern'd Little does she think what a mine is just ready
me, or my family.
to spring under her feet.-But to my post.
Mask. I were a villain else. I am bound
by duty and gratitude, and my own inclina-
tion, to be ever your lordship's servant.
[Retires.
Enter LADY TOUCHWOOD.
Lord T. Enough; you are my friend; I Lady T. 'Tis eight o'clock: methinks I should
know it: yet there has been a thing in your have found him here. Who does not pre-
knowledge, which has concerned me nearly, vent the hour of love, outstays the time; for,
that you have concealed from me.
to be duly punctual, is too slow.
Mask. My lord!-
Enter MASKWELL.
was accusing you of neglect.
Lord T. Nay, I excuse your friendship to
my unnatural nephew thus far; but I know I
you have been privy to his impious designs. Mask. I confess you do reproach me when
upon my wife. This evening she has told me I see you here before me; but 'tis fit I should
all: her good nature concealed it as long as be still behindhand, still to be more and more
it was possible; but he perseveres so in vil- indebted to your goodness.
lany, that she has told me, even you were
weary of dissuading him.
make
which
Mask. I am sorry, my lord, I can't
you an answer: this is an occasion in
I would not willingly be silent.
Lord T. I know you would excuse him;
and I know as well that you can't.
Mask. Indeed I was in hopes it had been
a youthful heat, that might have soon boiled
over; but-
Lord T. Say on.
Mask. I have nothing more to say, my lord,
but to express my concern; for I think his
frenzy increases daily.
Lady T. You can excuse a fault too well
not to have been to blame: a ready answer
shows you were prepared,
Mask. Guilt is ever at a loss, and confu-
sion waits upon it; when innocence and bold
truth are always ready for expression.
Lady T. Not in love: words are the weak
support of cold indifference: love has no lan-
guage to be heard.
Mask. Excess of joy has made me stupid.
-Thus-
Lady T. Hold, let me lock the door first.
[Goes to the Door.
Mask. That I did suppose. 'Twas well I
left the private passage open.
[Aside.
Lady T. So, that's safe.
Mask. And so may all your pleasures be,
Lord T. How?- Give me but proof of it,
ocular proof, that I may justify my dealing
with him to the world-and share my fortunes.
Mask. O, my lord, consider that is hard: and secret as this kiss.
besides, time may work upon him. Then for Mel. [Leaps out] And may all treachery
me do to it! I have professed an everlasting be thus discovered.
friendship to him.
Lady T. Ah!
[Shrieks.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
341
Mel. Villain!
[Offers to draw.
Mask. Nay, then there's but one way. [Runs out.
Mel. Say you so? Were you provided for
an escape? Hold, madam, you have no more
holes to your burrow. I'll stand between you
and this sally-port.
Lady T. Shame, grief, and ruin haunt thee
for this deceit:-O! I could rack myself, play
the vulture to my own heart, and gnaw it
piecemeal, for not boding to me this misfortune!
Mel. Be patient.
Lady T. Patient!
Mel. Consider I have you on the hook; you
will but flounder yourself a-weary, and be
nevertheless my prisoner.
Lady T. O, my lord! hold, hold, for mer-
cy's sake!
Mel. Confusion! my uncle!-O the cursed
sorceress!
Lady T. Moderate your rage, good my lord!
he's mad, alas! he's mad; indeed he is, my
lord, and knows not what he does. See how
wild he looks!
Mel. By heaven, 'twere senseless not to be
mad, and see such witchcraft.
Lady T. My lord, you hear him; he talks idly.
Lord T. Hence from my sight, thou living
infamy to my name! When next I see that
face, I'll write villain in't with my sword's point.
Mel. Now, by my soul, i will not go till I
Lady T. I'll hold my breath and die, but have made known my wrongs; nay, till I have
made known yours, which, if possible, are
Mel. O madam, have a care of dying un-greater-though she has all the host of hell
prepared. I doubt you have some unrepented her servants.
I'll be free.
sins that may hang heavy and retard your flight. Lady T. Alas, he raves! talks very poetry!
Lady T. What shall I do? whither shall I For heaven's sake, away, my lord; he'll either
turn?-Hold in, my passion, and fall, fall a tempt you to extravagance, or commit some
little, thou swelling heart! Let me have some himself.
intermission of this rage, and one minute's Mel. Death and furies! will you not hear
coolness to dissemble. [Aside. Weeps. me? Why, she laughs, grins, points at you,
Mel. You have been to blame. I like those makes you her mark of insult and derision.
tears, and hope they are of the purest kind-
penitential tears.
[As Lady Touchwood is going, she
turns back and smiles at him.
Lord T. I fear he's mad indeed. Let's send
Maskwell to him.
Mel. Send him to her.
Lady T. O, the scene was shifted quick
before me; I had not time to think; I was
surprised to see a monster in the glass, and
now I find 'tis myself. Can you have mercy Lady T. Come, come, good my lord; my
to forgive the faults I have imagined, but never heart aches so, I shall faint if I stay.
put in practice?- O consider, consider how [Exeunt Lord and Lady Touchwood.
fatal you have been to me, you have already Mel. O, I could curse my stars, fate, and
killed the quiet of this life. The love of you chance; all causes and accidents of fortune in
was the first wandering fire that e'er misled this life! But to what purpose? They talk of
my steps; and while I had only that in view, sending Maskwell to me; I never had more
I was betrayed into unthought-of ways of ruin. need of him. But what can he do? Imagi-
Mel. May I believe this true?
nation cannot form a fairer or more plausible
Lady T. O, be not cruelly incredulous. How design than this of his, which has miscarried.
can you doubt these streaming eyes? Keep O, my precious aunt! I shall never thrive,
the severest eye o'er all my future conduct; without I deal with the devil or another woman.
and if I once relapse, let me not hope for- Women, like flames, have a destroying power,
giveness: 'twill ever be in your power to ruin Ne'er to be quench'd, till they themselves devour.
me. My lord shall sign to your desires; I
[Exit.
will myself create your happiness, and Cynthia
shall this night be your bride-do but conceal
my failings, and forgive.
[Kneels.
Mel. Upon such terms, I will be ever yours
in every honest way.
Lady T. Eternal blessings thank you!
ACT V.
SCENE I.-The Gallery in LORD TOUCHWOOD'S
House.
Enter LADY TOUCHWOOD and MASKWELL.
Lady T. Was't not lucky?
Mask. Lucky! fortune is your own, and
Re-enter MASKWELL, with LORD TOUCHWOOD. 'tis her interest so to be; I believe you can
Mask. I have kept my word. He's here; control her power, and she fears it; though
but I must not be seen.
chance brought my lord, 'twas your own art
that turned it to advantage.
[Apart to Lord Touchwood, and exit.
Lady T. Ha! my lord listening; then all's
[Aside.
my own.
Mel. Nay, I beseech you rise.
Lady T. 'Tis true, it might have been my
ruin; but yonder's my lord; I believe he's
coming to find you; I'll not be seen. [Exit.
Ludy T. Never, never! I'll grow to the Mask. So! I durst not own my introducing
ground, be buried quick beneath it, e'er I'll my lord, though it succeeded well for her;
be consenting to such a sin as incest! un- for she would have suspected a design, which
natural incest!
[Aloud. I should have been puzzled to excuse. My
lord is thoughtful; I'll be so too; yet he shall
Lady T. O cruel man! will you not let me know my thoughts, or think he does.
Mel. Ha!
go? I'll forgive all that's past. O heaven, you
will not force me!
Lord T. Monster! dog! your life shall
answer this.
[Draws, and runs at Mellefont;
is held by Lady Touchwood.
What have I done?
Enter LORD TOUCHWOOD.
Lord T. Talking to himself!
[Aside.
Mask. 'Twas honest; and shall I be re-
warded for it? No, 'twas honest, therefore

342
[ACT V.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
I shan't: nay, rather, therefore I ought not; my lord to consent to my private manage-
for it rewards itself.
ment. He comes opportunely. Now will I,
Lord T. Unequalled virtue! [Aside. in my old way, discover the whole and real
Mask. But should it be known, then I have truth of the matter to him, that he may not
lost a friend. He was an ill man, and I have suspect one word on't.
gained; for half myself I lent him, and that
I have recalled; so I have served myself: and
what is yet better, I have served a worthy
lord, to whom I owe myself.
Lord T. Excellent man!
No mask, like open truth, to cover lies;
As to go naked is the best disguise.
Enter MELLEFONT.
[Aside. Mel. O, Maskwell, what hopes? I am con-
Mask. Yet I am wretched. O, there is a founded in a maze of thoughts, each leading
secret burns within this breast, which, should into one another, and all ending in perplexity.
it once blaze forth, would ruin all, consume My uncle will not see nor hear me.
my honest character, and brand me with the Mask. No matter, sir; don't trouble your
name of villain.
head; all's in my power.
Lord T. Ha!
[Aside.
Mel. How, for heaven's sake?
Mask. O, should it once be known I love Mask. Little do you think that your aunt
fair Cynthia, all this that I have done would has kept her word. How she wrought my
look like a rival's malice, false friendship to lord into the dotage I know not; but he's gone
my lord, and base self interest. Let me perish to sir Paul about my marriage with Cynthia,
first, and from this hour avoid all sight and and has appointed me his heir.
speech; and, if I can, all thought of that Mel. The devil he has! What's to be done?
pernicious beauty.
Mask. I have it: it must be by stratagem;
[Seems to start at seeing Lord Touchwood. for it's in vain to make application to him.
Lord T. Start not!-let guilty and dishonest I think I have that in my head that cannot
souls start at the revelation of their thoughts; fail. Where's Cynthia?
but be thou fixed, as is thy virtue. Honest
Maskwell! thy and my good genius led me
hither: mine, in that I have discovered so for yours I cheat my lord.
much manly virtue; thine, in that thou shalt
have due reward of all thy worth. Give me
thy hand: my nephew is the alone remaining
branch of all our ancient family; him I thus
blow away, and constitute thee in his room,
to be my heir.
Mel. In the garden.
Mask. Let us go and consult her. My life
[Exeunt.
Re-enter LORD and LADY TOUCHWOOD.
Lady T. Maskwell
Lady T. Maskwell your heir, and marry
Cynthia!
Lord T. I cannot do too much for so much
merit.
Mask. Now fate forbid-
Lady T. But this is a thing of too great
Lord T. No more; I have resolved. The moment to be so suddenly resolved. Why
writings are ready drawn, and wanted nothing Cynthia? Why must he be married? Is there
but to be signed, and have his name inserted: not reward enough in raising his low fortune,
yours will fill the blank as well-I will have but he must mix his blood with mine, and
no reply. Let me command this time, for wed my niece? How know you that my
'tis the last in which I will assume authority: brother will consent, or she? Nay, he him-
hereafter you shall rule where I have power. self, perhaps, may have affections elsewhere.
Mask. I humbly would petition-
Lord T. Is't for yourself? [Maskwell pauses]
I'll hear of nought for any body else.
Mask. Then witness, heaven, for me, this
wealth and honour was not of my seeking;
nor would I build my fortune on another's
ruin; I had but one desire.
Lord T. No; I am convinced he loves her.
Lady T. Maskwell love Cynthia? Impossible.
Lord T. I tell you he confessed it to me.
Lady T. Confusion! how's this? [Aside.
Lord T. His humility long stifled his pas-
sion, and his love of Mellefont would have
made him still conceal it; but, by encourage-
Lord T. Thou shalt enjoy it. If all I'm ment, I wrung the secret from him: and
worth in wealth or interest can purchase know, he's no way to be rewarded but in her.
Cynthia, she is thine. I'm sure sir Paul's con- I'll defer my further proceedings in it till you
sent will follow fortune; I'll quickly show him have considered it; but remember how we are
which way that is going.
both indebted to him.
[Exit.
Mask. You oppress me with bounty.
Lady T. Both indebted to him! Yes, we
Lord T. I will confirm it, and rejoice with are both indebted to him, if you knew all.
thee.
[Exit. Villain! Oh, I am wild with this surprise of
Mask. This is prosperous indeed! Why, treachery! it is impossible, it cannot be.-He
let him find me out a villain: settled in pos- love Cynthia! What, have I been dupe to
session of a fair estate, and full fruition of his designs; his property only? Now I see
my love, I'll bear the railings of a losing what made him false to Mellefont. What
gamester. But should he find me out before! shall I do? How shall I think? I cannot
'tis dangerous to delay. Let me think-Should think. All my designs are lost, my love un-
my lord proceed to treat openly of my mar- sated, my revenge unfinished, and fresh cause
riage with Cynthia, all will be discovered, of fury from unthought-of plagues.
Enter SIR PAUL PLIANT.
and Mellefont can be no longer blinded. It
must not be. Nay, should my lady know it-
ay, then were fine work indeed! her fury Sir P. Madam-sister, my lady, sister! did
would spare nothing, though she involv'd you see my lady, my wife?
herself in ruin. No, it must be by stratagem:
I must deceive Mellefont once more, and get
Lady T. O, torture!
Sir P. 'Gadsbud, I can't find her high

SCENE 1.]
343
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
nor low:- where can she be, think you?
Lady T. Where she's serving you as all
your sex ought to be served, making you a
beast. Don't you know that you're a fool,
brother?
Mel. O, I conceive you: you'll tell him so.
Mask. Tell him so! ay; why you don't
think I mean to do so?
Mel. No, no; ha, ha! I dare swear thou
wilt not.
Sir P. A fool! he, he, he! you're merry- Mask. Therefore, for our further security,
No, no, not I; I know no such matter. I would have you disguised like a parson,
Lady T. Why then you don't know half that, if my lord should have curiosity to peep,
your happiness.
he may not discover you in the coach, but
Sir P. That's a jest, with all my heart, faith think the cheat is carried on as he would
and troth. But harkye, my lord told me have it.
something of a revolution of things; I don't Mel. Excellent Maskwell!
know what to make on't: 'gadsbud, I must Mask. Well, get yourselves ready, and
consult my wife. He talks of disinheriting his meet me in half an hour, yonder in my lady's
nephew, and I don't know what. Look you, dressing-room: I'll send the chaplain to you
sister, I must know what my girl has to trust with his robes: I have made him my own,
to, or not a syllable of a wedding, 'gadsbud, and ordered him to meet us to-morrow morn-
to show you that I am not a fool.
ing at St. Alban's; there we will sum up this
account to all our satisfaction.
Lady T. Hear me:-consent to the breaking
off this marriage, and the promoting any
other, without consulting me, and I'll renounce
all blood, all relation, and concern with you
for ever: nay, I'll be your enemy, and pursue
you to destruction; I'll tear your eyes out,
and tread you under my feet.
Sir P. Why, what's the matter now? Good
Lord, what's all this for? Pho, here's a joke
indeed. Why, where's my wife?
Lady T. With Careless, fool! most likely.
Sir P. O, if she be with Mr. Careless 'tis
well enough.
I
Mel. Should I begin to thank or praise thee,
should waste the little time we have. [Exit.
Mask. Madam, you will be ready?
Cyn. I will be punctual to the minute.
[Going.
Mask. Stay, I have a doubt. Upon second
thoughts we had better meet in the chaplain's
chamber here; there is a back way into it, so
that you need not come through this door,
and a pair of private stairs leading down to
the stables. It will be more convenient.
Cyn. I am guided by you; but Mellefont
Lady T. Fool, sot, insensible ox! But will mistake.
remember what I said to you, or you had Mask. No, no; I'll after him immediately,
better see my face no more; by this light, and tell him. [Exit Cynthia] Why, qui vult
you had.
[Exit. decipi decipiatur. "Tis no fault of mine; I
Sir P. You're a passionate woman, 'gadsbud; have told 'em in plain terms how easy 'tis for
but, to say truth, all our family are choleric; me to cheat 'em; and if they will not hear
I am the only peaceable person amongst 'em. the serpent's hiss, they must be stung into
[Exit. experience and future caution.-Now to pre-
Re-enter MELLEFONT and MASKWELL, with must instruct my little Levite; he promised
pare my lord to consent to this. But first, I
me to be within at this hour. Mr. Saygrace,
Mr. Saygrace!
venture.
CYNTHIA.
Mel. I know no other way but this he has
proposed, if you have love enough to run the [Goes to the Chamber-door, and knocks.
Say. [Within] Sweet sir, I will but pen
Cyn. I don't know whether I have love the last line of an acrostic, and be with you
enough, but I find I have obstinacy enough in the twinkling of an ejaculation, or before
to pursue whatever I have once resolved, and you can-
a true female courage to oppose any thing Mask. Nay, good Mr. Saygrace, do not
that resists my will, though 'twere reason itself. prolong the time, by describing to me the
Mask. That's right. Well, I'll secure the shortness of your stay; rather, if you please,
writings, and run the hazard along with you. defer the finishing of your wit, and let us
Cyn. But how can the coach be got ready talk about our business; it shall be tithes in
without suspicion?
your way.
Mask. Leave it to my care; that shall be so
far from being suspected, that it shall be got
ready by my lord's own order.
Mel. How?
Mask. Why, I intend to tell my lord the
whole matter of our contrivance, that's my way.
Mel. I don't understand you.
Enter SAYGRACE.
Say. You shall prevail; I would break off
in the middle of a sermon to do you a pleasure.
Musk. You could not do me a greater, ex-
cept the business in hand. Have you provided
a habit for Mellefont?
Mask. Why, I'll tell my lord I laid this Say, I have; it is ready in my chamber,
plot with you on purpose to betray you; and together with a clean-starched band and cuffs.
that which put me upon it, was the finding Mask. Good. Let them be carried to him.
it impossible to gain the lady any other way Have you stitched the gown sleeve, that he
but in the hopes of her marrying you. may be puzzled, and waste time in putting
it on?
Mel. So-
Mask. So!-why so: while you're busied Say. I have; the gown will not be indued
in making yourself ready, I'll wheedle her without perplexity.
into the coach, and instead of you, borrow Mask. Meet me in half an hour, here in
my lord's chaplain, and so
her myself.
run away with your own chamber.
let there be no light,
When Cynthia comes,
and do not speak, that

344
[ACT V.
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
she may not distinguish you from Mellefont.
I'll urge haste, to excuse your silence.
Say. You have no more commands?
Mask. None; your text is short.
Say. But pithy; and I will handle it with
discretion.
[Exit.
Mask. It will be the first you have so served.
Re-enter LORD TOUCHWOOD.
Lord T. Sure, I was born to be controlled
by those I should command! my very slaves
will shortly give me rules how I shall
govern them!
Mask. I am concerned to see your lordship
discomposed.
Lord T. Have you seen my wife lately, or
disobliged her?
Mask. No, my lord. What can this mean?
[Aside.
Mel. 'Tis loss of time; I cannot think him
false. [Exeunt Careless and Mellefont.
Re-enter LORD TOUCHWOOD.
Cyn. My lord musing!
[Aside.
Lord T. He has a quick invention, if this
were suddenly designed. Yet, he says, he had
prepared my chaplain already.
Cyn. How's this? Now I fear, indeed. [Aside.
Lord T. Cynthia here! Alone, fair cousin,
and melancholy.
Cyn. Your lordship was thoughtful.
Lord T. My thoughts were on serious bu-
siness, not worth your hearing.
Cyn. Mine were on treachery concerning
you, and may be worth your hearing.
Lord T. Treachery concerning me! Pray
be plain. What noise?
Mask. [Within] Will you not hear me?
Lady T.[Within] No, monster! traitor! No.
Cyn. My lady and Maskwell! This may be
Lord T. Then Mellefont has urged some-
body to incense her. Something she has
heard of you, which carries her beyond the lucky. My lord, let me entreat you to stand
bounds of patience.
behind this screen and listen; perhaps this
Mask. This I feared. [Aside] Did not your chance will give you proof of what
you never
lordship tell her of the honours you de- could have believed from my suspicions.
signed me?
[They retire behind the Screen.
Lord T. Yes.
Mask. 'Tis that: you know my lady has a Re-enter MASKWELL, and LADY TOUCHWOOD
high spirit; she thinks I am unworthy.
with a Dagger.
Lord T. Unworthy! 'tis an ignorant pride Lady T. You want but leisure to invent
in her to think so. Honesty to me is true fresh falsehood, and sooth me to a fond belief
nobility. However, 'tis my will it shall be so, of all your fictions: but I will stab the lie
and that should be convincing to her as much that's forming in your heart, and save a sin
as reason. I'll not be wife-ridden. Were it in pity to your soul.
possible it should be done this night.
Mask. Ha! he meets my wishes. [Aside]
Few things are impossible to willing minds.
Lord T. Instruct me how this may be done,
and you shall see I want no inclination.
Mask. I had laid a small design for to-
morrow (as love will be inventing), which I
thought to communicate to your lordship: but
it may be as well done to-night.
Lord T. Here's company: come this way,
and tell me.
[Exeunt.
I
Mask. Strike then, since you will have it so.
Lady T. Ha! a steady villain to the last!
Mask. Come, why do you dally with me thus?
Lady T. Thy stubborn temper shocks me,
and you knew it would. This is cunning all;
know thee well; but thou shalt miss thy aim.
Mask. Ha, ha, ha!
Lady T. Ha! do you mock my rage? Then
this shall punish your fond rash contempt.
Again smile? And such a smile as speaks in
ambiguity! Ten thousand meanings lurk in
each corner of that various face; O! that they
Re-enter CYNTHIA, with CARELESS.
were written in thy heart, that I with this
Care. Is not that he, now gone out with might lay thee open to my sight! But then
my lord?
'twill be too late to know-Thou hast, thou
Cyn. I am convinced there's treachery. The hast found the only way to turn my rage;
confusion that I saw your father in, my lady too well thou knowest my jealous soul could
Touchwood's passion, with what imperfectly never bear uncertainty. Speak then, and tell
I overheard between my lord and her, con- me! Yet are you silent? O, I am wildered
firm me in my fears. Where's Mellefont?
Care. Here he comes.
Re-enter MELLEFONT.
Cyn. Did Maskwell tell you any thing of
the chaplain's chamber?
Mel. No, my dear. Will you get ready?
The things are all in my chamber; I want
nothing but the habit.
Care. You are betrayed, and Maskwell is
the villain I always thought him.
Cyn. When you were gone, he said his
mind was changed; and bid me meet him in
the chaplain's room, pretending immediately
to follow you, and give you notice.
in all passions! But thus my anger melts.
[Weeps] Here, take this poniard; for my very
spirits faint, and I want strength to hold it:
thou hast disarm'd my soul.
[Gives him the Dagger.
Mask. So, 'tis well; let your wild fury have
a vent: and when you have temper tell me.
Lady T. Now, now, now I am calm, and
can hear you.
Mask. Thanks, my invention; and now I
have it for you. [Aside] First, tell me what
urged you to this violence? for your passion
broke in such imperfect terms, that yet I am
to learn the cause.
Lady T. My lord himself surprised me with
Care. There's Saygrace tripping by with a the news, you were to marry Cynthia; that
bundle under his arm. He cannot be ignorant you had owned your love to him; and his
that Maskwell means to use his chamber; let's indulgence would assist you to attain your ends.
in, and examine him.
Mask. I grant you, in appearance, all is

SCENE 1.]
345
THE DOUBLE DEALER.
true; I seemed consenting to my lord, nay, know, my lord; but here's the strangest revo-
transported with the blessing: but could you lution! all turned topsy-turvy, as I hope for
think that I, who had been happy in your Providence.
a
Sir P. All turned topsy-turvy, as sure as
gun.
lov'd embraces, could e'er be fond of an in- Lord F. O heavens, what's the matter?
ferior slavery? No. Yet, though I dote on Where's my wife?
each last favour more than all the rest, though
I would give a limb for every look you cheaply
throw away on any other object of your love,
yet, so far I prize your pleasures o'er my
own, that all this seeming plot that I have
laid, has been to gratify your taste, and cheat
the world to prove a faithful rogue to you.
Lady T. If this were true; but how can it be?
Mask. I have so contrived, that Mellefont
will presently, in the chaplain's habit, wait for
Cynthia in your dressing-room; but I have
put the change upon her, that she may be
otherwise employed. Do you muffle yourself,
and meet him in her stead. You may go pri-
vately by the back stairs, and unperceived;
there you may propose to reinstate him in his
uncle's favour, if he'll comply with your desires.
His case is desperate, and I believe he'll yield
to any conditions: if not, here, take this; you
may employ it better than in the heart of one,
who is nothing when not yours.
[Gives her the Dagger.
Lady T. Thou canst deceive every body:
nay, thou hast deceived me. But 'tis as I
would wish.-Trusty villain! I could wor
ship thee.
Mask. No more.-It wants but a few mi-
nutes of the time; and Mellefont's love will
carry him there before his hour.
Lord F. How do you mean? My wife?
Sir P. The strangest posture of affairs!
Lord F. What, my wife?
Sir P. No, no; I mean the family.-Your
lady? I saw her go into the
into the garden with
Mr. Brisk.
Lord F. How, where, when, what to do?
Sir P. I suppose they have been laying their
heads together.
Lord F. How?
Sir P. Nay, only about poetry, I suppose,
my lord; making couplets.
Lord F. Couplets!
Sir P. O, here they come.
Enter LADY FROTH and BRISK.
Brisk. My lord, your humble servant; sir
Paul, yours.-The finest night!
Lady F. My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have
been stargazing I don't know how long.
Sir P. Does it not tire your ladyship? Are
you not weary with looking up?
Lady F. O, no; I love it violently. - My
dear, you're melancholy.
Lord F.
Lady F.
Lord F.
Lady T. I go, I fly, incomparable Mask- my dear.
well!
[Exit.
No, my dear, I'm but just awake.
Snuff some of my spirit of hartshorn.
I've some of my own, thank you,
Lady F. Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you
astronomy like an old Egyptian.
Brisk. Not comparable to your ladyship;
you are the very Cynthia of the skies, and
queen of stars.
Mask. So! This was a pinch indeed! My understand
invention was upon the rack, and made dis-
covery of her last plot. I hope Cynthia and
my chaplain will be ready. I'll prepare for
the expedition.
-
[Exit. Cynthia and Lord Touch-
wood come forward.
Cyn. Now, my lord!
Lady F. That's because I have no light,
but what's by reflection from you, who are
the sun.
Brisk. Madam, you have eclipsed me quite,
Lady F. No matter. Harkye, shall you and
make an almanac together?
Lord T. Astonishment binds up my rage! let me perish; I can't answer that.
Villany upon villany! Heavens, what a long
track of dark deceit has this discovered! I am I
confounded when I look back, and want a Brisk. With all my soul. Your ladyship
clue to guide me through the various mazes has made me the man in't ¹) already, I'm so
of unheard-of treachery. My wife!-Oh, tor- full of the wounds which you have given.
ture! my shame, my ruin!
Lady F. O, finely taken! I swear now you
Cyn. My lord, have patience; and be sen- are even with me.-O Parnassus! you have
sible how great our happiness is, that this an infinite deal of wit.
discovery was not made too late.
Sir P. So he has, 'gadsbud! and so has your
Lord T. I thank you. Yet it may be still ladyship.
too late, if we don't presently prevent the
execution of their plots. She'll think to meet Re-enter CARELESS and CYNTHIA, with LADY
him in that dressing-room: was't not so? And
Maskwell will expect you in the chaplain's
PLIANT.
Lady P. You tell me most surprising things.
chamber. For once, I'll add my plot too.--Bless me, who would ever trust a man?-
Let us haste to find out, and inform my nephew: O, my heart aches for fear they should be all
and do you, quickly as you can, bring all deceitful alike.
the company into this gallery.-I'll expose the
traitress and the villain.
[Exeunt.
Re-enter SIR PAUL PLIANT, with LORD FROTH.
Lord F. By heavens, I have slept an age.
Sir Paul, what o'clock is't? Past eight, on
my conscience. My lady's is the most inviting
couch, and a slumber there is the prettiest
amusement! But where's all the company?
Sir P. The company? 'Gadsbud, I don't
1) Moore's Almanac has got a very curious wood-cut of
a man, marked with the different signs and planets
that govern the different parts of the face and body,
according to Aristotle's Phisiognomy, and he thus
appears to be full of wounds; for instance, the fore-
head is governed by Mars, the right eye is under the
dominion of Sol, the left eye is ruled by the Moon,
the right ear is the care of Jupiter, the left of Saturn,
the rule of the nose is claimed by Venus, and Mer-
cury seizes upon the mouth. The signs of the Zodiac
have also their share in the government, and form the
House of Commons of the realm.
44

346
[Acr 1.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Care. You need not fear, madam; you have injured friend, thou wonder of all falsehood.
charms to fix inconstancy itself.
of
Lady P. O dear, you make me blush.
Lord F. Come, my dear, shall we take leave
my lord and lady?
Cyn. They'll wait upon your lordship
presently.
Lady F. Mr. Brisk, my coach shall set
you down.
[Lady Touchwood shrieks from within.
All. What's the matter?
LADY TOUCHWOOD, muffled up, runs in af-
frighted; followed by LORD TOUCHWOOD,
dressed like a Parson, with a Dagger
[Throws off his Disguise.
Lord T. Are you silent, monster?
Mel. Good heavens! how I believed and
loved this man! Take him hence, for he's a
disease to my sight.
Lord T. Secure the manifold villain.
[Servants take Maskwell off.
Care. Miracle of ingratitude!
Sir P. O Providence, Providence, what dis-
coveries are here!
Brisk. This is all very surprising, let me
perish.
a
Lady F. You know I told you Saturn looked
little more angry than usual.
in his Hand.
Lord T. We'll think of punishment at lei-
Lady T. O, I'm betrayed.-Save me! help me! sure. But let me hasten to do justice, in
Lord T. Now what evasion, wicked woman? rewarding virtue and wronged innocence.
Lady T. Stand off; let me go. [Exit. Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, and
Lord T. Go, and thy own infamy pursue Cynthia's.
thee! You stare, as you were all amazed. I Mel. We are your lordship's creatures.
don't wonder at it; but too soon you will
know mine, and that woman's, shame.
[Throws off his Gown.
Re-enter MELLEFONT, disguised in a Par-
son's Habit, with two Servants, bringing
in MASKWELL.
Mel. Nay, by heaven, you shall be seen.
[To Maskwell] Careless, your hand. Do you
hold down your head? [To Maskwell] Yes,
I am your chaplain. Look in the face of your
Lord T. And be each other's comfort. Let
me join your hands. Uninterrupted bliss
attend you both! May circling joys tread
round each happy year of your long lives!
Let secret villany from hence be warn'd,
Howe'er in private mischiefs are conceiv'd,
Torture and shame attend their open birth.
Like vipers in the breast, base treach'ry lies,
Still gnawing that whence first it did arise;
No sooner born, but the vile parent_dies.
Exeunt.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD,
Comedy by W. Congreve. Acted at Lincoln's Inn Fields. 1700. This was the last play its author wrote, and
perhaps the best; the language is pure, the wit genuine, the characters are natural, and the painting is highly finished;
yet, such is the strange capriciousness of public taste, that, notwithstanding the great and deserved reputation this
author had acquired by his three former comedies, this before us met with but indifferent success; while his Mourning
Bride, a piece of not the twentieth part of its inerit, was in the full meridian of applause. It is not very improbable
(says Mr. Baker) that this testimonial of want of judgment in the audience might be the motive for the author's quitting
the stage so early; for, though he was at that time in the prime of life, not above twenty-seven years of age, and
lived about twenty-nine years afterwards, he never obliged the public with any other dramatic piece. Time, however,
has since opened the eyes of the town to its perfections; and it is now as frequently performed as any of his other
plays. Mr. Baker's memory seems to have failed him when he asserted, that Congreve never obliged the public with
any dramatic piece after this; his Judgment of Paris was performed in the following year; and his Semele, an opera,
in 1707; and these, though not very important works, are still dramatic pieces.
FAINALL
MIRABELL.
WITWOULD.
PETULANT.
DRAMATIS, PERSONAE.
WAITWELL.
MRS. MARWOOD.
MRS. FAINALL.
MRS. MILLAMANT. FOIBLE.
MINCING.
Footmen and At-
tendants.
SIR WILFUL WIT- LADY WISHFORT.
WOULD.
SCENE. London.-The Time equal to that of the Representation.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-A Chocolate House.
MIRABELL and FAINALL, rising from Cards,
BETTY waiting.
Mir. You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall.
Fain. Have we done?
Mir. What you please. I'll play on to
entertain you.
Fain. No, I'll give you your revenge another
time, when you are not so indifferent; you
are thinking of something else now, and play
I'd
too negligently; the coldness of a losing game-
ster lessens the pleasure of the winner.
no more play with a man that slighted his
ill fortune, than I'd make love to a woman
who undervalued the loss of her reputation.
Mir. You have a taste extremely delicate,
and are for refining on your pleasures.
Fain. Pr'ythee, why so reserved? Something
has put you out of humour.
Mir. Not at all: I happen to be grave to-
day; and you are gay; that's all.
Fain. Confess, Millamant and you quar-

SCENE 1.]
347
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
relled last night, after I left you: my fair cousin fellow. The devil's in't if an old woman is
has some humours that would tempt the pa- to be flatter'd farther. But for the discovery
tience of a stoic. What, some coxcomb came of this amour, I am indebted to your friend,
in, and was well received by her, while you or your wife's friend, Mrs. Marwood.
were by?
Fain. What should provoke her to be your
Mir. VVitwould and Petulant! and what enemy, unless she has made you advances
was worse, her aunt, your wife's mother, my which you have slighted? Women do not
eyil genius; or to sum up all in her own easily forgive omissions of that nature.
name, my old lady Wishfort came in.
Mir. She was always civil to me, till of late;
Fain. O there it is then. She has a lasting I confess I am not one of those coxcombs
passion for you, and with reason. What, who are apt to interpret a woman's good
then my wife was there?
manners to her prejudice; and think that she
Mir. Yes, and Mrs. Marwood, and three who does not refuse 'em every thing, can
or four more, whom I never saw before. refuse 'em nothing.
Seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, Fain. You are a gallant man, Mirabell; and
whispered one another, then complained aloud though you may have cruelty enough not to
of the vapours, and after fell into a profound answer a lady's advances, you have too much
silence.
generosity not to be tender of her honour.
Fain. They had a mind to be rid of you. Yet you speak with an indifference which
Mir. For which reason I resolved not to seems to be affected, and confesses you are
stir. At last the good old lady broke through conscious of a negligence,
her painful taciturnity, with an invective against Mir. You pursue the argument with a distrust
long visits. I would not have understood her, that seems to be unaffected, and confesses you
but Millamant joining in the argument, I rose, are conscious of a concern for which the
and with a constrained smile told her, I thought lady is more indebted to you, than is your wife.
nothing was so easy as to know when a visit Fain. Fie, fie, friend, if you grow cen-
began to be troublesome; she redden'd, and I sorious, I must leave you. I'll look upon the
withdrew, without expecting her reply. gamesters in the next room.
Fain. You were to blame to resent what
she spoke only in compliance with her aunt.
Mir. She is more mistress of herself than
to be under the necessity of such resignation.
Fain. What! though half her fortune, de-
pends upon her marrying with my lady's
approbation?
Mir. Who are they?
Fain. Petulant and Witwould. Bring me
some chocolate.
[Exit.
Mir. Betty, what says your clock?
Betty. Turn'd of the last canonical hour, sir.
Mir. How pertinently the jade answers me!
[Aside] Ha! almost one o'clock! [Looking
Mir. I was then in such a humour, that I on his Watch] O, y'are come.
should have been better pleased if she had
been less discreet.
Enter Footman.
Fain. Now I remember, I wonder not they Well; is the grand affair over? You have
were weary of you; last night was one of been something tedious.
their cabal nights; they have 'em three times Foot. Sir, there's such coupling at Pancras,
a week, and meet by turns, at one another's that they stand behind one another, as 'twere
apartments! where they come together, like in a country dance. Ours was the last couple
the coroner's inquest, 1) to sit upon the mur-to lead up; and no hopes appearing of dis-
der'd reputations of the week. You and I are patch, besides, the parson growing hoarse, we
excluded; and it was once proposed that all were afraid his lungs would have failed before
the male sex should be excepted; but some-it came to our turn; so we drove round to
body moved, that, to avoid scandal, there might Duke's-place; and there they were rivetted in
be one man of the community; upon which a trice.
motion Witwould and Petulant were enrolled
members.
Mir. And who may have been the foundress
of this sect? My lady Wishfort, I warrant,
who publishes her detestation of mankind;
and, full of the vigour of fifty-five, declares
for a friend and ratafia; and let posterity shift
for itself, she'll breed no more.
Mir. So, so; you are sure they are married?
Foot. Incontestibly, sir: I am witness.
Mir. Have you the certificate?
Foot. Here it is, sir.
Mir. Has the tailor brought Waitwell's
clothes home, and the new liveries?
Foot. Yes, sir.
Mir. That's well. Do you go home again,
Fain. The discovery of your sham addres-d'ye hear, bid Waitwell shake his ears, and
ses to her, to conceal your love to her niece, dame Partlet rustle up her feathers, and meet
has provoked this separation: had you dis- me at one o'clock by Rosamond's-pond, that
sembled better, things might have continued in I may see her before she returns to her lady;
and as you tender your ears, he secret.
the state of nature.
Mir. I did as much as man could, with any
reasonable conscience; I proceeded to the
very last act of flattery with her, and was
guilty of a song in her commendation. Nay,
[Exit Footman.
Enter FAINALL.
Fain. Joy of your success, Mirabell; you
got a friend to put her into a lampoon, and look pleased.
compliment her with the addresses of a young Mir. Ay; I have been engaged in a matter
1) The business of a coroner (coronator) is, to assemble of some sort of mirth, which is not yet ripe
twelve of the inhabitants of the parish, to examine for discovery. I am glad this is not a cabal-
into the cause of the death of any one who has been night. I wonder, Fainall, that you, who are
killed; and the verdict given in their sitting in cases
of murder, is of very great weight in the affair. married, and of consequence should be dis-

348
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
[ACT I.
Fain. He comes to town in order to equip
himself for travel.
creet, will suffer your wife to be of such a
party.
Fain. Faith, I am not jealous. Besides, most
who are engaged are women and relations;
and for the men, they are of a kind too con-
temptible to give scandal.
Mir. For travel! Why, the man that I mean
is above forty.
Fain. No matter for that; 'tis for the ho-
nour of England, that all Europe should know
Mir. I am of another opinion. The greater we have blockheads of all ages.
the coxcomb, always the more the scandal: Mir. I wonder there is not an act of par-
for a woman who is not a fool, can have but liament to save the credit of the nation, and
one reason for associating with a man who prohibit the exportation of fools.
is one.
Fain. Are you jealous as often as you see
Witwould entertained by Millamant?
Mir. Of her understanding I am, if not of
her person.
Fain. You do her wrong; for, to give her
her due, she has wit.
Fain. By no means, 'tis better as 'tis; 'tis
better to trade with a little loss, than to be
quite eaten up with being overstock'd.
Mir. Pray are the follies of this knight-er-
rant, and those of the squire, his brother, any
thing related?
Fain. Not at all; Witwould grows by the
Mir. She has beauty enough to make any knight, like a medlar grafted on a crab. One
man think so; and complaisance enough not will melt in your mouth, and t'other set your
to contradict him who shall tell her so. teeth on edge; one is all pulp, and the other
Fain. For a passionate lover, methinks you all core.
are a man somewhat too discerning in the Mir. So one will be rotten before he be
failings of your mistress.
ripe, and the other will be rotten without
Mir. And for a discerning man, somewhat ever being ripe at all.
too passionate a lover; for I like her with all Fain. Sir Wilful is an odd mixture of bash-
her faults; nay, like her for her faults. Her fulness and obstinacy. But when he's drunk,
follies, are so natural, or so artful, that they he's as loving as the monster in the Tempest;
become her; and those affectations, which in and much after the same manner. To give
another woman would be odious, serve but t'other his due, he has something of good na-
to make her more agreeable. I'll tell thee, ture, and does not always want wit.
Fainall, she once used me with that insolence, Mir. Not always; but as often as his me-
that in revenge I took her to pieces; sifted mory fails him, and his common-place of com-
her, and separated her failings; I studied 'em parisons. He is a fool with a good memory,
and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so and some few scraps of other folks' wit. He
large, that I was not without hopes, one day is one whose conversation can never be ap-
or other, to hate her heartily: to which end proved, yet it is now and then to be endured,
I so used myself to think of 'em, that at length, He has indeed one good quality, he is not ex-
contrary to my design and expectation, they ceptious; for he so passionately affects the re-
gave me every hour less disturbance; till in a putation of understanding raillery, that he will
few days it became habitual to me, to remem-construe an affront into a jest; and call down-
ber 'em without being displeased. They are right rudeness and ill language, satire and fire.
now grown as familiar to me as my own Fain. If you have a mind to finish his pic-
frailties; and in all probability, in a little time ture, you have an opportunity to do it at full
longer, I shall like 'em as well.
length. Behold the original.
Fain. Marry her, marry her; be half as
well acquainted with her charms, as you are
with her defects, and my life on't you are
your own man again,
Mir. Say you so?
Fain. I, I, I have experience: I have a wife,
and so forth,
Enter Messenger.
Mess. Is one squire Witwould here?
Betty. Yes; what's your business?
Mess. I have a letter for him, from his bro-
ther sir VVilful, which I am charged to deli-
ver into his own hands.
way.
Enter WITWOULD,
Wit. Afford me your compassion, my dears;
pity me, Fainall; Mirabell, pity me.
Mir. I do, from my soul.
Fain. Why, what's the matter?
Wit. No letters for me, Belly?
Betty. Did not a messenger bring you one
but now, sir?
Wit. Ay, but no other?
Betty. No, sir.
Wit. That's hard, that's very hard! a mes-
senger, a mule, a beast of burden; he has
Betty. He's in the next room, friend. That brought me a letter from the fool my brother,
[Exit Messenger. as heavy as a panegyric in a funeral sermon,
Mir. What, is the chief of that noble fa- or a copy of commendatory verses from one
mily in town, sir Wilful Witwould?
poet to another. And what's worse, 'tis as
Fain, He is expected to-day. Do you know sure a forerunner of the author, as an epistle
dedicatory.
him?
Mir. I have seen him. He promises to be
an extraordinary person. I think
I think you have
the honour to be related to him.
Fain. Yes; he is half-brother to this Wit-
would by a former wife, who was sister to
my lady Wishfort, my wife's mother. If you
marry Millamant, you must call cousins too.
Mir. I would rather be his relation than
his acquaintance.
Mir. A fool, and your brother, Witwould!
Wit. Ay, ay, my half-brother. My half-
brother he is, no nearer upon honour.
Mir. Then 'tis possible he may be but half
a fool.
Wit. Good, good, Mirabell le drole! Good,
good; hang him, don't let's talk of him. Fain-
all, how does your lady? 'Gad, I say any
thing in the world to get this fellow out of

SCENE 1.]
349
THE WAY OF THE WORLD,
my head. I beg pardon that I should ask a of my friend!-no, my dear, excuse me there.
man of pleasure, and the town, a question at Fain. What, I warrant he's insincere, or
once so foreign and domestic. But I talk like 'tis some such trifle.
an old maid at a marriage; I don't know what Wit. No, no; what if he be? 'tis no matter
I say: but she's the best woman in the world. for that, his wit will excuse that: a wit should
Fain. Tis well you don't know what you no more be sincere, than a woman constant;
say, or else your commendation would go one argues a decay of parts, as t'other of beauty.
near to make me either vain or jealous. Mir. May be you think him too positive?
Wit. No man in town lives well with a Wit. No, no, his being positive is an in-
wife but Fainall. Your judgment, Mirabell?centive to argument, and keeps up conversation.
Mir. You had better step and ask his wife, Fain. Too illiterate?
if you would be credibly informed.
Wit. Mirabell.
Mir. Ay.
Wit. My dear, I ask ten thousand pardons.
'Gad, I have forgot what I was going to
say to you.
Mir. I thank you heartily, heartily.
Wit. No, but, pr'ythee, excuse me-my me-
mory is such a memory.
Mir. Have a care of such apologies, Wit-
would; for I never knew a fool but he affect-
ed to complain, either of the spleen or his
memory.
Fain. What have you done with Petulant?
Wit. He's reckoning his money,-my money
it was. I have had no luck to-day.
Wit. That! that's his happiness, his want of
learning gives him the more opportunity to
show his natural parts.
Mir. He wants words?
Wit. Ay: but I like him for that now; for
his want of words gives me the pleasure very
often to explain his meaning.
Fain. He's impudent?
Wit. No, that's not it.
Mir. Vain?
Wit. No.
Mir. What, he speaks unseasonable truths
sometimes, because he has not wit enough to
invent an evasion?
Wit. Truth! ha, ha, ha! No, no; since you
will have it-I mean, he never speaks truth
Fain. You may allow him to win of you at all, that's all. He will lie like a cham-
at play; for you are sure to be too hard for bermaid, or a woman of quality's porter. Now
him at repartee. Since you monopolize the that is a fault.
wit that is between you, the fortune must be
his of course.
Mir. I don't find that Petulant confesses the
superiority of wit to be your talent, Witwould.
Wit. Come, come, you are malicious now,
and would breed debates. Petulant's my friend,
and a very pretty fellow, and a very honest
fellow, and has a smattering-faith, and troth,
a pretty deal of an odd sort of a small wit:
nay, I do him justice, I'm his friend, I won't
wrong him. And if he had any judgment in
the world, he would not be altogether con-
temptible. Come, come, don't detract from
the merits of my friend.
Enter Coachman.
Coach. Is master Petulant here, mistress?
Betty. Yes.
Coach. Three gentlewomen in a coach would
speak with him.
Fain. O brave Petulant! three!
Betty. I'll tell him.
Coach. You must bring two dishes of cho-
colate and a glass of cinnamon-water.
[Exeunt Coachman and Betty.
Wit. That should be for two fasting bona
robas, and a procuress troubled with wind.
Now you may know what the three are.
Mir. You are very free with your friend's
Fain. You don't take your friend to be acquaintance.
over-nicely bred.
Wit. No, no, hang him, the rogue has no
manners at all, that I must own; no more
breeding than a bumbaily, 1) that I grant you:
'tis pity; the fellow has fire and life.
Mir. What, courage?
Wit. Hum, faith, I don't know as to that;
I can't say as to that. Yes, faith, in contro-
versy, he'll contradict any body.
Mir. Though 'twere a man whom he feared,
or a woman whom he loved.
Wit. Ay, ay, friendship without freedom is
as dull as love without enjoyment, or wine
without toasting; but, to tell you a secret,
these are trulls whom he allows coach-hire,
and something more, by the week, to call on
him once a day at public places.
Mir. How!
Wit. You shall see he won't go to 'em, be-
cause there's no more company here to take
notice of him.-Why, this is nothing to what
he used to do: before he found out this way,
I have known him call for himself.
Wit. Well, well, he does not always think
before he speaks; we have all our failings: Fain. Call for himself! what dost thou mean?
you are too hard upon him, you are, faith. Wit. Mean, why he would slip you out of
Let me excuse him: I can defend most of his this chocolate-house, just when you had been
faults, except one or two; one he has, that's talking to him-as soon as your back was
the truth on't; if he were my brother, I could turned, whip he was gone;-then trip to his
not acquit him-that indeed I could wish lodging, clap on a hood and scarf, and a mask,
were otherwise.
slap into a hackney-coach, and drive hither
Mir. Ay, marry, what's that, Witwould? to the door again in a trice; where he would
Wit. O pardon me-expose the infirmities send in for himself, that is, I mean, call for
himself, wait for himself, nay, and what's more,
1) One of those gentlemen known by the name of catch-not finding himself, sometimes leave a letter
poles, from their familiarly putting their hand on the
shoulder (towards the pole, or back of the neck) of for himself.
the person whom they are to arrest, when, by show- Mir. I confess this is something extraordi-
ing a warrant, the other party most submissively fol-
lows to the lock-up house, if he is not strong enough nary I believe he waits for himself now, he
to knock the bailiff down, and make his escape. is so long a coming: O, I ask his pardon.

350
[ACT I.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Pet. All's one for that; why then say I
know something.
Enter PETULANT and BETTY.
Betty. Sir, the coach stays.
Pet. Well, well; I come; -'Sbud, a man Mir. Come, thou art an honest fellow, Pe-
had as good be a profess'd midwife, as a pro- tulant, and shalt make love to my mistress,
fess'd gallant, at this rate; to be knock'd up, thou shalt, faith. What hast thou heard of
and raised at all hours, and in all places. my uncle?
Deuce on 'em, I won't come-D'ye hear, tell Pet. I! nothing; I! If throats are to be cut,
'em I won't come-Let 'em snivel and cry let swords clash; snug's the word, I shrug
their hearts out.
[Exit Betty. and am silent.
Fain. You are very cruel, Petulant.
Pet. All's one, let it pass-I have a humour
to be cruel.
Mir. I hope they are not persons of con-
dition that you use at this rate.
Mir. O raillery, raillery. Come, I know
thou art in the women's secrets; what, you're
a cabalist; I know you staid at Millamant's
last night, after I went. Was there any men-
tion made of my uncle or me? tell me. If
Pet. Condition! condition's a dried fig, if I thou hadst but good nature equal to thy wit,
am not in humour-By this hand, if they were Petulant, Tony Witwould, who is now thy
your-a-a-your what-d'ye-call-'ems them-competitor in fame, would show as dim by
selves, they must wait or rub off, if I am not thee as a dead whiting's eye by a pearl of
orient; he would no more be seen by thee,
than Mercury is by the sun. Come, I'm sure
thou wo't tell me.
in the vein.
Mir. What-d'ye-call-'ems! what are they,
Witwould?
Wit. Empresses, my dear-By your what-
d'ye-call-'ems he means sultana queens.
Pet. Ay, Roxalanas.
Mir. Cry you mercy.
Fain. Witwould says they are-
Pet. What does he say th'are?
Wit. I? fine ladies, I say.
Pet. Pass on, Witwould-Harkee, by this
light, his relations; two co-heiresses his cou-
sins, and an old aunt, who loves intriguing
better than a conventicle."
Pet. If I do, will you grant me common
sense then, for the future?
Mir. Faith, I'll do what I can for thee, and
I'll pray that it may be granted thee in the
mean time.
Pet. Well, harkee! [They talk apart.
Fain. Petulant, and you both, will find Mi-
rabell as warm a rival as a lover.
Wit. Pshaw, pshaw! that she laughs at Pe-
tulant is plain. And for my part, but that it
is almost a fashion to admire her, I should,
Wit. Ha, ha, ha! I had a mind to see how ha kee-to tell you a secret, but let it go no
the rogue would come off; ha, ha, ha! gad, I farther-between friends, I shall never break
can't be angry with him, if he had said they my heart for her.
were my mother and my sisters.
Fain. How!
Mir. No!
Wit. She's handsome; but she's a sort of
Wit. No; the rogue's wit and readiness of an uncertain woman.
invention charm me, dear Petulant.
Enter BETTY.
Betty. They are gone, sir, in great anger,
Pet. Enough, let 'em trundle. Anger helps
complexions, saves paint.
Fain. This continence is all dissembled:
this is in order to have something to brag of
the next time he makes court to Millamant,
and swear he has abandoned the whole sex
for her sake.
Fain. I thought you had died for her.
Wit. Umph! no.
Fain. She has wit.
Wit. 'Tis what she will hardly allow any
body else-now, I should hate that, if she
were as handsome as Cleopatra, Mirabell is
not so sure of her as he thinks.
Fain. Why do you think so?
Wit. We staid pretty late there last night,
and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell,
who is lately come to town, and is between
him and the best part of his estate. Mirabell
Mir. Have you not left off your impudent and he are at some distance, as my lady Wish-
pretensions there yet? I shall cut your throat, fort has been told; and you know she hates
some time or other, Petulant, about that bu-Mirabell worse than a quaker hates a parrot,
or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whe-
siness.
Pet. Ay, ay, let that pass; there are other ther this uncle has seen Mrs. Millamant or
throats to be cut.
Mir. Meaning mine, sir?
Pet. Not I, I mean nobody, I know nothing;
but there are uncles and nephews in the world,
and they may be rivals. What then? all's
one for that.
Mir. Now, harkee, Petulant, come hither;
explain, or I shall call your interpreter.
Pet. Explain! I know nothing. Why you
have an uncle, have you not, lately come to
town, and lodges by my lady Wishfort's?
Mir. True.
Pet. Why, that's enough; you and he are
not friends: and if he should marry and have
a child, you may be disinherited, ha!
Mir. VVhere hast thou stumbled upon all
this truth?
not, I cannot say; but there were items of
such a treaty being in embryo; and if it should
come to life, poor Mirabell would be in some
sort unfortunately fobb'd, i'faith.
Fain. 'Tis impossible; Millamant should
hearken to it.
Wit. Faith, my dear, I can't tell; she's a
woman, and a kind of a humourist.
Mir. And this is the sum of what you'
collect last night?
could
Pet. The quintessence. May be Witwould
knows more, he staid longer; besides, they
never mind him; they say any thing before
him.
[favourite.
Mir. I thought you had been the greatest
Pet. Ay, tête à tête; but not in public, be-
cause I make remarks.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
351
Mir. You do?
Mrs. Mar. True, 'tis an unhappy circum-
Pet. Ay, ay; I'm malicious, man. Now he's stance of life, that love should ever die before
soft, you know; they are not in awe of him: us; and that the man so often should outlive
the fellow's well bred; he's what you call a- the lover. But say what you will, 'tis better
what-d'ye-call'em, a fine gentleman: but he's to be left than never to have been loved. To
silly withal.
Mir. I thank you, I know as much as
curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for
Mall?¹)
pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse
my the sweets of life because they once must leave
the us, is as preposterous, as to wish to have been
born old, because we one day must be old.
For my part, my youth may wear and waste,
but it shall never rust in my possession.
Fain. Ay, I'll take a turn before dinner.
Wit. Ay, we'll all walk in the park; the
ladies talk of being there.
Mir. I thought you were obliged to watch
for your brother, sir Wilfull's arrival.
Mrs. F. Then it seems you dissemble an
aversion to mankind, only in compliance to
my mother's humour.
Wit. No, no; he comes to his aunt's, my Mrs. Mar. Certainly. To be free; I have
lady Wishfort: plague on him, I shall be no taste of those insipid dry discourses, with
troubled with him too; what shall I do with which our sex of force must entertain them-
the fool?
selves apart from men. We may affect en-
Pet. Beg him for his estate, that I may beg dearments to each other, profess eternal friend-
you afterwards; and so have but one trouble
with you both.
Wit. O rare Petulant; thou art as quick as
fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the
Mall with us, and we'll be very severe.
ships, and seem to dote like lovers; but 'tis
not in our natures long to persevere. Love
will resume his empire in our breasts, and
every heart, or soon or late, receive and re-
admit him as its lawful tyrant.
Pet. Enough, I'm in a humour to be severe. Mrs. F. Bless me, how have I been de-
Mir. Are you? Pray then walk by your-ceived? Why you're a professed libertine,
selves. Let not us be accessary to your put- Mrs. Mar. You see my friendship by my
ting the ladies out of countenance with your freedom. Come, be as sincere, acknowledge
senseless ribaldry, which you roar out aloud that your sentiments agree with mine.
as often as they pass by you; and when you
have made a handsome woman blush, then
you think you have been severe.
Pet. What, what? then let 'em either show
their innocence by not understanding what
Mrs. F. Never.
Mrs. Mar. You hate mankind?
Mrs. F. Heartily, inveterately.
Mrs. Mar. Your husband?
Mrs. F. Most transcendently; ay, though I
they hear, or else show their discretion by say it, meritoriously.
not hearing what they would not be thought
to understand,
Mir. But hast not thou then sense enough
to know that thou ought'st to be most ashamed
thyself, when thou hast put another out of
countenance?
Pet. Not I, by this hand; I always take
blushing either for a sign of guilt or ill-breed-
ing.
Mrs. Mar. Give me your hand upon it.
Mrs. F. There.
Mrs. Mar. I join with you; what I have
said has been to try you.
Mrs. F. Is it possible? dost thou hate those
vipers, men?
Mrs. Mar. I have done hating 'em, and am
now come to despise 'em; the next thing I
have to do, is eternally to forget 'em.
Mrs. F. There spoke the spirit of an Ama-
er-zon, a Penthesilea.
Mir. I confess you ought to think so. You
are in the right, that you may plead the
ror of your judgment in defence of your
practice.
Where modesty's ill-manners, 'tis but fit
That impudence and malice pass for wit.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I-St. James's Park.
Enter MRS. FAINALL and MRS. MARWOOD.
Mrs. F. Ay, ay, dear Marwood, if we will
Mrs. Mar. And yet I am thinking some-
times to carry my aversion farther.
Mrs. F. How?
Mrs. Mar. By marrying; if I could but find
one that loved me very well, and would be
thoroughly sensible of ill usage, I think I should
do myself the violence of undergoin gthe cer-
emony.
Mrs. F. You would not dishonour him?
Mrs. Mar. No: but I'd make him believe I
be happy, we must find the means in our-did, and that's as bad.
selves, and among ourselves. Men are ever in Mrs. F. Why had you not as good do it?
extremes; either doating or averse. While Mrs. Mar. O if he should ever discover it,
they are lovers, if they have fire and sense, he would then know the worst, and be out
their jealousies are insupportable: and when of his pain; but I would have him ever to
they cease to love (we ought to think at least) continue upon the rack of fear and jealousy.
they loathe: they look upon us with horror Mrs. F. Ingenious mischief! would thou
and distaste; they meet us like the ghosts of wert married to Mirabell!
what we were, and as from such, fly from us.
Mrs. Mar. Would I were!
Mrs. F. You change colour.
Mrs. Mar. Because I hate him.
Mrs. F. So do I; but I can hear him named.
1) Formerly the fashionable walk in St. James's Park,
when there was a little green and a tree or two to
be seen within 10 miles of Temple-Bar; but now it
is upon the point of being covered with houses; and But what reason have you to hate him in
the poor swans' country-residence on the canal will particular?
be turned into a town (not a large) house, and the
chinese bridge will probably be made into a ponte de
sospiri for the loss of nature.
Mrs. Mar. I never loved him; he is, and al-
ways was, insufferably proud.

352
[ACT II.
THE WAY OF THE VORLD.
Fain. It may be so. I do not now begin
Mrs. F. By the reason you give for your
aversion, one would think it dissembled; for to apprehend it.
you have laid a fault to his charge, of which
his enemies must acquit him.
Mrs. Mar. What?
Fain. That I have been deceived, madam,
Mrs. Mar. O then it seems you are one of and you are false.
his favourable enemies. Methinks you look a
little pale, and now you flush again.
Mrs. Mar. That I am false! What mean you?
Fain. To let you know, I see through all
Mrs. F. Do I? I think I am a little sick your little arts-Come, you both love him,
o'the sudden.
Mrs. Mar. What ails you;
Mrs. F. My husband. Don't you see him?
He turn'd short upon me unawares, and has
almost overcome me.
Enter FAINALL and MIRABELL.
Mrs. Mar. Ha, ha, ha! he comes opportune-
ly for you.
Mrs. F. For you, for he has brought Mira-
bell with him.
Fain. My dear.
Mrs. F. My soul,
Fain. You don't look well to-day, child.
Mrs. F. D'ye think so?
Mir. He's the only man that does, madam.
Mrs. F. The only man that would tell me
so, at least; and the only man from whom I
could hear it without mortification.
and both have equally dissembled your aver-
sion. Your mutual jealousies of one another
have made you clash till you have both struck
fire. I have seen the warm confession, red-
dening on your cheeks, and sparkling from
your eyes.
Mrs. Mar. You do me wrong.
Fain. I do not. 'Twas for my case to
oversee and wilfully neglect the gross advan-
ces made him by my wife; that, by permit-
ting her to be engaged, I might continue un-
suspected in my pleasures, and take you of
tener to my arms in full security. But could
you think, because the nodding husband would
not wake, that e'er the watchful lover slept?
Mrs. Mar. And wherewithal can you re-
proach me?
Fain. With infidelity, with loving another,
with love of Mirabell.
Fain. O my dear, I am satisfied of your
Mrs. Mar. 'Tis false. I challenge you to
tenderness; I know you cannot resent any show an instance that can
confirm your
thing from me; especially what is an effect of groundless accusation. I hate him.
my concern.
Mir. The persons concern'd in that
have yet a tolerable reputation. I am
Mr. Fainall will be censorious.
Fain. And wherefore do you hate him?
Mrs. F. Mr. Mirabell, my mother interrupt- He is insensible, and your resentment follows
ed you in a pleasant relation last night; I his neglect. An instance! The injuries you
could fain hear it out.
have done him are a proof: your interposing
affair, in his love. What cause had you to make
afraid discoveries of his pretended passion? to un-
deceive the credulous aunt, and be the offi-
Mrs. F. He has a humour more prevailing cious obstacle of his match with Millamant?
than his curiosity, and will willingly dispense Mrs. Mar. My obligations to my lady ur-
with the hearing of one scandalous story, to ged me: I had profess'd a friendship to her;
avoid giving an occasion to make another, by and could not see her easy nature so abused
being seen to walk with his wife. This way, by that dissembler.
Mr. Mirabell, and I dare promise you will Fain. What, was it conscience then? Pro-
oblige us both.
fess'd a friendship! O the pious friendships of
the female sex!
[Exeunt Mrs. Fainall and Mirabell.
Fain. Excellent creature! well, sure, if I
should live to be rid of my wife, I should be
a miserable man.
Mrs. Mar. Ay?
Mrs. Mar. More tender, more sincere, and
more enduring, than all the vain and empty
vows of men, whether professing love to us,
or mutual faith to one another.
Fain. Ha, ha, ha! you are my wife's friend
too.
Fain. For having only that one hope, the
accomplishment of it, of consequence, must
put an end to all my hopes; and what a Mrs. Mar. Shame and ingratitude! Do you
wretch is he who must survive his hopes! no- reproach me? You, you upbraid me! Have I
thing remains, when that day comes, but to been false to her through strict fidelity to you,
sit down and weep like Alexander, when he and sacrificed my friendship to keep my love
wanted other worlds to conquer.
Mrs. Mar. Will you not follow 'em?
Fain. No! I think not.
Mrs. Mar. Pray let us; I have a reason.
Fain. You are not jealous?
Mrs. Mar. Of whom?
Fain. Of Mirabell.
inviolate? and have you the baseness to charge
me with the guilt, unmindful of the merit!
To you it should be meritorious, that I have
been vicious; and do you reflect that guilt
upon me, which should lie buried in your
bosom?
Fain. You misinterpret my reproof. I
Mrs. Mar. If I am, is it inconsistent with meant but to remind you of the slight account
my love to you, that I am tender of your
honour?
you once could make of strictest ties, when
set in competition with your love to me.
Fain. You would intimate then, as if there Mrs. M. 'Tis false, you urged it with deli-
were a particular understanding between my berate malice; 'twas spoke in scorn, and I
wife and him?
Mrs. Mar. I think she does not hate him to
that degree she would be thought.
Fain. But he, I fear, is too insensible.
Mrs. Mar. It may be you are deceived.
never will forgive it.
Fain. Your guilt, not your resentment, be-
gets your rage. If yet you loved, you could
forgive a jealousy: but you are stung to find
you are discover'd.

SCENE 1.]
353
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
[Exeunt.
Mrs. Mar. It shall be all discover'd. You wear it a moment. This way, this way, be
too shall be discover'd; be sure you shall. I can persuaded.
but be exposed; if I do it myself, I shall pre-
vent your baseness.
Fain. Why, what will you do?
Mrs. Mar. Disclose it to your wife; own
what has past between us.
Fain. Frenzy!
Mrs. Mar. By all my wrongs I'll do't. I'll
publish to the world the injuries you have
done me, both in my fame and fortune: with
both I trusted you, you bankrupt in honour,
as indigent of wealth.
Enter MIRABELL and MRS. FAINALL.
Mrs. F. They are here yet.
Mir. They are turning into the other walk.
Mrs. F. While I only hated my husband, I
could bear to see him; but since I have des-
pised him, he's too offensive.
Mir. O you should hate with prudence.
Mrs. F. Yes, for I have loved with indis-
cretion.
Mir. You should have just so much disgust
Fain. Your fame I have preserved. Your for your husband, as may be sufficient to
fortune has been bestow'd as the prodigality make you relish your lover.
of your love would have it, in pleasures which Mrs. F. You have been the cause that I have
we both have shared. Yet, had not you been loved without bounds; and would you set
false, I had ere this rapaid it. 'Tis true, had limits to that aversion, of which you have
you permitted Mirabell with Millamant to have been the occasion? Why did you make me
stolen their marriage, my lady had been in- marry this man?
censed beyond all means of reconcilement: Mir. Why do we daily commit disagree-
Millamant had forfeited the moiety of her for-able and dangerous actions? To save that idol
tune, which then would have descended to my reputation. If the familiarities of our loves
wife. And wherefore did I marry, but to had produced that consequence, of which you
make lawful prize of a rich widow's wealth, were apprehensive, where could you have fixed
and squander it on love and you.
a father's name with credit, but on a husband?
Mrs. Mar. Deceit and frivolous pretence. I knew Fainall to be a man lavish of his mor-
Fain. Death, am I not married? what's pre-als, an interested and professing friend, a
tence? Am I not imprison'd, fetter'd? have I false and a designing lover; yet one whose
not a wife? nay, a wife that was a widow, a wit and outward fair behaviour have gain'd
young widow, a handsome widow; and would reputation with the town, enough to make
be again a widow, but that I have a heart of that woman stand excused, who has suffered
proof, and something of a constitution to bustle herself to be won by his addresses. A better
through the ways of wedlock and this world.
Will you be reconciled to truth and me?
Mrs. Mar. Impossible. Truth and you are
inconsistent. I hate you, and shall for ever.
Fain. For loving you?
Mrs. Mar. I loathe the name of love after
such usage: and next to the guilt with which
you would asperse me, I scorn you most.
Farewell.
Fain. Nay, we must not part thus.
Mrs. Mar. Let me go.
Fain. Come, I'm sorry.
Mrs. Mar. I care not.-Let me go.-Break my
hands, do-I'd leave 'em to get loose.
Fain. I would not hurt you for the world.
Have I no other hold to keep you here?
Mrs. Mar. Well, I have deserved it all.
Fain. You know I love you.
Mrs. Mar. Poor dissembling! O that-Well,
it is not yet-
Fain. What? what is it not? what is not
yet? is it not yet too late?
Mrs. Mar. Ho, it is not yet too late, I have
that comfort.
Fain. It is, to love another.
Mrs. Mar. But not to loathe, detest, abhor
mankind, myself, and the whole treacherous
world.
man ought not to have been sacrificed to the
occasion; a worse had not answer'd to the
purpose. When you are weary of him, you
know your remedy.
Mrs. F. I ought to stand in some degree of
credit with you, Mirabell.
Mir. In justice to you, I have made you
privy to my whole design, and put it in your
power to ruin or advance my fortune.
Mrs. F. Whom have you instructed to re-
present your pretended uncle?
Mir. Waitwell, my servant.
Mrs. F. He is an humble servant to Foible,
my mother's woman, and may win her to
your interest.
Mir. Care is taken for that-she is won and
worn by this time. They were married this
morning.
Mrs. F. Who?
Mir. Waitwell and Foible. I would not
tempt my servant to betray me by trusting
him too far. If your mother, in hopes to ruin
me, should consent to marry my pretended
uncle, he might like Mosca in the Fox, stand
upon terms; so I made him sure before-hand.
Mrs. F. So, if my poor mother is caught
in a contract, you will discover the imposture
betimes; and release her, by producing a cer-
Fain. Nay, this is extravagance-Come, I tificate of her gallant's former marriage.
ask your pardon-No tears-I was to blame Mir. Yes, upon condition that she consent
-I could not love you and be easy in my to my marriage with her niece, and surrender
doubts-Pray forbear-I believe you; I'm con- the moiety of her fortune in her possession.
vinced I've done you wrong; and any way; Mrs. F. She talked last night of endeavour-
every way will make amends; I'll hate my ing at a match between Millamant and your
wife yet more; damn her, I'll part with her, uncle.
"ob her of all she's worth, and we'll retire Mir. That was by Foible's direction, and
somewhere, any where, to another world. I'll my instruction, that she might seem to carry
marry thee-Be pacified-'Sdeath! they come, it more privately.
bide your face, your tears-You have a mask, Mrs. F. Well, I have an opinion of your
45

354
[ACT II.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD
success; for I believe my lady will do any you pin up your hair with all your letters?
thing to get a husband; and when she has 1 find I must keep copies.
this, which you have provided for her, I sup- Mrs. Mill. Only with those in verse, Mr.
pose she will submit to any thing to get rid Witwould. I never pin up my hair with
prose. I think, I tried once, Mincing.
Min. O mem, I shall never forget it..
Mrs. Mill. Ay, poor Mincing tift and tift¹)
of him.
Mir. Yes, I think the good lady would marry
any thing that resembled a man, though 'twere
no more than what a butler could pinch out all the morning.
of a napkin.
Min. Till I had the cramp in my fingers,
Mrs. F. Female frailty! we must all come I'll vow, mem, and all to no purpose. But
to it, if we live to be old, and feel the cra- when your la'ship pins it up with poetry, it
ving of a false appetite when the true is decay'd. sits so pleasant the next day as any thing, and
Mir. An old woman's appetite is depraved is so pure and so crips. 2)
like that of a girl-'tis the green-sickness of
a second childhood; and like the faint offer
of a latter spring, serves but to usher in the
fall, and withers in an affected bloom.
Mrs. F. Here's your mistress.
Enter MRS. MILLAMANT, WITWOULD, and
MINCING.
Wit. Indeed, so crips?
Min. You're such a critic, Mr. Witwould.
Mrs. Mill. Mirabell, did you take exceptions
last night? O ay, and went away - Now I
think on't I'm angry-No, now I think on't
I'm pleased-For I believe I gave you some pain.
Mir. Does that please you?
Mrs. Mill. Infinitely; I love to give pain,
Mir. Here she comes, i'faith, full sail, with Mir. You would affect a cruelty which is
her fan spread and streamers out, and a shoal not in your nature; your true vanity is in
of fools for tenders-ha, no; I cry her mercy. the power of pleasing.avide
Mrs. F. I see but one poor empty sculler; Mrs. Mill. O, I ask your pardon for that-
and he tows her woman after him.
One's cruelty is one's power, and when one
Mir. You seem to be unattended, madam. parts with one's cruelty one parts with one's
-You used to have the beau-monde throng power; and when one has parted with that,
after you, and a flock of gay fine perukes I fancy one's old and ugly.
hovering round you.
Mir. Ay, ay, suffer your cruelty to ruin the
Wit. Like moths about a candle-I had like object of your power, to destroy your lover;
to have lost my comparison for want of breath. and then how vain, how lost a thing you'll
Mrs. Mill. Ŏ I have denied myself airs to-be! Nay, 'tis true: you are no longer hand-
day. I have walk'd as fast through the crowd-some when you have lost your lover; your
Wit. As a favourite just disgraced; and with beauty dies upon the instant: for beauty is
as few followers.
the lover's gift; 'tis he bestows your charms-
Mrs. Mill. Dear Mr. Witwould, truce with Your glass is all a cheat. The ugly and the
your similitudes; for I am as sick of 'em-
Wit. As a physician of a good air-1 can-
not help it, madam, though 'tis against myself.
Mrs. Mill. Yet again! Mincing, stand be-
tween me and his wit.
Wit. Do, Mrs. Mincing, like a screen be-
fore a great fire. I confess I do blaze to-day,
I am too bright.
Mrs. F. But, dear Millamant, why were you
so long?
Mrs. Mill. Long! lud! have I not made violent
haste? I have ask'd every living thing I met for
you; I have inquired after you, as after a new
fashion.
Wit. Madam, truce with your similitudes
-no, you met her husband, and did not ask
him for her.
old, whom the looking-glass mortifies, yet,
after commendation, can be flatter'd by it, and
discover beauties in it; for that reflects our
praises, rather than your face.
Mrs Mill. O the vanity of these men! Fainall,
d'ye hear him? If they did not commend us,
we were not handsome! Now you must know
they could not commend one, if one was not
handsome. Beauty the lover's gift! Dear me,
what is a lover, that it can give? Why, one
makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they
live as long as one pleases, and they die as
soon as one pleases; and then, if one pleases,
one makes more.
Wit. Very pretty. Why you make no more
of making of lovers, madam, than of making
so many card-matches.
Mir. By your leave, Witwould, that were Mrs. Mill. One no more owes one's beauty
like inquiring after an old fashion, to ask a
husband for his wife.
Wit. Hum, a hit, a hit, a palpable bit,
confess it.
I
Min. You were dress'd before I came abroad.
Mrs. Mill. Ay, that's true-O but then I had
-Mincing, what had I? why was I so long?
Min. O mem,¹) your la'ship staid to peruse
a pacquet of letters.
to a lover, than one's wit to an echo: they
can but reflect what we look and say, vain,
empty things, if we are silent or unseen, and
want a being.
Mir. Yet, to those two vain empty things,
you owe two of the greatest pleasures of
your life.
Mrs. Mill. How so?
Mir. To your lover you owe the pleasure
Mrs. Mill. O ay, letters-I had letters-I am of hearing yourselves praised; and to an echo
persecuted with letters-I hate letters-nobody the pleasure of hearing yourselves talk.
knows how to write letters; and yet one has Wit. But I know a lady that loves talking
'em, one does not know why-they serve one so incessantly, she won't give an echo fair
to pin up one's hair.
play; she has that everlasting rotation of
Wit. Is that the way? Pray, madam, do tongue, that an echo must wait till she dies,
before it can catch her last words.
1) Mincing minces the word wadam into mem.
1) Scolded.
s) Crisp.

SCENE 1.]
355
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Mrs. Mill. O fiction! Fainall, let us leave
these men.
Mir. Draw off Witwould.
[Aside to Mrs. Fainall.
Mrs. F. Immediately: I have a word or two
for Mr. Witwould.
Mrs. Mill. Without the help of conjura-
tion, you can't imagine; unless she should
tell me herself. Which of the two it may
have been, I will leave you to consider; and
when you have done thinking of that, think of me.
[Exeun: Millamant and Mincing.
[Exeunt Mrs. Fainall and Witwould. Mir. I have something more-Gone-Think
Mir. I would beg a little private audience of you! to think of a whirlwind, though 'twere
too-You had the tyranny to deny me last in a whirlwind, were a case of more steady
night; though you knew I came to impart a contemplation; a very tranquillity of mind and
secret to you that concern'd my love. mansion. A fellow that lives in a windmill,
Mrs. Mill. You saw I was engaged. has not a mere whimsical dwelling than the
Mir. Unkind. You had the leisure to en-heart of a man that is lodg'd in a woman.
tertain a herd of fools; things who visit you There is no point of the compass to which
from their excessive idleness; bestowing on they cannot turn, and by which they are not
your easiness that time, which is the incum-turn'd; and by one as well as another; for
brance of their lives. How can you find de- motion, not method, is their occupation. To
light in such society? It is impossible they know this, and yet continue to be in love, is
should admire you, they are not capable; or to be made wise from the dictates of reason,
if they were, it should be to you as a morti- and yet persevere to play the fool by the
fication; for sure to please a fool is some force of instinct-O here comes my pair of
degree of folly.
turtles-What, billing so sweetly! is not Va-
Mrs. Mill. I please myself-Besides, some-lentine's day over with you yet?
times to converse with fools is for my health.
Mir. Your health! Is there a worse disease Sirrah, Waitwell, why sure you think you
than the conversation of fools?
were married for your own recreation; and
not for my conveniency.
Mrs. Mill. Yes, the vapours; fools are physic
for it, next to asa-fætida.
Mir. You are not in a course of fools?
Mrs. Mill. Mirabell, if you persist in this
offensive freedom, you'll displease me. I think
I must resolve, after all, not to have you-
We shan't agree.
Enter WAITWELL and FOIBLE.
Wait. Your pardon, sir. With submission,
we have indeed been billing; but still with an
eye to business, sir, I have instructed her as
well as I could. If she can take your direc-
tions as readily as my instructions, sir, your
affairs are in a prosperous way.
Mir. Give you joy, Mrs. Foible.
Foi. O-las, sir, I'm so ashamed-I'm afraid
my lady has been in a thousand inquietudes
for me. But I protest, sir, I made as much
haste as I could.
Wait. That she did indeed, sir.
Mir. Not in our physic, it may be.
Mrs. Mill. And yet our distemper, in all
likelihood, will be the same; for we shall be
sick of one another. I shan't endure to be
reprimanded, nor instructed; 'tis so dull to
act always by advice,and so tedious to be told
of one's faults--I can't bear it. Well, I won't Foi. I told my lady, as you instructed me,
have you, Mirabell-I'm resolved-I think sir, that I had a prospect of seeing sir Row-
-You may go-Ha, ha, ha! What would land, your uncle; and that I would put her
you give that you could help loving me? ladyship's picture in my pocket to show him;
Mir. I would give something that you did
not know I could not help it.
Mrs. Mill. Come, don't look grave then.
Well, what do you say to me?
Mir. I say that a man may as soon make a
friend by his wit, or a fortune by his honesty,
as win a woman with plain-dealing and sin-
cerity.
Mrs. Mill. Sententious Mirabell! Pry'thee
don't look with that violent and inflexible
wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the
child in an old tapestry hanging.
Mir. You are merry, madam; but I would
persuade you for a moment to be serious.
which I'll be sure to say has made him so
enamour'd of her beauty, that he burns with
impatience to lie at her ladyship's feet, and
worship the original,
Mir. Excellent Foible! Matrimony has made
you eloquent in love.
Wait. I think she has profited, sir, I think so,
Foi. You have seen madam Millamant, sir?
Mir. Yes.
Foi. I told her, sir, because I did not know
that you might find an opportunity; she had
so much company last night.
Mir. Your diligence will merit more-in
the mean time-
[Gives Money.
Foi. O, dear sir, your humble servant.
Wait. Spouse.
Mrs. Mill. What, with that face? No, if
you keep your countenance, 'tis impossible I
should hold mine. Well, after all, there is Mir. Stand off, sir, not a penny- Go on
something very moving in a love-sick face, and prosper, Foible--The lease shall be made
Ha, ha, ha! Well, I won't laugh, don't be good, and the farm stock'd, if we succeed.
peevish-Heigho! Now I'll be melancholy, as Foi. I don't question your generosity, sir;
melancholy as a watch-light. Well, Mirabell, and you need not doubt of success. If you
if ever you will win me, woo me now-Nay, have no more commands, sir, I'll be gone;
you are so tedious, fare you well: I see I'm sure my lady is at her toilet, and can't
they are walking away.
dress till I come. O dear, I'm sure that
if
Mir. Can you not find, in the variety of [Looking out] was Mrs. Marwood that went
your disposition, one moment-
by in a mask; if she has seen me with you
Mrs. Mill. To hear you tell me Foible's I'm sure she'll tell my lady. I'll make haste
married, and your plot like to speed?-No, home and prevent her. Your servant, sir.
Mir. But how you came to know it- B'w'ye, Waitwell.
[Exil

356
[ACT III.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Wait. Sir Rowland, if you please. The Lady W. O Marwood, let her come in.
jade's so pert upon her preferment, she for- Come in, good Marwood.
gets herself.
Mir. Come, sir, will you endeavour to for-
get yourself, and transform into sir Rowland?
Wait. Why, sir, it will be impossible
should remember myself. [Exit Mirabell] Mar
ried, knighted, and attended, all in one day
'tis enough to make any man forget himself
The difficulty will be how to recover my ac
quaintance and familiarity with my former
self; and fall from my transformation to a re-
formation into Waitwell. Nay, I shan't be
quite the same Waitwell neither-for now I
remember, I'm married, and can't be my own
again.
Ay, there's my grief; that's the sad change
of life;
To lose my title, and yet keep my wife.
ACT III.
[Exit.
Enter MRS. MARWOOD.
Mrs. M. I'm surprised to find your ladyship
in dishabille at this time of day.
Lady W. Foible's a lost thing; has been
abroad since morning, and never heard of
since.
Mrs. M. I saw her but now, as I came
mask'd through the park, in conference with
Mirabell.
Lady W. With Mirabell! you call my blood
into my face, with mentioning that traitor.
She durst not have the confidence. I sent her
to negociate an affair, in which, if I'm detect-
ed, I'm undone. If that wheedling villain has
wrought upon Foible to detect ine, I'm ruin'd.
Oh my dear friend, I'm a wretch of wretches
if I'm detected.
Mrs. M. O madam, you cannot suspect Mrs.
SCENE I. A Room in LADY WISHFORT'S Foible's integrity.
House.
Lady W. O, he carries poison in his tongue
that would corrupt integrity itself. If she
LADY WISHFORT at her Toilet, PEG waiting. has given him an opportunity, she has as good
Lady W. Merciful, no news of Foible yet? as put her integrity into his hands. Ah! dear
Peg. No, madam.
Marwood, what's integrity to an opportunity?
Lady W. I have no more patience-If I-Hark! I hear her-Dear friend, retire into
have not fretted myself till I am pale again, my closet, that I may examine her with more
there's no veracity in me. Fetch me the red freedom-You'll pardon me, dear friend, I can
-the red, do you hear? An arrant ash-co- make bold with you-There are books over
lour, as I'm a person. Look you how this the chimney-Quarles and Pryn, and the Short
wench stirs! why dost thou not fetch me a View of the Stage, with Bunyan's works, to
little red? didst thou not hear me, mopus? entertain you. [Exit Mrs. Marwood] Go, you
Peg. The red ratafia, does your ladyship thing, and send her in. [Exit Peg.
mean, or the cherry-brandy?
Enter FOIBLE.
Lady W. Ratafia, fool! no, fool, not the ra-
tafia, fool-Grant me patience! I mean the
Spanish paper, idiot; complexion. Darling what hast thou been doing?
paint, paint, paint; dost thou understand that,
changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins
before thee? why dost thou not stir, puppet?
thou wooden thing upon wires.
Lady W. O Foible, where hast thou been?
Foi. Madam, I have seen the party.
Lady W. But what hast thou done?
Foi. Nay, 'tis your ladyship has done, and
are to do; I have only promised. But a
Peg. Lord, madam, your ladyship is so im- man so enamour'd-so transported! well, if
patient-I cannot come at the paint, madam; worshipping of pictures be a sin-poor sir
Mirs. Foible has lock'd it up, and carried the Rowland, I say.
key with her.
Lady W. The miniature has been counted
Lady VV. Plague take you both-Fetch me like-But hast thou not betray'd me, Foible?
the cherry-brandy then. [Exit Peg] I'm as Hast thou not detected me to that faithless
pale and as faint, I look like Mrs. Qualmsick, Mirabell?-What hadst thou to do with him
the curate's wife, that's always breeding-in the park? answer me, has he got nothing
Wench, come, come, wench; what art thou out of thee?
doing, sipping? tasting? save thee, dost thou
not know the bottle.
Foi. So, mischief has been before-hand with
me; what shall I say? [Aside] Alas, madam,
could I help it, if I met that confident thing?
Enter PEG, with a Bottle and China Cup. was I in fault? If you had heard how he
Peg. Madam, I was looking for a cup. used me, and all upon your ladyship's ac-
Lady W. A cup, save thee; and what a cup count, I'm sure you would not suspect my
hast thou brought! dost thou take me for a fidelity. Nay, if that had been the worst, I
fairy, to drink out of an acorn? why didst could have borne; but he had a fling at your
thou not bring thy thimble? hast thou ne'er ladyship too; and then I could not hold: but
a brass thimble clinking in thy pocket with a 'faith I gave him his own.
bit of nutmeg? I warrant thee. Come, fill,
fill-So-again. See who that is. [One knocks]
Set down the bottle first.-Here, here, under Foi. O madam; 'tis a shame to say what
the table-What, wouldst thou go with the he said-With his taunts and fleers, tossing
bottle in thy hand, like a tapster? [Exit Peg] up his nose. Humph, says he, what, you are.
As I'm a person, this wench has lived in an
inn upon the road, before she came to me.
Enter PEG.
No Foible yet?
Peg. No, madam, Mrs, Marwood.
Lady W. Me! what did the filthy fellow
say?
hatching some plot, says he, you are so early
abroad, or catering, says he, ferreting for
some disbanded officer, I warrant-Half-pay
is but thin subsistence, says he-Well, what
pension does your lady propose? Let me see,

SCENE 1.]
357
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
says he, what, she must come down pretty he does come? will he be importunate, Foible,
deep now, she's superannuated, says he, and- and push? for if he should not be importu-
Lady W, Odds my life, I'll have him-I'll nate I shall never break decorums-I shall
have him murder'd. I'll have him poison'd. die with confusion, if I am forced to advance
Where does he eat? I'll marry a drawer, to -Oh no, I can never advance-I shall swoon
have him poison'd in his wine.
if he should expect advances. No, I hope sir
Foi. Poison him! poisoning's too good for Rowland is better bred, than to put a lady to
him. Starve him, madamı, starve him; marry the necessity of breaking her forms. I won't
sir Rowland, and get him disinherited. O you be too coy, neither.-I won't give him des-
would bless yourself, to hear what he said. pair-But a little disdain is not amiss: a little
Lady W. A villain! superannuated! scorn is alluring.
Foi. Humph, says he, I hear you are laying Foi. A little scorn becomes your ladyship.
designs against me too, says he, and Mrs. Lady W. Yes, but tenderness becomes me
Millamant is to marry my uncle; he does not best--You see that picture has a-sort of a-
suspect a word of your ladyship; but, says ha, Foible? a swimmingness in the eyes-
he, I'll fit you for that; I warrant you, says Yes, I'll look so-My niece affects it; but she
he: I'll hamper you for that, says he, you wants features. Is sir Rowland handsome?
and your old frippery too, says he, I'll handle Let my toilet be removed-I'll dress above.
I'll receive sir Rowland here. Is he handsome?
you-
Lady W. Audacious villain! handle me! Don't answer me. I won't know; I'll be sur-
would he durst?-Frippery! old frippery! Was prised, I'll be taken by surprise.
there ever such a foul-mouth'd fellow? I'll be Foi. By storm, madam; sir Rowland's a
married to-morrow, I'll be contracted to-night. brisk man.
Foi. The sooner the better, madam.
Lady W. Is he?
Lady W. Will sir Rowland be here, say'st if he's a brisk man.
thou?-when, Foible?
at the apprehension.
Foi. Incontinently, madam. No new sheriff's moved, good Foible.
wife expects the return of her husband after
knighthood, with that impatience in which sir
Rowland burns for the dear hour of kissing
your ladyship's hand after dinner.
O then he'll importune,
I have a mortal terror
Let my things be re-
[Exit.
Enter MRS. FAINALL.
Mrs. F. O Foible, I have been in a fright,
lest I should come too late. That devil, Mar-
wood, saw you in the park with Mirabell,
and I'm afraid will discover it to my lady.
Foi. Discover what, madam?
Lady W. Frippery! superannuated frippery!
I'll frippery the villain; I'll reduce him to frip-
pery and rags; a tatterdemallion-I hope to
see him hung with tatters, like a Long-lane Mrs. F. Nay, nay, put not on that strange
pent-house, or a gibbet thief. A slander- face. I am privy to the whole design, and
mouth'd railer: I warrant the spendthrift pro- know that Waitwell, to whom thou wert this
digal is in debt as much as the million lottery, morning married, is to personate Mirabell's
or the whole court upon a birth-day. I'll uncle, and as such, winning my lady, to in-
spoil his credit with his tailor. Yes, he shall volve her in those difficulties from which Mi-
have my niece with her fortune, he shall. rabell only must release her, by his making
Foi. Hle! I hope to see him lodge in Lud- his conditions to have my cousin and her for-
gate 1) first, and angle into Blackfriars for tune left to her own disposal.
brass farthings, with an old mitten 2).
Foi. O dear madam, I beg your pardon.
Lady W. Ay, dear Foible; thank thee for It was not my confidence in your ladyship
that, dear Foible. He has put me out of all that was deficient; but I thought the former
patience. I shall never recompose my features, good correspondence between your ladyship
to receive sir Rowland with any economy of and Mr. Mirabell might have hinder'd his
face. The wretch has fretted me, that I am communicating this secret.
absolutely decay'd. Look, Foible.
Mrs. F. Dear Foible, forget that.
Foi. Your ladyship has frown'd a little too Foi. O dear madam, Mr. Mirabell is such
rashly, indeed, madam. There are some cracks a sweet winning gentleman-But your lady-
discernable in the white varnish.
ship is the pattern of generosity. Sweet lady,
Lady W. Let me see the glass-Cracks, to be so good! Mr. Mirabell cannot choose
say'st thou? why I am arrantly flay'd-I look but be grateful. I find your ladyship has his
like an old peel'd wall. Thou must repair me, heart still. Now, madam, I can safely tell
Foible, before sir Rowland comes; or I shall your ladyship our success. Mrs. Marwood
never keep up to my picture.
had told my lady; but I warrant I managed
Foi. I warrant you, madam; a little art myself. I turn'd it all for the better. I told
once made your picture like you; and now my lady that Mr. Mirabell rail'd at her. I
a little of the same art must make you like laid horrid things to his charge, I'll vow;
your picture. Your picture must sit for you, and my lady is so incensed, that she'll be
contracted to sir Rowland to-night, she says,
-I warrant I work'd her up, that he may
have her for asking for, as they say of a
Welsh maidenhead.
madam.
Lady W. But art thou sure sir Rowland
will not fail to come? or will he not fail when
1) Ludgate prison.
Mrs, F. O rare Foible!
2) Woolen-glove or stocking. That is, she hopes to see
Foi. Madam, I beg your ladyship to ac-
him confined n Ludgate-prison, and letting down
an old stocking tied to the end of a stick, begging for quaint Mr. Mirabell of his success. I would
the charity of persons passing below in Black-friars; be seen as little as possible to speak to him;
at the present day the prisoners in Fleet prison, which besides, I believe madam Marwood watches
looks out upon Fleet market, are seen begging for the
"poor confined debtors who have nothing to live upon." me; she has a penchant; but I know Mr.

358
[ACT III.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD
Mirabell can't abide her. [Calls] John- re- Foi. Witwould and Mr. Petulant are come
move my lady's toilet. Madam, your servant. to dine with your ladyship.
My lady is so impatient, I fear she'll come
for me, if I stay.
Mrs. F. I'll go with you up the
lest I should meet her.
Enter MRS. MARWOOD.
Lady W. O dear, I can't appear till I am
dress'd. Dear Marwood, shall I be free with
back stairs, you again, and beg you to entertain 'em? I'll
[Exeunt. make all imaginable haste. Dear friend, ex-
cuse me. [Exeunt Lady Wishfort and Foible.
Enter MRS. MILLAMANT and MINCING.
Mrs. Mill. Sure never any thing was
unbred as that odious man. Marwood, your
80
Mrs. Mar. Indeed, Mrs. Engine, is it thus
with you? Are you become a go-between of
this importance? Yes, I shall watch you.
Why this wench is the passe-partout, a very servant.
master-key to every body's strong box. My Mrs. Mar. You have a colour: what's the
friend Fainall, have you carried it so swim- matter?
mingly? I thought there was something in it;
Mrs. Mar. No. What has he done?
Mrs. Mill. That horrid fellow, Petulant, has
but it seems 'tis over with you. Your loathing provoked me into a flame. I have broke my
is not from a want of appetite then, but from fan. Mincing, lend me yours. Is not all the
a surfeit: else you could never be so cool to powder out of my hair?
fall from a principal to be an assistant; to
procure for him! a pattern of generosity, that Mrs. Mill. Nay, he has done nothing; he
I confess. Well, Mr. Fainall, you have met has only talk'd-nay, he has said nothing
with your match. O man, man! Woman, neither; but he has contradicted every thing
woman! The devil's an ass: if I were a paint- that has been said. For my part, I thought
er, I would draw him like an idiot, a dri- Witwould and he would have quarrell'd.
veller with a bib and bells. Man should have Min. I vow, mem, I thought once they
his head and horns, and woman the rest of would have fit 1).
him. Poor simple fiend! madam Marwood Mrs. Mill. Well, 'tis a lamentable thing, I
has a penchant, but he can't abide her "Twere swear, that one has not the liberty of choos-
better for him you had not been his confes-ing one's acquaintance as
sor in that affair, without you could have clothes.
one does one's
kept his counsel closer. I shall not prove Mrs. Mar. If we had that liberty, we should
another pattern of generosity-he has not ob- be as weary of one set of acquaintance, though
liged me to that with those excesses of him- never so good, as we are of one suit, though
self; and now I'll have none of him. Here never so fine. A fool and a doily stuff would
comes the good lady, panting ripe; with a now and then find days of grace, and be
heart full of hope, and a head full of care, worn for variety.
chemist upon
any
the day of projection.
like
Enter LADY WISHFORT,
Lady W. O dear Marwood, what shall I
say for this rude forgetfulness? But my dear
friend is all goodness.
ment.
Mrs. Mill. I could consent to wear 'em, if
they would wear alike; but fools never wear
out. They are such drap-de-berry things!
without one could give 'em to one's chamber-
maid after a day or two.
Mrs. Mar. Twere better so indeed, Or
Mrs. Mar. No apologies, dear madam. I what think you of the play-house? A fine
have been very well entertained.
gay glossy fool should be given there, like a
Lady W. As I'm a person, I am in a very new masking-habit after the masquerade is
chaos to think I should so forget myself; but over, and we have done with the disguise.
I have such an olio of affairs, really I know For a fool's visit is always a disguise; and
not what to do. [Calls] Foible!-I expect my never admitted by a woman of wit, but to
nephew, sir Wilful, every momenl too.blind her affair with a lover of sense. If you
Why, Foible!--He means to travel for improve- would but appear barefaced now, and own
Mirabell, you might as easily put off Petulant
Mrs. Mar. Methinks sir Wilful should rather and Witwould, as your hood and scarf. And
think of marrying than travelling at his years. indeed 'tis time, for the town has found it:
I hear he is turned of forty.
the secret is grown too big for the pretence:
Lady W. O he's in less danger of being 'tis like Mrs. Primly's great belly; she may
spoiled by his travels. I am against my ne- lace it down before, but it burnishes on her
phew's marrying too young. It will be time hips. Indeed, Millamant, you can no more
enough when be comes back, and has acquired conceal it than my lady Strammel can her
discretion to choose for himself.
face, that goodly face, which, in defiance of
Mrs. Mar. Methinks Mrs. Millamant and he ber Rhenish-wine tea, will not be comprehend-
would make a very fit match. He may travel ed in a mask.
afterwards. 'Tis a thing very usual with young Mrs. Mill. I'll take my death, Marwood, you
gentlemen.
are more censorious than a decay'd beauty,
Lady W. I promise you I have thought or a discarded toast. Mincing, tell the men
on't; and, since 'tis your judgment, I'll think they may come up. My aunt is not dress-
on't again. I assure you I will; I value your ing here; their folly is less provoking than
judgment extremely. On my word, I'll pro- your malice. [Exit Mincing] The town has
pose it.
found it! what has it found? That Mirabell
loves me is no more a secret, than it is a se-
cret, that you discover'd it to my aunt, or
Come, come, Foible. I had forgot my nephew than the reason why you discovered it is a secret.
will be here before dinner. I must make haste. I 1, Fought. Fit is the vulgar participle of fight.
Enter FOIBLE.

SCENE 1.]
359
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Mrs. Mar. You are nettled.
Mrs. Mill. You're mistaken. Ridiculous!
Mrs. Mar. Indeed, my dear, you'll tear
another fan if you don't mitigate those vio-
lent airs.
Wit. Ay, upon proof positive it must; but
upon proof presumptive it only may. That's
a logical distinction now, madam.
Mrs. Mar. I perceive your debates are of
importance, and very learnedly handled.
Pet. Importance is one thing, and learning's
another; but a debate's a debate, that I assert.
Wit. Petulant's an enemy to learning; he
relies altogether on his parts.
Pet. No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts
Mrs. Mill. Oh, silly! Ha, ha, ha! I could
laugh immoderately. Poor Mirabell! His con-
stancy to me has quite destroyed his com-
plaisance for all the world beside. I swear I
never enjoined it him, to be so coy: if I had
the vanity to think he would obey me, I not me.
would command him to show more gallantry.
'Tis hardly well-bred to be so particular on
one hand, and so insensible on the other. But Pet. No, no, 'tis no enemy to any body,
I despair to prevail, and so let him follow but them that have it.
his own way. Ha, ha, ha! Pardon me, dear
creature, I must laugh, ha, ha, ha! though I
grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha, ha, ha!
Mrs. Mar. What pity 'tis, so much fine
raillery, and deliver'd with so significant gesture,
should be so unhappily directed to miscarry!
Mrs. Mill. Dear creature, I ask your par-
don. I swear I did not mind you.
Mrs. Mar. That's a sign indeed 'tis no ene-
my to you.
Mrs. Mill. Well, an illiterate man's my
aversion. I wonder at the impudence of an
illiterate man, to offer to make love.
Wit. That I confess I wonder at too.
Mrs. Mill. Ah! to marry an ignorant! that
can hardly read or write.
Pet. Why should a man be any further
from being married though he can't read, than
Mrs. Mar. Mr. Mirabell and you both may he is from being hang'd. The ordinary's paid
think a thing impossible, when I shall tell for setting the psalm, and the parish priest
him by telling you-
for reading the ceremony. And for the rest
same which is to follow, in both cases, a man may
do it without book; so all's one for that.
Mrs. Mill. O dear, what? for 'tis the
thing, if I hear it. Ha, ha, ha!
Mrs. Mar. That I detest him, hate him, Mrs. Mill. D'ye hear the creature? Lord,
341 lose of here's company, I'll be gone.
madam.
Mrs. Mill. O madam! why, so do I. And
yet the creature loves me; ha, ha, ha! How
[Exeunt Mrs. Millamant and Mincing.
one forbear laughing to think of it Enter SIR WILFUL WITWOULD in a Riding-
-I am a Sybil if I am not amazed to think
what he can see in me. I'll take my death,
dress, and Footman.
Wit. In the name of Bartholomew and his
I think you are handsomer, and within a year fair, what have we here?
or two as young. If you could but stay for Mrs. Mar. 'Tis your brother, I fancy. Don't
me, I should overtake you. But that cannot you know him?
be. Well, that thought makes me melancho-
lic. Now I'll be sad.
on
Mrs. Mar. Your merry note may be chan-
ged sooner than you think.
Mrs. Mill. D'ye say so? Then I'm resolved
I'll have a song to keep up my spirits.
Enter MINCING.
Wit. Not I. Yes, I think it is he. I've
almost forgot him; I have not seen him since
the Revolution.
Foot. Sir, my lady's dressing. Here's com-
pany; if you please to walk in, in the mean
time.
Sir W. Dressing! What, 'tis but morning
here I warrant, with you in London; we
Min. The gentlemen stay but to comb, ma- should count it towards afternoon in our parts,
dam; and will wait on you.
Enter PETULANT and WITWOULD.
Mrs. Mill. Is your animosity composed,
gentlemen?cios berge
down in Shropshire. Why then belike my
aunt han't dined yet. Ha, friend?
Foot. Your aunt, sir?
Sir V. My aunt, sir? yes, my aunt, sir,
and your lady, sir; your lady is my aunt, sir.
Wit. Raillery, raillery, madam; we have no Why, what, dost thou not know me, friend?
animosity; we hit off a little wit now and Why then send somebody hither that does.
then, but no animosity. The falling-out of How long hast thou lived with thy lady,
wits, is like the falling-out of lovers. We agree fellow, ha?
in the main, like treble and bass. Ha, Petulant! Foot. A week, sir; longer than any in the
Pet. Ay, in the main. But when I have a house, except my lady's woman.
humour to contradict-
Sir W. Why then belike thou dost not
Wit. Ay, when he has a humour to con- know thy lady, if thou seest her; ha, friend!
tradict, then I contradict too. What, I know Foot. Why truly, sir, I cannot safely swear
Then we contradict one another to her face in a morning, before she is dress'd.
like two battledores; for contradictions beget 'Tis like I may give a shrewd guess at her
one another like Jews.
my cue.
by this time.
Pet. If he says black's black - If I have a Sir W. Well, pr'ythee, try what thou can'st
humour to say 'tis blue-Let that pass; all's do; if thou canst not guess, inquire her out;
one for that. If I have a humour to prove dost hear, fellow? and tell her, her nephew,
it, it must be granted.
sir Wilful Witwould, is in the house.
Wit. Not positively must-But it may-it
may.
Foot. I shall, sir.
Sir W. Hold ye, hear me, friend; a word
Pet. Yes, it positively must, upon proof with you in your car: pr'ythee, who are
positive.
these gallants?

360
[ACT III.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Foot. Really, sir, I can't tell; here come so and hoping you are in good health, and so
many here, 'tis hard to know 'em all. [Exit. forth-To begin with a Rat me, knight, I'm
Sir W. Oons, this fellow knows less than so sick of a last night's debauch-Ods heart,
a starling; I don't think a'knows his own name. and then tell a familiar tale of a cock and a
Mrs. Mar. Mr. Witwould, your brother is bull, and a wench and a bottle, and so con-
not behind-hand in forgetfulness. I fancy he clude. You could write news before you
has forgot you too.
were out of your time, when you lived with
honest Pimplenose, the attorney of Furni-
val's Inn, you could entreat to be remembered
then to your friends round the Wrekin.
Wit. I hope so. The deuce take him that
remembers first, I say.
Sir W. Save you, gentlemen and lady.
Mrs. Mar. For shame, Mr. Witwould; why
won't you speak to him? And you, sir.
Wit. Petulant, speak.
Pet. It seems as if you had come a journey,
sir; hem, hem. [Surveying him round.
Sir W. Very likely, sir, that it may seem so.
Pet. No offence, I hope, sir.
Sir W. May be not, sir; thereafter, as 'tis
meant, sir,
Pet. 'Slife, Witwould, were you ever an
attorney's clerk, of the family of the Furni-
vals? Ha, ha, ha!
Wit. Ay, ay, but that was but for awhile.
Not long, not long; pshaw, I was not in my
own power then. An orphan, and this fellow
was my guardian; ay, ay, I was glad to con-
sent to that, man, to come to London. He
had the disposal of me then. If I had not
Wit. Smoke the boots, the boots; Petulant, agreed to that, I might have been bound 'pren-
the boots. Ha, ha, ha!
otice to a feltmaker in Shrewsbury; this fellow
Pet. Sir, I presume upon the information would have bound me to a maker of felts.
of your boots.
Sir V. 'Sheart, and better than be bound
Sir W. Why, 'tis like you may, sir: if you to a maker of fops; where, I suppose, you
are not satisfied with the information of my have served your time; and now you may set
boots, sir, if you will step to the stable, you up for yourself.
may inquire further of my horse, sir.
Mrs. Mar. You intend to travel, sir, as I'm
informed.
Sir W. Belike I may, madam. I may chance
sail upon the salt seas, if my mind hold.
Pet. And the wind serve.
Pet. Your horse, sir! your horse is an ass, sir!
Sir W. Do you speak by way of offence, sir?
Mrs. Mar. The gentleman's merry, that's all, to
sir 'Slife, we shall have a quarrel betwixt an
horse and ass, before they find one another Sir W. Serve or not serve, I shan't ask
out. You must not take any thing amiss from licence of you, sir; nor the weather-cock
your friends, sir. You are among your friends, companion. I direct my discourse to the
here, though it may be you don't know it. lady, sir. 'Tis like my aunt may have told
If I am not mistaken, you are sir Wilful you, madam; yes, I have settled my concerns,
Witwould.
I may say now, and am minded to see
foreign parts.
Sir W. Right, lady; I am sir Wilful Wit-
would, so I write myself; no offence to any
your
Mrs. Mar. I thought you had designed for
body, I hope; and nephew to the lady Wish- France at all adventures.EFE
fort of this mansion.
Sir W. I can't tell that; 'tis like I may, and
Mrs. Mar. Don't you know this gentle- 'tis like I may not. I am somewhat dainty
man, sir?
in making a resolution, because when I make
Sir W. Hum! What, sure 'tis not-yea, it I keep it. I don't stand shill, shall I, then;
by'r lady but 'tis.-'Sheart, I know not whether if I say't, I'll do't: but I have thoughts to
'tis or no.-Yea but 'tis, by the wrekin. Brother tarry a small matter in town, to learn some-
Anthony! what, Tony, i'faith! what, dost thou what of your lingo first, before I cross the
not know me? By'r lady, nor I thee, thou seas. I'd gladly have a spice of your French,
art so belaced, and so beperiwigg'd. 'Sheart as they say, whereby to hold discourse in
why dost not speak? art thou o'erjoyed?! foreign countries.
Wit. Odso, brother, is it you? your servant,
brother.
Sir W. Your servant! why yours, sir.
Wit. No offence, I hope, brother.
Sir W. 'Sheart, sir, but there is, and much
offence. A plague! is this your inns-o'court
breeding, not to know your friends and your
relations, your elders, and your betters?
Wit. Why, brother Wilful of Salop, you
may be as short as a Shrewsbury cake, if you
please. But I tell you 'tis not modish to know
relations in town. 'Tis not the fashion here;
'tis not indeed, dear brother. sail
Sir W. The fashion's a fool; and you're a
fop, dear brother. "Sheart, I've suspected this;
by'r lady, I conjectured you were a fop, since
Mrs. Mar, Here's an academy in town for
that, and dancing, and curious accomplish-
ments, calculated purely for the use of grown
gentlemen.
Sir W. Is there? 'tis like there may.
Mrs. Mar. No doubt you will return very
much improved.
Wit. Yes, refined like a Dutch skipper from
a whale-fishing.
Enter LADY WISHFORT and FAINALL.
Lady W. Nephew, you are welcome.
Sir W. Aunt, your servant.
Fain. Sir Wilful, your most faithful servant.
Sir W. Cousin Fainall, give me your hand.
Lady W. Cousin Witwould, your servant;
you began to change the style of your letters, Mr. Petulant, your servant. Nephew, you
and write in a scrap of paper, gilt round the are welcome again. Will you drink any
edges, no bigger than a subpoena. 1) I might thing after your journey, nephew, before you
expect this when you left off honoured brother; eat? dinner's almost ready.
1) A writ commanding a person to appear in court under
a certain penalty (subpoena).
Sir W. I'm very well, I thank you, aunt;
however, I thank you for your courteous offer.

SCENE 1.]
361
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
'Sheart, I was afraid you would have been in Fain. This has an appearance.
the fashion too, and have remembered to have Mrs. Mar. I'm sorry I hinted to my lady
forgot your relations. Here's your cousin to endeavour a match between Millamant and
Tony; belike I mayn't call him brother, for sir Wilful; that may be an obstacle.
fear of offence.sarg
Fain. O, for that matter leave me to manage
Lady W. O, he's a railer, nephew; my him; I'll disable him for that; he will drink
cousin's a wit: and your great wits always like a Dane: after dinner, I'll set his hand in.
rally their best friends to choose. When you Mrs. Mar. Well, how do
have been abroad, nephew, you'll understand towards your lady?
raillery better.
you stand affected
Fain. Why, faith, I'm thinking of it. Let
[Fainall and Mrs. Marwood talk apart. me see-I am married already; so that's over
Sir W. Why then let him hold his tongue-my wife has play'd the jade with me-well,
in the mean time, and rail when that day comes. that's over too-I never loved her, or if I had,
Enter MINCING.
Min. Mem, I am come to acquaint your
la'ship that dinner is impatient.
why that would have heen over too by this
time-jealous of her I cannot be, for I am
certain; so there's an end of jealousy. Weary
of her, I am and shall be-no, there's no end
of that; no, no, that were too much to hope..
Sir W. Impatient? why then belike it won't Thus far concerning my repose. Now for my
stay till I pull off my boots. Sweetheart, can reputation-as to my own, I married not for
you help me to a pair of slippers? My man's it; so that's out of the question. And as to
with his horses I warrant.
my part in my wife's why she had parted
Lady W. Fie, fie, nephew, you would not with hers before; so bringing none to me,
pull off your boots here; go down into the she can take none from me: 'tis against all
hall; dinner shall stay for you. [Exeunt rule of play, that I should lose to one, who
Mincing and Sir Wilfull] My nephew's a has not wherewithal to stake.
little unbred, you'll pardon him, madam. Mrs. Mar. Besides you forget, marriage is
Gentlemen, will you walk? Marwood?
honourable.
[Exeunt Lady Wishful, Petulant
and Witwould.
Mrs. Mar. I'll follow you, madam, before Fain. Hum! faith, and that's well thought
sir Wilful is ready.
on. Marriage is honourable, as you say; and
if so, wherefore should cuckoldom be a dis-
credit, being derived from so honourable a root?
Mrs. Mar. Nay, I know not; if the root be
honourable, why not the branches?
Fain. Why then Foible's a procuress; an
errant, rank, match-making procuress. And I
it seems am a husband, a rank husband; and
my wife a very errant, rank wife, all in the
way of the world. 'Sdeath! to be out-witted,
out-jilted, out-matrimony'd-and be out-stripp'd
by my wife; 'tis scurvy wedlock.
Fain. So, so, why this point's clear-well,
how do we proceed?
Mrs. Mar. I will contrive a letter which
shall be deliver'd to my lady at the time when
that rascal who is to act sir Rowland is with
Mrs. Mar. Then shake it off: you have often her. It shall come as from an unknown hand
wish'd for an opportunity to part; and now for the less I appear to know of the truth,
you have it. But first prevent their plot-the the better I can play the incendiary. Besides,
half of Millamant's fortune is too considerable I would not have Foible provoked if I could
to be parted with, to a foe, to Mirabell. help it, because you know she knows some
Fain. Ay, that had been mine, had you not passages-nay, I expect all will come out-
made that fond discovery; that had been for- but let the mine be sprung first, and then I
feited, had they been married. My wife had care not if I am discover'd.
added lustre to my dishonour by that increase Fain. If the worst come to the worst, I'll
of fortune. I could have worn 'em tipt with turn my wife to grass: I have already a deed
gold, though my forehead had been furnish'd of settlement of the best part of her estate,
like a deputy-lieutenant's hall.
which I wheedled out of her; and that you
shall partake at least.
Mrs. Mar. They may prove a cap of main-
tenance to you still, if you can away with Mrs. Mar. I hope you are convinced that
your wife. And she's no worse than when I hate Mirabell now; you'll be no more
you had her-I dare swear she had given up jealous.
her game before she was married.
Fain. Hum! that may be.
Mrs. Mar. You married her to keep you;
and if you can contrive to have her keep you
better than you expected, why should you
not keep her longer than you intended?
Fain. Jealous! no, by this kiss, let husbands
be jealous; but let the lover still believe: or
if he doubt, let it be only to endear his pleasure,
and prepare the joy that follows, when he
proves his mistress true. But let husbands'
doubts convert to endless jealousy; or if they
Fain. The means, the means.
have belief, let it corrupt to superstition, and
Mrs. Mar. Discover to my lady your wife's blind credulity. I am single, and will herd
conduct; threaten to part with her. My lady no more with 'em. True, I wear the badge,
loves her, and will come to any composition but I'll disown the order. And since I
to save her reputation. Take the opportunity take my leave of 'em, I care not if I leave
of breaking it, just upon the discovery of this 'em common
a
motto to their common
imposture. My lady will be enraged beyond crest.
bounds, and sacrifice niece and fortune, and
all, at that conjuncture. And let me alone to
keep her warm; if she should flag in her part,
I will not fail to prompt her.
All husbands must, or pain, or shame
endure;
The wise too jealous are, fools too secure.
[Exeunt.
46

362
[ACT IV.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-The same.
Enter LADY WISHFORT and FOIBLE,
Mrs. Mill. Ay, if you please, Foible, send
him away, or send him hither, just as you
will, dear Foible. I think I'll see him: shall
I? ay, let the wretch come-
Lady W. Is sir Rowland coming, say'st Thyrsis a youth of the inspired train.
thou, Foible? and are things in order?
[Repeating
Foi. Yes, madam. I have put wax-lights-Dear Fainall, entertain sir Wilfull; thou
in the sconces, and placed the footmen in a hast philosophy to undergo a fool; thou art
row in the hall, in their best liveries, with married and hast patience; I would confer
the coachman and postilion to fill up the with my own thoughts.
equipage.
Mrs. F. I am obliged to you, that you would
Lady W. Have you pulvill'd the coachman make me your proxy in this affair; but I have
and postilion, that they may not stink of the business of my own.
stable, when sir Rowland comes by?
Foi. Yes, madam.
Lady W. And are the dancers and the
music ready, that he may be entertain'd in all
points with correspondence to his passion?
Foi. All is ready, madam.
Lady W. And-well-and how do I look,
Foible?
Enter SIR WILFULL.
Mrs. F. O sir Wilfull, you are come at
the critical instant. There's your mistress up
to the ears in love and contemplation; pursue
your point, now or never.
Sir W. Yes, my aunt will have it so: I
would gladly have been encouraged with a
Foi. Most killing well, madam.
bottle or two, because I'm somewhat wary at
Lady W. Well, and how shall I receive first, before I am acquainted;--but I hope,
him? in what figure shall I give his heart the after a time, I shall break my mind-that is,
first impression? There is a great deal in the upon further acquaintance. [This while Mil-
first impression. Shall I sit? No, I won't lamant walks about repealing to herself]
sit-I'll walk-ay, I'll walk from the door So for the present, cousin, I'll take my leave.
upon his entrance; and then turn full upon If so be you'll be so kind to make my excuse,
him-no, that will be too sudden. I'll lie-ay, I'll return to my company.
-
I'll lie down-I'll receive him in my little Mrs. F. O fie, sir VVilfull! what, you must
dressing-room. There's a couch-yes, yes, I'll not be daunted.
give the first impression on a couch-I won't Sir W. Daunted, no, that's not it, it is not
lie neither, but loll and lean upon one elbow, so much for that; for if so be that I set on't,
with one foot a little dangling off, jogging in I'll do't. But only for the present, 'tis suffi-
a thoughtful way; yes, and then as soon as cient till further acquaintance, that's all-your
he appears, start, ay, start and be surprised, servant.
and rise to meet him in a pretty disorder- Mrs. F. Nay, I'll swear you shall never lose
yes-O, nothing is more alluring than a levee so favourable an opportunity, if I can help it.
from a couch in some confusion-It shows the I'll leave you together, and lock the door.
foot to advantage, and furnishes with blushes,
and re-composing airs beyond comparison.
Hark! there's a coach.
Foi. "Tis he, madam.
Lady W. Ó dear, has my nephew made
his addresses to Millamaut? I order'd him.
Foi. Sir Wilfull is set in to drinking, madam,
in the parlour.
Lady W. Odds my life, I'll send him to her.
Call her down, Foible; bring her hither. I'll
send him as I go-when they are together,
then come to me, Foible, that I may not be
too long alone with sir Rowland. [Exit.
Enter MRS. MILLAMANT and MRS. FAINALL.
Foi. Madam, I staid here, to tell your lady-
ship that Mr. Mirabell has waited this half
hour for an opportunity to talk with you.
Though my lady's orders were to leave you
and sir Wilfull together. Shall I tell Mr.
Mirabell that you are at leisure?
Mrs. Mill. No-what would the dear man
have? I am thoughtful, aud would amuse
myself. Bid him come another time.
There never yet was woman made,
Nor shall, but to be curs'd.
That's hard!
[Repeating and walking about.
Mrs. F. You are very fond of sir John
Suckling to-day, Millamant, and the poets.
Mrs. Mill. He? ay, and filthy verses, so I am.
Foi. Sir Wilfull is coming, madam. Shall
I send Mr. Mirabell away?
[Exeunt Mrs. Fainall and Foible.
Sir W. Nay, nay, cousin, I have forgot my
gloves. What d'ye do? 'Sheart, a'has lock'd
the door indeed, I think; nay, cousin Fainall,
open the door; pshaw, what a vixen trick is
this!-Nay, now a'has seen me too--Cousin,
I made bold to pass through as it were-I
think this door's enchanted.
Mrs. Mill. [Repeating]
I pr'ythee spare me, gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy.
Sir W. Anan? cousin, your servant.
Mrs. Mill. That foolish trifle of a heart-
Sir Wilfull!
Sir W. Yes-your servant. No offence I
hope, cousin?
Mrs. Mill. [Repeating]
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy
power and art.
-Natural, easy Suckling!
Sir W. Anan? Suckling? No such suckling
neither, cousin, nor stripling: I thank heaven,
I'm no minor.
Mrs. Mill. Ah rustic, ruder than Gothic.
Sir W. Well, well, I shall understand your
lingo one of these days, cousin; in the mean
while, I must answer in plain English.
Mrs. Mill. Have you any business with me,
sir Wilfull?
Sir W. Not at present, cousin. Yes, I made
bold to see, to come and know if that how
you were disposed to fetch a walk this evening;

SCENE 1.]
363
THE WAY OF THE VWORLD.
arrogance of a very husband has not so prag-
matical an air. Ah! I'll never marry, unless
if so be that I might not be troublesome, I sured man, confident of success. The pedantic
would have sought a walk with you.
Mrs. Mill. A walk? what then?
Sir W. Nay, nothing; only for the walk's I am first made sure of my will and pleasure,
sake, that's all.
Mir. Would you have 'em both before
Mrs. Mill. I nauseate walking; 'tis a country marriage? Or will you be contented with
diversion; I loathe the country, and every only the first now, and stay for the other till
thing that relates to it.
after grace?
ye,
Sir W. Indeed! hah! look look ye, you
do? nay, 'tis like you may: here are
of pastimes here in town, as plays
like, that must be confess'd indeed.
Mrs. Mill. Ah, don't be impertinent. My
choice dear liberty, shall I leave thee? My faithful
and the solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid
you then adien? Ay, adieu, my morning
Mrs. Mill. Ah l'étourdi! I hate the town too, thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers,
Sir W. Dear heart, that's much-hah! that ye douceurs, ye sommeils du matin, adieu!
you should hate 'em both! hah! 'tis like you I can't do't, 'tis more than impossible: posi-
may; there are some can't relish the town, tively, Mirabell, I'll lie a-bed in a morning
and others can't away with the country, 'tis as long as I please.
like you may be one of those, cousin.
Mir. Then I'll get up in a morning as early
Mrs. Mill. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, 'tis like I may. as I please.
You have nothing further to say to me?
Mrs. Mill. Ah! idle creature, get up when
Mir. Names!
Sir W. Not at present, cousin. 'Tis like, you will; and d'ye hear, I won't be called
when I have an opportunity to be more pri- names after I'm married; positively I won't
vate, I may break my mind in some measure. be called names.
I conjecture you partly guess; however, that's
as time shall try: but spare to speak and spare Mrs. Mill. Ay, as wife, spouse, my dear,
to speed, as they say.
joy, jewel, love, sweetheart, and the rest of
Mrs. Mill. If it is of no great importance, that nauseous cant, in which men and their
sir Wilfull, you will oblige me by leaving me. wives are so fulsomely familiar; I shall never
I have just now a little business.
bebear that. Good Mirabell, don't let us be
Sir W. Enough, enough, cousin: yes, yes, familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like
all at ease; when you're disposed. Now's as my lady Fadler and sir Francis: nor go in
well as another time; and another time as public together the first Sunday in a new
well as now. All's one for that. Yes, yes, if chariot, to provoke eyes and whispers; and
your concerns call you, there's no haste; it then never be seen there together again; as
will keep cold, as they say-cousin, your if we were proud of one another the first
servant. I think this door's lock'd.
week, and ashamed of one another ever after.
Mrs. Mill. You may go this way, sir. Let us never visit together, nor go to a play
Sir VV. Your servant: then, with your leave, together, but let us be very strange and well
[Exit. bred; let us be as strange as if we had been
Smarried a great while; and as well bred as if
Like Phoebus sung the no less am'rous boy. we were not married at all. th of mus
I'll return to may company.
Mrs. Mill. Ay, ay; ha, ha, ha!
Enter MIRABELL.
Mir. Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy.
Mir. Have you any more conditions to offer?
hitherto your demands are pretty reasonable.
Mrs. Mill. Trifles, as liberty to pay and
Do you lock yourself up from me, to make receive visits to and from whom I please; to
my search more curious? Or is this pretty write and receive letters, without interroga-
artifice contrived, to signify that here the tories or wry faces on your part; to wear
chase must end, and my pursuit be crown'd, what I please; and choose conversation with
for you can fly no further?
regard only to my own taste; to have ne
Mrs. Mill. Vanity! no, I'll fly and be fol- obligation upon me to converse with wit
low'd to the last moment; though I am upon that I don't like, because they are your ac-
the very verge of matrimony, I expect you quaintance; or to be intimate with fools, be-
should solicit me as much as if I were wavering cause they may be your relations. Come t
at the grate of a monastery, with one foot dinner when I please, dine in my dressing-
over the threshold. I'll be solicited to the very
last, nay, and afterwards.
room when I'm out of humour, without giving
a reason. To have my closet inviolate; to be
Mir. What, after the last?
sole empress of my tea-table, which you must
Mrs. Mill. O, I should think I was poor, never presume to approach without first asking
and had nothing to bestow, if I were reduced leave. And lastly, wherever I am, you shall
to an inglorious ease; and freed from the always knock at the door before you come in.
agreeable fatigues of solicitation.
These articles subscribed, if I continue to
Mir. But do not you know, that when endure you a little longer, I may by degrees
favours are conferr'd upon instant and tedious dwindle into a wife.
solicitation, that they diminish in their value, Mir. Your bill of fare is something advanced
and that both the giver loses the grace, and in this latter account. Well, have I liberty
the receiver lessens his pleasure?arbon to to offer conditions, that when you are dwindled
Mrs. Mill. It may be in things of common into a wife, I may not be beyond measure
application; but never sure in love. O, I hate enlarged into a husband?
a lover, that can dare to think he draws a Mill. You have free leave; propose your
moment's air, independent on the bounty of utmost; speak, and spare not.
his mistress. There is not so impudent a Mir. I thank you. Imprimis then, I co-
thing in nature, as the saucy look of an as- venant that your acquaintance be general; that

364
[ACT IV.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
you admit no sworn confidant, or intimate of-here, kiss my hand though-so hold your
your own sex; no she friend to screen her tongue now, don't say a word.
affairs under your countenance, and tempt Mrs. F. Mirabell, there's a necessity for your
you to make trial of a mutual secresy. No obedience; you have neither time to talk nor
decoy-duck to wheedle you a fop-scrambling stay. My mother is coming; and in my con-
to the play in a mask; then bring you home science if she should see you, would fall into
in a pretended fright, when you think you fits, and may be not recover time enough to
shall be found out; and rail at me for missing return to sir Rowland, who, as Foible tells
the play, and disappointing the frolic which me, is in a fair way to succeed. Therefore
you had to pick me up and prove my constancy. spare your ecstasies for another occasion, and
Mrs. Mill. Detestable inprimis! I go to the slip down the back-stairs, where Foible waits
play in a mask!
to consult you.
Mir. Item, I article that you continue to
Mrs. Mill. Ay, go, go. In the mean time,
like your own face, as long as I shall: and I'll suppose you have said something to
while it passes current with me, that you please me.
endeavour not to new coin it. To which end, Mir. I am all obedience.
together with all vizards for the day, I pro-
Mrs. F. Yonder's sir Wilfull drunk! and so
hibit all masks for the night, made of oil'd- noisy, that my mother has been forced to
skins, and I know not what-hog's bones, leave sir Rowland to appease him; but he
hare's-gall, pig-water, and the marrow of a answers her only with singing and drinking-
roasted cat. In short, I forbid all commerce what they may have done by this time I know
with the gentlewoman in WWhat-d'ye-call-it not; but Petulant and he were upon quar-
court. Item, I shut my doors against all pro-relling as I came by.
[Exit.
curesses with baskets, and pennyworths of Mrs. Mill. Well, if Mirabell should not
muslin, China, fans, etc.-Item, when you shall make a good husband, I am a lost thing; for
be breeding-
I find I love him violently.
Enter WITWOULD from drinking.
Mrs. F. So, is the fray made up, that
you
Mrs. Mill. Ah! name it not.
Mrs. F. So it seems; for you mind not
Mir. I denounce against all straight-lacing, what's said to you. If you doubt him, you
squeezing for a shape, till you mould my boy's had better take up with sir Wilfull.
head like a sugarloaf, and instead of a man- Mrs. Mill. How can you name that superan-
child, make me father to a crooked-billet. nuated lubber? foh!
Lastly, to the dominion of the tea-table I sub-
mit; but with proviso, that you exceed not in
your province; but restrain yourself to native
and simple tea-table drinks, as tea, chocolate, have left 'em?
and coffee. As likewise to genuine and autho- Wit. Left 'em? I could stay no longer-I
rized tea-table talk-such as mending of fashions, have laugh'd like ten christenings-I am tipsy
spoiling reputations, railing at absent friends, with laughing-If I had staid any longer, I
and so forth-But that on no account you should have burst-I must have been let out
encroach upon the men's prerogative, and and pierced in the sides, like an unsized cam-
presume to drink healths, or toast fellows; for let-yes, yes, the fray is composed; my lady
prevention of which I banish all foreign forces, came in like a noli prosequi, and stopt the
all auxiliaries to the tea-table, as orange-brandy, proceedings.
all anniseed, cinnamon, citron, and Barbadoes- Mrs. Mill. VVhat was the dispute?
waters, together with ratafia, and the most Wit. That's the jest; there was no dispute.
noble spirit of clary.-But for cowslip-wine, They could neither of 'em speak for rage; and
poppy-water, and all dormitives, those Iso fell a sputtering at one another, like two
allow. These provisos admitted, in other roasting apples.
things I may prove a tractable and complying
husband.
Enter PETULANT, drunk.
Mrs. Mill. O horrid provisos! filthy strong Now, Petulant, all's over, all's well; gad, my
waters! I toast fellows, odious men! I hate head begins to whim it about-why dost thou
your odious provisos.
not speak? Thou art both as drunk and as
mute as a fish.
Mir. Then we're agreed. Shall I kiss your
nand upon the contract? And here comes one
to be a witness to the sealing of the deed.
Enter MRS. FAINALL.
Pet. Look you, Mrs. Millamant-if you can
love me, dear nymph-say it-and that's the
conclusion-pass on, or pass off, that's all.
Wit. Thou hast utter'd volumes, folios, in
I less than decimo sexto, my dear Lacede-
monian. Sirrah, Petulant, thou art an epito-
Mrs. Mill. Fainall, what shall I do? shall
have him? I think I must have him.
Mrs. F. Ay, ay, take him, take him; what mizer of words.
should you do?
Mrs. Mill. Well then-I'll take my death
I'm in a horrid fright-Fainall, I shall never
say it-well-I think-I'll endure you.
Mrs. F. Fie, fie, have him, have him, and
tell him so in plain terms: for I am sure you
have a mind to him. ce
Pet. Witwould-you are an annihilator of
sense.
Wit. Thou art a retailer of phrases; and
dost deal in remnants of remnants, like a maker
of pincushions-thou art in truth (metaphori-
cally speaking) a speaker of short-hand.
Pet. Thou art (without a figure) just one
Mrs. Mill. Are you? I think I have-and half of an ass, and Baldwin yonder, thy half-
the horrid man looks as if he thought so too brother, is the rest-a gemini of asses split,
well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have would make just four of you.
you-I won't be kiss'd, nor I won't be thank'd Mrs. Mill. What was the quarrel?

SCENE 1.]
365
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Pet. There was no quarrel-there might The sun's a good pimple, an honest soaker,
have been a quarrel.
he has a cellar at your Antipodes. If I travel,
Wit. If there had been words enow be- aunt, I touch at your Antipodes-your Anti-
tween 'em to have express'd provocation, they podes are a good rascally sort of topsy-turvy
had gone together by the ears like a pair of fellows; if I had a bumper I'd stand upon my
castanets.
Pet. You were the quarrel.
Mrs. Mill. Me!
head and drink a health to 'em.-A match or
no match, cousin with the hard name?-Aunt,
Wilfull will do't.
Pet. If I have the humour to quarrel, I can Mrs. Mill. Your pardon, madam, I can stay
make less matters conclude premises,-if you no longer-sir Wilfull grows very powerful.
are not handsome, what then, if I have a hu- I shall be overcome if I stay. Come, cousin.
mour to prove it?-if I shall have my reward, [Exeunt Mrs. Millamant and Mrs. Fainall.
say so; if not, fight for your face the next
time yourself-I'll go sleep.
beastly pagan.
Lady W. He would poison a tallow-chandler
and his family. Beastly creature, I know not
Wit. Do, wrap thyself up like a woodlouse, what to do with him.-Travel quoth a! ay,
and dream revenge- and hear me, if thou travel, travel, get thee gone, get thee gone,
canst learn to write by to-morrow morning, get thee but far enough, to the Saracens, or
pen me a challenge-I'll carry it for thee. the Tartars, or the Turks-for thou art not
Pet. Carry your mistress's monkey a spider, fit to live in a Christian commonwealth, thou
-go flea dogs, and read romances-I'll go to
bed to my maid.
[Exit. Sir W. Turks! no; no Turks, aunt; your
Mrs. F. He's horridly drunk-how came you Turks are infidels, and believe not in the grape.
all in this pickle?
Your Mahometan, your Musselman is a dry
stinkard- No offence, aunt. My map says
that your Turk is not so honest a man as
your Christian-I cannot find by the map that
your Mufty is orthodox-whereby it is a plain
case, that orthodox is a hard word, aunt, and
(hiccup) Greek for claret.
[Sings.
Wit. A plot, a plot, to get rid of the knight,
Your husband's advice; but he sneak'd off.
Enter SIR WILFULL, drunk, and LADY
WISHFORT.
Lady W. Out upon't, out upon't! at years
of discretion, and comport yourself at this
rantipole rate!
Sir W. No offence, aunt. S
Lady W. Offence? as I'm a person, I'm
ashamed of you-fogh! how you stink of wine!
d'ye think my niece will ever endure such a
Borachio? you're an absolute Borachio.
Sir W. Borachio!nce
Lady W. At a time when you should com-
mence an amour, and put your best foot fore-
most
Sir W. 'Sheart, an you grutge me your li-
quor, make a bill-give me more drink, and
take my purse.
[Sings.
Pr'ythee fill me the glass
"Till it laugh in my face,
With ale that is potent and mellow;
He that whines for a lass
Is an ignorant ass,
For a bumper has not its fellow.
To drink is a Christian diversion,
Unknown to the Turk or the Persian:
Let Mahometan fools
Live by heathenish rules,
And be damn'd over tea-cups and coffee,
But let British lads sing,
Crown a health to the king,
And a fig for your sultan and Sophi.
Enter FOIBLE, and whispers LADY WISHFORT.
Eh, Tony!
Lady W. Sir Rowland impatient? good lack!
what shall I do with this beastly tumbrill?-
go lie down and sleep, you sot-or, as I'm a
person, I'll have you bastinadoed with broom-
sticks. Call up the wenches with broomsticks.
Sir W. Ahey? wenches, where are the
wenches?uner
Lady W. Dear cousin Witwould, get him
away, and you will bind me to you inviolably.
But if you would have me marry my cousin, I have an affair of moment that invades me
say the word, and I'll dot-Wilfuil will do't, with some precipitation-you will oblige me
that's the word,-Wilfull will do't, that's my to all futurity,
crest-my motto I have forgot.
Wit. Come, knight-plague on him, I don't
Lady W. My nephew's a little overtaken, know what to say to him-will you go to a
cousin but 'tis with drinking your health-cock-match?
O' my word, you are obliged to him-
Sir W. With a wench, Tony?
Sa-
Sir W. In vino veritus, aunt: if I drunk Wit. Horrible! he has a breath like a bag-
your health to day, cousin,-I am a Borachio. pipe-Ay, ay, come will you march, my
But if you have a mind to be married, say lopian?
the word, and send for the piper; Wilfull Sir W. Lead on, little Tony-I'll follow thee,
will do't. If not, dust it away, and let's have my Anthony, my Tanthony; sirrah, thou shalt
t'other round-Tony, ods-heart, where's To-be my Tantony, and I'll be thy pig.
ny?-Tony's an honest fellow, but he spits And a fig for your sultan and Sophi.
after a bumper, and that's a fault. [Sings. [Exeunt Sir Wilfull, Witwould, and Foible.
Lady WV. This will never do. It will never
make a match-at least before he has been
abroad.
The
We'll drink, and we'll never ha' done, boys.
Put the glass then around with the sun, boys.
Let Apollo's example invite us;
For he's drunk ev'ry night,
And that makes him so bright,
That he's able next morning to light us.
Enter WAITWELL, disguised as for SIR
ROWLAND.
Dear sir Rowland, I am confounded with

366
[ACT IV.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
confusion at the retrospection of my own rude-
ness. I have more pardons to ask than the
pope distributes in the year of jubilee. But I
hope where there is likely to be so near an
alliance, we may unbend the severity of de-
corum - and dispense with a little ceremony.
Wait. Dear madam, no. You are all cam-
phire and frankincense, all chastity and odour.
Lady W. Or that-
Enter FOIBLE.
Foi. Madam, the dancers are ready, and
Wait. My impatience, madam, is the effect there's one with a letter, who must deliver it
of my transport; and till I have the possession into your own hands.
of your adorable person, I am tantalized on Lady W. Sir Rowland, will you give me
the rack; and do but hang, madam, on the leave? think favourably, judge candidly, and
tenter of expectation.
conclude you have found a person who would
Lady W. You have excess of gallantry, sir suffer racks in honour's cause, dear sir Row-
Rowland; and press things to a conclusion, land, and will wait on you incessantly. [Exit.
with a most prevailing vehemence-But a day Wait. Fie, fie! What a slavery have I
or two, for decency of marriage.
undergone! Spouse, hast thou any cordial? I
want spirits.
Wait. For decency of funeral, madam. The
delay will break my heart-or if that should
fail, I shall be poison'd. My nephew will get
Foi. What a washy rogue art thou to pant
thus for a quarter of an hour's lying and
an inkling of my designs and poison me, swearing to a fine lady!
and I would willingly starve him before I die Wait. O, she is the antidote to desire. By
-I would gladly go out of the world with this hand, I'd rather be a chairman in the dog-
that satisfaction.-That would be some com- days-than act sir Rowland till this time to-
fort to me, if I could but live so long as tomorrow.
be revenged on that unnatural viper.
Lady W. Is he so unnatural, say you? truly
Enter LADY WISHFORT, with a Letter.
I would contribute much both to the saving Lady W. Call in the dancers;-sir Rowland,
of your life, and the accomplishment of your we'll sit, if you please, and see the entertainment.
revenge. Not that I respect myself; though [Dance.] Now with your permission, sir
he has been a perfidious wretch to me.
Wait. Perfidious to you!
Rowland, I will peruse my letter--I would
open it in your presence, because I would not
Lady W. O sir Rowland, the hours that he make you uneasy. If it should make you uneasy
has died away at my feet, the tears that he I would burn it-speak if it does - but you
has shed, the oaths that he has sworn, the may see, the superscription is like a woman's
palpitations that he has felt, the trances and hand.
tremblings, the ardours and the ecstasies, the Foi. By heaven! Mrs. Marwood's. I know
kneelings and the risings, the heart-hearings it. My heart aches-get it from her. [To him.
and the hand-gripings, the pangs and the pa-
thetic regards of his protesting eyes! Oh, no
memory can register.
Wait. What, my rival! is the rebel my
rival? a'dies.
That's
Wait. A woman's hand? No, madam, that's
no woman's hand, I see that already.
somebody whose throat must be cut.
Lady W. Nay, sir Rowland, since you give
me a proof of your passion by your jealousy,
Lady W. No, don't kill him at once, sir I promise you I'll make a return, by a frank
Rowland; starve him gradually, inch by inch. communication-You shall see it-we'll open
Wait. I'll do't. In three weeks he shall it together-look you here. [Reads]-Ma-
be barefoot; in a month out at knees with dam, though unknown to you. Look you
begging an alms-he shall starve upward and there, 'tis from nobody that I know.-I have
upward, till he has nothing living but his head, that honour for your character, that I think
and then go out like a candle's end upon a myself obliged to let you know you are
saveall.¹)
abused. He who pretends to be sir Row-
Lady W. Well, sir Rowland, you have the land is a cheat and a rascal-O heavens!
way-you are no novice in the labyrinth of what's this?
love-you have the clue-But as I am a per- Foi. Unfortunate, all's ruin'dl
son, sir Rowland, you must not attribute my
yielding to any sinister appetite, or indigestion
of widowhood; nor impute my complacency
to any lethargy of continence I hope you do
not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.
Wait. Far be it from me-
Wait. How, how! let me see, let me see
-reading, A rascal and disguised, and sub-
orn'd for that imposture-O villany! O vil-
lany!- By the contrivance of
Lady W. I shall faint, I shall die, ho!
Foi. Say 'tis your nephew's hand.-Quickly,
Lady W. If you do, I protest I must re- his plot, swear it, swear it.
cede, or think that I have made a prostitution
Wait. Here's a villain! madam; don't you
of decorums; but in the vehemence of com- perceive it, don't you see it?
passion, and to save the life of a person of so
much importance-
Wait. I esteem it so-
Lady W. Too well, too well. I have seen
too much.
Wait. I told you at first I knew the hand
Lady W. Or else you wrong my condes--A woman's hand? The rascal writes a sort
cension.
Wait. I do not, I do not-
Lady W. Indeed you do.
Wait. I do not, fair shrine of virtue.
Lady W. If you think the least scruple
carnality was an ingredient-
1) Lichtknecht,
of
of a large hand; your Roman hand-I saw
there was a throat to be cut presently. If he
were my son, as he is my nephew, I'd pistol
him.
Foi. O treachery! But are you sure, sir
Rowland, it is his writing?
Wait. Sure? Am I here? Do I live? Do I

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
367
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
love this pearl of India? I have twenty letters ger. Go, hang out an old frisoneer-gorget,
in my pocket from him, in the same character. with a y rd of yellow colberteen again; do;
Lady W. How!
an old gnaw'd mask, two rows of pins, and a
Foi. O what luck it is, sir Rowland, that child's fiddle; a glass necklace, with the beads
you were present at this juucture! this was broken, and a quilted nightcap with one ear.
the business that brought Mr. Mirabell dis- Go, go, drive a trade.-These were your com-
guised to madam Millamant this afternoon. Imodities, you treacherous trull; this was the
thought something was contriving, when he merchandize you dealt in, when I took you
stole by me and would have hid his face. into my house, placed you next myself, and
Lady W. How, how!-I heard the villain made you governante of my whole family.
was in the house indeed; and now I remem- You have forgot this, have you, now you have
ber, my niece went away abruptly, when sir feathered your nest?c
Wilfull was to have made his addresses.
Foi. No, no, dear madam. Do but hear
Foi. Then, then, madam, Mr. Mirabell waited me, have but a moment's patience-I'll confess
for her in her chamber; but I would not tell all. Mr. Mirabell seduced me; I am not the
your ladyship, to discompose you when you first that he has wheedled with his dissem-
were to receive sir Rowland.
Wait. Enough, his date is short.
Foi. No, good sir Rowland, don't incur the
law.
Wait. Law! I care not for law. I can but
die, and 'tis in a good cause-My lady shall
be satisfied of my truth and innocence, though
it cost me my life.
Lady W. No, dear sir Rowland, don't fight;
if you should be killed I must never show my
face; or hang'd-0 consider my reputation,
sir Rowland-No, you shan't fight-I'll go in
and examine my niece; I'll make her confess.
I conjure you, sir Rowland, by all your love,
not to fight.
Wait. I am charm'd, madam; I obey.
some proof you must let me give you;
go for a black box, which contains the
ings of my whole estate, and deliver that
your hands.
bling tongue; your ladyship's own wisdom
has been deluded by him, then how should I,
a poor ignorant, defend myself? O madam,
if you knew but what he promised me, and
how he assured me your ladyship should come
to no damage-or else the wealth of the Indies
should not have bribed me to conspire against
so good, so sweet, so kind a lady as you have
been to me.
Lady W. No damage! What, to betray me,
and marry me to a cast serving-man? No
damage! O thou frontless impudence!
Foi. Pray do but hear me, madam! he could
not marry your ladyship, madam-no, indeed,
his marriage was to have been void in law;
But for he was married to me first, to secure your
I'll ladyship. Yes, indeed, I inquired of the law
writ-in that case before I would meddle or make.
into Lady W. What, then I have been your pro-
perty, have I? I have been convenient to you,
will it seems,-while you were catering for Mira-
Lady W. Ay, dear sir Rowland, that
be some comfort; bring the black box. bell, I have been broker for you? This exceeds
Wait. And may I presume to bring a con-all precedent; I am brought to fine uses, to
tract to be sign'd this night? May I hope so become a botcher of secondhand marriages be-
far?
tween Abigails and Andrews! I'll couple you.
Lady W. Bring what you will; but come Yes, I'll baste you together, you and your
alive, pray come alive. O this is a happy dis- Philander. I'll Duke's-place you, as I'm a
person. Your turtle is in custody already:
Wait. Dead or alive I'll come and married you shall coo in the same cage, if there be a
we will be in spite of treachery. Come, my constable or warrant in the parish. [Exit.
buxom widow:
Foi. O that ever I was born! O that I was
Ere long you shall substantial proof receive ever married!-a bride, ay, I shall be a Bri-
That I'm an arrant knight--
dewell bride, oh!
covery.
Foi. Or arrant knave.
ACT V.
SCENE 1.-The same.
[Exeunt.
Enter LADY WISHFORT and FOIBLE.
Enter MRS. FAINALL.
Mrs. F. Poor Foible, what's the matter?
Foi. O madam, my lady's gone for a con-
stable; I shall be had to a justice, and put to
Bridewell to beat hemp; poor Waitwell's
gone to prison already.
Lady W. Out of my house, out of my house,
thou viper, thou serpent, that I have foster'd; Mrs. F. Have a good heart, Foible; Mira-
thou bosom traitress, that I raised from no-bell's gone to give security for him. This is
thing-Begone, begone, begone, go, go-That all Marwood's and my husband's doing.
I took from washing of old gause and wea- Foi. Yes, yes, I know it, madam; she was
ving of dead hair, with a bleak blue nose, in my lady's closet, and overbeard all that you
over a chaffing-dish of starved embers, and said to me before dinner. She sent the letter
dining behind a traverse-rag, in a shop no to my lady; and that missing effect, Mr. Fain-
bigger than a bird-cage,-go, go, starve again, ali laid this plot to arrest Waitwell, when
do, do.
She pretended to go for the papers; and in the
Foi. Dear madam, I'll beg pardon on my mean time Mrs. Marwood declared all to my
knees.
lady.
Lady W. Away, out, out, go set up for Mrs. F. Was there no mention made of
yourself again-do, drive a trade, do, with me in the letter? My mother does not sus-
your three-pennyworth of small ware, flaunt-pect my being in the confederacy; I fancy
ing upon a pack-thread, under a brandyseller's Marwood has not told her, though she has
bulk, or against a dead wall by a ballad-mon- told my husband.

368
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
[ACT V.
Foi. Yes, madam; but my lady did not see retire by ourselves, and be shepherdesses.
that part: we stifled the letter before she read Mrs. Mar. Let us first dispatch the affair in
so far. Has that mischievous devil told Mr. hand, madam. We shall have leisure to think
Fainall of your ladyship then?
of retirement afterwards. Here is one who is
Mrs. F. Ay, all's out; my affair with Mi-concern'd in the treaty.
rabell, every thing discovered. This is the last Lady W. O daughter, daughter, is it pos-
day of our living together, that's my comfort. sible thou shouldst be my child, bone of my
Foi. Indeed! madam; and so 'tis a comfort bone, and flesh of my flesh, and, as I may
if you knew all he has been even with your say, another me, and yet transgress the minute
ladyship; which I could have told you long particle of severe virtue? Is it possible you
enough since, but I love to keep peace and should lean aside to iniquity, who have been
quietness by my good will: I had rather bring cast in the direct mould of virtue?
friends together, than set them at distance.
But Mrs. Marwood and he are nearer related
than ever their parents thought for. off
Mrs. F. Say'st thou so, Foible?
prove this?
Mrs. F. I don't understand your ladyship.
Lady W. Not understand! why, have you
not been naught? have you not been sophis-
Canst thou ticated?-not understand? here I am ruined
to compound for your caprices; I must part
with my plate and my jewels, and ruin my
niece, and all little enough-
Foi. I can take my oath of it, madam, so
can Mrs. Mincing; we have had many a fair
word from madam Marwood, to conceal some- Mrs. F. I am wrong'd and abused, and so
thing that passed in our chamber one eve- are you. 'Tis a false accusation; as false as
ning when we were at Hyde-park; and we your friend there, ay, or your friend's friend,
were thought to have gone a walking: but we my false husband.
went up unawares-though we were sworn
-
Mrs. Mar. My friend, Mrs. Fainall? your
to secrecy too; madam Marwood took a book husband my friend! what do you mean?
and swore us both upon it: but it was but a Mrs. F. I know what I mean, madam, and
book of poems. So long as it was not a Bible so do you; and so shall the world at a time
oath, we may break it with a safe conscience. convenient.
Mrs. F. This discovery is the most oppor-
tune thing I could wish-Now, Mincing!
Enter MINCING.
Mrs. Mar. I am sorry to see you so pas-
sionate, madam. More temper would look
more like innocence. But I have done. I am
sorry my zeal to serve your ladyship and fa-
Min. My lady would speak with Mrs. Foi-mily should admit of misconstruction, or make
ble, mem. Mr. Mirabell is with her; he has me liable to affronts. You will pardon me,
set your spouse at liberty, Mrs. Foible, and madam, if I meddle no more with an affair,
would have you hide yourself in my lady's in which I am not personally concern'd.
closet, till my old lady's anger is abated. O, Lady W. O dear friend, I am so ashamed
my old lady is in a perilous passion, at some- that you should meet with such returns;-you
thing Mr. Fainall has said; he swears, and ought to ask pardon on your knees, ungrate-
my old lady cries. There's a fearful hurricane, ful creature; she deserves more from you,
I vow. He says, mem, how that he'll have than all your life can accomplish - O don't
my lady's fortune made over to him, or he'll leave me destitute in this perplexity;-no, stick
be divorced.
ob to me, my good genius.
Mrs. F. Does your lady or Mirabell know
that?
Mrs. F. I tell you, madam, you're abused
-Stick to you? ay, like a leach, to suck your
Min. Yes, mem, they have sent me to see best blood-she'll drop of when she's full.
if sir Wilfull be sober, and to bring him to Madam, you shan't pawn a bodkin, nor part
them. My lady is resolved to have him, I with a brass counter, in composition for me.
think, rather than lose such a vast sum as six I defy 'em all. Let 'em prove their aspersions:
thousand pounds. O, come Mrs. Foible, II know my own innocence, and dare stand
hear my old lady. come Mr
a trial.
Mrs. F. Foible, you must tell Mincing, that
she must prepare to vouch when I call her.
Foi. Yes, yes, madam.
Min. O, yes, mem, I'll vouch any thing for
your ladyship's service, be what it will.
[Exit.
Lady W. Why, if she should be innocent,
if she should be wrong'd after all, ha? I don't
know what to think-and I promise you, her
education has been very unexceptionable-I
may say it; for I chiefly made it my own
[Exeunt Foible and Mincing. care to initiate her very infancy in the rudi-
onments of virtue, and to impress upon her ten-
Enter LADY WISHFORT and MRS. MARWOOD. der years a young odium and aversion to the
Lady W. O my dear friend, how can I very sight of men-ay, friend, she would ha'
enumerate the benefits that I have received shriek'd if she had but seen a man, till she
from your goodness? To you I owe the timely was in her teens. As I'm a person 'tis true.
discovery of the false vows of Mirabell; to-She was never suffer'd to play with a male-
you I owe the detection of the impostor sir child, though but in coats; nay, her very ba-
Rowland: and now you are become an inter-bies were of the feminine gender.-O, she never
cessor with my son-in-law, to save the honour look'd a man in the face, but her own father,
of my house, and compound for the frailties or the chaplain; and him we made a shift to
of my daughter. Well, friend, you are enough put upon her for a woman, by the help of
to reconcile me to the bad world, or else I his long garments and his sleek face; till she
would retire to deserts and solitudes, and feed was going in her fifteen.
harmless sheep by groves and purling streams. Mrs. Mar. 'Twas much she should be de-
Dear Marwood, let us leave the world, and ceived so long.

SCENE 1.]
369
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Lady W. I warrant you, or she would never Mrs. Mar. That condition, I dare answer,
have borne to have been catechized by him; my lady will consent to, without difficulty;
and have heard his long lectures against sing-she has already but too much experienced the
ing and dancing, and such debaucheries; and perfidiousness of men. Besides, madam, when
going to filthy plays, and profane music-meet- we retire to our pastoral solitude, we shall
ings. O, she would have swoon'd at the sight bid adieu to all other thoughts.
or name of an obscene play-book-and can I Lady W. Ay, that's true.
think, after all this, that my daughter can be Fain. Next, my wife shall settle on me the
naught? What, a whore? and thought it ex- remainder of her fortune, not made over al-
communication to set her foot within the door ready; and for her maintenance depend en-
of a playhouse. O dear friend, I can't believe tirely on my discretion.
it. No, no; as she says, let him prove it, let
him prove it.
Lady W. This is most inhumanly savage;
exceeding the barbarity of a Muscovite husband.
Mrs. Mar. Prove it, madam? what, and Fain. I learn'd it from his czarish majesty's
have your name prostituted in a public court; retinue, in a winter evening's conference over
yours and your daughter's reputation worried brandy and pepper, amongst other secrets of
at the bar by a pack of bawling lawyers; to matrimony and policy, as they are at present
be ushered in with an O-yes 1) of scandal; practised in the northern hemisphere. But this
and have your case opened by an old fumbler must be agreed unto, and that positively. Lastly,
in a coif like a man-midwife, to bring your I will be endow'd, in right of my wife, with
daughter's infamy to light; to be a theme for that six thousand pounds, which is the moiety
legal punsters, and quibblers by the statute; of Mrs. Millamant's fortune in your posses-
and become a jest, against a rule of court, sion; and which she has forfeited (as will ap-
where there is no precedent for a jest in any pear by the last will and testament of your
record; not even in Doomsday-book; to dis- deceased husband, sir Jonathan Wishfort), by
compose the gravity of the bench, and provoke her disobedience in contracting herself against
naughty interrogatories in more naughty law your consent or knowledge; and by refusing
the offer'd match with sir Wilfull Witwould,
which you, like a careful aunt, had provided
for her.
Latin.
Lady W. O, tis very hard!
Mrs. Mar. And then to have my young re-
vellers of the Temple take notes, like 'pren-
tices at a conventicle; and after talk it over
again in commons, or before drawers in an
eating-house,
Lady W. Worse and worse.
Lady W. My nephew was non compos,
and could not make his addresses.
Fain. I come to make demands-I'll hear
no objections.
Lady W. You will grant me time to con-
sider?
Mrs. Mar. Nay, this is nothing; if it would
end here 'twere well. But it must after this Fain. Yes, while the instrument is drawing,
be consign'd by the short-hand writers to the to which you must set your hand till more
public press; and from thence be transferr'd sufficient deeds can be perfected, which I will
to the hands, nay, into the throats and lungs take care shall be done with all possible speed.
of hawkers, with voices more licentious than In the mean while I will go for the said in-
the loud flounder-man's: 2) and this you must strument, and till my return you may balance
hear till you are stunn'd; nay, you must hear this matter in your own discretion. [Exit.
nothing else for some days.
Lady W. This insolence is beyond all pre-
cedent, all parallel; must I be subject to this
merciless villain?
Lady W. O, 'tis insupportable! No, no, dear
friend, make it up, make it up; ay, ay, I'll
compound. I'll give up all, myself and my
all, my niece and her all-any thing, every
thing, for composition.
Mrs. Mar. 'Tis severe indeed, madam, that
you should smart for your daughter's failings.
Lady W. 'Twas against my consent that
Mrs. Mar. Nay, madam, I advise nothing: she married this barbarian; but she would have
I only lay before you, as a friend, the incon- him, though her year was not out-Ah! her
veniences which perhaps you have overseen. first husband, my son Languish, would not
Here comes Mr. Fainall; if he will be satis-have carried it thus. Well, that was my
fied to huddle up all in silence, I shall be glad. choice, this is hers; she is match'd now with
You must think I would rather congratulate a witness-I shall be mad, dear friend; is there
than condole with you.
Enter FAINALL.
Lady W. Ay, ay, I do not doubt it, dear
Marwood: no, no, I do not doubt it.
no comfort for me? Must I live to be confis-
cated at this rebel-rate?-Here come two more
of my Egyptian plagues too.
Enter MRS. MILLAMANT and SIR WILFULL.
Sir W. Aunt, your servant.
Lady W. Out, caterpillar! call not me aunt;
know thee not.
Fain. Well, madam; I have suffer'd myself
to be overcome by the importunity of this lady
your friend; and am content you shall enjoy I
your own proper estate during life; on con- Sir W. I confess I have been a little in dis-
dition you oblige yourself never to marry, guise, as they say,-'Sheart! and I'm sorry
under such penalty as I think convenient. for't. What would you have? I hope I com-
Lady W. Never to marry!
Fain. No more sir Rowlands-the next
posture may not be so timely detected,,
1) Oyez (Hear ye) from Ouïr.
mitted no offence, aunt-and if I did I am wil-
im-ling to make satisfaction; and what can a man
say fairer? If I have broke any thing I'll pay
for't, an it cost a pound. And so let that
content for what's past, and make no more
words. For what's to come, to pleasure yo
2) One of the melodious cries of London, understood
only by the happy few.
47

370
[ACT V
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
I'm willing to marry my cousin. So pray let's
all be friends; she and I are agreed upon the
matter before a witness.
Lady W. How's this, dear niece? have I
any comfort? can this be true?
Mir. Let me be pitied first, and afterwards
forgotten: I ask no more.
Sir W. By'r lady a very reasonable request,
and will cost you nothing, aunt. Come, come,
forgive and forget, aunt; why you must, an
you are a Christian.
Mrs. Mill. I am content to be a sacrifice to
your repose, madam; and to convince you Mir. Consider, madam, in reality, you could
that I had no hand in the plot, as you were not receive much prejudice; it was an inno-
misinform'd, I have laid my commands on cent device, though I confess it had a face of
Mirabell to come in person, and be a witness guiltiness; it was at most an artifice which
that I give my hand to this flower of knight-love contrived; and errors which love produ-
hood; and for the contract that pass'd between ces have ever been accounted venial. At least,
Mirabell and me, I have obliged him to make think it is punishment enough, that I have lost
a resignation of it in your ladyship's presence; what in my heart I hold most dear; that to
-he is without, and waits your leave for your cruel indignation I have offer'd up this
beauty, and with her my peace and quiet;
admittance.
Lady W. Well, I'll swear I am something nay, all my hopes of future comfort.
revived at this testimony of your obedience; Sir W. An he does not move me, would I
but I cannot admit that traitor-I fear I can- may never be o'the quorum. An it were not
not fortify myself to support his appearance. as good a deed as to drink, to give her to
He is as terrible to me as a Gorgon; if I see him again, I would I might never take ship-
him, I fear I shall turn to stone, and petrify ping. Aunt, if you don't forgive quickly, I
incessantly.
shall melt, I can tell you that. My contract
Mrs. Mill. If you disoblige him, he may re- went no farther than a little mouth-glue, and
sent your refusal, and insist upon the contract that's hardly dry; one doleful sigh more from
still. Then 'tis the last time he will be offen-my fellow-traveller, and 'tis dissolved.
sive to you.
Lady W. Are you sure it will be the last count-ah, he has a false, insinuating tongue.
time?-if I were sure of that-shall I never Well, sir, I will stifle my just resentment, at
see him again?
my nephew's request; I will endeavour what
I can to forget, but on proviso that you resign
the contract with my niece immediately.
Mrs. Mill. Sir Wilfull, you and he are to
travel together, are you not?
Lady W. Well, nephew, upon your ac-
Sir W. 'Sheart, the gentleman's a civil gen- Mir. It is in writing, and with papers of
tleman, aunt, let him come in; why we are concern; but I have sent my servant for it,
sworn brothers and fellow-travellers. We are and will deliver it to you, with all acknow-
to be Pylades and Orestes, he and I; he is ledgments for your transcendent goodness.
to be my interpreter in foreign parts. He has Lady W. Oh, he has witchcraft in his eyes
been over-seas once already: and with proviso and tongue: when I did not see him, I could
that I marry my cousin, will cross 'em once have bribed a villain to his assassination; but
again, only to bear me company. 'Sheart, I'll his appearance rakes the embers which have
call him in-an I set on't once, he shall come so long lain smother'd in my breast. [Aside.
in; and see who'll hinder him.
[Goes to the Door and hems.
Mrs. Mar. This is precious fooling, if it
would pass; but I'll know the bottom of it.
Lady W. O, dear Marwood, you are not
going?
Enter FAINALL and MRS. MARWOOD.
Fain. Your debate of deliberation, madam,
is expired. Here is the instrument, are you
prepar'd to sign?
Lady W. If I were prepared, I am not em-
power'd. My niece exerts a lawful claim, ha-
[Exit. ving match'd herself by my direction to sir
Wilfull.
Mrs. Mar. Not far, madam; I'll return im-
mediately.
Enter MIRABELL.
Fain. That sham is too gross to pass on
Sir W. Look up, man, I'll stand by you! me; though 'tis imposed on you, madam.
'sbud, an she do frown, she can't kill you; Mrs. Mill. Sir, I have given my consent.
besides, harkee, she dare not frown desperate- Mir. And, sir, I have resign'd my pretensions.
ly, because her face is none of her own; Sir W. And, sir, I assert my right; and
'sheart, and she should, her forehead would will maintain it in defiance of you, sir, and
wrinkle like the coat of a cream-cheese; but of your instrument. 'Sheart, an you talk of
mum for that, fellow-traveller.
an instrument, sir, I have an old fox by my
Mir. If a deep sense of the many injuries thigh shall hack your instrument of ram vel-
I have offer'd to so good a lady, with a sin- lum to shreds, sir. It shall not be sufficient
cere remorse, and a hearty contrition, can but for a mittimus, or a tailor's measure; there-
obtain the least glance of compassion, I am fore withdraw your instrument, or by'r lady
too happy. Ab, madam, there was a time, I shall draw mine.
but let it be forgotten; I confess I have de- Lady VV. Hold, nephew, hold.
servedly forfeited the high place I once held, Mrs. Mill. Good sir Wilfull, respite your
of sighing at your feet; nay, kill me not, by valour.
turning from me in disdain, I come not to Fain. Indeed! are you provided of your
plead for favour; nay, not for pardon; I am guard, with your single beef-eater there? But
a suppliant only for pity, I am going where I am prepared for you; and insist upon my
I never shall behold you more.
Sir W. How, fellow-traveller! you shall go
by yourself then.
first proposal. You shall submit your own
estate to my management, and absolutely make
over my wife's to my sole use; as pursuant

SCENE 1.]
371
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
to the purport and tenor of this other cove-no longer; you, thing, that was a wife, shall
nant, I suppose, madam, your consent is not smart for this.
requisite in this case; nor Mr. Mirabell, your Mrs. F. I despise you, and defy your ma-
resignation; nor, sir Wilfull, your right; you lice; you have aspersed me wrongfully; I have
may draw your fox if you please, sir, and proved your falsehood; go you and your
make a bear-garden flourish somewhere else; treacherous-I will not name it, but starve
for here it will not avail. This, my lady Wish-together, perish.
fort, must be subscribed, or your darling Fain. Not while you are worth a groat,
daughter's turn'd adrift, to sink or swim, as indeed, my dear; madam, I'll be fool'd no
she and the current of this lewd town can longer.
agree.
Lady W. Is there no means, no remedy,
to stop my ruin? Ungrateful wretch! Dost
thou not owe thy being, thy subsistence to
my daughter's fortune?
Fain. I'll answer you when I have the rest
of it in my possession.
Mir. But that you would not accept of a
remedy from my hands-I own I have not
deserved you should owe any obligation to
me; or else perhaps I could advise.
Lady W. O, what? what? to save me and
my child from ruin, from want, I'll forgive
all that's past; nay, I'll consent to any thing
to come, to be deliver'd from this tyranny.
Mir. Ay, madam; but that is too late, my
reward is intercepted. You have disposed of
her, who only could have made me a com-
pensation for all my services; but be it as it
may, I am resolved I'll serve you; you shall
not he wrong'd in this savage manner.
Lady W. How! dear Mr. Mirabell, can you
be so generous at last! but it is not possible.
Harkee, I'll break my nephew's match; you
shall have my niece yet, and all her fortune,
if
you can but save me from this imminent
danger.
Mir. Will you? I take you at your word.
I ask no more. I must have leave for two
criminals to appear.
Lady W. Ay, ay, any body, any body.
Mir. Foible is one, and a penitent.
Enter MRS, FAINALL, FOIBLE, and MINCING.
Lady W. Ah, Mr. Mirabell, this is small
comfort, the detection of this affair.
Mir. O, in good time. Your leave for the
other offender and penitent to appear, madam.
Enter WAITWELL, with a Box of Writings.
Lady W. O sir Rowland-Well, rascal.
Wait. What your ladyship pleases. I have
brought the black box at last, madam.
Mir. Give it me, madam; you remember
your promise.
Lady W. Ay, dear sir.
Mir. Where are the gentlemen?
Wait. At hand, sir, rubbing their eyes-
just risen from sleep.
Fain. 'Sdeath! what's this to me? I'll not
wait your private concerns.
Enter PETULANT and WITWOULD.
Pet. How now? what's the matter? whose
hand's out?
Wit, Hey-day! what, are you all together,
like players at the end of the last act?
Mir. You may remember gentlemen, I once
requested your hands as witnesses to a cer-
tain parchment.
Wit. Ay, I do, my hand I remember-Pe-
tulant set his mark,
Mir. You wrong him, his name is fairly
written, as shall appear. You do not remem-
ber, gentlemen, any thing of what that parch-
ment contained.
[Undoing the Box.
Wit. No.
Pet. Not I. I writ, I read nothing.
Mir. Very well, now you shall know. Ma-
dam, your promise.
Mrs. Mar. O, my shame! [Mirabell and
Lady Wishfort go to Mrs. Fainall and Lady W. Ay, ay, sir, upon my honour.
Foible] these corrupt things are brought hi- Mir. Mr. Fainall, it is now time that you
ther to expose me.
[To Fainall. should know, that your lady, while she was
Fain. If it must all come out, why let 'em at her own disposal, and before you had by
know it, 'tis but the Way of the World. That your insinuations wheedled her out of a pre-
shall not urge me to relinquish or abate one tended settlement of the greatest part of her
tittle of my terms; no, I will insist the more. fortune-
Foi. Yes indeed, madam, I'll take my Bible
oath of it.
Fain. Sir! pretended!
Mir. Yes, sir, I say, that this lady, while a
Min. And so will I, mem.
widow, having it seems received some cauti-
Lady W. O Marwood, Marwood, art thou ons respecting your inconstancy and tyranny
false! My friend deceive me! hast thou been of temper, which, from her own partial opi-
a wicked accomplice with that profligate man? nion and fondness of you, she could never
Mrs. Mar. Have you so much ingratitude have suspected-she did, I say, by the whole-
and injustice, to give credit against your friend, some advice of friends, and of sages learned
to the aspersions of two such mercenary trulls? in the laws of this land, deliver this same as
Min. Mercenary, mem! I scorn your words. her act and deed to me in trust, and to the
'Tis true we found you and Mr. Fainall in uses within mentioned. You may read if you
the blue garret; by the same token, you swore please, [Holding out the Parchment] though
us to secrecy upon Messalina's poems. Mer- perhaps what is written on the back may serve
cenary! no, if we would have been mercenary, your occasions.
we should have held our tongues; you would Fain. Very likely, sir. What's here? Dam-
nation! [Reads] A deed of conveyance of
Fain. Go, you are an insignificant thing. the whole estate real of Arabella Languish,
Well, what are you the better for this? Is widow, in trust to Edward Mirabell.-Con-
this Mr. Mirabell's expedient? I'll be put off fusion!
have bribed us sufficiently.

372
[ACT V.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
Mrs. Mill. Why does not the man take me?
Would you have me give myself to you over
again?
not too well, that's all my fear.
Mir. Even so, sir: 'tis The Way of the matter; I'm in a maze yet, like a dog in a
World, sir; of the widows of the world. I dancing-school.
suppose this deed may bear an elder date Lady W. Well, sir, take her, and with her
than what you have obtained from your lady. all the joy I can give you.
Fain. Perfidious fiend! then thus I'll be re-
veng'd. [Offers to run at Mrs. Fainall.
Sir W. Hold, sir; now you may make your
beargarden flourish somewhere else, sir. Mir. Ay, and over and over again. [Kisses
Fain, Mirabell, you shall hear of this, sir; her Hand] I would have you as often as pos-
be sure you shall. Let me pass, oaf. [Exit. sibly I can. Well, heaven grant I love you
Mrs. F. Madam, you seem to stifle your
resentment: you had better give it vent. Sir W. 'Sheart, you'll have time enough to
Mrs. Mar. Yes, it shall have vent, and to toy after you're married; or if you will toy
your confusion, or I'll perish in the attempt. now, let us have a dance in the mean time;
[Exit. that we who are not lovers may have some
Lady W. O daughter, daughter, 'tis plain other employment, besides looking on.
thou hast inherited thy mother's prudence. Mir. With all my heart, dear sir Wilful.
Mrs. F. Thank Mr. Mirabell, a cautious What shall we do for music?
friend, to whose advice all is owing.
Foi. O, sir, some that were provided for
Lady W. Well, Mr. Mirabell, you have sir Rowland's entertainment are yet within
kept your promise, and I must perform mine. call.
A Dance.
First, I pardon, for your sake, sir Rowland Lady W. As I am a person, I can hold
there and Foible. The next thing is to break out no longer; I have wasted my spirits so
the matter to my nephew; and how to do to-day already, that I am ready to sink under
the fatigue: and I cannot but have some fears
upon me yet, that my son Fainall will pursue
some desperate course,
that-
Mir. For that, madam, give yourself no
trouble; let me have your consent; sir Wilful
is my friend; he has had compassion upon Mir. Madam, disquiet not yourself on that
lovers, and generously engaged a volunteer in account; to my knowledge his circumstances
this action for our service; and now designs are such, he must of force comply. For my
to prosecute his travels.
part, I will contribute all that in me lies to
Sir W. 'Sheart, aunt, I have no mind to a re-union: in the mean time, madam, [To
marry. My cousin's a fine lady, and the gen- Mrs. Fainall] let me before these witnesses
tleman loves her, and she loves him, and they restore to you this deed of trust; it may be
deserve one another; my resolution is to see a means, well managed, to make you live ea-
foreign parts; I have set on't, and when I'm sily together.
set on't, I must do't. And if these two gen-
tlemen would travel too, I think they may be
spared.
Pet. For my part, I say little; I think things
are best; off or on.
Wait. I'gad, I understand nothing of the
From hence let those be warn'd, who mean
to wed,
Lest mutual falsehood stain the bridal-bed:
For each deceiver to his cost may find,
That marriage frauds too oft are paid in kind
[Exeunt.
CUMBERLAND.
RICHARD CUMBERLAND, son of Dr. Denison Cumberland, late Bishop of Kilmore, in Ireland, by Joanna, youngest
daughter of the celebrated Dr, Bentley (a lady on whom the well-known pastoral of Phebe, by Dr. Byrom, printed
in The Spectator, Nr. 603. was written), and great-grandson of Dr. Richard Cumberland, Bishop of Peterborough,
was born February 19, 1752, in the master's lodge of Trinity College, Cambridge, under the roof of his grandfather
Bentley, in what is called the Judge's Chamber. When turned of six years of age, he was sent to the school of Bury
St. Edmund's, whence he was in due time transplanted to Westminster. At the age of fourteen Mr. C. was admitted
to Trinity College, Cambridge, whence, after a long and assiduous course of study, he launched into the great world,
and became a private confidential secretary to Lorp Halifax, then at the head of the Board of Trade; which situation
he held with great credit to himself, till his Lordship went out of office. Soon after this, he obtained the lay fellow-
ship of Trinity College, vacant by the death of Mr. Titley, the Danish Envoy. This fellowship, however, he did not
hold long; for, on obtaining, through the patronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment as crown agent for the pro-
vince of Nova Scotia, he married Elisabeth, only daughter of George Ridge, Esq. of Kilmiston, in Hampshire, in whose
family he had long been intimate. When Lord Halifax returned to administration, and was appointed Lord Lieute-
nant of Ireland, Mr. C. went with him to that country, as under-secretary; his father, as one of his chaplains, and
his brother in law, Capt. William Ridge, as one of his aides-de-camp. Before Lord Halifax quitted Ireland to become
Secretary of State, Mr. Cumberland's father had been made Bishop of Clonfert, and Mr. Cumberland himself, who had
declined a baronetcy which had been offered him by his patron, came to England with his Lordship, and was appoint-
ed, we believe, to the situation of assistant secretary to the Board of Trade. About the end of the year 1771, the Bi-
shop of Clonfert was translated to Kilmore, which see, however, he held not long, being translated by death to a bet-
ter world, to which he was followed by his lady in June 1775. The accession of Lord George Germaine to the seals,
for the colonialdepartment promoted Mr. Cumberland from a subaltern at the Board of Trade to the post of secretary.
In the year 1780 he was sent on a secret and confidential mission to the court of Spain; and it is reported, that his
embassy would have been successful, but for the riots in London, and the capture of our East-and West-India fleets,
which inspired the Spaniards with more confidence than they had before possessed. In this mission Mr. Cumberland
necessarily incurred great expenses; and he was cruelly neglected by the ministers after the conclusion of his negotiation.
It was, however, during his residence in that country that he collected the Anecdotes of eminent Painters in Spain,
which he afterwards published. By the provisions of Mr. Burke's well-known bill, the Board of Trade was annihi-

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
373
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
lated, and Mr. Cumberland was set adrift with a compensation of scarcely a moiety in value of what he had been de-
prived of. He now retired, with his family, to Tunbridge Wells, where he has continued, we believe, ever since to
reside, universally respected. That a man of such learning, of such versatility of literary talent, such unquestionable
genius, and such sound morality, should, in the vale of years," feel the want of what he has lost by his exertions for
the public good, must, to every feeling mind, be a subject of keen regrets; yet the fact seems to be placed beyond doubt
by the following annunciation of his intention, in 1809, to publish a 4to volume of his dramas: "To the Public It
was my purpose to have reserved these MSS. for the eventuat use and advantage of a beloved daughter after my decease;
but the circumstances of my story, which are before the public, and to which I can appeal without a blush, make
it needless for me to state why I am not able to fulfil that purpose: I therefore now, with full reliance on the can-
dour and protection of my countrymen at large, solicit their subscription to these unpublished dramas; conscious as I
am, that neither in this instance, nor in any other through the course of my long-continued labours, have I wilfully
directed the humble talents, with which God has endowed me, otherwise than to his service, and the genuine interests
(so far as I understood them) of benevolence and virtue. Richard Cumberland."
THE FASHIONABLE LOVER,
Comedy by Richard Cumberland.
increase the reputation of its author.
improved in the public favour.
Acted at Drury Lane 1772. This piece followed The West-Indian too soon to
It was coldly received the first night; but undergoing some judicious alterations
LORD ABBERVILLE.
MORTIMER.
AUBREY.
TYRREL.
BRIDGEMORE,
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DOCTOR DRUID.
JARVIS.
NAPTHALI.
VISITORS.
SERVANTS.
AUGUSTA AUBREY.
MRS. BRIDGEMORE.
LUCINDA BRIDGEMORE.
LA JEUNESSE.
COLIN MACLEOD.
SCENE.-London.
MRS. MACINTOSH.
MAID-SERVANT.
ACT I.
the weams of you all together, say 1, for a
SCENE I. A Hall in LORD ABBERVILLE's pack of locusts; a cow in a clover-field has
House, with a Staircase seen through an more moderation than the best among you;
Arch. Several Domestics waiting in rich had my lord Abberville the wealth of Glas-
Liveries. Flourish of French Horns.
gow, you'd swallow it all down before you
gee'd ¹) over.
Enter COLIN, 1) hastily.
La Jeu. Ah, barbare! Here come my lord.
[Exit.
Enter LORD ABBERVILLE.
Colin. Hoor! 2) fellows, haud 3) your
honds: 4) pack up your damn'd clarinets, and
gang your gait 5) for a pair of lubberly min- Lord A. Colin, see that covers are laid for
strels as you are. An) you could hondle four-and-twenty, and supper served at twelve
the bagpipe instead, I would na' say you nay; in the great eating-parlour.
ah! 'tis an auncient instrument of great me- Colin. Ecod, my lord, had you ken'd 2) the
lody, and has whastled ) many a brau 8) braw mess of cakes and sweeties) that was honded
lad to his grave; but your holiday horns there up amongst 'em just now, you would na
are fit only to play to a drunken city barge think there could be muckle) need of supper
on a swan-hopping) party up the Thames. this night.
Enter LA JEUNESSE.
Lord A. What, fellow, would you have me
starve my guests?
Colin. Troth, an you don't, they'll go nigh
starve you.
La Jeu. Fidon, monsieur Colin, for why
you have send away the horns? It is very to
much the ton in this country for the fine gen- Lord A. Let me hear no more of this, Co-
tlemens to have the horns: upon my vord, my lin Macleod; I took you for my servant, not
lord this day give grand entertainment to very for my adviser.
[Exit.
grand company; tous les macaroni below Colin, Right, my lord, you did; but if by
stairs, et toute la coterie above. Hark, who advising I can serve you, where's the breach
vait dere? My lord ring his bell.-Voila, of duty in that?
monsieur Colin, dere is all the company going Lord A. What a Highland savage it is!-
to the tea-room.
My father indeed made use of him to pay the
Colin. [Looking out] Now the de'il burst servants' wages, and post the tradesmen's ac-
counts; as I never do either, I wish somebody
else had him that does.
1) Colin pourtrays the character of a Scotchman, in his
station, most admirably, who is so addicted to praise
his own country, that, as he says himself "a true
North Briton would give up his virtue before (he
would give up) his country, at any time.",
and Aldermen of London to sail in a barge up the
Enter MORTIMER, repeating to himse.j.
Mort. Is this a dinner, this a genial room?
This is a temple and a hecatomb.
Lord A. What, quoting, Mortimer, and sa-
tire too?-I thought you need not go abroad
2) Scotch exclamation for, out, begone 5) Hold.
4) Hands, 5) Go away. 6) If, 7) Whistled. 8) Brave.
9) It is customary, in the summer, for the Lord Mayor
Thames towards Richmond, to catch the young swans, for that,
and mark them, as the property of the city; it is fe-
lony to steal those that are thus marked. The word
hop in this sense comes from the Norman word hap-
per, to catch.
Mort. True; therefore, I'm returning home.
-Good night to you.
1) Gave.
2) Known.
3) Sweetmeats. 4) Much.

374
[ACT I.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Lord A. What, on the wing so soon! With teeth, Mr. Mortimer. What is the surlypoots
so much company, can my philosopher want prabbling about? Cot give her ¹) coot luck;
food to feast his spleen upon?
will the man never leave off his flings, and
Mort. Food! I revolt against the name; no his fleers, and his fegaries; packpiting his pet-
Bramin could abominate your fleshly meal ters?-Coot, my lord, let me call him back,
more than I do; why, Hirtius and Apicius and have a little tisputes and tisputations with
would have blush'd for it: Mark Antony, who him, dy'e see.
roasted eight whole boars for supper, never Lord A. Hang him, tedious rogue, let him go.
massacred more at a meal than you have done.
Lord A. A truce, good cynic: pr'ythee now
get thee up stairs, and take my place; the la-
dies will be glad of you at cards.
Mort. Me at cards! Me at a quadrille-ta-
ble! Pent in with fuzzing dowagers, gossiping
old maids, and yellow admirals; 'sdeath, my
lord Abberville, you must excuse me.
Lord A. Out on thee, unconformable being;
thou art a traitor to society.
Mort. Do you call that society?
Dr. D. Tedious! ay, in coot truth is he, as
tedious as a Lapland winter, and as melan-
choly too; his crotchets and his humours damp
all mirth and merriment, as a wet blanket
does a fire: he is the very night-mare of society.
Lord 4. Nay, he talks well sometimes.
Dr.D. Ay, 'tis pig sound and little wit;
like a loud pell to a pad dinner.
Lord A. Patience, good doctor, patience!
Another time you shail have your revenge; at
present you must lay down your wrath, and
take up your attention.
Lord A. Yes; but not my society; none
such as you describe will be found here; my Dr. D. I've done, my lord, I've done: laugh
circle, Mr. Mortimer, is form'd by people of at my putterflies indeed! If he was a pig and
the first fashion and spirit in this country. as pold as king Gryffyn, doctor Druid would
Mort. Fashion and spirit! Yes, their coun- make free to whisper an oord 2) or two in
try's like to suffer by their fashion more than his ear.
'twill ever profit by their spirit.
Lord A. Come, come, your temper is too sour.
Mort. And your's too sweet: a mawkish
lump of manna; sugar in the mouth, but phy-
sic to the bowels.
Lord A. Mr. Mortimer, you was my father's
executor; I did not know your office extend-
ed any further.
Mort. No; when I gave a clear estate into
your hands, I clear'd myself of an unwelcome
office: I was, indeed, your father's executor;
the gentlemen of fashion and spirit will be
your lordship's.
Lord A. Pooh! You've been black-ball'd ¹)
at some paltry port-drinking club; and set up
for a man of wit and ridicule.
Lord A. Peace, choleric king of the moun-
tains, peace.
Dr. D. I've done, my lord; I say, I've done.
Lord A. If you have done, let me begin.
You must know then, I expect my city ma-
dam from Fishstreet-hill.
Dr. D. Ay, ay, the rich pig-pellied fellow's
daughter, young madam Pridgemore, my lady
Apperville, that is to be, pless her, and save
her, and make her a coot wife, say I.
Lord A. Pr'ythee, good doctor, don't put a
man in mind of his misfortunes: I tell you,
she is coming here by appointment, with old
Bridgemore and her mother; 'tis an execrable
group; and, as I mean to make all things as
easy to me as I can, I'm going out to avoid
being troubled with their impertinence,
Dr. D. Going out, my lord, with your
house full of company?
Mort. Not I, believe me: your companions
are too dull to laugh at, and too vicious to
expose. There stands a sample of your choice.
Lord A. Who, doctor Druid? Where's the Lord A. Oh, that's no objection; none in
harm in him?
the least; fashion reconciles all those scruples:
Mort. Where is the merit?-What one to consult your own ease in all things is the
quality does that old piece of pedantry pos- very first article in the recipe for good breed-
sess to fit him for the liberal office of travel-ing: when every man looks after himself, no
ling-preceptor to a man of rank? You know, one can complain of neglect; but, as these
my lord, I recommended you a friend as fit maxims may not be orthodox on the eastern
to form your manners as your morals; but he side of Temple-bar, you must stand gentle-
was a restraint; and, in his stead, you took man-usher in this spot; put your best face
that Welshman, that buffoon, that antiquarian, upon the matter, and marshal my citizens into
forsooth, who looks as if you had rak'd him the assembly-room, with as much ceremony
out of the cinders of Mount Vesuvius. as if they came up with an addresss from the
whole company of cordwainers. 3)
Lord A. And so I did: but pr'ythee, Mor-
timer, don't run away; I long to have you
meet.
Mort. You must excuse me.
Lord A. Nay, I must have you better friends.
-Come hither, doctor; hark'e-
Dr. D. Out on it, you've some tevilish
oomans in the wind; for when the tice are
rattling above, there's nothing but teath, or the
tevil, could keep you below.
Lord A. You've guest it; such a divine, de-
Mort. Another time: at present, I am in no licious, little devil, lurks in my heart; Glen-
humour to stay the discussion of a cockle-dower himself could not exorcise her: I am
shell, or the dissection of a butterfly's wing, possess'd; and from the hour I saw her by
[Exit. surprise, I have been plotting methods how
to meet her; a lucky opening offers; the mine
Enter DOCTOR DRUID.
Dr. D. Putterflies!2) Putterflies in your
1) Alluding to the electing or refusing a member in any
society by means of white and black balls.
2) The welsh manner of speaking English will be easily
understood, if we bear in mind that they always change
the hard and soft letters in their pronunciation of
words; thus they say Putterflies, for Butterflies, etc.
1) The word her is used by the Welsh for all the pro-
nouns, in all the persons, and all the cases. 2) Word.
3) The company of Shoemakers (Cordubanarins), one of
the most important in the city.

SCENE 1.]
375
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
|
is laid, and Bridgemore's visit is the signal above stairs-Our card was from lady Caro-
for springing it.
line; I suppose she is not from home, as well
as her brother.
Dr. D. Pridgemore's! How so?
Lord A. Why, 'tis with him she lives; what Dr. D. Who waits there? show the ladies up.
else could make it difficult, and what but dif- Bridge. Ay, ay, go up, and show your
ficulty could make me pursue it? They pru-cloaths, I'll chat with doctor Druid here below.
dently enough would have concealed her from [Exeunt Ladies.] I love to talk with men
me; for who can think of any other, when that know the world: they tell me, sir, you've
miss Aubrey is in sight?-But bark! they're travelled it all over.
come; I must escape-Now, love and fortune Dr. D. Into a pretty many parts of it.
stand my friends!
[Exit. Bridge. Well, and what say you, sir? you're
Dr. D. Pless us, what hastes and hurries glad to be at home; nothing I warrant like
he is in! and all for some young hussy-Ah! old England. Ah! what's France, and Spain,
he'll never have a proper relish for the vener- and Burgundy, and Flanders! no, old Eng-
able antique: I never shall bring down his land for my money; 'tis worth all the world
mercury to touch the proper freezing point, besides.
which that of a true virtuoso ought to stand Dr. D. Your pelly says as much; 'twill fill
at: sometimes, indeed, he will contemplate a the pot, but starve the prain; 'tis full of corn,
beautiful statue, as if it was a ooman; I never and sheep, and villages, and people: England,
could persuade him to look upon a beautiful to the rest of the oorld, is like a flower-garden
ooman, as if she was a statue.
Enter BRIDGEMORE, MRS. BRIDGEMORE, and
LUCINDA.
Bridge. Doctor, I kiss your hands; I kiss
your hands, good doctor.-How these nobles
live! Zooks, what a swinging chamber!
Mrs. B. Why, Mr. Bridgemore, sure you
think yourself in Leathersellers'-hall.
to a forest.
Bridge. Well, but the people, sir; what
say you to the people?
Dr. D. Nothing: I never meddle with the
human species; man, living man, is no ob-
ject of my curiosity; nor ooman neither; at
least, Mr. Pridgemore, till she shall be made
a mummies of
Bridge. I understand you; you speak in
Luc. Pray recollect yourself, papa; indeed the way of trade; money's your object.
this is not Fishstreet-hill.
Dr. D. Money and trade! I scorn 'em
Bridge. I wish it was: I'd soon unhouse both; the beaten track of commerce I disdain:
this trumpery: I'd soon furnish it with better I've traced the Oxus, and the Po; traversed
goods: why this profusion, child, will turn the Riphæan Mountains, and pierced into the
your brain.
inmost Tesarts of Kalmuc Tartary - follow
Mrs. B. Law, how you stand and stare at trade indeed! no; I've followed the ravages
things; stopping in the hall to count the ser- of Kouli Chan with rapturous delight: there
vants, gaping at the lustre there, as if you'd is the land of wonders; finely depopulated;
swallow it. I suppose our daughter, when gloriously laid waste; fields without a hoofto
she's a woman of quality, will behave as other tread 'em; fruits without a hand to gather'em;
women of quality do.-Lucinda, this is doctor with such a catalogue of pats, peetles, ser-
Druid, lord Abberville's travelling tutor, a pents, scorpions, caterpillars, toads-oh! 'tis
gentleman of very ancient family in North a recreating contemplation, to a philosophic
Wales.
Luc. So it should seem, if he's the repre-
sentative of it.
mind!
Bridge. Out on 'em, filthy vermin, I hope
you left 'em where you found 'em.
Dr. D. No, to my honour be it spoken, I
mortal poisons into my native country.
Bridge. Lack-a-day, there's people enough
at home can poison their native country.
Dr. D. Without flattery, Mrs. Bridgemore,
miss has very much the behaviours of an oo-have imported above fifty different sorts of
man of quality already..
Mrs. B. Come, sir, we'll join the company,
lord Abberville will think us late.
Dr. D. Yes truly, he's impatient for our
coming; but you shall find him not at home.
Mrs. B. How! Not at home?
Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE and LUCINDA.
your visit al-
Luc. A mighty proof of his impatience, So, ladies, have you finished
truly.
ready?
Dr. D. Why, 'twas some plaguy business Mrs. B. We've made our courtesies and
took him out; but we'll dispatch it out of come away.
hand, and wait upon you quickly.
Bridge. Well, business, business must be
done.
Mrs. B. I thought my lord had been a man
of fashion, not of business.
Dr. D. Marry, the fates and the fortunes
forbid that you should go,
till my
lord comes
back.
Luc. Why not? if my lord treats me al-
ready with the freedom of a husband, shouldn't
I begin to practice the indifference of a wife?
[Exeunt.
Luc. And so he is; a man of the first fa-
shion; you cannot have a fresher sample: the
worst gallant in nature is your macaroni; Dr. D. Well, but the supper, Mr. Pridge-
with the airs of a coquette you meet the more; you a citizen, and leave the supper?
manners of a clown: fear keeps him in some Bridge. Your fifty mortal poisons have gi-
awe before the men, but not one spark of ven me my supper: scorpions, and bats, and
passion has he at heart, to remind him of toads-come, let's be gone.
[Exit.
the ladies.
Dr. D. Would they were in your pelly!
[Exil.
Mrs. B. Well, we must make our courtesy

376
[ACT I.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
SCENE II.-An Apartment in BRIDGEMORE's never be taken as flattery by another: in short,
House.
Enter MISS AUBREY and TYRREL, and a
Maid-servant with Lights.
my lord, I must entreat you to let the ser-
vants show you to some fitter apartment. I
am here in a very particular situation, and
have the strongest reasons for what I request.
Lord A. I guess your reasons, but cannot
admit them. I love you, madam; let that de-
claration be my excuse.
Aug. How I am watch'd in this house you
well know, Mr. Tyrrel; therefore you must
not stay: what you have done and suffer'd
for my sake I never can forget; and 'tis with Aug. Nay, now your frolic has the air of
joy I see you now, at last, surmount your insult, and I insist upon your leaving me.
difficulties by the recovery of lord Courtland:
may your life never be again exposed on my
account.
[A rapping is heard at the Door.
Luc. [From without] Who's within there?
Aug. Hark, hark, miss Bridgemore, as I
Luc. Come in! why you have lock'd the
Tyr. I glory in proctecting you: when he, live. Come in.
or any other rake, repeats the like offence, I
shall repeat the like correction. I am now door.
going to my uncle Mortimer, who does not Aug. Lock'd! is it lock'd?-for shame, for
know that I am in town. Life is not life shame! thus am I sacrific'd to your ungene-
without thee; never will I quit his feet, till I rous designs-she must come in.
have obtained his voice for our alliance.
Aug. Alas! What hope of that from Mr.
Mortimer, whose rugged nature knows no
happiness itself, nor feels complacency in that
of others?
Lord A. Stay, stay; she must not find me
here; there's one retreat; your chamber; lock
me in there: I may still escape.
Luc. [From without] What are you about,
miss Aubrey? Let me in.
Aug. Where shall I turn myself? You've
ruined all: if you're discovered, I shall never
gain belief.
Tyr. When you know Mr. Mortimer, you'll
find how totally the world mistakes him. Fare-
well, my dear Augusta; back'd with thy
virtuous wishes, how can I fail to prosper?" Lord A. Be advised then: we have only
[He goes out, and she enters an inner this chance left. [Goes to the Bed-room Door.
Apartment. The Maid-servant imme- Luc. Miss Aubrey, if you don't let me in
diately introduces Lord Abberville. immediately, I shall call up mamma; so pray
Sero. All's safe; follow me, my lord; she unlock the door.
is in her bed-chamber.
Lord A. Where; where?
Sero. There; where you see the light through
the glass-door. If I thought you had any
wicked designs in your head, I wouldn't have
brought you here for the world; I should be
murder'd if the family were to know it: for
pity's sake, my lord, never betray me.
Aug. I scarce know what I do. [After lock-
ng Lord Abberville in, opens the outward
Door] There, madam, you're obeyed.
Luc. Why, surely, you affect extraordinary
privacy. It seems you've had your Tyrrel in
our absence.
sense.
Aug. Yes, Mr. Tyrrel has been here.
Luc. Humph! you're in mighty spirits.
Lord A. Go, get you gone; never talk of Aug. No, madam; my poor spirits suit my
treason, my thoughts are full of love. [The poor condition: you, I hope, are rich in every
Maid-seroant goes out] First I'll secure the
door: 'twill not be amiss to bar this retreat.
[Locks the Door, and advances to the Glass-
door] Ay, there she is! How pensive is
that posture!-Musing on her condition; which,
in truth, is melancholy enough: an humble
cousin to a vulgar tyrant.-'Sdeath, she can-
not choose but jump at my proposals.-See,
she weeps. -I'm glad on't-Grief disposes to
compliance-Tis the very moment to assail
her.
1
[She comes to the Door, with the Candle
in her Hand; seeing Lord Abberville,
starts.
Aug. Who's there; who's at the door?
Ah!-
Lord A. Hush, hush; your screams will
rouse the house.-'Tis I, miss Aubrey - 'tis
lord Abberville-Give me your hand-Nay,
be composed. Let me set down the candle:
you are safe.
Aug. Safe, my lord! Yes, I'm safe; but
you are mistaken; miss Bridgemore's not at
home; or, if she was, this is no place to
meet her in.
Lord A. I'm glad of that; bless'd in miss
Aubrey's company, I wish no interruption
from miss Bridgemore.
Aug. I should be loath to think so; an
avowal of baseness to one woman, should
Luc. She's happy I can see, though she
attempts to hide it: I can't bear her. [Aside]
-Pray, miss Aubrey, what are your designs
to ruin this
-to ruin this young man?
Aug. Madam!
Luc. Can you now in your heart suppose
that Mortimer will let his nephew marry you?
Depend upon't (I tell you as your friend) as
soon as that old cynic hears of it (which I
have taken care he shall), your hopes are
crushed at once.
Aug. When were they otherwise?
Luc. I don't know what to make of her-
she seems confus'd-her eyes wander stran-
gely: watching the bed-room door-what is
it she looks at?
Aug. Where are you going?
Luc. Going! Nay, no where-she's alarm-
ed-miss Aubrey, I have a foolish notion in
my head, that Mr. Tyrrel's in this house.
Aug. No, on my word-shall I light you
to your room?
Luc. So ready!-No; your own will serve:
I can adjust my head-dress at your glass-
Hey-day; all's fast-you've locked the door-
Aug. Have I, indeed?
Luc. Yes, have you, madam; and if my
suspicion's true, your lover's in it-open it.
Aug. I beg to be excused.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
377
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Luc. Oh! are you caught at last? Admit me.
Aug. You cannot sure be serious - think
I've the sanction of a guest.
Luc. Ridiculous! I'll raise the house-let
me come to the bell.
ACT II.
SCENE I-A Library in MORTIMER'S House,
MORTIMER alone.
Mort. So! so! another day; another twelve
Aug. Hold! hold! you don't know what hours round of folly and extravagance: 'pshaw!
you do for your own sake desist: to save I am sick on't. What is it our men of ge-
your own confusion, more than mine, desist, nius are about? Jarring and jangling with
and seek no further.
each other, while a vast army of vices over-
Enter JARVIS.
Luc. No, madam; if I spare you, may the runs the whole country at discretion.
shame that waits for you fall on my head.
Aug. At your own peril be it then! Look
there. [Opens and discovers Lord Abberoille. Now, Jarvis, what's your news?
Luc. Astonishing! Lord Abberville! This is
Jar. My morning budget, sir, a breakfast
indeed extraordinary; this, of all frolics mo- of good deeds the offerings of a full heart,
dern wit and gallantry have given birth to, and the return of an empty purse. There,
is in the newest and the boldest style. sir, 've done your errand; and wish here-
after you could find another agent for your
charities.
Lord A. Upon my life, miss Bridgemore,
my visit has been entirely innocent.
Luc. Oh, yes! I give you perfect credit for Mort. Why so, Charles?
your innocence; the hour, the place, your Jar. Because the task grows heavy; besides,
lordship's character, the lady's composure, all I'm old and foolish, and the sight is too af-
are innocence itself. Can't you affect a little fecting.
surprise, ma'am, at finding a gentleman in Mort. Why doesn't do like me, then?
your bed-room, though you placed him there Sheath a soft heart in a rough case, 'twill
yourself? So excellent an actress might pre-wear the longer; veneer thyself, good Jarvis,
tend a fit on the occasion: Oh, you have not as thy master does, and keep a marble out-
half your part.
side to the world. Who dreams that I am
the lewd fool of pity, and thou my pander,
Jarvis, my provider? You found out the poor
Luc. No: be assured I'm charmed with your fellow then, the half-pay officer I met last
address; you are a perfect fashionable lover: Sunday-
Lord A. Indeed, miss Bridgemore, you look
upon this in too serious a light.
so agreeable to invite us to your house, so Jar. With difficulty; for he obtruded not
well-bred to be from home, and so consider- his sorrows on the world; but in despair had
ate to visit poor miss Aubrey in our ab-crept into a corner, and, with his wretched
sence: altogether, I am puzzled which to family about him, was patiently expiring.
prefer, your wit, politeness, or your honour. Mort. Pr'ythee, no more on't: you sav'd
Aug. Miss Bridgemore, 'tis in vain to urge him; you reliev'd him; no matter how; you
my innocence to you; heaven and my own made a fellow-creature happy, that's enough.
heart acquit me; I must endure the censure Jar. I did, sir; but his story's so affecting-
Mort. Keep it to thyself, old man, then;
Luc. O madam, with lord Abberville's pro- why must my heart be wrung? I too am one
tection you may set that at nought: to him of nature's spoilt children, and hav'n't yet left
I recommend you: your company in this off the tricks of the nursery.
of the world.
house will not be very welcome. [Exit.
Lord A. [To her, as she goes out] Then,
madam, she shall come to mine; my house,
all womankind, the mistress of my happiness
Enter Servant.
Sero. Sir, Mr. Tyrrel's come to town, and
Mort. Let him come in.
Enter TYRREL.
my arms are open to receive her. - Fear begs to see you.
nothing, set her at defiance; resign yourself
to my protection; you shall face your tyrant,
outface her, shine above her, put her down in
splendour as in beauty; be no more the servile So, nephew, what brings you to town? I
thing her cruelty has made you; but be the thought you was a prisoner in the country.
life, the leader of each public pleasure, the envy of Tyr. I was; but now my lord Courtland
has obtained his liberty, no reason holds why
Aug. And murderer of my own. No, no, I should not recover mine.
my lord, I'll perish first: the last surviving Mort. Well, sir, how have you fill'd up
orphan of a noble house, I'll not digrace it: your time? In practising fresh thrusts, or re-
from these mean, unfeeling people, who to penting of that which is past? You've drawn
the bounty of my ancestors owe all they your sword to satisfy one man, now think of
have, I shall expect no mercy; but you, whom satisfying the rest of mankind.
even pride might teach some virtue, you to
tempt me, you with unmanly cunning to se
duce distress yourself created, sinks you deep-
er in contempt than heaven sinks me in po-
verty and shame.
Tyr. You know my story, sir: I drew my
sword in the defence of innocence; to punish
and repel the libertine attempts of an enno-
bled ruffian; every man of honour would have
[Exit. done the same.
Lord A. A very unpromising campaign truly; Mort. Yes, honour: you young men are
one lady lost, and the other in no way of subtle arguers; the cloak of honour covers
being gained. Well, I'll return to my com- all your faults, as that of passion all your
pany; there is this merit however in gaming, follies.
that it makes all losses appear trivial but its Tyr. Honour is what mankind have made
[Exit. it; and as we hold our lives upon these terins
own.
48

378
[ACT II.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
with our lives it behoves us to defend them. Colin. Ah, maister Mortimer, it makes my
Mort. You have made it reason then it heart drop blude to think how much gude
seems; make it religion too, and put it out counsel I ha' cast away upon my laird; i'faith
of fashion with the world at once: of this be I hanna' stinted him o'that; I gee'd him rules
sure, I would sooner cast my guineas in the and maxims of gude husbandry in plenty, but
sea, than give 'em to a duellist. But come, aw in vain, the dice ha' deafen'd him.
Frank, you are one from prejudice, not prin- Mort. Yes, and destroyed; his head, heart,
ciple: therefore we'll talk no more on't. Where happiness are gone to ruin; the least a game-
are you lodged?
ster loses is his money.
Tyr. At the hotel hard by.
Colin. Ecod and that's no trifle in this case:
Mort. Then move your baggage hither, and last night's performances made no small hole
keep house with me: you and I, nephew, in that.
have such opposite pursuits that we can never Mort. Whence learn you that?
justle; besides, they tell me you're in love; Colin. From little Naphthali of St. Mary
'twill make a good companion of you; you Axe: when a man borrows money of a Jew,
shall rail at one sex, while I'm employed 'tis a presumption no Christian can be found
with t'other, and thus we may both gratify to lend him any.
our spleen at once.
Mort. Is your lord driven to such wretched
Tyr. O, sir, unless you can consent to hear shifts?
the praises of my lovely girl, from hour to Colin. Hoot! know you not that every lo-
hour, in endless repetition, never suffer me sing gamester has his Jew? He is your only
within your doors.
doctor in a desperate case; when the regu-
Mort. Thy girl, Frank, is every thing but lars have brought you to death's door, the
rich, and that's a main blank in the catalogue quack is invited to usher you in.
of a lady's perfections.
Mort. Your Jew, Colin, in the present case,
Tyr. Fill it up then, dear uncle; a word favours more of the lawyer than the doctor:
of your's will do it.
for I take it he makes you sign and seal as
Mort. True, boy, a word will do it; but long as you have effects.
'tis a long word; 'tis a lasting one; it should Colin. You've hit the nail o'the hede; my
be, therefore, a deliberate one; but let me see laird will sign to any thing; there's bonds,
your girl; I'm a sour fellow; so the world and blanks, and bargains, and promissory no-
thinks of me; but it is against the proud, the tes, and a damn'd sight of rogueries, depend
rich I war: poverty may be a misfortune to on't. Ecod he had a bundle for his breakfast,
miss Aubrey; it would be hard to make it an as big as little Naphtali could carry; I would
objection.
it had braken his bock¹); and yet he is na'
Tyr. How generous is that sentiment!-half the knave of yon fat fellow upon Fish-
Let me have your consent for my endeavours street-hill.
at obtaining her's, and I shall be most happy.
Mort. About it then; my part is soon made Colin. Ay, ay, he's at the bottom of the
ready; yours is the task: you are to find out plot; this little Hebrew's only his jackall.
happiness in marriage; I'm only to provide Mort. I comprehend you: Bridgemore, un-
you with a fortune. [Exit Tyrrel] Well, der cover of this Jew, has been playing the
Frank, I suspected thou hadst more courage usurer with lord Abberville, and means to
than wit, when I heard of thy engaging in a pay his daughter's portion in parchment; this
duel; now thou art for encount'ring a wife, must be prevented."
Mort. Bridgemore, you mean.
I am convinc'd of it. A wife! 'sdeath, sure) Colin. You may spare your pains for that;
some planetary madness reigns amongst our the match is off.
wives; the dog-star never sets, and the moon's
horns are fallen on our heads.
Enter COLIN MACLEOD.
Colin. The gude time o'day to you, gude
maister Mortimer.
Mort. Well, Colin, what's the news at your
house?
Mort. Hey-day, friend Colin, what has put
off that?
Colin. Troth, maister Mortimer, I canna'
satisfy you on that hede; but yesternight the
job was done; methought the business never
had a kindly aspect from the first.
Mort. Well, as my lord has got rid of
miss, I think he may very well spare her
fortune.
Colin. Nay, no great spell¹) of news, gude
faith; aw 2) things with us gang on after the Colin. Odzooks, but that's no reason he
auld sort. I'm weary of my life amongst 'em; should lose his own.
the murrain take 'em all, sike 3) a family of Mort. That, Colin, may be past my power
freebooters, maister Mortimer; an I speak a to hinder; yet even that shall be attempted:
word to 'em, or preach up a little needful find out the Jew that Bridgemore has em-
economy, hoot! the whole clan is up in arms. ployed, and bring him hither, if you can.
I may speak it in your ear, an the de'il him- Colin. Let me alone for that; there never
sell was to turn housekeeper, he could na' was a Jew since Samson's time that Colin
pitch upon a fitter set; fellows of all trades, could na' deal with; an he hangs bock, and
countries, and occupations; a ragamuffin crew; will na' follow kindly, troth, I'll lug him to
the very refuse of the mob, that canna' count you by the ears; ay, will I, and his maister
past twa generations without a gibbet in their the fat fellow into the bargain.
Mort. No, no, leave me to deal with Bridge-
scutcheon.
Mort. Ay, Colin, things are miserably more; I'll scare away that cormorant; if the
chang'd since your old master died.
son of my noble friend will be undone, it ne-
1) Quantity. 2) All.
3) Such.
1) Broke his back.

SCENE 2.]
379
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
ver shall be said he fell without an effort on Dr. D. Coot truth, Mr. Pridgemore, 'tis
my part to save him.
[Exit. hard to say which collection is the most harm-
Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE.
Colin. By heaven, you speak that like a less of the two.
noble gentleman. Ah, maister Mortimer, in
England, he that wants money, wants every
thing; in Scotland, now, few have it, but
every one can do without it.
[Exit.
Mrs. B. I'm out of patience with you, Mr.
Bridgemore, to see you stir no brisker in this bu-
siness; with such a storm about your ears,
SCENE II.-An Apartment in BRIDGEMORE'S you stand as idle as a Dutch sailor in a
trade-wind.
House.
Enter BRIDGEMORE and DR. DRUID.
Bridge. Truly, love, till you come in, I
heard nothing of the storm.
Bridge. But what is all this to me, doctor? Mrs. B. Recollect the misadventure of last
while I have a good house over my head, night; the wickedness of that strumpet you
what care I if the pyramids of Egypt were have harboured in your house; that viper,
sunk into the earth? London, thank heaven, which would never have had strength to sting,
will serve my turn.
Dr. D. Ay, ay, look ye, I never said it
wasn't coot enough for them that live in it.
Bridge. Good enough! Why what is like
it? Where can you live so well.
hadn't you warm'd it in your bosom.
Dr. D. Faith and truth now, I havn't heard
better reasoning from an ooman this many a
day; you shall know Mr. Pridgemore, the
viperous species love warmth; their sting,
Dr. D. No where, coot truth, 'tis all cooks'-look ye, is then more venomous; but draw
shops and putchers'-shambles; your very streets their teeth, and they are harmless reptiles;
have savoury names; your Poultry, your Pye-the conjurers in Persia play a thousand fan-
corner, and Pudding-lane, your Bacon-alley, cies and fagaries with 'em.
and Fishstreet-hill here; o'my oord, the map Bridge. But I'm no Persian, doctor.
of London would furnish out an admirable Mrs. B. No, nor conjurer neither; you would
pill of fare for a lord mayor's dinner. not else have been the dupe thus of a paltry
Bridge. Well, doctor, I'm contented with girl.
Fishstreet-hill; you may go seek for lodgings
yonder in the ruins of Palmyra.
Dr. D. A girl, indeed! why all the Euro-
pean world are made the dupes of girls: the
Dr. D. Ruins indeed! what are all your Asiatics are more wise; saving your presence
new buildings, up and down yonder, but now, I've seen a Turkish pacha or a Tartar
ruins? Improve your town a little further, chan rule threescore, ay, three hundred wives,
and you'll drive every man of sense out of with infinite more ease and quiet, than you
it; pless us, and save us, by-and-by not a can manage one.
monument of antiquity will be left standing Mrs. B. Manage your butterflies, your bats,
from London-stone to Westminster-hall. and beetles, and leave the government of wi-
Bridge. And if the commissioners of paying ves to those who have 'em: we stand on
would mend the streets with one, and pre- British ground as well as our husbands; magna
sent t'other as a nuisance, bone-setters and charta is big enough for us both; our bill of
lawyers would be the only people to complain. divorce is a full match for their bill of rights
Dr. D. Down with 'em then at once, down at any time: we have our commons, doctor,
with every thing noble, and venerable, and as well as the men; and I believe our privi-
ancient amongst you; turn the Tower of Lon-leges are as well managed here at St. Paul's,
don into a Pantheon, make a new Adelphi of as theirs are yonder at St. Stephen's.
the Savoy, and bid adieu to all ages but your Dr. D. Your privileges, Mrs. Pridgemore,
own; you will then be no more in the way are not to be disputed by any in this compa-
of deriving dignity from you progenitors, than ny; and, if miss is as well instructed in her's,
you are of transmitting it to your posterity. I wish my lord Abberville joy of his release;
Bridge. Well, doctor, well, leave me my that's all.
opinion and keep your own; you've a venc-
ration for rust and cobwebs; I am for brush-
ing them off wherever I meet them: we are
Enter LUCINDA,
[Exit.
Luc, What did the fellow say? Who sent
for furnishing our shops and warehouses with that old mummy hither?
good profitable commodities; you are for Bridge. He came upon a qualifying mes-
storing 'em with all the monsters of the crea- sage from lord Abberville, as I believe; but
tion: I much doubt if we could serve you 'tis such an extravagant old blade¹), he got
with a dried rattlesnake, or a stuft alligator, amongst the pyramids of Egypt, before he
in all the purlieus of Fishstreet-hill.
could well bring it out.
Dr. D. A stuft alligator! A stuft alderman
would be sooner had.
Mrs. B. I would he was there, and his pu-
pil with him; don't you see what a condi-
tion our poor girl is thrown into?
Bridge. May be so; and let me tell you
an antiquarian is as much to seek in the city Luc. I into a condition! No; they shall
of London, as an alderman would be in the never have to say they threw me into a con-
ruins of Herculaneum; every man after his dition. I may be angry, but I scorn to own
own way, that's my maxim: you are for the I'm disappointed.
paltry ore; I am for the pure gold; I dare Bridge. That's right, child; sure there are
be sworn now, you are as much at home more men in the world besides lord Abherville.
amongst the snakes and serpents at Don Sal- Luc. Law, papa! your ideas are so gross,
tero's, as I am with the Jews and jobbers at as if I car'd for any of the sex, if he hadn't
Jonathan's.
1) Fellow.

380
[ACT II.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
singled her out from all womankind; but it Luc. Go, go, another time; I'm busy,
was ever thus; she's born to be my
evil ge-
Serv. I've done a wicked thing; and if I
nius; sure the men are mad-Tyrrel-lord don't discharge my heart, 'twill break, it is so
Abberville-one touch'd my heart, the other full.
wounds my pride.
Bridge. Why, ay; there is a fine estate,
a noble title, great connexions, powerful in-
terest.
Luc. Revenge is worth them all; drive her
but out of doors, and marry me to a convent.
Bridge. But let us keep some show of ju-
stice; this may be all a frolic of lord Abber-
ville's; the girl, perhaps, is innocent.
Luc. How can that be, when I am miserable?
Mrs. B. Come, she's been suffer'd in your
house too long; had I been mistress, she
should have quitted it last night upon the in-
stant: would she had never entered it.
Mrs. B. What have you done? Speak out.
Sere. Why, I have been the means of ruin-
ing an innocent person; for such miss Au-
brey is.
Bridge. How so? Go on.
Serv. 'Twas I that brought lord Abberville
last night into her chamber, unknown to her:
I thought it was a little frolic to surprise her;
but, when I heard her scream, I was alarmed,
and ran and listened at the door.
Luc. Well, and what then?
Serv. Why, then I heard her chide him,
and desire him to be gone; yes, and but just
before you came up stairs, I heard the poor
Bridge. There you make a bad wish, Mrs. young lady reproach him bitterly for his base-
Bridgemore; she has proved the best feather ness in making love to her, when he was en-
in my wing; but call her down; go, daughter, gaged to you, madam: indeed, she is as in-
nocent as the babe unborn.
call her down.
Luc. I'll send her to you: nothing shall Luc. Go your way for a simpleton, and
prevail with me to speak to her, or look upon say no more about the matter,
the odious creature more.
[Exit. Sero. To be sure I was a simpleton to do
Mrs. B. What is it you are always hinting as I did; but I should never survive it, if any
at about this girl? She's the best feather in mischief was to follow.
your wing. Explain yourself.
Bridge. I can't; you must excuse me;
better you should never know it.
'tis
[Exit.
Bridge. What's to be done now?
Mrs. B. What's to be done? why let her
take her course; guilty or not, what matters
Mrs. B. Why, where's the fear; what can it, if every man who offers for your daughter,
you have to dread from a destitute girl, with-is to turn aside and follow after her?
out father, and without friend?
Luc. True, where's the woman who can
Bridge. But is she really without a father? pardon that? indeed, had she been really cri-
Was I once well assured of that-But hush! my minal, I could have endur'd her better, for
daughter's here-Well, where's miss Aubrey? then I had had one qualification, which she
had wanted; now she piques me every way.
Re-enter LUCINDA, followed by a Maid-ser-
vant.
Luc. The bird is flown.
Bridge. Hey-day, gone off!
Mrs. B. That's flat conviction.
Bridge. What have you there? A letter?
Luc. She found it on her table.
Bridge. Read it, Lucy.
Luc. I beg to be excused, sir; I don't choose
to touch her nasty scrawl.
Bridge. Well, then, let's see; I'll read it
myself.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Lord Abberville, madam, desires to be
admitted to say a word to you.
Luc. Who? Lord Abberville?
Mrs. B. Oh, by all means admit him; now,
Lucy, show yourself a woman of spirit; re-
ceive him, meet his insulting visit with be-
coming contempt.-Come, Mr. Bridgemore,
let us leave them to themselves.
[Exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Bridgemore.
Luc. Abem; now, pride support me.
Enter LORD ABBERVILLE.
[Reads] Sir-Since neither lord Abber-
ville's testimony, nor my most solemn pro-
testations can prevail with you to believe Lord A. Miss Bridgemore, your most obe-
me innocent, I prevent miss Bridgemore's dient; I come, madam, on a penitential er-
threaten'd dismission by withdrawing my-rand, to apologize to you and miss Aubrey
self for ever from your family: how the for the ridiculous situation in which I was
world will receive a destitute, defenceless surprised last night.
orphan I am now to prove; I enter on my Luk. Cool, easy villain!
trial without any armour but my innocence;
which, though insufficient to secure to me
the continuance of your confidence, will,
by the favour of Providence, serve, Ihope,
to support me under the loss of it.
So! she's elop'd-
AUGUSTA AUBREY.
Mrs. B. Ay, this is lucky; there's an end
of her: this makes it her own act and deed;
give me the letter; go, you need not wait.
[To the Servant.
Serv. Madam!
Luc. Don't you hear? Leave the room,
Sere. Pray don't he angry; I beg to speak
a word to you.
[Aside.
Lord A. I dare say, you laugh'd most
heartily after I was gone.
Luc. Most incontinently-incomparable as-
surance!
[Aside.
Lord A. Well, I forgive you; 'twas ridicu-
lous enough; a foolish frolic, but absolutely
harmless be assur'd: I'm glad to find you no
longer serious about it-But where's miss Au-
brey, pray?
Luc. You'll find her probably at your own
door; she's gone from hence.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Mr. Tyrrel, madam.
Luc. Show him in, pray-My lord, you've
no objection.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
381
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Lord A. None in life; I know him intima-
ACT III.
tely; but if you please, I'll take my leave; you SCENE I.-The Street, with a distant View
may have business-Curse on't, he is the la-
dy's lover.
[Aside.
Luc. Nay, I insist upon your staying-Now
malice stand my friend!-Good morning to
you, sir, you're welcome to town.
Enter TYRREL
of the Square.
Enter COLIN,
Colin. Ah, Colin, thou'rt a prodigal; a
thriftless loon 1) thou'st been, that could na'
keep a little pelf to thysall when thou hadst
got it; now thou may'st gang in this poor
geer 2) to thy life's end, and worse too for
Tyr. I thank you-I am wrong, I believe; aught I can tell; 'faith, mon, 'twas a smeart
your servant should not have shown me in little bysack of money thou hadst scrap'd
here: 'tis with miss Aubrey I request to together, and the best part of it had na' been
speak.
laft amongst thy kinsfolk, in the Isles of Skey
Luc. Lord Abberville, you can direct Mr. and Mull; muckle gude may it do the weams
Tyrrel to miss Aubrey; she has left this fa- of them that ha' it! There was Jamie Mac
mily, sir.
Grejor, and Sawney Mac Nab, and the twa
know-braw lads of Kinruddin, with old Charley
Mac Dougall, my mother's first husband's se-
was ever cond cousin: by my sol I could na' see such
[Aside. near relations, and gentlemen of sich auncient
Luc. My lord, why don't you speak? Mr. families, gang upon bare feet, while I rode a
Tyrrel may have particular business with miss horseback: I had been na' true Scot, an I
Aubrey.
could na' ge'en a countryman a gude laft 3).
Tyr. Madam-My lord-I beg to
I don't understand-
Lord A. Nor I, upon my soul:
any thing so malicious?
Lord A. Why do you refer to me? How upon occasion.
should I know any thing of miss Aubrey?
Luc. Nay, I ask pardon; perhaps Mr. Tyr-
rel's was a mere visit of compliment.
Tyr. Excuse me, madam; I confess it was
an errand of the most serious sort.
Luc. Then it's cruel not to tell him where
you've plac'd her.
Tyr. Plac'd her!
Lord A. Ay, plac'd her indeed! For heaven's
sake, what are you about?
Luc. Nay, I have done, my lord; but after
last night's fatal discovery, I conceived you
would no longer affect any privacy as to your
situation with miss Aubrey.
[As he is going out Miss Aubrey enters.
Aug. That house is Mr. Mortimer's; and
yet I can't resolve to go to it: to appeal to
Tyrrel is a dangerous step; it plunges him
again in my unprosperous concerns, and puts
his life a second time in danger; still, still I
know not how to let him think me guilty:
wretched, unfriended creature that I am, what
shall I do? [As she is going out Colin advances.
Colin. Haud 4) a bit, lassie, you that are
bewailing; what's your malady?
Aug. Sir! Did you speak to me?
Colin. Troth, did I; I were loath to let
affliction pass beside me, and not ask it what
Tyr. What did you discover last night, it ail'd.
madam? tell me; I have an interest in the
question.
Luc. I'm sorry for't, for then you'll not be
pleas'd to hear that she admits lord Abber-
ville by night into her bedroom, locks him
up in it, and on detection the next morning,
openly avows her guilt, by eloping to her
gallant.
Tyr. What do I hear?-My lord, my lord,
if this is true-
Lord A. What then?-What if it is? Must
I account to you? Who makes you my in-
quisitor?
Aug. Do you know me then?
Colin. What need have I to know you?
An you can put me in the way to help you,
isn't that enough?
Aug. I thank you: if I have your pity, that
is all my case admits of.
Colin. Wha' can tell that? I may be better
than I seem: as sorry a figure as I cut, I have
as gude blude in my veins, and as free of it
too, as any Briton in the lond; troth, an you
be of my country, madam, you may have
heard as much.
Aug. I do not question it; but I am not of
Tyr. Justice, humanity, and that control Scotland.
which virtue gives me over its opposers: if Colin. Well, well, an if you had the de'il
more you would, with anguish I confess, my a bit the worse should I ha' lik'd you for it;
heart unhappily was plac'd on her whom you but it was not your lot; we did na' make
have ruin'd;
now you'll not dispute my oursalls; 5) Paradise itsal would na' hald 6)
right.
all mankind, nor Scotland neither; and let me
Lord A. This is no place to urge your tell you, there's na' braver or more auncient
right; I shall be found at home.
people underneath heaven's canopy; no, nor
Tyr. I'll wait upon you there. [Exit Tyrrel. a nation of the terrestrial globe wha have
Lord A. Do so-your servant-Miss Bridge- more love and charity for one another.
more, I am infinitely your debtor for this Aug. Well, sir, you seem to wish to do
agreeable visit; I leave you to the enjoyment me service: I've a letter here; I cannot well
of your many amiable virtues, and the pleas- deliver it myself; if you are of this neigh-
ing contemplation of what may probably bourhood, perhaps you know the house of
ensue from the interview you have provided Mr. Mortimer.
for me with Mr. Tyrrel.
[Exit. Colin. Hoot! hoot! I ken him well; i came
Luc. Ha, ha, ha! I must be less or more fra' thence but now.
than woman, if I did not relish this reta- 1) Rascal. 2) Dress.
liation.
selves.
5) Lift.
6) Hold.
4) Hold. 5) Our-

382
[ACT III.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Aug. Will you take charge of this, and Aug. I readily believe you; and to convince
give it as directed? the gentleman will be found you of it, put me, I beseech you, in some
at Mr. Mortimer's.
present shelter, till the labour of my hands
Colin. To Francis Tyrrel, esquire-Ah! an can keep me, and hold me up but for a
'tis thereabouts you point, gadzooks, your breathing-space, till I can rally my exhausted
labour's lost; you may ev'n wear the willow, spirits, and learn to struggle with the world.
as they say, for by my troth he'll play the Colin. Ay, will I by my sol, so heaven gives
loon wi' you.
life; and woe betide the child that does you
Aug. Is that his character?
wrong! I be na' smuthly ¹) spoken, but you
Colin. No; but he canna' well be true to shall find me true.-And look, the first door
twa at the same time.
that I cast my ey'n upon, I ken the name of
Aug. His heart's engag'd it seems: what is Macintosh: troth, 'tis a gudely omen and
the lady's name?
prognostic; the Macintoshes and Macleods are
Colin. Woe worth her name! I canna' re-aw of the same blood fra' long antiquity: had
collect it now; an it had been a Scottish we search'd aw the town we could na' find a
name, I should na' let it slip so; but I've no better. [Knocks at the Door] Odzooks, fear
mighty memory for your English callings; nothing, damsel, an she be a true Macintosh,
they do na' dwell upon my tongue: out on't! you need na' doubt a welcome. [Mrs. Ma-
'tis with a grete fat lubber yonder in the city cintosh comes to the Door] Gude day to you,
that she dwells; a fellow with a paunch below madam, is your name Macintosh, pray you?
his gullet, like the poke of a pelican; and now Mrs. M. It is: what are your commands?
I call to mind, 'tis Aubrey is her name; ay, Colin. Nay, hau'd a bit, gude child, we com-
ay, 'tis Aubrey; she's the happy woman. mand nought; but being, d'ye see, a Scottish
Aug. Is she the happy woman? Well, sir, kinsman of yours, Colin Macleod by name,
if you'll deliver that letter into Mr. Tyrrel's I crave a lodgment in your house for this
hands; there is no treason in it against miss poor lassie.-Gude troth you need na' squant 2)
Aubrey; she herself is privy to the contents. at her so closely; there's nought to be su-
Colin. You need na' doubt but I shall honde spected; and though she may na' boast so long
it to him; I were a sorry child an I could a pedigree as you and I do, yet for an English
grudge you that: where shall I bring his answer? family, she's of no despicable house; and as
Aug. It requires none.
for reputation, gude faith the lamb is not more
Colin. But an he craves to know your house, innocent: respecting mine own sall I will na'
where mun I say you dwell?
vaunt, but an you've any doubts, you need
Aug. I have no house, no home, no father, na' gang a mighty length to satisfy 'em: I'm
friend, or refuge in this world; nor do I at no impostor.
this moment, fainting as I am with affliction Mrs. M. I see enough to satisfy me; she is
and fatigue, know where to find a hospitable a perfect beauty:-pray, young lady, walk in;
door.
Colin. Come with me then, and I will show
you one; ah! woe is me, we hanna' all cold
hearts, that occupy cold climates: I were a
graceless loon indeed, when Providence ha'
done so much for me, an I could not pay
bock a little to a fellow creature.
pray walk up stairs, you are heartily wel-
come; lack-a-day, you seem piteously fatigu'd.
Aug. Indeed I want repose.
Colin. Rest you awhile; I'll deliver your
letter, and call on you anon.
Aug. I thank you.
a
[Enters the House.
Mrs. M. Heavens, what a lovely girl!
Aug. Who you may be I know not; but Colin. Haud you a bit, you've done this
that sentiment persuades me I may trust you: kindly, cousin Macintosh, but we're na' come
know, in this wretched person you behold her bagging, d'ye see; here, take this money in
whom you think the envied, the beloved miss your honde, and let her want for nought.
Aubrey.
Mrs. M. You may depend upon my care.
Colin. Miss Aubrey! you miss Aubrey! His Colin. Ay, ay, I ken'd you for a Macintosh
presence be about us! and has that grete fat at once; I am na' apt to be mistaken in any
fellow in the city turn'd his bock upon you? of your clan; and 'tis a comely presence that
Out on him, ugly hound, his stomach be his you have; troth 'tis the case with aw of you;
grave! I could find in my heart to stick my the Macintoshes are a very personable people.
dirk into his weam.
Aug. Have patience; 'tis not he, lord Abber-
ville's the source of my misfortunes.
Colin. Ah, woe the while the more's his
shame, I'd rather hear that he were dead.
Aug. Do not mistake affliction for disgrace;
I'm innocent.
Colin. I see it in your face: would I could
say as much of him.
Ang. You know him then.
Colin. Ay, and his father afore him: Colin
Macleod's my name.
Aug. Colin Macleod!
[Exit.
Mrs. M. Another of my Scottish cousins-
Oh, this new name of mine is a most thriving
invention; a rare device to hook in customers.
[Exit.
SCENE II, A Room in LORD ABBERVILLE'S
House.
Enter LORD ABBERVILLE, followed by several
Servants.
Lord A. You are a most unreasonable set
of gentry truly; I have but one Scotchman
in my family, and you are every one of you,
cook, valet, butler, up in arms to drive him
out of it.
Colin. What do you start at? Troth, there's
no shame upon't; 'tis nought a bit the worse
for my wear; honesty was aw my patrimony, La Jeu. And with reason, my lord; mon-
and, by my sol, I hanna' spent it: I serve lord sieur Colin is a grand financier; but he has
Abberville, but not his vices.
1) Smoothly. 2) Squint (look).

SCENE 2.]
383
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
a little of what we call la maladie du pays; you have money enough, if you had but spirit
he is too oeconomique; it is not for the credit to make use of it?
of mi lord Anglois to be too oeconomique.
Colin. True; but I fain would keep a little
Lord A. I think, La Jeunesse, I have been together, d'ye see, lest you should not. [Exit.
at some pains to put that out of dispute; but Dr. D. Plessing upon us, how the man prates
get you gone all together, and send the fellow and prattles! 'Twas but this morning he was
to me; I begin to be as tir'd of him as you differing and disputing truly about pedigrees
are.-[Exeunt Servants]-His honesty is my and antiquities, though I can count forty and
reproach; these rascals flatter while they rob four generations from the grandmother of St.
me: it angers me that one, who has no stake, Winifred, as regularly as a monk can tell
no interest in my fortune, should husband it his beads.
more frugally than I who am the owner and
the sufferer: in short, he is the glass in which
I see myself, and the reflection tortures me;
my vices have deform'd me; gaming has made
a monster of me.
Enter COLIN.
I
Lord A. Leave your generations to the worms,
doctor, and tell me if you carried my message
to Bridgemore-But why do I ask that? When
myself am come from putting the finishing
hand to that treaty: and really if young women
will keep companions who are handsomer
than themselves, they mustn't wonder if their
lovers go astray.
Come hither, Colin; what is this I hear of you?
Colin. Saving your presence I should guess Dr. D. Ah, my lord Apperville, my lord
a pratty many lies; 'twill mostly be the case Apperville, you've something there to answer for
when companions in office give characters Lord A. Preach not, good sixty-five, thy
one of another.
cold continence to twenty-three; the stars are
Lord A. But what is he whom nobody in my debt one lucky throw at least; let them
speaks well of? You are given up on all hands. bestow miss Aubrey, and I'll cancel all that's
Colin. And so must truth itsall, when the past. [4 Servant delivers a Letter] What
de'il turns historian.
have we here?-From Tyrrel I suppose-No,
Lord A. You've been applauded for your 'tis from a more peaceable quarter; my com-
bluntness; 'tis no recommendation to me, modious Mrs. Macintosh. [Reads]-Chance
Macleod; nor shall I part from all my family has thrown in my way a girl, that quite
to accommodate your spleen; from the stable- eclipses your miss Somers: come to me
boy to my own valet, there's not a domestic without loss of time, lest the bird should
in this house gives you a good word. be on the wing.-What shall I do? I have
Colin. Nor ever will, till I prefer their in- but little stomach to the business. Aubrey is
terest to yours; hungry curs will bark: but my goddess, and 'tis downright heresy to
an your lordship would have us regale our follow any other.
friends below stairs, while you are feasting
yours above, gadzooks, I have a pratty many
countrymen in town, with better appetites than
purses, who will applaud the regulation.
Lord A. 'Tis for such purses and such ap-
petites you would be a fit provider; 'tis for
the latitude of the Highlands, not for the
meridian of London, your narrow scale of a
economy is laid down.
Enter another Servant.
Serv. My lord, a person without says he
comes with a recommendation from sir Harry
Gamble.
Lord A. What sort of a person?
Sero. A little ugly fellow: I believe he's
Jew.
Lord A. That's right, I had forgot: my Jew
Colin. Economy is no disgrace; 'tis batter is fairly jaded; sir Harry's probably is better
living on a little, than outliving a great deal. trained; so let me see him: who is in the
Lord A. Well, sir, you may be honest, but antichamber?
you are troublesome; my family are one and Serv. There are several persons waiting to
all in arms against you; and you must know, speak with your lordship; they have called a
Colin Macleod, I've great objection to a re-great many times.
matter.
siness in it.
bellion either in a family or state, whatever Lord A. Ay, ay, they come for money; he
you and your countrymen may think of the alone comes with it; therefore conduct that
little ugly fellow, as you call him, to my closet,
Colin. My lord, my lord; whan you have and bid those other people call again. [Exit
shad 1) the blude of the offenders, it is na' Servant] Doctor, if any of my particulars
generous to revive the offence: as for mine are importunate to see me, don't let 'em inter-
awn particular, heaven be my judge, the realm rupt me here; tell 'em I'm gone to Mrs. Mac-
of England does na' haud a heart more loyal intosh's; they'll know the place, and my bu-
than the one I strike my honde upon.
Exit.
Dr. D. They may guess that without the
gift of divination truly: ah! this passion is
Lord A. So, doctor, what's the news with the prejudice of education! He may thank
you? Well, Colin, let me hear no more of France and Italy for this: I would have carried
these complaints; don't be so considerate of him through Ingria, Esthonia, and Livonia;
me-and hark'e, if you was not quite so par- through Moldavia, Bessarabia, Bulgaria, Thrace;
simonious to yourself, your appearance would from the Gulf of Finland to the Straits of the
be all the better.
Dardanelles. 'Tis a chance if he had seen a
human creature in the whole course of his
travels.
Enter DOCTOR DRUID.
Colin. Troth, I'd be better habited, but I
canna' afford it.
Lord A. Afford it, sirrah? Don't I know
1) Shed.
Enter TYRREL.
Tyr. Doctor, forgive me this intrusion;

384
[ACT III.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Tyr. Ay, did she say so much? That's
where is lord Abberville? His servants deny
him to me, and I've business with him of a guilty beyond doubt.
pressing sort.
Dr. D. Business indeed!
Tyr. Yes, business, sir: I beg you to inform
me where to find him.
Dr. D. I take it, Mr. Tyrrel, you are one
of his particulars, therefore I tell you, he is
gone to Mrs. Macintosh's; a commodious sort
of a pody, who follows one trade in her shop,
and another in her parlour.
Tyr. Yes, yes, I know her well, and know
his business there.
Dr. D. Pleasure is all his business: I take
for granted he finds some gratification in his
visits there.
Tyr. Yes, the gratification of a devil; the
pleasure of defacing beauty and despoiling in-
nocence, of planting everlasting misery in the
human heart for one licentious, transitory joy:
'tis there he holds his riots; thither he is gone
to repeat his triumphs over my unhappy
Aubrey, and confirm her in her shame.
Colin. You're right; it carries a damn'd
guilty look: I would na' take his fortune to
father his faults.
Tyr. Why you then give him up. Oh!
'tis too palpable! But, pray, did she herself
give you this letter for me?
Colin. With her own hondes; gude faith,
the heart within you would ha' malted to have
seen the manner of it.
Tyr. That aggravates my torture!-Where
was it you left her? In what wretched habi-
tation?
Colin. Hoot! no disparagement upon her
habitation; there's nought of wretchedness
about it: odzooks! she's with a lady of as gude
a family!-But you mun be as close as wax,
d'ye see; ye munna maig 1) the secret to my
laird.
Tyr. Well, well, the place-
Colin. Nay, 'tis hard by; a cousin's of mine
own; a comely, courteous woman as you'd
Dr. D. Ay, I suppose miss Aubrey is the wish to commune with; one Mrs. Macintosh.
reigning passion now.
Tyr. 'Sdeath! that confirms it! There, sir,
Tyr. Curs'd be his passions, wither'd be bring me no more letters: whether you're dupe
his powers! Oh, sir, she was an angel once: or pander in this business, I desire never to
such was the graceful modesty of her deport-be troubled more.
[Exii.
ment, it seemed as if the chastity, which now Colin. Hoot! what the fiend possesses you?
so many of her sex throw from them, centered What time o'the moon is this? The lad's an
all with her.
errant bedlamite. There's mischief in the wind;
Dr. D. I've told too much; this lad's as and this same laird of mine is at the bottom
mad as he-Well, Mr. Tyrrel, I can say, but of it: gadzooks, there goes maister Mortimer;
little in the case; women and politics I never I'll tell him aw the case, and take his counsel
deal in; in other words, I abhor cuckoldom, on the whole.
and have no passion for the pillory. [Exit.
Enter COLIN.
Colin. Gang your gait for an old smoke-
dried piece of goat's-flesh. [Shuts the Door]
Now we're alone, young gentleman, there's
something for your private reading.
[Delivers a Letter.
Tyr. What do I see? Miss Aubrey's hand!
Why does she write to me? Distraction, how
this racks my heart.
Colin. Ay, and mine too;-Ecod, it
sic a pull, I canna' for the sol of me,
back into its place again: gude truth,
find it but a melancholy tale.
gave it
get it
you'll
Tyr. [Reads] I am the martyr of an
accident, which never will find credit; under
this stroke, I can't conceal a wish that Mr.
Tyrrel would not give me up; but, as his
single opposition to the world's reproach
might be as dangerous to him, as it must
be ineffectual to me, I earnestly advise him
to forget the unfortunate
What am I to conclude? The paper looks
AUGUSTA.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-MRS. MACINTOSH'S House.
Enter MRS. MACINTOSH and TYRREL.
Mrs. M. Well, Mr. Tyrrel, if you must and
will be heard, you must; but pray be short,
my time is precious.
Tyr. So is my peace of mind: you've got
lady in your house has taken that from me
I never shall recover.
a
Mrs. M. What is't you mean? What lady
have I in my house?
Tyr. Miss Aubrey.
Mrs. M. Miss Aubrey! You mistake; I never
heard the name.
Tyr. Come, you and I have long been
friends: answer me truly, does not Lord Ab-
berville visit a lady here?
Mrs. M. Well, if he does, what then?
Tyr. Why then that lady has undone me;
she has broke my heart.
Mrs. M. Yes; but her name's not Aubrey;
my lord calls her Somers.
like innocence; the words as soft as modesty Tyr. Let my lord call her what he will,
could utter.-The martyr of an accident! She coin what new name he pleases to elude my
calls it accident; why that's no crime. Alas! search, still I must see her.
it might be accident which threw temptation Mrs. M. Why you're mad sure to think of
in her way, but voluntary guilt which yielded such a thing; I thought you knew me better:
to the tempter; of him she makes no mention. violate a trust? No, no, young man, that's
Pray, sir, inform me; you have seen this lady-not my principle; you see no lady here.
Colin. I have.
Tyr. Discours'd with her
Colin. I have.
Why, sure, I've not maintained an honourable
character in the world till now, to make away
with it at last.
Tyr. In that discourse, do you recollect if Tyr. If you suspect me, stay and be present
she named lord Abberville?
Colin. I recollect she said he was the source
of her misfortunes.
at our conference.
Mrs. M. Yes, and so have my lord come in
1) Tell.

SCENE 3.]
385
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
and catch us, and a tilting-bout ensue betwixt I command; your champion gives you up;
you; no, Mr. Tyrrel, mine's a sober well-resistance is in vain; if you refuse my favours,
conducted family:-Hush, as I live, here comes madam, you shall feel my force.
my lord: dear Tyrrel, be advised, come along
Aug. What is't you mean, my lord?-
with me, and betake yourself out of his way. Stand off!
Tyr. No; I'll not seek a quarrel with lord
Abberville, but I cannot fly from him: go, go,
and leave us to each other.
here.
[Exit Mrs. Macintosh.
Enter LORD ABBERVILLE.
Enter MORTIMER.
Mort. Ay, what is it you mean, my lord?
Lord A. Mortimer! 'sdeath, what evil genius
conducted you hither?
Mort. [Goes to the Door] Nay, my good
Enter COLIN.
Lord A. Tyrrel!-What brings you here? friend, come in.
This is no place of meeting; if you've any
explanation to require upon miss Aubrey's
account, come to my house: I answer nothing This honest man was my conductor: while
you, lord Abberville, in a distinguish'd rank
Tyr. My lord, when I'm assured miss Aubrey are openly assaulting innocence, he, in his
is in this house, and see you her visitor, I humble post, is secretly supporting it. If you
can interpret for myself.
come under that description, madam, I am
your defender; if not, I have no further busi-
ness here.
fessed it.
Lord A. Miss Aubrey in this house! You rave.
Tyr. Come, 'tis in vain; your Scotchman
told me so; your Mrs. Macintosh herself con- Aug. Why should I urge my innocence?
I am unfortunate, I'm poor; your nephew, sir,
will tell you that is cause sufficient for aban-
doning me.
[Aside. Lord A. This grows too serious; I scorn to
Tyr. If you require more witnesses to what steal that from you half my fortune could not
I say, here comes an indisputable one, miss purchase. I believe you are as innocent as
Aubrey herself.
Lord A. Humph! after all, 'twould be a
lucky hit, should this be true: it may be so.
Enter MISS AUBREY.
heaven first form'd you; and to convince the
world in what esteem I hold your virtues,
here, before Mortimer, I offer you my hand,
Aug. Oh, Mr. Tyrrel, this is generous in- and lay my title, rank, and fortune at your feet.
deed! lord Abberville here too;-'tis what I Aug. No, there may be a legal prostitute
dreaded. You have mischief in your minds; as well as a licentious one; had you a world
but, I beseech you, leave me to my mis-to give, after your base experiment, you can-
fortunes, nor cast away a thought upon a not offer any thing that I shall take. You
wretch like me.
may find others less exceptious; but in a noble
family, though stripped of fortune, there will
still be pride.
Tyr. Give me your answer first to these
demands. Have you been wrong'd? Have you
an accusation to prefer against this lord, or Lord A. I see my fate; I see a preposses-
do you acquit him, and submit with patience sion in your heart too strong for me to shake:
to your situation?
I plainly perceive that Mr. Tyrrel can offend
Aug. I accuse no one; I submit with patience; with more impunity than I can; however,
I am content to be the only sufferer in this Mortimer, you are a man of honour: I resign
business, and earnestly entreat you to desist miss Aubrey into your hands for the present,
from any altercation with lord Abberville on and shall expect you will avail yourself of no
unfair advantages over me. - Macleod, I find
miss Aubrey is to thank you for this season-
able visit of Mr. Mortimer's.
my account.
Tyr. I'm satisfied; and shall religiously obey
you: lord Abberville, I ask your pardon for
this interruption; I never shall repeat it more.
Aug. But are you going?
[Exit.
Mort. Come, madam, you are now my ward;
Bridgemore must struggle hard to get you
back again.
Tyr. For ever. Dangerous to behold you
are; therefore, before my fond, my foolish Aug. Sir!-Mr. Mortimer! You'll pardon
heart relapses into love, I'll seize the resolution me, but must I think you serious? If what
of the moment, and bid farewell to you for you now propose is meant in kindness to me,
ever.
Aug. Astonishing!
[Exit. I must say the world has not done justice to
your character: I have been taught to look
upon you as no friend to our sex in particular.
Lord A. There, madam, you perceive the
love, the honour of that gentleman.
Aug. Could I have thought this of him?
Now I'm truly wretched.
Lord A. No, madam, if my purse, my per-
son, my assiduous ardent love can fill the
vacancy his falsehood makes, you've had no
loss: dry up your tears, you've yet a friend;
smile only on my wishes.
Mort. Nor am I; your sex have broke treaty
with us, pass'd the bounds betwixt us, forc'd
into our very taverns, and from being once
the glory of my country are become its shame.
Aug. But all have not done this-
a
Mort. Nor am I then at enmity with all:
virtuous individual is of no sex, no country.
Colin. No country? Hoot! A true North
Briton will give up his virtue afore his country
Aug. No, my lord, no; you've made me
wretched, guilty you shall never make me. at any time.
Lord A. Inexorable girl, will nothing move?
Then I've no longer any terms to keep: call
to mind where you are; in a house where I
am master; surrounded by creatures whom
Aug. Yes, and I think it was a partiality to
your country, rather than to virtue, which
determin'd you to put me into this house.
Golin. De'il take me now and all my kindred
49

386
[ACT IV.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
with me, if I knew ought about the house, Aub. You are there already; this is Fish-
more than the name of Macintosh upon the street-hill.
door.
Colin. Gadzooks! and that's the reason I
Mort. Time will clear all things up: a ge- could find it na' where alse. Ken you one
neral misconception is gone forth; my nephew, Bradgemore's, may I ask?
I perceive, has fallen under it. As for poor Aub. He had us'd to live in yonder house
Colin, his design in bringing you hither was with the great gates; but it is many years
more than innocent, depend upon it, it was since I have been in England.
noble; I have heard his story, and at my re-
quest he brings me here: commit yourself
therefore to my protection, and rely upon my
justice.
Aug. How shall I answer you? Your gene-
rosity o'erwhelms me.
Mort. I generous! No, I am a mere volup-
tuary; I study luxury by principle, and am as
sensual on the side of virtue, as Abberville,
or any other fashionable rake, on that of vice.
Colin, you'll settle matters with your coun-
trywoman, and come to us at my house.
[Exeunt.
Colin. My countrywoman! The fiend a bit!
I never will believe she has a drop of Scottish
Colin. I'faith, you need na' tell me that; I
apprehend as much from your civility.
Aub. Give me leave now in my turn to
ask you a few questions.
Colin. With aw my heart; you have gude
right; you may interrogate me freely.
Aub. You are acquainted with this Bridge-
more-
Colin. I am.
Aub. And with his family -
Colin. I am.
Aub. And what does it consist of?
Colin. Troth, of a spouse and daughter.
Aub. Are they all?
Colin. Ay, and enough in aw gude reason;
blude in aw her composition; as I shall an- the de'il, sir, in his vengeance need na' add
swer I never blush'd before for any of the na- a third.
me: there must be something spurious in her Aub. But to be serious; tell me, I beseech
genealogy: I'll have a little serious talk with you, do you know of no one else in Mr. Brid-
her on that; I've got the pedigree of the Mac-gemore's family,
intoshes at my fingers ends, and if there's Colin. Of none.
e'er a flaw in her descent 'twixt this and Noah, Aub. What do I hear? Pray recollect your-
gadzooks, I'll wager a hundred pounds I prove self: you don't seem to know his house; per-
her an impostor.
[Exit. haps you are not well acquainted with his
family.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-FISHSTREET-HILL.
Enter AUBREY.
Colin. Aw that he owns I know; what base-
begotten brats he may have sculking up and
down in holes and corners, troth, I can't pre-
tend to say.-These city cattle sometimes will
break pasture.
Aub. If Bridgemore hasn't shifted his abode,
that is the house; 'twas there that eighteen Aub. You misconceive me, honest friend:
years ago I lost a wife, and left an infant has no young lady of the name of Aubrey
daughter. All-disposing Providence, who hast come within your knowledge?
ordain'd me to this hour, and through innu- Colin. Ay, ay, poor lassie, she once liv'd
merable toils and dangers led me back to this, with Bradgemore; the worse luck her's, but
affecting spot, can it be wondered at, if I ap- that is over; she has got her liberty; she's now
proach it with an anxious, aching heart, un-releas'd.
certain as I am if I have still a child or not? Aub. I understand you-She is dead.
What shall I do? If my Augusta's lost, 'twere Colin. Dead! Heaven forefend! An you
better I should never enter those ill-omen'd would give me time, I would ha' told you
doors; if she survives, how shall I disclose she's released from yon fat fellow's tyranny;
myself, and tell her she has still a father? Oh, na' more: out on him, filthy porpoise, aw the
that unkown and unperceiv'd, I could but catch bowels in his belly, though he has got gude
a sight of her, gaze till I'd gratified my long-store, dunna' contain one grain of pity: troth,
ing, and till this throbbing might abate! I'll with his gude will she might ha' starv'd and
watch the door till somebody comes out, that perish'd in the streets.
I may speak to.
[Steps aside.
Aub. What is't you tell me? In the same.
breath you bring my hopes to life and mur-
der them again.-Starv'd in the streets! I
thought she had an affluent fortune.
Enter COLIN.
Colin. The murrain light upon this Fish-
street-hill, wherever it may be: I would it had
Colin. In virtue, sir, nought else; and that
na' got its name for nought,') that I might will not pass current for a dinner. Zooks,
fairly small 2) it out, for I am clear bewal- and I mysall, by heaven's gude providence,
der'd.) Johnny Groat's house would as soon had na' stapt in upon the very nick of time,
be found as this same Bradgemore's. One my life upon't she had been lost.
cries, turn o'this honde, one o'that, and t'other Aub. Come to my arms then, whosoe'er
stares and grins forsooth because I hanna' got thou art, and wonder not, for thou hast sav'd
the modern gabble on my tongue, but speak my daughter.
the language in its auncient purity. Hoot! Colin. Daughter! Gadzooks, you make my
this mon seems of a batter sort, and perad- heart jump to my laps 1) for joy. Are you
venture would concede an answer. Speed miss Aubrey's father?
you, gentleman, I pray you whuch way leads
to Fishstreet-hill.
1) Nothing.
2) Smell. 3) Bewildered.
Aub. I am her father.
Colin. An if I'd found mine awn I could
1) To my lips.

SCENE 2.]
387
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
na' been more happy. Wall, wall, I hope Napth. Ay, ay, a charming stroke: war is
you'll merit your gude fortune; by my sola var coot thing; and then the plague; a bless-
you've got an angel of a child-But where ed circumstance, tank heaven; a blessed cir-
have you been buried aw the while? for we cumstance, coot seven per cent.
believ'd you dead.
Bridge. Let me see; altogether 'tis a thump-
Anb. You shall hear all my story, but this ing sum: it netted forty thousand: where's the
is no fit place to tell it in: satisfy me first if consciense, Napthali, that wouldn't strain a
my poor child is safe.
point for forty thousand pounds?
Colin. Fear nought, she's safe with maister
Mortimer: I laft her but this moment.
Aub. Who is Mr. Mortimer?
Colin. Why, maister Mortimer is one who
does a thousand noble acts without the credit
of one; his tongue wounds and his heart ma-
kes whole; he must be known and not de-
scrib'd: an you will bait awhile in yonder ta-
vern till I come from Bradgemore's, I'll ac-
company you to where your daughter is.
Napth Oh, 'tis all fair in the vay of trade;
you could not strike a jury out of Jonathan's
that wouldn't acquit you. Well, Mr. Bridge-
more, any thing more in my vay?
Bridge. Nothing at present.
Did you call
at Lloyd's?
Napth. Odso! well recollected! The Sea-
horse is arrived from Scanderoon, she that had
such high insurances upon her,
Bridge. What d'ye hear? What passengers
Aub. Agreed! I fear I've been mistaken in come in her? Is she at Stangate-creek?
this Bridgemore; three years ago I consign'd Napth. No, in the pool; she brought clean
to him a cargo of great value from Scander- bills of health from Leghorn,
oon; if he has robb'd me-but till I've seen Bridge. Go, go; you have given me an
my daughter, I'll suspend my inquiry. Step ague-fit; the name of Scanderoon sets all my
with me into yonder tavern, there we'll con- teeth a chattering. [Exit Napth.] Well, would
cert the means of bringing Bridgemore to an it had been possible to have kept my secret
interview at Mr. Mortimer's. Come, my good from that fellow-The Seahorse come at last!
benefactor, how fortunate was this meeting!-Why be it so.-What ails me; what pos-
I long to know to whom I owe this happi-sesses me? If she brings news of Aubrey's
[Exeunt, death, I'm a whole man; ay, and a warm one
ness.
SCENE II.-4 Counting-house belonging to too.-How now; who's there?
BRIDGEMORE.
Enter BRIDGEMORE and NAPTHALI.
Bridge. And so, friend Napthali, lord
berville has had another tumble.
Napth. A damn'd one.
Enter COLIN.
Colin. Cawdie Macleod, a ragged Highlan-
der, so please you, a wratched gaelly ¹) under
Ab-favour of your raverence, na' better.
Bridge. I'm glad on't; this will wring his
fine, high, pamper'd carcass to the quick.
Napth. Iaith, he flings and winces so, I
tremble to come near; he look as dark as In-
dia-stock upon a settling day.
Bridge. I recollect you now for one of my
lord Abberville's retinue-Well, you have some
inquiries to make about miss Aubrey.
Colin. Ecod, you are close upon the mark.
Bridge. I guest as much; but she is gone
from hence, and you may follow.
Colin. Out on thee, ragamuffin; an I were
Bridge. Ay, ay, the dice are little weapons, not bound to secrecy, I'd gee the sic a pill
but they make deep wounds: what between should lead that weam of thine the de'il a
those that win and us that lend, he bleeds at dance.
[Aside.
both arms. These are the bonds.
Bridge. No, master Colin, your Scotch po-
Napth. Take 'em: this is a memorandum licy will stand you in no stead this turn.
of the premium on five thousand, and this the
private contract for extraordinary interest.
[Gives several Papers.
Bridge. Good, good, friend Napthali! The
bonds give legal interest, and this doubles it.
There, there, lie by and breed. [Puts them
by] But hark'e-me! Hast brought the abstract
of the sale of the Neptune's cargo?
Napth. Aubrey's consignment you mean.
Bridge. The same; but mum! That's be-
tween you and me: close, close, my little
Napthali.
Colin. Then I'll forswear my country-
Well, you wull na' have my message then, I
mun gang bock to maister Mortimer, and tell
the Turkish trader you'll na' see him.
Bridge. Hold, hold! what trader do you
speak of?
Colin. Of one that's com'd a passenger from
Scanderoon, aboard the what d'ye call the
vessel-the Seahorse, I take it.
is
Bridge. What, who? It is not Aubrey.
Colin. Gude faith, I would it was-the mon
dead.
Napth. A broker and betray his principal! Bridge. Which man is dead; the passen-
That's not my vay; there is no senses in that. ger or Aubrey?
Here I have make out your account; 'tis var Colin. Hoot! can't you think 'tis Aubrey?
coot bargain I have make, considering dia- By your leave, truth, awhile; you will na'
mond is a drug.
take it much to heart, an I make use of fal-
sehood to detect itsall.
[Aside.
Bridge. Why this tells well; it mounts;
the raw silk was old gold; the carpeting and
cottons not amiss; and whuh! the rhubarb!
Napth. Ah, sir, but vat is that?-Look at
the coffee!
Bridge. I'll go to Mr. Mortimer's; I'll go
with all my heart. Give me your hand; I ask
your pardon heartily, my honest friend-and
so he's dead, you say-you're sure he is dead
Bridge. Politics account for that; while-pray, what distemper did he die of?
newspapers bear price, coffee will hold its
own. This rupture with the Russians was in
our favour here.
Colin. When a mon's in his grave, what
1) From the land of Gael; the language of the Highlan-
ders is called Erse, or Gaelic.

388
[ACT IV.
FASHIONAPLE LOVER.
matters whuch distemper laid him there. brey does not sign my pardon, I am disposed
Bridge. That's true, that's true enough. not only to condemn, but execute.
Pray you sit down; I'll just run up and tell Mert. Away then, and throw yourself upon
my wife and daughter-Zooks! suppose I the mercy of the court; it is the fate of bung-
brought them with me; will they meet a/wel-lers to be asking pardon,
come, think you?
Colin. Ay, sic a one as you don't look for,
take my word.
air.
Enter COLIN.
Colin. Bless you, gude maister Mortimer, 1
Bridge. I'm a new man; I walk upon the hanna' slept in your commission: yon fat fel-
[Exit hastily. low upon Fishstreet-hill is on his march with
Colin. Ecod, the project takes; I drew for bag and baggage.
the cock bird, and have taken the whole covey. Mort. What mean you? Does he bring
Enter NAPTHALL, hastily.
Napth. Odds my life, Mr. Bridgemore, I
forgot-Who's there?-that devil Scotchman,
Colin. Hold, hold! friend Napthali; you and
I munna part; you must keep pace wi' me
to maister Mortimer's.
his wife with him?
Colin. Troth does he, and his daughter too;
the plot is thick'ning you mun know apace,
and yon same buzzard canna' spy it out.
Mort. VVhat plot is thick'ning?
Colin. Zooks, mon, you shall behold as pretty
a discovery, come the time, as ever your eyes
look'd upon; but aw things in their course; I
mun gang home the whilst, but I'll be quickly
bock again, d'ye see.
Napth. To Mr. Mortimer's? Impossible:
why I must be at Bank, sir, I must be at Jo-
nathan's: I've forty bargains to settle. I shall
have half the Coffee-house on my back. VVould Mort. Do so, my friend; and hark'e, tell
you make me a lame ¹) duck? Hobby your lord I beg half an hour's conversation
Colin. Duck, or no duck, ecod, sir, you with him, when and where he pleases.
must travel.
[Drags him out.
Colin. I shall do that; but you mun know,
while I was on my way, I cross'd upon a
gentleman of no vulgar presence, and consi-
dering he has sojourned for a pretty many
years with none but such as we denominate
barbarians, as courteous in his manners as
your heart could wish.
Mort, Why that accounts for it. Well,
what of him?
Enter LUCINDA.
Luc. Hey-day! I never saw the like before;
I can't think what possesses my father; he's
intoxicated; quiet beside himself with this con-
firmation of Mr. Aubrey's death: for my part,
I derive no particular gratification from it; so
that Augusta had but one lover less, I care
not if she had forty fathers living: Tyrrel's Colin. With your leave, maister Mortimer,
the man of her heart, and in truth he is an he'll tell you his own errand: troth, he wull'd¹)
object worthy any woman's preference; If I me introduce him to you: he's without.
could draw him from her 'twould be full re-
taliation for lord Abberville-I'll go to Morti-
mer's; 'tis an untoward visit; but I'll go there.
Enter BRIDGEMORE.
Bridge. Come, bustle, daughter, bustle; get
your cloak on, the coach will be here imme-
diately but where's my Scotchman? I forgot
to ask the stranger's name. [Exit hastily.
Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE.
Mrs. B. Where have you hid yourself, my
dear? Come, are you ready? Your father's
frantic with impatience.
Luc, I follow you-Now, Aubrey, 'tis my
[Exeunt.
turn.
SCENE III-MORTIMER'S Library.
Mort. Admit him.
Colin. Gude faith, he has done that for
himsall; he's not habituated to our ceremo-
nies. Maister Mortimer, I pray heaven take
you to its holy keeping till I see you again.
Enter AUBREY.
[Exit.
Aub. Sir, your most humble servant. Can
you forgive the intrusion of a stranger?
Mort. A stranger, sir, is welcome: I cannot
always say as much to an acquaintance.
Aub. I plainly see your experience of man-
kind by the value you put upon them.
Mort. True, sir; I've visited the world from
arctic to ecliptic, as a surgeon does an hos-
pital, and find all men sick of some distem-
per: the impertinent part of mankind are so
Enter MORTIMER and TYRREL.
busy, the busy so impertinent, and both so
incurably addicted to lying, cheating, and be-
Mort. Never tell me, you've acted like a traying, that their case is desperate: no cor-
giddy hot young man; put a few hear-say rosive can cat deep enough to bottom the cor-
circumstances together, shook 'em in an empty ruption,
noddle, and so produced a compound of non-
sense and suspicion.
Aub. Well, sir, with such good store of
mental provision about you, you may stand
Tyr. I plainly see I've judg'd too hastily. out a siege against society; your books are
Mort. Judg'd! pooh, I would not give a companions you never can be tir'd of.
rush for such a judge: a magpie in a cage,
Mort. Why truly their company is more
that chatters out whore to every woman that tolerable than that of their authors would be;
goes by, will be as often right as you, and I can bear them on my shelves, though I
judge as wisely: never talk to me of judging should be sorry to see the impertinent pup-
others, till you've condemn'd yourself. pies who wrote them: however, sir, I can
Tyr. I do condemn myself; and if miss Au- quarrel with my books too, when they offend
3) A lame duck is one who does not full his engage-my virtue or my reason.-But I'm taking up
ments on Change
1) Willad (desired).

SCENE 3.]
389
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Enter TYRREL, hastily.
your time; the honest Scotchman, who an- 'honest man, I am best pleased with the con-
nounc'd you,
told me you had something of fusion of a rascal.
importance to communicate to me.
Aub. I have: I'm told I am your debtor,
and I came with a design to pay you down
such thanks as your benevolence well merits;
but I perceive already you are one, whom
great professions would annoy, whose prin-
ciple is virtue, and whose retribution rises
from within.
Mort. Pray, sir, no more of this; if you
have any thing to request, propose it: I'd ra-
ther much be told what I may do for you,
than reminded of what I may have done.
Tyr. Dear uncle, on my knees-what am I
doing?
Mort. You thought I was alone.
Tyr. I did.
Mort. And what had you to tell me in such
haste?
Tyr. I had a petition to prefer, on which
my happiness in life depends.
Aub. I beg I may retire: I interrupt you.
Mort. By no means: I desire you will not
Aub. I readily believe you, and according stir; let him make his request; if it is not fit
to your humour will address you: I own you for you to hear, it is not fit for me to grant.
may confer a benefit upon me: 'tis in your Speak out: nay, never hesitate.
power, Mr. Mortimer, to make me happiest Tyr. What can I ask of you but to con-
of all mankind.
firm my hopes, and make miss Aubrey mine?
Mort. Give me your hand; why now you Mort. Was ever the like heard? Pray whence
speak good sense; I like this well: let us do do you derive pretensions to miss Aubrey?
good, sir, and not talk about it: show me but Tell me in presence of this gentleman.
how I may give happiness to you, with in- Tyr. Not from my own deservings, I con-
nocence to myself, and I shall be the person fess; yet, if an ardent, firm, disinterested pas-
under obligation.
sion, sanctified by her consent, can recom-
mend me, I am not without some title.
Aub. This then it is; you have a young
person under your protection, a lady of the
name of Aubrey-
Mort. I have.
Aub. Resign her to my care.
Mort. Sir!
Aub. Put her into my hands: I am rich, sir,
I can support her.
Mort. Look you there now: this fellow you
shall know, sir, is my nephew; my sister's
son; a child of fortune.-Hark'e, with what
face do you talk of love, who are not worth
a groat?
Tyr. You have allow'd me, sir, to talk of
love; openly, beneath your eye, I have soli-
Mort. You're insolent, or grossly ignorant, cited miss Aubrey's consent and gain'd it; as
to think I would betray a trust, a sacred trust: for my poverty, in that I glory, for therein I
she is a ward of virtue; 'tis from want, 'tis resemble her whom I adore; and I should hope,
from oppression, I protect miss Aubrey-who though fortune has not favour'd us, we have
are you, that think to make a traitor of me? not lost our title to the rights of nature.
Aub. Your zeal does honour to you; yet Mort. Pooh! the rights of nature! While
if you persist in it, and spite of my protest you enjoy it's rights, how will
hold out, your constancy will be no virtue; vide against its wants?
it must take another name.
off
you both pro-
Tyr. Your bounty hitherto has let me feel
Mort. What other name, and why? Throw no wants; and should it be your pleasure to
your mystery, and tell me why.
Aub. Because-
Mort. Ay, let us hear your cause.
Aub. Because I am her father.
Mort. Do I live?
withdraw it, thanks to Providence, the world
is not so scantily provided but it can give to
honest industry a daily dinner.
Mort. Fine words! But I'll appeal to this
good gentleman; let him decide betwixt us.
Aub. Yes, in my heart, while I have life or Aub. In truth, young gentleman, your uncle
memory; that dear injur'd girl, whom you so has good reason on his side; and was I he,
honourably protect, is my daughter. The I never would consent to your alliance with
overflowings of a father's heart bless and re-miss Aubrey, till she brought a fortune large
ward you! You whom I know not, and that enough to keep you both.
poor Highlander, out of his small pittance, Tyr. These are your maxims I've no doubt;
have under Providence preserv'd my child; they only prove to me that you love money
whilst Bridgemore, whom I rais'd from penury,
and trusted with the earnings of my travel,
has abandoned and defrauded her.
Mort. O mother nature, thou'lt compel me
to forswear thee.
more than beauty, generosity, or honour.
Aub. But is your lady in possession of all
these? Let me be made acquainted with her,
and perhaps I may come over to your sen-
timents.
Aub. Ah, sir, you feel the villany of man Mort. Ay, Frank, go fetch your girl, and
in every vein; I am more practised, and be- let my friend here see her; I'm in earnest.
hold it only with a sigh: Colin and I have Upon my honour, nephew, till you've gain'd
laid a little plot to draw this Bridgemore hi-this gentleman's consent, you never can have
ther; he believes me dead, and thinks he is mine; so go your ways, and let us see if you
to meet a person at your house, who can re- have interest enough to bring her hither.
late particulars of my death; in which case Tyr. Oh! if my fate depends upon her
it is clear he means to sink a capital consign- looks, they must be iron hearts that can with-
ment I sent him about three years since, and stand 'em.
[Exit.
turn my daughter on the world.
Aub. The manly and disinterested passion
Mort. Well, let him come; next to the sa- of this youth, while it prepossesses me strongly
tisfaction I receive in the prosperity of an in his favour, gives an assurance of a virtu-

390
[ACT V.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
ous conduct in my child: indeed, sir, I am else! But look, she changes again-Help me
greatly taken with your nephew.
to lead her into the air.
Mort. Thank heaven, the boy as yet has
[Tyrrel and Aubrey lead her out.
never made me blush; and, if he holds his Mort. I believe a little air will not be much
course, he may take one half of my fortune amiss for any of us. Look at that girl; 'tis
now, and t'other at my death-But see, sir, thus mortality encounters happiness; 'tis thus
here your daughter comes.
the inhabitant of earth meets that of heaven,
with tears, with faintings, with surprise: let
Re-enter TYRREL, introducing MISS AUBREY. others call this the weakness of our nature;
Tyr. You are obeyed; you see the lady, to me it proves the unworthiness; for had
and you've nothing now to wonder at, but we merits to entitle us to happiness, the means
my presumption.
would not be wanting to enjoy it. [Exit.
Aub. To wonder at! I do behold a won-
der! 'Tis her mother's image! Gracious Pro-
vidence, this is too much!
Mort. You will alarm her; your disorder
is too visible.
Aub. I cannot speak to her; I pray you let
me hear her voice.
Aug. Why am I sent for? Is your uncle
angry? How have I offended?--
Aub. Hush, hush, she speaks; 'tis she her-
self, it is my long-lost wife restor'd and rais'd
again.
Mort. Pooh! what had I to do to meddle
with these matters?
Aug. Why does that gentleman regard me
so attentively? His eyes oppress me; ask him
if he knows me?
ACT V.
SCENE 1.-The Hall in LORD ABBERVILLE'S'
House.
Enter LORD ABBERVILLE, followed by COLIN.
Lord A. 'Sdeath, sir, am I or you the mas-
ter of this house? who made you judge what
company is fit for me to keep? The gentlemen
you excluded came by my special invitation
and appointment.
Colin. Gentlemen!
Lord A. Ay, gentlemen. Were they not
such?
Colin. Under favour, I took 'em to be shar-
pers; I know your lordship always loses, and
I've notic'd that they always win.
Tyr. Sir, if you know the lady, if you've Lord A. Impertinence! I had debts of ho-
any tidings to communicate that touch her nour to adjust with every one of them.
happiness, oh! that I could inspire you with Colin. Hang 'em, base vermin, pay them
my feelings!
debts; pay your poor tradesmen; those are
Aub. I knew your father, and am a wit-debts of honour.
[Half aside.
ness to the hard necessity which tore him Lord A. What is't you mutter? It was you
from an infant child, and held him eighteen too, I suppose, that drove away my Jew, that
tedious years in exile from his native land. came with money to discharge those debts.
Aug. What do I hear? You was my father's
friend? The prayer and intercession of an
orphan draw heaven's righteous benediction
down upon you!
Aub. Prepare yourself, be constant. I have
news to tell you of your father.
Mort. I can't stand this: I wish I was any
where else.
Colin. That's true enow, gude faith; I pro-
mised him a beating, and I kept my word.
Lord A. Rascal, thou'rt born to be my
plague.
Colin. Rascal! Your father never used that
word.
Lord A. On your life, name not him: my
heart is torn with vultures, and you feed
Tyr. Courage, my dear Augusta; my life them: shall I keep a servant in my house to
upon it, there is happiness in store for thee. drive away my guests, to curb my pleasures,
Aug. Go on, go on.
my pursuits, and be a spy upon my very
Aub. You are in an error; you are not an thoughts; to set that cynic Mortimer upon
orphan; you have a father, whom, through me, and expose me in the moments of my
toil and peril, through sickness and through weakness to that snarling humourist? I want
sorrow, heaven has graciously preserved, and no monitors to reproach me, my own thoughts
blest at length his unremitting labours with can do that.
abundance.
[Exit.
Colin. Well, well! 'tis vary well! A rascal!
Tyr. Did I not tell you this? Bear up. Let it pass-Zooks, I'm the first Macleod that
Aub. Yes, virtuous Augusta, all your suffer-ever heard that word and kept my dirk with-
ings terminate this moment; you may now in my girdle Let it pass-I've seen the
give way to love and happiness; you have a world, serv'd a spendthrift, heard myself call-
father living who approves your passion, who ed rascal, and I'll now jog bock again across
will crown it with a liberal fortune, who now the Tweed, and lay my bones amongst my
looks upon you, speaks to you, embraces you. kindred in the Isle of Skey; they're all that
[Embraces her. will be left of me by then I reach the place.
Mort. There; there; I'm glad 'tis over. Joy
befall you both!
Enter LA JEUNESSE.
Tyr. See how her colour flies-She'll faint. La Jeu. Ah! dere he stand, le pauvre Co-
Aub. What have I done? Dear innocent, lin in disgrace! Ha! ha! ha! quel spectacle!
look up.
Ma foi, I must have one little vord wid him
Aug. Oh, yes, to heaven with gratitude for at parting-Monsieur le Financier, courage;
these divine vouchsafements-I have a father I am inform my lord have sign your lettre
then at last-Pardon my tears; I'm little us'd de cachet: vat of dat? the air of Scotland
to happiness, and have not learn'd to bear it. will be for your healt; England is not a
Tyr. May all your days to come be nothing country for les beaux esprits; de pure air of

SCENE 2.]
391
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Colin. Take your jest, master
at my countrymen, an welcome;
jest they made of you last war.
de Highlands will give you de grand ap- Mort. Faith, sir, indifferent well he hasly;
petit for de bonny clabber ¹).
brought a considerable parcel of sun-dried
Frenchman, bricks from the ruins of ancient Babylon; a
the de'il a heavy collection of ores from the mines of
[Exit. Siberia, and a pretty large cargo of common
La Jeu. Yes, you are all adroit enough at salt from the banks of the Caspian.
war, but none of you know how to be at Dr. D. Inestimable!
peace.
[Exit.
SCENE II. An Apartment in MORTIMER'S
House.
Mort. Oh, sir, mere ballast.
Dr. D. Ballast indeed; and what discoveries
does he draw from all these?
Mort. Why, he has discovered that the
MORTIMER, AUBREY, and NAPTHALI, discovered. worth the working, and the salt not good for
bricks are not fit for building, the mines not
Mort. And these are all the money dealings perserving: in short, doctor, he has no taste
you have had with lord Abberville?
for these trifles; he has made the human heart
Napth. That is the amount of his debt; the his study; he loves his own species, and does
bonds and contracts are in Bridgemore's hands. not care if the whole race of butterflies was
Mort. You see your money has not slept extinct.
in Bridgemore's keeping; your consignment, Dr. D. Yes, putterflies-'tis in my mind,
Mr. Aubrey, is put to pretty good interest. d'ye see, what you have said about my put-
[Mortimer looks over his Papers. terflies: 'tis upon my memory; but no matter
Napth. Aubrey! Is your name Aubrey, may-your studies, Mr. Mortimer, and mine, are
wide asunder.-But go on-reform the world,
you'll find it a tough task; I am content to
I ask?
Aub. It is.
Napth. Have you had any dealings with take it as I find it.
Mr. Bridgemore?
Aub. To my cost.
Napth. Did
from Scanderoon?
Aub. I am the person who was guilty of racter worth ten on't.
that folly.
Mort. While the sun shines, you'll carry a
candle; how will that light them, who travel
you consign him merchandise in the night? Away with such philosophers,
here comes an honest man, and that's a cha-
Napth. Bridgemore, I believe, thought you
was dead.
Enter COLIN.
So, Colin, what's the news with you? If I'm
Aub. I take for granted he would gladly to augur from your countenance, something
have me so-But do you know any thing of goes wrong at your house.
that consignment?
Colin. Troth, sir, no mighty matter; only
Napth. Heh! Do I know of it? I had bet- laird Abberville has turn'd away a troublesome
ter make a friend of him; 'tis up withBridge-fellow, who bore your honour grete gude will.
more, fait; there is no senses in serving
him any longer. [Aside] Why you shall
know, sir, I was Bridgemore's broker for your
merchandise: here is the abstract of the net
proceeds.
[Gives a Paper to Aubrey, who peruses
it some time.
Mort. That's lucky, as I live; I see an ho-
nest man never can want weapons to defeat a
knave-And pray, sir, what might be your
profit on this sale; double commission for a
breach of trust; that is the rule of the trade,
I think.
Napth. I work as others; I do nothing be-
low market price.
Mort. VVhat is't you tell me? Is my lord
determined upon ruin, that he puts away the
only honest man belonging to him?
Dr. D. By this coot light, and that is well
remember'd; look'e, I've got your wages:
come, hold out your hand.
Colin. Axcuse me, I'll ha' none on't.
Dr. D. No wages? Why 'tis all coot mo-
ney; 'tis in full. What, man, think better
on't: you'll want it when you get to Scotland
ten to one else.
Colin. Like enow, but by my sol, I'll touch
n'a siller; he has geen a title to me, which I
hanna' merited, heaven knows, nor ever shall.
Mort. What title has be given you?
Mort. You're right, sir; 'twould be starving Colin. Saving your presence, it ha pleas'd
many an honest family, if you made roguery my laird to say, I am a rascal; but I'll na' wear
too cheap-But get you gone together to my a rascal's wages in a Scottish pouch: de'il
library; I observe a person coming who will o' my soul, I'd sooner eat my stroud¹) for famine.
interrupt you. Hark'e, Mr. Aubrey, have Mort. I think thou wouldst, but wait a-
an eye to our Jew.
while with patience; this rash young man's af-
Aub. Trust him to me: I'm pretty well ac-fairs press to a crisis; I have yet one effort
custom'd to their dealings. [Exitwith Napthali. more to make, which, if it fails, I shall take
Enter DOCTOR DRUID.
leave of him as well as you.
Dr. D. Save you, sir, save you; is it true,
I pray you, that a learned gentleman, a tra-
veller but just arrived, is now with you?
Mort. There is a person under that descrip-
tion in my house.
Enter JARVIS.
Jar. Lord Abberville, sir, desires to speak
with you.
Mort. That's well. Colin, go you with ho-
Dr. D. May he be seen, good now? May nest Jarvis. Doctor, for once let us unite our
he be talk'd with? What has he brought studies in this cause; come you with me; if
home? Is he well stor'd with oriental cu- my advice can rescue your unhappy pupil
riosities?
from a course of guilty occupations, your
1) A mixture of oatmeal and soup or water.
1) Shoe.

392
[ACT V.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
philosophy may furnish harmless ones to fill parties should at least be suffer'd to consult
their place: make haste, make haste; here each other's inclinations.
come the Bridgemores.
[Exeunt. Mort. By all means; let 'em speak for
themselves: 'tis their own cause, and they
Enter Servant, introducing BRIDGEMORE, will plead it best: hark'e, come in: sir, these
his Wife, and Daughter.
are the parties.
Serv. Please to walk in here; my master
will wait upon you immediately,
Bridge. Nobody here!-Hark'e friend, I ex-
pected to meet a stranger; a gentleman just
landed from Scanderoon. Know you of such
a one?
Serv. He is now in the house.
Enter TYRREL and MISS AUBREY.
Luc. Ah!
Mort. What ails you? have you trod upon
a thorn?
Mrs. B. Astonishing assurance! Augusta here?
Mort. Yes: Francis Tyrrel and Augusta
Luc. And Mr. Tyrrel, sir, is he at home? Aubrey. Do the names offend you? Look at
Serv. He is; they both will wait upon you the parties: are they not well match'd? Exa-
presently.
[Exit. mine them, they'll tell you they're agreed.
Bridge. That's well, that's well; as for old Who shall forbid their union?
surly boots we could well spare his company;
'tis a strange dogged fellow, and execrated by and the lady are agreed, that's enough: I sup-
all mankind.
pose it is not necessary for us be present at
Luc. Who cares about it? If Mr. Tyrrel
Mrs. B. Thank heaven, he is a man one the ceremony.
seldom meets; I little thought of ever setting
foot in his house: I hope the savage won't
grow ceremonious and return the visit.
Luc. Unless he brings his nephew in his
hand.
Enter MORTIMER.
Bridge. Ay, sir, I pray you, where's the
occasion for us to be call'd in, because your
nephew chooses to take up with an unworthy
girl, that I once harbour'd upon charity?
Tyr. Hold your audacious tongue: let con-
science keep you silent.
Aug. Hush, hush! you frighten me: pray
Mort. Ladies, you do me honour. Mr. be compos'd; and let me own that no injustice,
Bridgemore, you come here upon a melan- no severity, can wholly cancel what I owe
choly errand-
to Mr. Bridgemore for his past protection,
and that share of education he allow'd me;
but when he puts this to the account of charity,
he takes a virtue foreign to his heart, and
only aggravates the shame that's falling on him.
Mrs. B. Is the man thunderstruck; why
don't you answer?
Bridge. True, sir, but death you know is
common to all men; I look'd to meet a gen-
tleman here-this is all lost time.
Mort. True: therefore, before he comes,
let us fill it up with something more material:
I have a business to propose to you, which
I consider as my own. You must know, sir,
I've a nephew-
Bridge. Mr. Tyrrel, I suppose?
Mort. The same.
Mr. B. Mind that, Lucy, he is opening his
commission.
Luc. Law, ma'am, you put me into such a
flutter-
Mort. There is a certain lady, Mr. Bridge-
more, whom, on this occasion, you must
father.
Bridge. How tedious he is! Couldn't he
as well have nain'd my daughter? [Aside]-
Well, sir, what are your expectations from
that lady?
Mort. Nay, nothing hut what you can readi-
ly supply: I know no good thing she stands
in want of, but a fortune.
Bridge. Well, and who doubts but on a
proper occasion I shall give her one? Ay,
and a tolerable fortune too, Mr. Mortimer,
as times go.
Mort. Charity keeps him silent.
Luc. Come, let's be gone: her words have
daggers in 'em and her looks have poison.
Aug. Before you go, miss Bridgemore, suf-
fer me to ask, when you related lord Abber-
ville's adventure to Mr. Tyrrel, why you sup-
press'd the evidence of your own maid, who
conducted him into my chamber?
Luc. Miss Aubrey, if it ever is your fate
to have a rival, you will find an answer to
that question. [Exit with Mrs. Bridgemore.
Mort. Hold; you and I, sir, must not part.
[To Bridgemore, as he is going.
Bridge. Well, sir, your pleasure?
Aug. I suffer for him; this is a scene I
wish not to be present at.
[Exit.
Tyr. Well, Mr. Bridgemore, you that har-
bour'd my Augusta upon charity, I shall leave
my uncle to discharge my obligations to you
on that score, together with his own. [Exit.
Mort. Well, sir, we're now alone; and if
it needs must be that one of us shall come
Mort. The fortune you was to have given to shame, 'tis well we are so. It is thought I
my ward, lord Abberville, will just suffice: I am a hard unfeeling man; let it be so: you
think the sum was forty thousand pounds. shall have justice notwithstanding; innocence
Bridge. Why you speak out at once. requires no more. You are accus'd; defend
Mort. That's ever been my custom; I abo-yourself.
minate long, sleepy processes; life don't allow
of 'em.
Bridge. Accus'd of what; and who is my
accuser?
Bridge. But I hear nothing on your part; Mort. A man; and you shall face him like
Mr. Tyrrel, as I take it, is wholly dependant a man. Who waits?
on your bounty-besides, affairs, as I con-
ceive, are yet scarce ripe.
Enter Servant.
Luc. Indeed, papa, you're very much mistaken. Desire the stranger to come hither. [Exit
Mrs. B. Why really, Mr. Mortimer, the Servant] Fear nothing; we're enough to try

SCENE 2.]
393
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
this question; where the human heart is pre- Mort. Conferring with lord Abberville.
sent, and the appeal is made to heaven, no Aug. Lord Abberville! You frighten me.
jury need be summoned. Here is a stranger Mort. Fear nothing; you will find him a
has the confidence to say, that your preten- new man; a deep incision has let out the dis-
sions to charity are false: nay, he arraigns order; and I hope a healthy regimen in time
your honesty; a charge injurious to any man, will heal the wound; in short I can't be idle;
but mortal to a trader, and levell'd at the and now Frank is off my hands, I've once
vital root of his profession.
more undertaken to set this rickety babe of
Bridge. Ay, 'tis the Turkey merchant I quality upon his legs-Oh, here he comes;
suppose; let him come in; I know upon what why this is as it should be; now you look
ground I stand, and am afraid of no man like friends.
living.
Mort. We shall try that. [Aside] Do
know this gentleman?
Enter AUBREY.
Bridge. [Starting] Aubrey!
Aub. Thou wretch.
Bridge. He lives!
Aub. To thy confusion
you
Enter LORD ABBERVILEE and TYRREL.
Lord A. May we be ever so! O, Morti-
mer, I blush to look upon that lady; your
reproofs I bore with some composure; but
methinks was she to chide me, I should sink
with shame.
Aug. You've nothing, my lord Abberville,
Rais'd by the to apprehend from me: I should be loath to
bounty of my family, is this your gratitude? give an interruption to your happiness in the
When in the bitterness of my distress I put height of my own.
an infant daughter in your hands, the last Aub. Give me thy hand, Augusta- In the
weak scion of a noble stock, was it to rob hope that I was labouring for thy sake, and
me you received her; to plunder and defraud in thy person that I should restore the pro-
an helpless orphan, as you thought her, and strate fortunes of an ancient house, I have
rise upon the ruins of your benefactor's fortune? toiled on through eighteen years of wearisome
Bridge. Oh! I am trepan'd! How shall I adventure: crown'd with succes, I now at
look my wife and daughter in the face! [Aside. length return, and find my daughter all my
Aub. Where have you lodg'd the money I fondest hope could represent; but past expe-
deposited with you at parting? I find my rience makes me provident: I would secure
daughter destitute: what have you done with my treasure: I would bestow it now in faith-
the remittances I sent from time to time? ful hands-What say you, sir, will you ac-
But, above all, where is the produce of the cept the charge?
[To Tyrrel.
Neptune's cargo? Villain, look here, I have Tyr. Yes, and will bear it ever in my sight,
the proofs; this is the abstract of the sale; if watch over it with unremitting love, and
you dispute it, I am here provided with a guard it with my life.
witness, your Jew broker, ready at hand to
attest is to your face.
Bridge. Expose me not; I will refund to
the last farthing: I dispute nothing; call him
not in.
Mort. There's no occasion for witnesses
when a man pleads guilty.
Enter MISS AUBREY, and throws herself on
her Knees to her Father.
Aug. Dear sir, upon my knees, I do be-
seech you mitigate your severity; it is my
first petition; he's detected, let his conscience
add the rest.
Aub. What says my child, my dear Au-
gusta? But I read her looks-Blest be you
both!
Mort. Amen, say I. Live an example to
the age; and when I read the list of marria-
ges, as I do that of burials, with a sigh, let
me have this to say, that there was one exam-
ple of felicity.
Lord A. O Frank, 'tis hard to speak the
word, but you deserve her; yours is the road
to happiness: I have been lost in error, but I
shall trace your steps, and press to overtake you.
Mort. Why that's well said; there spoke
your father from within you: now be gone;
Aub. Rise, my beloved child, it shall be so. fly to the altars of your country lares; visit
There, sir, your pardon be your punishment: that nurse of contemplation, solitude; and
it was my money only you attempted, my while you range your groves, that shook at
choicest treasure you have left untouch'd: now every rattle of the dice, ask of your reason,
go and profit by this meeting: I will not ex- why you was a gamester.
pose you: learn of your fraternity a more
Lord A. I've been a madman; I have lost
honourable practice; and let integrity for ever an humble faithful friend, whose services would
remain the inseparable characteristic of an be invaluable.
English merchant.
Mort. Why ay, your Highlander, your
Mort. Stay; I've another point to settle with poor Macleod; our plan must stop without
you; you're a creditor of lord Abberville's: I his help; I'm but a projector, he must execute
find you've put miss Aubrey's money to ex--but there likewise I can serve you.
traordinary interest: Jarvis, show this gentle- Lord A. O Mortimer, how much have I
man into my library, you'll find a lawyer mistaken thee!
there will settle your accounts.
Mort. Come, come, I have my faults; I'm
Bridge. I think you've pretty well done an untoward fellow and stand as much in
that already--A fine visit truly I have made need of a reform as any of you all.
on't; and a fine reception I shall meet at
home.
[Exit. Enter DOCTOR DRUID hastily, followed by
Aub. So! This uneasy business past, let us
now turn to happiness: where is your nephew?
COLIN.
D. D. Tutor me truly-talk to me! Pray
50

394
[ACT V.
FASHIONABLE LOVER.
Aub. I father all your obligations; 'twas
not you but me his bounty sav'd.
gentlemens, bear witness: is master Colins shall I find words to thank him as I ought?
here a proper teacher of the dialects, d'ye see,
and pronunciations of the English tongue?
Colin. Why not? Is there not Duncan
Ross of Aberdeen that lactures twice a week
on oratory at the Seven Dials? And does not
Sawney Ferguson, a cousin of mine awn, ad-
minister the English language in its utmost
elegance at Amsterdam?
Dr. D. Bear witness; that is all I say, bear
witness.
offer.
Lord A. Hold, sir; in point of obligation,
I stand first. By how much there is more
disgrace in doing than in suffering a violence,
by so much I am more his debtor than you all.
Colin. Ecod, and that is true enow; heaven
sends misfortune, but the de'il sends mischief.
Dr. D. Well, master Colins, all is past and
over; you have got your place again, and all
Mort. We do: there is not one amongst is well. Coot now, let me admonish you for
us, doctor, but can witness to some noble the future to be quiet and hear reason; mo-
act of Colin's; and we would not wound his derate your choler, and your passions, and
harmless vanity, for any bribe that you can your partialties: it is not for a clown like
you to prattle and dispute with me; in fait
Lord A. Colin, I've done you wrong; but you should know better.
I was not myself; be you no worse a servant Mort. Come, come, 'tis you that should
than you have been, and you shall find hence- know better; in this poor Highlander, the
forward I will be a better master.
force of prejudice has some plea, because he
Colin. I'm satisfied; an you'll neglect your-is a clown; but you, a citizen that should be
sall na' more than I shall do, things will gang of the world, whose heart, philosophy, and
well enow.
travel, might have open'd, should know better
Tyr. I must apologize to Colin too: like than to join the cry with those, whose charity,
my lord Abberville, I was not myself when I like the limitation of a brief, stops short at
rebuff'd you on the business of miss Aubrey's Berwick, and never circulates beyond the
letter.
Tweed: by heaven, I'd rather weed out one
Colin. Say no more, maister Tyrrel; 'tis such unmanly prejudice from the hearts of
not for a mon to resent the pertness of a my countrymen, than add another Indies to
child, or the petulance of a lover.
their Empire.
Aug. But what shall I say to him? Where
THE WEST INDIAN,
Comedy by Richard Cumberland. Acted at Drury Lane 1771. This comedy may be considered as one of the best
that the present times have produced. The frequency of its representation renders it sufficiently known; and it was
originally performed with very great and deserved success, "The character of Major O'Flaherty (says a writer in
The Gentleman's Magazine) is not a fictitious one, but copied from the original in the person of Cot. O'B-ne, who
distinguished himself during many years service in the Austrian army, and is now retired upon a pension of about
200 L. per annum, with a brevet de colonel. The last time I saw him was at the court of Bruxelles, in the year 1774,
where he then resided, and was much respected both by the noblesse and the military, who paid him all the honours
due to so brave and honest a veteran; a man whose courage had stood the test of every trial; whose intrepidity was
beyond example in dangerous encounters. Without the least effeminacy, he was sometimes rather too blunt and un-
couth; which, however, so far from giving offence, added new lustre to his actions: disdaining every symptom of dupli-
city, he was often too open and sincere. These qualities, joined to his gallant bravery, were always ready to vindi-
cate any affront offered either to himself or his friends. Respecting the first, he generously condescended to ex-
postulate before a challenge: in the other case, he stood forward the arbiter of disputes, the mediator in quarrels, and,
if the offending party obstinately refused to submit to his decisions, he had a sure way to-bring him to reason; he
immediately espoused the cause of the injured or insulted, and made himself a second where he could not be admitted
as principal. In the numberless engagements which he had of this sort, he was never known to have embarked with
rashness, or in a wrong cause. His idea of military virtue, and the point of honour, was so great, that he would not
suffer the least reflection to be cast on either; notwithstanding, he was a cheerful companion, a solid friend, and of a
generous spirit; but an implacable enemy to every species of meanness, which he always either corrected, or exposed
to the severest ridicule. In a few words, he was the advocate of the distressed, and the chastiser of the insolent.
The coachman of the Flemish baron had designedly, and contrary to the etiquette of rank, drove against and damaged
the carriage of the Duke of St. Alban's. This coming to the ears of the colonel, he insisted that the Duke should
send a message to the baron, demanding an apology for his servants conduct; but the latter not complying, he accom-
panied the Duke to the baron's country-seat, requiring satisfaction for the indignity done to one of his grace's high
rank; giving him to understand, that he was come as champion for the duke; upon which the intimidated baron sub-
missively asked pardon. Being formerly an officer of Pandours in the Hungarian army, he was sent to Vienna, charged
with dispatches from the general, containing the velation of some important advantages. The colonel, at that time
only a private officer, unknown at court, and little acquainted with the place, or the usual ceremonies belonging to it,
was impatient to be admitted to the Queen; but, wanting the proper form of introduction, he remained some time
unnoticed in the antechambers; till at length the Emperor accidentally passing, and attracted by his manly figure and
particular dress, very graciously inquired his business. Our honest Hibernian, not knowing the person of the Emperor,
but won by his pleasing manner of address, complained of the inattention he had received, more especially as he pos-
sessed consequential matter in his dispatches, which he declared he would deliver to his royal mistress only. The
Emperor, who till then had been occupied in admiring his martial appearance, and ignorant simplicity of conrt rules,
now made himself known: when O'B-ne, somewhat confused at this unexpected declaration, immediately inclined with
respect at the Imperial presence, and presented the packet. The emperor, reading the letter, with the other hand con-
ducted him to the Queen, where he was favourably received, and both seemed much pleased at the firmness and inte-
grity of his behaviour; which, joined to other circumstances tending to his reputation, they rewarded by advancing him
to the rank of major, wherein he distinguished himself still more by his courage and strict regard to discipline. Many
other laudable anecdotes might here be recorded of him; these will suffice to give a sketch of his character. The
author of the play has only drawn the outlines of the picture; the colouring is too faint, and not equal to the merit
of the original. The Austrian and French annals can bring forward more than one example in natives of our sister-
kingdom, who have risen by their valour and abilities to a superiority of rank in those armies, whose names are too

[ACT 1. SCENE 1.]
395
THE WEST INDIAN.
sufficiently known to require a particular specification in this place. It is much to be lamented, that men of such
acknowledged merit should be forced into a foreign service through a point of conscience, and excluded from serving
at home by the present tenour of our laws. Several of this description, whom I have conversed with in my travels,
frankly confessed how pleasing it would be to them to join their legal standard, provided no restraints were laid on
their religious principles."
STOCKWELL.
BELCOUR.
MAJOR O'FLAHERTY.
CAPTAIN DUDLEY.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
CHARLES DUDLEY,
VARLAND.
STUKELY.
FULMER.
ACT I.
SERVANTS.
SAILORS.
LADY RUSPORT,
CHARLOTTE RUSPORT.
SCENE.-London.
LOUISA DUDLEY.
MRS. FULMER.
LUCY.
HOUSEKEEPER.
Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after
SCENE I-A Merchant's Counting-house.
our marriage, old Belcour set out for England;
In an inner Room, set off by glass Doors, with great secrecy, delivered of this son. Fruit-
Jand, during his abode here, my wife was,
are discovered several Clerks, employed ful in expedients to disguise her situation
at their Desks. A Writing Table in the without parting from her infant, she contrived
front Room. STOCKWELL is discovered
to have it laid and received at her door as a
reading a Letter; STUKELY comes gently foundling. After some time her father returned,
out of the back Room, and observes him having left me here; in one of those favourable
some Time before he speaks.
moments that decide the fortunes of prosperous
Stuke. He seems disordered: something in men, this child was introduced; from that
that letter; and, I'm afraid, of an unpleasant instant he treated him as his own, gave him
sort. He has many ventures of great account his name, and brought him up in his family.
at sea; a ship richly freighted for Barcelona; Old Belcour is dead, and has bequeathed his
another for Lisbon; and others expected from whole estate to him we are speaking of.
Cadiz, of still greater value. Besides these, I Stuke. Now then you are no longer bound
know he has many deep concerns in foreign to secresy.
bottoms, and underwritings to a vast amount. Stock. True: but before I publicly reveal
I'll accost him-Sir-Mr. Stockwell!
myself, I could wish to make some experiment
Stock. Stukely!-Well, have you shipped of my son's disposition: this can only be done
the cloths?
by letting his spirit take its course without
Stuke. I have, sir; here's the bill of lading, restraint; by these means, I think I shall dis-
and copy of the invoice; the assortments are cover much more of his real character under
all compared: Mr. Traffic will give you the the title of his merchant, than I should under
policy upon 'Change.
that of his father.
Stock. 'Tis very well-lay these papers by;
and no more business for awhile. Shut the
door, Stukely; I have had long proof of your
friendship and fidelity to me; a matter of most
intimate concern lies on my mind, and 'twill
be a sensible relief to unbosom myself to you;
I have just now been informed of the arrival
of the young West Indian, I have so long
been expecting-you know whom I mean?
Stuke. Yes, sir; Mr. Belcour, the young
gentleman, who inherited old Belcour's great
estate in Jamaica.
Stock. Hush! not so loud; come a little
nearer this way. This Belcour is now in
London; part of his baggage is already ar-
rived, and I expect him every minute. Is it
to be wondered at, if his is coming throws me
into some agitation, when I tell you, Stukely,
he is my son?
Stuke. Your son!
Enter a Sailor, ushering in several
Black Servants, carrying Portman-
teaus, Trunks, etc.
Sail. 'Save you honour! is your name Stock-
well, pray?
Stock. It is.
Sail. Part of my master Belcour's baggage,
an't please you: there's another cargo not far
a-stern 1) of us; and the coxswain has got
charge of the dumb creatures.
Stock. Pr'ythee, friend, what dumb creatures
do you speak of; has Mr. Belcour brought
over a collection of wild beasts?
Sail, No, lord love him; no, not he; let me
see; there's two green monkeys, a pair of grey
parrots, a Jamaica sow and pigs, and a Man-
grove dog; that's all.
Stock. Is that all?
Sail. Yes, your honour: Yes, that's all; bless
Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life, his heart, a' might have brought over the whole
I accompanied his grandfather to Jamaica as island if he would; a' didn't leave a dry eye
his clerk; he had an only daughter, some-in it.
what older than myself; the mother of this Stock. Indeed! Stukely, show them where to
gentleman: it was my chance (call it good or bestow their baggage. Follow that gentleman.
ill) to engage her affections; and, as the infe- Sail. Come, bear a hand, my lads, bear a
riority of my condition made it hopeless to hand. [Exit, with Stukely and Servants.
expect her father's consent, her fondness pro- Stock If the principal tallies with his pur-
vided an expedient, and we were privately veyors, he must be a singular spectacle in this
married; the issue of that concealed engage-place: he has a friend, however, in this sea-
ment is, as I have told you, this Belcour. faring fellow; 'tis no bad prognostie of a man's
Stuke. That event surely discovered your
connexion.
1) Behind,

396
[ACT I.
THE WEST INDIAN.
word.
heart, when his shipmates give him a good Bel. Nor did we: courier like: we came
[Exit. posting to your shores, upon the pinions of
the swiftest gales that ever blew; 'tis upon
English ground all my difficulties have arisen;
'tis the passage from the river side I com-
plain of.
SCENE II.-A Drawing-room.
Enter Housekeeper and Servant.
Housek. Why, what a fuss does our good
master put himself in about this West Indian! Stock. Ay, indeed! What obstructions can
see what a bill of fare I've been forced to draw you have met between this and the river side?
out; seven and nine, 1) I'll assure you, and Bel. Innumerable! Your town is as full of
only a family dinner, as he calls it: why, if defiles as the island of Corsica, and I believe
my lord mayor was expected, there couldn't they are as obstinately defended; so much
be a greater to-do about him.
hurry, bustle, and confusion, on your quays:
Sero. I wish to my heart you had but seen so many sugar casks, porter butts, and com-
the loads of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus, mon council men, in your streets, that unless
he has sent hither. An ambassador's baggage, a man marched with artillery in his front, 'tis
with all the smuggled goods of his family, more than the labour of Hercules can effect,
does not exceed it.
to make any tolerable way through your town,
Stock. I am sorry you have been so in-
commoded.
Housek. A fine pickle he'll put the house
into: had he been master's own son, and a
Christian Englishman, there could not be more
rout than there is about this Creolian, as they
call them.
Bel. Why, 'faith 'twas all my own fault;
accustomed to a land of slaves, and out of
patience with the whole tribe of custom-house
Serv. No matter for that; he's very rich, extortioners, boatmen, tidewaiters and water-
and that's sufficient. They say, he has rum bailiffs, that beset me on all sides, worse than
and sugar enough belonging to him, to make a swarm of musquitoes, I proceeded a little
all the water in the Thames into punch. But too roughly to brush them away with my
I see my master's coming. [Exit Housekeeper. rattan; the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon,
Enter STOCKWELL,
Stock. Where is Mr. Belcour? Who brought
this note from him?
Sero. A waiter from the London Tavern,
sir; he says, the young gentleman is just dress-
ed, and will be with you directly,
Stock. Show him in when he arrives.
and beginning to rebel, the mob chose dif-
ferent sides, and a furious scuffle ensued; in
the course of which, my person and apparel
suffered so much, that I was obliged to step
into the first tavern to refit, before I could
make my approaches in any decent trim.
Stock. All without is as I wish; dear nature,
add the rest, I am happy. [Aside] Well, Mr.
Serv. I shall, sir. I'll have a peep at him Belcour, 'tis a rough sample you have had of
first, however; I've a great mind to see this my countrymen's spirit; but, I trust, you'll
outlandish spark. The sailor fellow says, he'll not think the worse of them for it.
make rare doings amongst us.
Aside. Bel. Not at all, not at all; I like them the
Stock. You need not wait; leave me. [Exit better. Was I only a visitor, I might, perhaps,
Servant] Let me see.
[Reads. wish them a little more tractable; but, as a
Sir,-1 write to you under the hands of fellow subject, and a sharer in their freedom,
the hairdresser; as soon as I have made I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects
myself decent, and slipped on some fresh of it in every bone of my skin.
clothes, I will have the honour of paying Stock. That's well; 'I like that well. How
you my devoirs. Yours,
BELCOUR. gladly I could fall upon his neck, and own
He writes at his ease; for he's unconscious to myself his father!
[Aside.
whom his letter is addressed; but what a pal- Bel. Well, Mr. Stockwell, for the first time
pitation does it throw my heart into; a father's in my life, here am I in England; at the
heart! All the reports I ever received give me fountain head of pleasure, in the land of beauty,
favourable impressions of his character, wild, of arts, and elegancies. My happy stars have
perhaps, as the manner of his country is, but, given me a good estate, and the conspiring
I trust, not frantic or unprincipled.
Enter Servant.
winds have blown me hither to spend it.
Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should
hope; to treat it, Mr. Belcour, not as a vassal,
Serv. Sir, the foreign gentleman is come. over whom you have a wanton and a despotic
[Exit. power; but as a subject, which you are bound
to govern, with a temperate and restrained
authority,
Enter BELCOUR.
Stock. Mr. Belcour, I am rejoiced to see Bel. True, sir, most truly said; mine's a
you; you are welcome to England!
commission, not a right; I am the offspring of
Bel. I thank you heartily, good Mr. Stock-distress, and every child of sorrow is my
well; you and I have long conversed at a brother; while I have hands to hold, there-
distance; now we are met; and the pleasure fore, I will hold them open to mankind; but,
this meeting gives me, amply compensates for sir, my passions are my masters; they take
the perils I have run through in accomplish-me where they will; and oftentimes they leave
ing it.
to reason and to virtue nothing but my wishes
and my sighs.
Stock, What perils, Mr. Belcour? I could
not have thought you would have made a bad
passage at this time o'year.
1) A dinner of two courses, one consisting of seven the
other of nine dishes,
Stock. Come, come, the man who can ac-
cuse, corrects himself.
Bel. Ah! that's an office I am weary of;
I wish a friend would take it up; I would to

SCENE 3.]
397
THE WEST INDIAN.
heaven you had leisure for the employ; but, himself, nor ever allowed it in his children.
did you drive a trade to the four corners of Miss R. Ay; those were happy times, indeed.
the world, you would not find the task so Lady R. But, in this forward age, we have
toilsome as to keep me free from faults. coquettes in the egg-shell, and philosophers in
Stock. Well, I am not discouraged; this the cradle; girls of fifteen, that lead the fa-
candour tells me I should not have the fault shion in new caps and new opinions, that
of self conceit to combat; that, at least, is not have their sentiments and their sensations; and
amongst the number.
the idle fops encourage them in it: O'my con-
Bel. No; if I knew that man on earth who science, I wonder what it is the men can see
thought more humbly of me than I do of in such babies.
myself, I would take up his opinion, and forego
my own.
Miss R. True, madam; but all men do not
overlook the maturer beauties of your lady-
Stock. And were I to choose a pupil, it ship's age; wittness your admired major Den-
should be one of your complexion; so if you'll nis O'Flaherty; there's an example of some
come along with me, we'll agree upon your discernment; I declare to you, when your
admission, and enter on a course of lectures ladyship is by, the major takes no more notice
directly.
of me than if I was part of the furniture of
Bel. With all my heart.
SCENE III.A Room in LADY
House.
[Exeunt. your chamber.
Lady R. The major, child, has travelled
RUSPORT'S through various kingdoms and climates, and
has more enlarged notions of female merit
than fails to the lot of an English home-bred
lover; in most other countries, no woman on
your side forty would ever be named in a
Enter LADY RUSPORT and MISS RUSPORT.
Lady R. Miss Rusport, I desire to hear no
more of captain Dudley and his destitute fa- polite circle.
mily; not a shilling of mine shall ever cross Miss R. Right, madam; I've been told that
the hands of any of them; because my sister in Vienna they have coquettes upon crutches,
chose to marry a beggar, am I bound to sup- and Venuses in their grand climacteric; a lover
port him and his posterity?
Miss R. I think you are.
Lady R. You think I am! and pray where
do you find the law that tells you so?
there celebrates the wrinkles, not the dimples
in his mistress' face. The major, I think, has
served in the imperial army. 1)
Lady R. Are you piqued, my young madam?
Miss R. I am not proficient enough to quote Had my sister Louisa yielded to the addres-
chapter and verse; but I take charity to be a ses of one of major O'Flaherty's person and
main clause in the great statute of Christianity. appearance, she would have had some excuse;
Lady R. I say charity, indeed! I am apt to but to run away as she did, at the age of
think the distresses of old Dudley, and of his sixteen too, with a man of old Dudley's sort-
daughter into the bargain, would never break Miss R. Was, in my opinion, the most
your heart, if there was not a certain young venial trespass that ever girl of sixteen com-
fellow of two-and-twenty in the case; who, mitted; of a noble family, an engaging per-
by the happy recommendation of a good per- son, strict honour, and sound understanding,
son, and the brilliant appointments of an en- what accomplishment was there wanting in
signcy, will, if I am not mistaken, cozen you captain Dudley, but that which the prodigality.
out of a fortune of twice twenty thousand of his ancestors had deprived him of?
pounds, as soon as ever you are of age to
bestow it upon him.
Lady R. They left him as much as he de-
serves; hasn't the old man captain's half-pay?
And is not the son an ensign?
Enter Servant.
Miss R. A nephew of your ladyship's can
never want any other recommendation with Miss R. An ensign! Alas, poor Charles!
me: and if my partiality for Charles Dudley Would to heaven he knew what my heart
is acquitted by the rest of the world, I hope feels and suffers for his sake.
lady Rusport will not condemn me for it.
Lady R. I condemn you! I thank heaven,
miss Rusport, I am no ways reponsible for
your conduct; nor is it any concern of mine
how you dispose of yourself: you are not my
daughter, and, when I married your father,
poor sir Stephen Rusport, I found you a
forward spoiled miss of fourteen, far above 'tis your nephew.
being instructed by me.
instruction.
Sero. Ensign Dudley, to wait upon your
ladyship.
Lady R. Who! Dudley! What can have
brought him to town?
Miss R. Dear madam, 'tis Charles Dudley,
Lady R. Nephew! I renounce him as my
Miss R. Perhaps your ladyship calls this nephew; sir Oliver renounced him as his
grandson; wasn't he son of the eldest daughter,
Lady R. You are strangely pert; but 'tis no and only male descendant of sir Oliver; and
wonder: your mother, I'm told, was a fine didn't he cut him off with a shilling? Didn't
lady: and according to the modern style of the poor dear good old man leave his fortune
education you was brought up. It was not to me, except a small annuity to my maiden
so in my young days; there was then some sister, who spoiled her constitution with nurs-
decorum in the world, some subordination, as ing him? And, depend upon it, not a penny
the great Locke expresses it. Oh! 'twas an of that fortune shall ever be disposed of
edifying sight, to see the regular deportment otherwise than according to the will of the
observed in our family; no giggling, no gos-donor.
sipping was going on there! my good father,
sir Oliver Roundhead, never was seen to laugh 1) Emperor of Austria.

398
[ACT II.
THE WEST INDIAN.
Enter CHARLES DUDLEY.
Lady R. Your answer, child! What an-
So, young man, whence came you? What swer can you possibly expect? or how can
brings you to town?
your romantic father suppose that I am to
Charles. If there is any offence in my com-abet him in all his idle and extravagant un-
ing to town, your ladyship is in some de- dertakings? Come, major, let me show you
gree reponsible for it, for part of my errand the way into my dressing-room; and let us
was to pay my duty here.
leave this young adventurer to his meditation.
Lady R. And where is your father, child;
[Exit.
and your sister? Are they in town too? O'Fla. I follow you, my lady. Young gen-
Charles. They are.
tleman, your obedient! Upon my conscience,
Lady R. Ridiculous! I don't know what as fine a young fellow as I would wish to
people do in London, who have no money clap my eyes on: he might have answered
to spend in it.
my salute, however-well, let it pass; For-
Miss R. Dear madam, speak more kindly tune, perhaps, frowns upon the poor lad;
to your nephew; how can you oppress a she's a damn'd slippery lady, and very apt to
youth of his sensibility?
jilt us poor fellows that wear cockades in our
Lady R. Miss Rusport, I insist upon your hats. Fare thee well, honey, whoever thou art.
retiring to your apartment; when I want your
[Exit.
advice, I'll send to you. [Exit Miss Rusport] Charles. So much for the virtues of a pu-
So you have put on a red coat too, as well ritan-out upon it; her heart is flint; yet
as your father; 'tis plain what value you set that woman, that aunt of mine, without one
upon the good advice sir Oliver used to give worthy particle in her composition, would, I
you: how often has he cautioned you against dare be sworn, as soon set her foot in a pest-
the army?
house, as in a playhouse.
Charles. Had it pleased my grandfather to
enable me to have obeyed his caution, I would
have done it, but you well know how desti-
tute I am; and 'tis not to be wondered at if are you going in such haste?
I prefer the service of my king to that of any
other master.
Enter MISS RUSPORT.
Miss R. Stop, stay a little, Charles; whither
Lady R. Well, well, take your own course;
'tis no concern of mine: you never consult-
ed me.
Charles. Madam; miss Rusport; what are
your commands?
Miss R. Why so reserved? We had used
to answer to no other names than those of
Charles and Charlotte.
Charles. What ails you? You have been
weeping.
Charles. I frequently wrote to your lady-
ship, but could obtain no answer; and, since
my grandfather's death, this is the first oppor- Miss R. No, no; or if I have, your eyes
tunity I have had of waiting upon you. are full too; but I have a thousand things to
Lady R. I must desire you not to mention say to you: before you go, tell me, I conjure
the death of that dear good man in my hear-you, where you are to be found: here, give me
ing; my spirits cannot support it.
your direction; write it upon the back of this
Charles. I shall obey you: permit me to visiting ticket-Have you a pencil?
say, that, as that event has richly supplied Charles. I have: but why should you de-
you with the materials of bounty, the distresses sire to find us out? 'tis a poor little incon-
of my family can furnish you with objects venient place; my sister has no apartment fit
of it.
to receive you in.
Lady R. The distresses of your family,
child, are quite out of the question at present.
Tell your father and your sister, I totally dis-
approve of their coming up to town.
Enter Servant.
coming-well, have you wrote
O, Charles! either you do
not understand me.
Serv. Madam, my lady desires your com-
pany directly.
Charles. Must I tell my father that, before Miss R. I am
your ladyship knows the motive that brought it? Give it me.
him hither? Allured by the offer of exchan-not or you will
ging for a commission on full pay, the veteran,
after thirty years service, prepares to encoun-
ter the fatal heats of Senegambia; but wants
a small supply to equip him for the expedition.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Major O'Flaherty, to wait on your
ladyship.
Enter MAJOR,
ACT II.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE 1.-4 Room in FULMER'S House.
FULMER discovered seated; MRS. FULMER
enters to him.
Mrs. F. Why, how you sit, musing and
moping, sighing and desponding! I'm asham'd
O'Fla. Spare your speeches, young man; of you, Mr. Fulmer: is this the country you
don't you think her ladyship can take my described to me, a second Eldorado, rivers of
word for that? I hope, madam, 'tis evidence gold and rocks of diamonds? You found me
enough of my being present, when I have the in a pretty snug retired way of life at Bo-
honour of telling you so myself.
logne, out of the noise and bustle of the world,
Lady R. Major O'Flaherty, I am rejoiced and wholly at my ease: but, thank heaven,
to see you. Nephew Dudley, you perceive our partnership is revocable; I am not your
I'm engaged.
wedded wife, praised be my stars! for what
Charles. I shall not intrude upon your have we got, whom have we gulled but our-
ladyship's more agreeable engagements. I pre-selves? which of all your trains has taken
sume I have my answer?
fire? even this poor expedient of your book-

SCENE 1.]
399
THE WEST INDIAN.
seller's shop seems abandoned; for if a chance from about it, and opens every sluice of pity
customer drops in, who is there, pray, to help and benevolence.
him to what he wants?
Ful. Well, sir, I shall not oppose your
Ful. Patty, you know it is not upon slight opinion; a favourite author is like a favourite
grounds that I despair; there had used to be mistress; and there, you know, captain, no
a livelihood to be picked up in this country, man likes to have his taste arraigned.
both for the honest and dishonest: I have tried Dud. Upon my word, sir, I don't know
each walk, and am likely to starve at last: what a man likes in that case; 'tis an expe-
there is not a point to which the wit and riment I never made.
faculty of man can turn, that I have not set
mine to, but in vain; I am beathrough every
quarter of the compass.
Mrs. Ful. Ah! common efforts all: strike
me a master-stroke, Mr. Fulmer, if you wish
to make any figure in this country.
Ful. Sir! Are you serious.
Dud. 'Tis of little consequence whether you
think so.
Ful. What a formal old prig it is! [Aside]
I apprehend you, sir; you speak with caution;
you are married?
Dud. I have been.
Ful. And this young lady, which accom-
panies you-
Dud. Passes for my daughter.
Ful. But where, how, and what? I have
blustered for prerogative; I have bellow'd for
freedom; I have offered to serve my country;
I have engaged to betray it; a master-stroke,
truly! why, I have talked treason, writ trea- Ful. Passes for his daughter! humph-
son, and, if a man can't live by that, he can [Aside] She is exceedingly beautiful, finely
live by nothing. Here I set up as a book- accomplished, of a most enchanting shape
seller, why, men leave off reading; and if I
was to turn butcher, I believe, o'my conscience,
they'd leave off eating.
and air.
Dud. You are much too partial; she has
the greatest defect a woman can have.
Ful. How so, pray?
Dud. She has no fortune.
CAPTAIN DUDLEY crosses de Stage.
Mrs. Ful. Why, there now's your lodger, Ful. Rather say, that you have none; and
old captain Dudley, as he calls himself; there's that's a sore defect in one of your years, cap-
no flint without fire; something might be tain Dudley: you have served, no doubt?
struck out of him, if you had the wit to find Dud. Familiar coxcomb! But I'll humour
him.
[Aside.
Ful. A close old fox! but I'll unkennel him.
[Aside.
Dud. Above thirty years I have been in the
service, Mr. Fulmer.
the way.
Ful. Hang him, an old dry-skinned cur-
mudgeon; you may as well think to get truth
out of a courtier, or candour out of a critic:
I can make nothing of him; besides, he's
poor, and therefore not for our purpose.
Mrs. Ful. The more fool he! Would any less: why, 'tis a wearisome time; 'tis an ap-
man be poor, that had such a prodigy in his prenticeship to a profession, fit only for a pa-
possession.
Ful. His daughter, you mean; she is,
deed, uncommonly beautiful.
Ful. I guessed as much; I laid it at no
triarch. But preferment must be closely fol-
in-lowed: you never could have been so far be-
hindhand in the chase, unless you had palp-
Mrs. Ful. Beautiful! Why, she need only ably mistaken your way. You'll pardon me;
be seen, to have the first men in the king- but I begin to perceive you have lived in the
dom at her feet. What would some of our world, not with it.
young nabobs give-?
Dud. It may be so; and you, perhaps, can
Ful. Hush! here comes the captain; good give me better counsel. I am now soliciting
girl, leave us to ourselves, and let me try a favour; an exchange to a company on full
what I can make of him.
pay; nothing more; and yet I meet a thousand
Mrs. Ful. Captain, truly! i'faith I'd have a bars to that; though, without boasting, I should
regiment, had I such a daughter, before I was think the certificate of services which I sent
three months older.
in might have purchased that indulgence to me,
Ful. Who thinks or cares about them?
Certificate of services, indeed! Send in a
certificate of your fair daughter; carry her in
your hand with you.
[Exit.
Enter CAPTAIN DUDLEY.
Ful. Captain Dudley, good morning to you.
Dud. Mr. Fulmer, I have borrowed a book
from your shop; 'tis the sixth volume of my
deceased friend Tristram: he is a flattering
writer to us poor soldiers: and the divine
story of Le Fevre, which makes part of this
book, in my opinion of it, does honour, not
to its author only, but to human nature.
Ful. He's an author I keep in the way of
trade, but one I never relished: he is much
too loose and profligate for my taste.
Dud. What! Who! My daughter! Carry
my daughter! Well, and what then?
Ful. Why, then your fortune's made, that's all
Dud. I understand you: and this you call
knowledge of the world! Despicable know-
ledge; but, sirrah, I will have you know-
[Threatens him.
Ful. Help! Who's within?
Would you
strike me, sir? would you lift up your hand
against a man in his own house?
Dud. That's being too severe: I hold him
to be a moralist in the noblest sense; hep Dud. I in a church, if he dare insult the
plays, indeed, with the fancy, and sometimes, poverty of a man of honour.
perhaps, too wantonly; but while he thus Ful. Have a care what you do; remember
designedly masks his main attack, he comes there is such a thing in law as an assault and
at once upon the heart; refines, amends it, battery; ay, and such trifling forms as war-
softens it; beats down each selfish barrier rants and indictments,

400
[ACT II.
THE WEST INDIAN.
Dud. Go, sir; you are too mean for my Mountains. In the name of all the devils at
resentment: 'tis that, and not the law, protects once, why did she run away? If every hand-
you. Hence!
Ful. An old, absurd, incorrigible blockhead!
I'll be revenged of him.
[Aside.
Enter CHARLES DUDLEY.
some girl I meet in this town is to lead me
such a wildgoose chase, I had better have
stay'd in the torrid zone: I shall be wasted
to the size of a sugar-cane: what shall I do?
give the chase up? hang it, that's cowardly:
Sure I shall I, a true-born son of Phoebus, suffer this
little nimble-footed Daphne to escape me?-
Charles. What is the matter, sir?
heard an outcry as I entered the house.
Dud. Not unlikely; our landlord and his "Forbid it, honour, and forbid it, love." Hush!
wife are for ever wrangling. Did you find hush! here see comes! Oh! the devil! What
your aunt Dudley at home?
tawdry thing have we got here?
Charles. I did.
Dud. And what was your reception.
Charles. Cold as our poverty and her pride
I could make it.
Dud. You told her the pressing occasion I
had for a small supply to equip me for this
exchange; has she granted me the relief I
asked?
Charles. Alas, sir, she has peremptorily re-
fused it.
Enter MRS. FULMER.
Mrs. Ful. Your humble servant, sir.
Bel. Your humble servant, madam.
Mrs. Ful. A fine summer's day, sir.
Bel. Yes, ma'am ; and so cool, that, if the
calendar didn't call it July, I should swear it
was January.
Mrs. Ful, Sir!
Bel. Madam!
Dud. That's hard; that's hard, indeed! My
petition was for a small sum; she has refused
it, you say: well, be it so; I must not com-
plain. Did you see the broker, about the in-nour of knowing such a person.
surance on my life?
Mrs. Ful. Do you wish to speak to Mr.
Fulmer, sir?
Bel. Mr. Fulmer, madam? I hav'n't the ho-
Mrs. Ful. No! I'll be sworn, have you not;
Charles. There again I am the messenger thou art much too pretty a fellow, and too
of ill news; I can raise no money, so fatal is
the climate: alas! that ever my father should
be sent to perish in such a place!
LOUISA DUDLEY enters hastily.
Dud. Louisa, what's the matter? you seem
frighted.
much of a gentleman, to be an author thyself,
or to have any thing to say to those that are
so. 'Tis the captain, I suppose, you are
waiting for.
Bel. I rather suspect it is the captain's wife.
Mrs. Ful. The captain has no wife, sir.
Bel. No wife! I'm heartily sorry for it; for
Lou. I am, indeed: coming from miss Rus-then she's his mistress; and that I take to be
port's, I met a young gentleman in the streets, the more desperate case of the two. Pray,
who has beset me in the strangest manner. madam, wasn't there a lady just now turned
Charles. Insufferable! Was he rude to you? into your house? 'Twas with her I wished
Lou. I cannot say he was absolutely rude to speak.
to me, but he was very importunate to speak
to me, and once or twice attempted to lift up
my hat; he followed me to the corner of the
street, and there I gave him the slip.
Dud. You must walk no more in the streets,
child, without me, or your brother.
Lou. O Charles! miss Rusport desires to
see you directly; lady Rusport is gone out,
and she has something particular to say to you.
Charles. Have you any commands for me,
sir?
Mrs. Ful. What sort of a lady, pray?
Bel. One of the loveliest sort my eyes ever
beheld; young, tall, fresh, fair; in short, a
goddess.
Mrs. Ful. Nay, but dear, dear sir, now I'm
sure you flatter; for 'twas me you followed
into the shop door this minute.
Bel. You! No, no, take my word for it, it
was not you, madam.
Mrs. Ful. But what is it you laugh at?
Bel. Upon my soul, I ask your pardon;
Dud. None, my dear; by all means wait but it was not you, believe me; be assured
upon miss Rusport. Come, Louisa; I must it wasn't.
desire you to go up to your chamber, and Mrs. Ful. Well, sir, I shall not contend
compose yourself.
[Exeunt for the honour of being noticed by you; I
Enter BELCOUR, after peeping in at the Door. first man that noticed me in the streets; how-
hope you think you wouldn't have been the
Bel. Not a soul, as I'm alive. Why, what ever, this I'm positive of, that no living wo-
an odd sort of a house is this! Confound the man but myself has entered these doors this
little jilt, she has fairly given me the slip. A morning.
plague upon this London, I shall have no luck Bel. Why, then, I'm mistaken in the house,
in it: such a crowd, and such a hurry, and that's all; for it is not humanly possible I can
such a number of shops, and one so like the be so far out in the lady.
other, that whether the wench turned into this Mrs. Ful. Coxcomb!-But hold-a thought
house or the next, or whether she went up occurs; as sure as can be, he has seen miss
stairs or down stairs¹) (for there's a world Dudley. A word with you, young gentleman;
above and a world below, it seems), I declare come back.
I know no more than if I was in the Blue
1) The kitchens are all underground in the houses in
London, they receive their light by means of an area,
or opening, of about 3 feet broad before the house,
so that the houses appear to have been sunk one story
lower.
[Going.
Bel. Well, what's your pleasure?
Mrs. Ful. You seem greatly captivated with
this young lady; are you apt to fall in love
thus at first sight?
Bel. Oh, yes: 'tis the only way I can ever

SCENE 1.]
401
THE WEST INDIAN.
fall in love; any man may tumble into a pit regiment, and has been beating the town over
by surprise; none but a fool would walk into to raise a little money for that purpose upon
one by choice.
his pay; but the climate, I find, where he is
Mrs. Ful. You are a hasty lover, it seems; going is so unhealthy, that nobody can be
have you spirit to be a generous one? They, found to lend him any.
that will please the eye, mustn't spare the Bel. Why, then your town is a damned
good-for-nothing town: and I wish I had
purse.
Bel. Try me; put me to the proof; bring never come into it.
me to an interview with the dear girl that Ful. That's what I say, sir; the hard-heart-
has thus captivated me, and see whether I edness of some folks is unaccountable. There's
have spirit to be grateful.
an old lady Rusport, a near relation of this
Mrs. Ful. But how, pray, am I to know gentleman's; she lives hard by here, opposite
the girl you have set your heart on? to Stockwell's, the great merchant; he sent to
Bel. By an undescribable grace, that ac- her a-begging, but to no purpose; though
companies every look and action that falls she is as rich as a Jew, she would not fur-
from her; there can be but one such woman nish him with a farthing.
in the world, and nobody can mistake that one.
Mrs. Ful. Well, if I should stumble upon
this angel in my walks, where am I to find
you? What's your name?
Bel. Is the captain at home?
Ful. He is up stairs, sir.
Bel. Will you take the trouble to desire
him to step hither! I want to speak to him.
Ful. I'll send him to you directly. I don't
know what to make of this young man; but,
my-if I live, I will find him out, or know the
reason why.
[Exit.
Bel. Upon my soul I can't tell you my name.
Mrs. Ful. Not tell me! Why so?
Bel. Because I don't know what it is
self; as yet I have no name.
Mrs. Ful. No name!
Bel. None; a friend, indeed, lent me his;
but he forbade me to use it on any unworthy
occasion.
Mrs. Ful. But where is your place of abode?
Bel. I have none; I never slept a night in
England in my life.
Mrs. Ful. Hey day!
Bel. I've lost the girl, it seems, that's clear:
she was the first object of my pursuit; but
the case of this poor officer touches me; and,
after all, there may be as much true delight
in rescuing a fellow creature from distress,
as there would be in plunging one into it.
-But let me see; it's a point that must be
managed with some delicacy-A propos! there's
pen and ink-I've struck upon a method that
will do. [Writes] Ay, ay, this is the very
thing: 'twas devilish lucky I happened to have
these bills about me. There, there, fare you
well! I'm glad to be rid of you; you stood
Mrs. Ful. Who has assaulted you, my dear? a chance of being worse applied, I can tell
Ful. Who! why this captain Drawcansir, 1) you.
this old Dudley, my lodger; but I'll unlodge
him; I'll unharbour him, I warrant,
Enter FULMER.
Ful. A fine case, truly, in a free country;
a pretty pass things are come to, if a man is
to be assaulted in his own house.
Mrs. Ful. Hush! hush! Hold your tongue,
man; pocket the affront, and be quiet; I've
a scheme on foot will pay you a hundred
beatings. Why you surprise me, Mr. Fulmer;
captain Dudley assault you! Impossible.
Ful. Nay, I can't call it an absolute assault;
but he threatened me.
[Encloses and seals the Paper.
FULMER brings in DUDLEY.
Ful. That's the gentleman, sir. I shall make
bold, however, to lend an ear. [Exit.
Dud. Have you any commands for me, sir?
Bel. Your name is Dudley, sir?-
Dud. It is.
Bel. You command a company, I think,
captain Dudley?
Dud. I did: I am now upon half-pay.
Bel. You have served some time?
Mrs. Ful. Oh, was that all? I thought how
it would turn out-A likely thing, truly, for
a person of his obliging, compassionate turn: Dud. A pretty many years; long enough
no, no, poor captain Dudley, he has sorrows to see some people of more merit, and better
and distresses enough of his own to employ interest than myself, made general officers.
his spirits, without setting them against other Bel. Their merit I may have some doubt
people. Make it up as fast as you can: of; their interest I can readily give credit to;
watch this gentleman out; follow him wher- there is little promotion to be looked for in
ever he goes, and bring me word who and your profession, I believe, without friends,
what he is; be sure you don't lose sight of captain?
him; I've other business in hand. [Exit. Dud. I believe so too: have you any other
Bel. Pray, sir, what sorrows and distresses business with me, may I ask?
have befallen this old gentleman you speak of? Bel. Your patience for a moment. I was
Ful. Poverty, dissappointment, and all the informed you was about to join your regi-
distresses attendant thereupon: sorrow enough ment in distant quarters abroad.
of all conscience: I soon found how it was Dud. I have been soliciting an exchange to
with him, by his way of living, low enough a company on full pay, quartered at James'
of all reason; but what I overheard this Fort, in Senegambia; but, I'm afraid, I must
morning put it out of all doubt.
drop the undertaking.
Bel. What did you overhear this morning?
Ful Why, it seems he wants to join his
1) The title given to a boasting cowardly soldier. There
is a character of this sort and of this name in an old
play.
Bel. Why so, pray?
Dud. Why so, sir? 'Tis a home question,
for a perfect stranger to put; there is some-
thing very particular in all this.
Bel. If it is not impertinent, sir, allow me
51

402
[ACT II.
THE WEST INDIAN.
to ask you what reason you have for despair- and I'll have a word with you after you have
ing of success.
done.
Dud. Why, really, sir, mine is an obvious Dud. More miracles on foot! So, so, from
reason, for a soldier to have- Want of mo- lady Rusport.
ney; simply that.
Bel. May I beg to know the sum you have
occasion for?
Dud. Truly, sir, I cannot exactly tell you
on a sudden; nor is it, I suppose, of any great
consequence to you to be informed: but I
should guess, in the gross, that two hundred
pounds would serve.
Bel. And do you find a difficulty in raising
that sum upon your pay? 'Tis done every day.
Dud. The nature of the climate makes it
difficult: I can get no one to insure my life.
O'Fla. You're right; it's from her ladyship.
Dud. Well, sir, I have cast my eye over
it; 'tis short and peremptory; are you ac-
quainted with the contents?
O'Fla. Not at all, my dear; not at all.
Dud. Have you any message from lady
Rusport?
O'Fla. Not a syllable, honey: only when
you've digested the letter, I've a little bit of
message to deliver you from myself.
Dud. And may Ibeg to know who yourself is?
O'Fla. Dennis O'Flaherty, at your service;
Bel. Oh! that's a circumstance may make a poor major of grenadiers; nothing better.
Dud. So much for your name and title,
for you, as well as against: in short, captain
Dudley, it so happens, that I can command sir; now be so good to favour me with your
the sum of two hundred pounds: seek no message.
easy terms.
further; I'll accommodate you with it upon O'Fla. Why then, captain, I must tell you
I have promised lady Rusport you shall do
Dud. Sir! do I understand you rightly?- whatever it is she bids you to do in that let-
I beg your pardon; but am I to believe that ter there.
you are in earnest?
Bet. What is your surprise? Is it an un-
common thing for a gentleman to speak truth?
Or is it incredible that one fellow-creature
should assist another?
Dud. I ask your pardon-May I beg to
know to whom?-Do you propose this in the
way of business?
Bel. Entirely: I have no other business on
earth.
Dud. Indeed! you are not a broker, I'm
persuaded.
Bel. I am not.
Dud. Ay, indeed; have you undertaken so
much, major, without knowing either what
she commands, or what I can perform?
O'Fla. That's your concern, my dear, not
mine; I must keep my word, you know.
Dud. Or else, I suppose, you and I must
measure swords.
O'Fla. Upon my soul you've hit it.
Dud. That would hardly answer to either
of us; you and I have, probably, had enough
of fighting in our time before now.
O'Fla. Faith and troth, master Dudley, you
may say that; 'tis thirty years, come the time,
that I have followed the trade, and in a pretty
Dud. Nor an army agent, I think?
Bel. I hope you will not think the worse many countries.-Let me see-In the war be-
of me for being neither; in short, sir, if you fore last I served in the Irish brigade, d'ye
will peruse this paper, it will explain to you see; there, after bringing off the French mo-
who I am, and upon what terms I act; while narch, I left his service, with a British bullet
you read it, I will step home, and fetch the in my body, and this riband in my button-
money: and we will conclude the bargain hole. Last war I followed the fortunes of the
without loss of time. In the mean while, German eagle, in the corps of grenadiers;
good day to you.
[Exit hastily. there I had my bellyful of fighting, and a
Dud. Humph! there's something very odd plentiful scarcity of every thing else.
After
in all this-let me see what we've got here- six-and-twenty engagements, great and small,
This paper is to tell me who he is, and what I went off with this gash on my skull, and a
are his terms: in the name of wonder, why kiss of the empress queen's sweet hand, (hea-
has he sealed it? Hey-day! what's here? Two ven bless it!) for my pains. Since the peace,
Bank notes, of a hundred each! I can't com- my dear, I took a little turn with the confe-
prehend what this means. Hold; here's a derates there in Poland-but such another set
writing; perhaps that will show me. Accept of madcaps!-by the lord Harry, I never knew
this trifle; pursue your fortune, and pros- what it was they were scuffling about.
Am I in a dream? Is this a reality?
per.
Enter MAJOR O'FLAHERTY.
Dud. Well, major, I won't add another ac-
tion to the list; you shall keep your promise
with lady Rusport: she requires me to leave
O'Fla. 'Save you, my dear! Is it you now London; I shall go in a few days, and you
that are captain Dudley, I would ask? [Exit may take what credit you please from my
Dudley]-Whuh!¹) What's the hurry the compliance.
man's in? If 'tis the lad that run out of the O'Fla. Give me your hand, my dear boy!
shop you would overtake, you might as well this will make her my own; when that's the
stay where you are; by my soul he's as nim-case, we shall be brothers, you know, and
ble as a Croat; you are a full hour's march we'll share her fortune between us.
in his rear-Ay faith, you may as well turn
back, and give over the pursuit.
Re-enter DUDLEY.
Well, captain Dudley, if that's your name,
there's a letter for you. Read, man; read it;
1) Whistling.
Dud. Not so, major; the man, who marries
lady Rusport, will have a fair title to her for-
tune without division. But, I hope, your ex-
pectations of prevailing are founded upon
good reasons.
O'Fla. Upon the best grounds in the world;
first, I think she will comply, because she is

SCENE 2.]
403
THE WEST INDIAN.
a woman; secondly, I am persuaded she won't a value not only from its superior lustre, but
hold out long, because she's a widow; and from its extraordinary scarceness: I verily
thirdly, I make sure of her, because I have think, this is the only civil speech you ever
married five wives (en militaire, captain), directed to my person in your life.
and never failed yet; and, for what I know, Charles. And I ought to ask pardon of your
they are all alive and merry at this very hour. good sense, for having done it now.
Dud. Well, sir, go on, and prosper; if you Miss R. Nay, now you relapse again: don't
can inspire lady Rusport with half your cha- you know, if you keep well with a woman
rity, I shall think you deserve all her fortune; on the great score of beauty, she'll never
at present, I must beg your excuse: good quarrel with you on the trifling article of
morning to you.
[Exit. good sense?-But any thing serves to fill up
O'Fla. A good sensible man, and very much a dull, yawning hour, with an insipid cousin;
of a soldier; I did not care if I was better you have brighter moments, and warmer spi-
acquainted with him: but 'tis an awkward rits, for the dear girl of your heart.
kind of country for that; the English, I ob- Charles. Oh, fie upon you! fie upon you!
serve, are close friends, but distant acquaint- Miss R. You blush, and the reason is ap-
ance. I suspect the old lady has not been parent:-you are a novice at hypocrisy; but
over generous to poor Dudley; I shall give no practice can make a visit of ceremony pass
her a little touch about that: upon my soul, for a visit of choice: love is ever before its
I know but one excuse a person can have time; friendship is apt to lag a little after it.
for giving nothing, and that is, like myself, -Pray, Charles, did you make any extraor-
having nothing to give.
[Exit. dinary haste hither?
SCENE II.-LADY RUSPORT's House. A
ing-room.
Enter Miss RUSPORT and Lucy.
Charles. By your question, I see, you ac-
Dress-quit me of the impertinence of being in love.
Miss R. But why impertinence? Why the
impertinence of being in love?-You have one
Miss R. Well, Lucy, you've dislodged the language for me, Charles, and another for the
old lady at last; but methought you was a woman of your affection.
tedious time about it.
Charles. You are mistaken-the woman of
my affection shall never hear any other lan-
guage from me, than what I use to you.
Miss R. I am afraid, then, you'll never make
yourself understood by her.
Lucy. A tedious time, indeed; I think they
who have least to spare, contrive to throw the
most away; I thought I should never have got
her out of the house: then madam, this being
a visit of great ceremony to a person of di- Charles. It is not fit I should; there is no
stinction at the west end of the town, the old need of love to make me miserable; 'tis wretch-
state chariot was dragg'd forth on the occa-edness enough to be a beggar.
sion, with strict charges to dress out the box
with the leopard skin hammercloth.
Charles. You distress me;--I must beg to
hear no more.
Miss R. Well, I can be silent. Thus does
he always serve me, whenever I am about to
disclose myself to him.
[Aside.
Miss R. A beggar do you call yourself! O
Charles, Charles, rich in every merit and ac-
Miss R. Yes, and to hang the false tails on complishment, whom may you not aspire to?
the miserable stumps of the old crawling cattle: And why think you so unworthily of our sex,
well, well, pray, heaven, the old crazy affair as to conclude there is not one to be found
don't break down again with her.-But where's with sense to discern your virtue, and gene-
Charles Dudley? Run down, dear girl, rosity to reward it?
and be ready to let him in; I think he's as
long in coming as she was in going.
Lucy. Why, indeed, madam, you seem the
more alert of the two, I must say. [Exit.
Miss R. Now the deuce take the girl, for
putting that notion into my head: I am sadly
afraid Dudley does not like me; so much en-
couragement as I have given him to declare
himself, I never could get a word from him
on the subject! This may be very honourable,
but upon my life it's very provoking. By the
way, I wonder how I look to-day: Oh! shock
ingly! hideously pale! like a witch! This is Charles. Now, by all that's good, you do
the old lady's glass, and she has left some of me wrong; there is no such fair one for me
her wrinkles on it.-How frightfully have I to go to; nor have I an acquaintance among
put on my cap! all awry! and my hair dress- the sex, yourself excepted, which answers to
ed so unbecoming! altogether, I'm a most that description.
complete fright-
-
Enter CHARLES, unobserved.
Charles. That I deny.
Miss R. Ah!
Charles. Why do you not banish me and
my misfortunes for ever from your thoughts
Miss R. Ay, wherefore do I not, since you
never allowed me a place in yours?-But go,
sir; I have no right to stay you; go where
your heart directs you; go to the happy, the
distinguished, fair one.
Miss R. Indeed!
Charles. In very truth-there, then, let us
drop the subject.-May you be happy, though
I never can!
Miss R. O Charles! give me your hand;
Charles. Quarrelling with your glass, cou- if I have offended you, I ask your pardon:
sin? Make it up, make it up, and be friends; you have been long acquainted with my tem-
it cannot compliment you more than by re- per, and know how to bear with its infirmities.
flecting you as you are.
Charles. Thus, my dear Charlotte, let us
Miss R. Well, I vow, my dear Charles, that seal our reconciliation!-[Kissing her Hand]
is delightfully said, and deserves my very best Bear with thy infirmities! By heaven, I know
courtesy; your flattery, like a rich jewel, has not any one failing in thy whole composition,

404
[ACT II.
THE WEST INDIAN.
except, that of too great a partiality for an round his neck, I should guess, he had been
undeserving man.
honoured with the order of St. Catharine.
Miss R. And you are now taking the very Lady R. No, no; he meddled with no St.
course to augment that failing.-A thought Catharines-that's the habit he wore in his
strikes me; I have a commission that you mayoralty; sir Stephen was lord mayor of
must absolutely execute for me;-I have im- London-but he is gone, and has left me, a
mediate occasion for the sum of two hundred poor, weak, solitary widow, behind him.
pounds; you know my fortune is shut up till O'Fla. By all means, then, take a strong,
I am of age; take this paltry box (it contains able, hearty man, to repair his loss:-if such
my earrings, and some other baubles I have a plain fellow as one Dennis O'Flaherty can
no use for), carry it to our opposite neigh- please you, I think I may venture to say,
bour, Mr. Stockwell (I don't know where else without any disparagement to the gentleman
to apply), leave it as a deposit in his hands, in the fur gown there-
and beg him to. accommodate me with the
sum.
Charles. Dear Charlotte, what are you about
to do? How can you possibly want two hun-
dred pounds?
Miss R. How can I possibly do without it,
you mean? Doesn't every lady want two
hundred pounds?-Perhaps, I have lost it at
play-perhaps, I mean to win as much to it
-perhaps, I want it for two hundred different
uses.
Charles. Pooh! pooh! all this is nothing;
don't I know you never play?
Miss R. You mistake; I have a spirit to set,
not only this trifle, but my whole fortune upon
a stake; therefore make no wry faces, but do
as I bid you. You will find Mr. Stockwell a
very honourable gentleman.
Enter LUCY, in haste.
Lucy. Dear madam, as I live, here comes
the old lady in a hackney coach.
Miss R. The old chariot has given her a
second tumble-away with you! you know
your way out, without meeting her. Take
the box, and do as I desire you.
Charles. I must not dispute your orders.
Farewell! [Exeunt Charles and Miss Rusport.
Enter LADY RUSPORT, leaning on MAJOR
O'FLAHERTY's Arm.
Lady R. What are you going to say? Don't
shock my ears with any comparisons, I desire.
O'Fla. Not I, my soul; I don't believe
there's any comparison in the case.
Re-enter Lucy, with a Bottle and Glass.
Lady R. Oh, are you come? Give me the
drops-I'm all in a flutter.
O'Fla. Harkye, sweetheart, what are those
same drops? Have you any more left in the
bottle? I didn't care if I took a little sip of
them myself.
Lucy. Oh, sir, they are called the cordial
restorative elixir, or the nervous golden drops;
they are only for ladies' cases.
O'Fla. Yes, yes, my dear, there are gentle-
men as well as ladies, that stand in need of
those same golden drops; they'd suit my case
to a tittle.
Lady R. Well, major, did you give old
Dudley my letter, and will the silly man do
as I bid him, and be gone.
O'Fla. You are obeyed-he's on his march.
Lady R. That's well; you have managed
this matter to perfection; I didn't think he
would have been so easily prevailed upon.
O Fla. At the first word: no difficulty in
life; 'twas the very thing he was determined
to do, before I came; I never met a more
obliging gentleman.
Lady R. Well, 'tis no matter; so I am but
O'Fla. Rest yourself upon my arm: never rid of him, and his distresses: would you be-
spare it: 'tis strong enough; it has stood lieve it, major O'Flaherty, it was but this
harder service than you can put it to. morning he sent a-begging to me for money
Lucy. Mercy upon me, what is the matter? to fit him out upon some wildgoose expedí-
I am frightened out of my wits-Has your tion to the coast of Africa, I know not where.
ladyship had an accident?
OFla. Well, you sent him what he wanted?
Lady R. I sent him what he deserved, a
flat refusal.
Lady R. O Lucy, the most untoward one
in nature. I know not how I shall repair it.
O'Fla. Never go about to repair it, my lady;
even build a new one; 'twas but a crazy piece
of business at best.
Lucy. Bless me, is the old chariot broke
down with you again?
Lady R. Broke, child! I don't know what
might have been broke, if by great good for-
tune, this obliging gentleman had not been at
hand to assist me.
Lucy. Dear madam, let me run and fetch
you a cup of the cordial drops.
O'Fla. You refused him?
Lady R. Most undoubtedly.
O'Fla. You sent him nothing?
Lady R. Not a shilling.
O'Fla. Good morning to you-Your ser-
vant-
[Going
Lady R. Hey day! what ails the man?
Where are you going?
O'Fla. Out of your house, before the roof
falls on my head-to poor Dudley, to share
the little modicum, that thirty years hard ser-
vice has left me; I wish it was more, for his
sake.
Lady R. Do, Lucy. [Exit Lucy] Alas, sir!
ever since I lost my husband, my poor nerves
have been shook to pieces:-there hangs his Lady R. Very well, sir; take your course;
beloved picture; that precious relic, and a I sha'n't attempt to stop you; I shall survive
plentiful jointure, is all that remains to con- it; it will not break my heart, if I never see
sole me for the best of men.
you more.
O'Fla. Let me see-i'faith a comely perso- O'Fla. Break your heart! No, o'my con-
nage; by his fur cloak, I suppose, he was in science will it not. You preach, and you
the Russian service; and by the gold chain pray, and you turn up your eyes, and all the
-

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
405
THE WEST INDIAN.
while you are as hard-hearted as a hyena,-head, I can never think of any other woman.
A hyena, truly! by my soul, there isn't in the
whole creation so savage an animal as a hu-
Enter a Servant, and delivers a Letter.
man creature without pity!
Lady R. A hyena, truly!
ACT III.
[Exit.
[Exit.
Hey day! Where can I have picked up a
correspondent already? "Tis a most execrable
manuscript-Let me see-Martha Fulmer-
Who is Martha Fulmer?-Pshaw! I won't be
at the trouble of deciphering her damned pot-
hooks. 1)-Hold, hold, hold; what have we
got here?
SCENE I. A Room in STOCKWELL'S House.
Enter STOCKWELL and BELCOUR.
Stock. Gratify me so far, however, Mr. Bel- Dear Sir,-I have discovered the lady
cour, as to see miss Rusport; carry her the you was so much smitten with, and can
surn she wants, and return the poor girl her procure you an interview with her; if you
box of diamonds, which Dudley left in my can be as generous to a pretty girl, as you
hands: you know what to say on the occa-was to a paltry old captain,-How did she
sion better than I do; that part of your com- find that out?-you need not despair; come
mission I leave to your own discretion, and to me immediately; the lady is now in my
you may season it with what gallantry you house, and expects you..
think fit.
Yours,
MARTHA FULMER.
Bel. You could not have pitched upon a 0 thou dear, lovely, and enchanting paper!
greater bungler at gallantry than myself, if which I was about to tear into a thousand
you had
rummaged every company in the city, scraps, devoutly I entreat thy pardon: I have
and the whole court of aldermen into the bar- slighted thy contents, which are delicious;
gain:-part of your errand, however, I will slandered thy characters, which are divine;
do; but whether it shall be with an ill grace and all the atonement I can make, is impli-
or a good one, depends upon the caprice of citly to obey thy mandates.
Enter STOCKWELL.
a moment, the humour of the lady, the mode
of our meeting, and a thousand undefinable
small circumstances, that, nevertheless, deter- Stock. Mr. Belcour, here are the jewels;
mine us upon all the great occasions of life. this letter encloses bills for the money; and,
Stock. I persuade myself you will find miss if you will deliver it to miss Rusport, you'll
Rusport an ingenious, worthy, animated girl. have no further trouble on that score.
Bel. Why, I like her the better, as a wo- Bel. Ah! sir, the letter, which I have been
man; but name her not to me as a wife! No, reading, disqualifies me for delivering the let-
if ever I marry, it must be a stayed, sober, ter, which you have been writing; I have
considerate damsel, with blood in her veins other game on foot; the loveliest girl my eyes
as cold as a turtle's: quick of scent as a vul- ever feasted upon is started in view, and the
ture when danger's in the wind; wary and world cannot now divert me from pursuing
sharpsighted as a hawk when treachery is on her.
foot: with such a companion at my elbow, Stock. Hey day! What has turned you thus
for ever whispering in my ear-Have a care on a sudden?
of this man, he's a cheat; don't go near that Bel. A woman; one that can turn, and
woman, she's a jilt; overhead there's a scaf- overturn, me and my tottering resolutions
fold, underfoot there's a well. Oh, sir! such every way she will. Oh, sir, if this is folly
a woman might lead me up and down this in me, you must rail at nature: you must
great city without difficulty or danger; but chide the sun, that was vertical at my birth,
with a girl of miss Rusport's complexion, hea- and would not wink upon my nakedness, but
ven and earth, sir! we should be duped, un- swaddled me in the broadest, hottest glare of
done, and distracted, in a fortnight.
his meridian beams.
Stock. Ha! ha! ha! Why, you are become Stock, Mere rhapsody: mere childish rhap-
wonderous circumspect of a sudden, pupil: sody: the libertine's familiar plea-Nature made
and if you can find such a prudent damsel us, 'tis true, but we are the responsible crea-
as you describe, you have my consent-only tures of our own faults and follies.
beware how you choose: discretion is not the Bel. Sir!
reigning quality amongst the fine ladies of Stock. Slave of every face you meet, some
the present time; and, I think, in miss Rus-bussy has inveigled you; some handsome pro-
port's particular, I have given you no bad fligate (the town is full of them); and, when
counsel.
once fairly bankrupt in constitution as well
Bel. Well, well, if you'll fetch me the jew- as fortune, nature no longer serves as your
els, I believe, I can undertake to carry them excuse for being vicious, necessity, perhaps,
to her: but as for the money, I'll have nothing will stand your friend, and you'll reform.
to do with that: Dudley would be your fittest
ambassador on that occasion: and, if I mistake Stock. It fits me to be so-it well becomes
not, the most agreeable to the lady.
a father-I would say, a friend-How strange-
Stock. Why, indeed, from what I know of ly I forgot myself!-How difficult it is to
the matter, it may not improbably be destined counterfeit indifference, and put a mask upon
to find its way into his pockets. [Exit. the heart!
Bel. You are severe.
Bel. Then, depend upon it, these are not Bel. How could you tempt me so? Had
the only trinkets she means to dedicate to you not inadvertently dropped the name of
captain Dudley.-As for me, Stockwell, in-father, I fear our friendship, short as it has
deed, wants me to marry; but till I can get been, would scarce have held me-But even
this bewitching girl, this incognita, out of my 1) A curve formed by a beginner in learning to write.

406
[ACT III.
THE WEST INDIAN.
your mistake I reverence-Give me your hand ing, like negro slaves in your sugar plantations.
tis over.
Bel. Gone! whither is she gone? tell me,
Stock. Generous young man! because I that I may follow her.
bore you the affection of a father, I rashly
took up the authority of one. I ask your par- gentleman, this is a case of some delicacy;
don-pursue your course; I have no right to should captain Dudley know that I introduced
stop it-What would you have me do with you to his daughter, he is a man of such scru-
these things?
pulous honour-
Mrs. Ful. Hold, hold, not so fast, young
Bel. What do you tell me! is she daughter
to the old gentleman I met here this morning?
Mrs. Ful. The same; him you was so ge-
nerous to.
Bel. This, if I might advise; carry the mo-
ney to miss Rusport immediately; never let
generosity wait for its materials; that part of
the business presses. Give me the jewels: I'll
find an opportunity of delivering them into Bel. There's an end of the matter then at
her hands and your visit may pave the way once; it shall never be said of me, that I took
for my reception.
[Exit. advantage of the father's necessities to trepan
Stock. Be it so; good morning to you. Fare- the daughter.
[Going.
well, advice! Away goes he upon the wing Mrs. Ful. So, so, I've made a wrong cast;
for pleasure. What various passions he awa- he's one of your conscientious sinners, I find;
kens in me! He pains, yet pleases me; affrights, but I won't lose him thus-Ha! ha! ha!
offends, yet grows upon my heart. His very Bel. What is it you laugh at?
failings set him off-for ever trespassing, for Mrs. Ful. Your absolute inexperience; have
ever atoning, I almost think he would not be you lived so very little time in this country,
so perfect, were he free from fault: I must as not to know that, between young people
dissemble longer; and yet how painful the ex-of equal ages, the term of sister often is a
periment!-Even now he's gone upon some cover for that of mistress? This young lady
wild adventure; and who can tell what mis-is, in that sense of the word, sister to young
chief may befall him: O nature, what it is to Dudley, and consequently daughter to my
be a father!
[Exit. lodger.
old
Bel. Indeed! are you serious?
Mrs. Ful. Can you doubt it? I must have
been pretty well assured of that, before I in-
vited you hither.
SCENE II.-FULMER'S House.
Enter FULMER and MRS. FULMER.
Ful. I tell you, Patty, you are a fool, to
think of bringing him and miss Dudley toge- Bel. That's true; she cannot be a woman
ther; 'twill ruin every thing, and blow your of honour, and Dudley is an unconscionable
whole scheme up to the moon at once. young rogue, to think of keeping one fine girl
Mrs. Ful. Why, sure, Mr. Fulmer, I may in pay, by raising contributions on another:
be allowed to rear a chicken of my own hatch- he shall therefore give her up: she is a dear,
ing, as they say. Who first sprung the thought, bewitching, mischievous little devil, and he
but I, pray? Who first contrived the plot? shall positively give her up.
Who proposed the letter, but I, I?
Ful. And who dogged the gentleman home?
Who found out his name, fortune, connexion:
that he was a West Indian, fresh landed, and
full of cash; a gull to our heart's content; a
hot-brained, headlong spark, that would run
into our trap, like a wheatear under a turf,
but I, I, I?
Mrs. Ful. Hark! he's come; disappear, march;
and leave the field open to my machination.
[Exit Fulmer.
Enter BELCOUR.
Mrs. Ful. Ay, now the freak has taken you
again; I say give her up; there's one way,
indeed, and certain of success.
Bel. What's that?
Mrs. Ful. Out-bid him, never dream of out-
blustering him. All things, then, will be made
easy enough; let me see; some little genteel
present to begin with: what have you got
about you? Ay, search; I can bestow it to
advantage, there's no time to be lost.
Bel. Hang it, confound it; a plague upon't,
say I! I hav'n't a guinea left in my pocket; I
parted from my whole stock here this morn-
Bel. O, thou dear minister to my happiness, ing, and have forgot to supply myself since.
let me embrace thee! Why, thou art my po- Mrs. Ful. Mighty well; let it pass, then:
lar star, my propitious constellation, by which there's an end; think no more of the lady,
I navigate my impatient bark into the port of that's all.
pleasure and delight.
Bel. Distraction! think no more of her? let
Mrs. Ful. Oh, you men are sly creatures! me only step home, and provide myself; I'll
Do you remember now, you cruel, what you be back with you in an instant.
said to me this morning?
Mrs. Ful. Pooh, pooh! that's a wretched
Bel. All a jest, a frolic; never think on't; shift; have you nothing of value about you?
bury it for ever in oblivion: thou! why, thou Money's a coarse, slovenly vehicle, fit only to
art all over nectar and ambrosia, powder of bribe electors in a borough; there are more
pearl and odour of roses; thou hast the youth graceful ways of purchasing a lady's favours;
of Hebe, the beauty of Venus, and the pen of rings, trinkets, jewels!
Sappho; but, in the name of all that's lovely, Bel. Jewels! Gadso, I protest I had forgot:
where's the lady? I expected to find her with I have a case of jewels; but they won't do,
I must not part from them; no, no, they are
Mrs. Ful. No doubt you did, and these rap- appropriated; they are none of my own.
tures were designed for her; but where have Mrs. Ful. Let me see, let me see! Ay, now,
you loitered? the lady's gone-you are too this were something like: pretty creatures, how
late; girls of her sort, are not to be kept wait- they sparkle; these would ensure success.
you.

SCENE 2.]
407
THE WEST INDIAN.
Bel. Indeed!
for ever.
shall not go without her baubles: I'll not go
Mrs. Ful. These would make her your own without the girl; miss Rusport shan't lose her
diamonds; I'll save Dudley from destruction,
and every party shall be a gainer by the project.
Enter MRS. FULMER, introducing Miss
DUDLEY.
Bel. Then the deuce take them, for belong-
ing to another person; I could find in my
heart to give them the girl, and swear I've
lost them.
Mrs. Ful. Ay, do, say they were stolen out
of your pocket.
Mrs. Ful. Miss Dudley, this is the worthy
gentleman you wish to see; this is Mr. Belcour.
Lou. As I live, the very man that beset me
[Aside.
[Aside.
Bel. No, hang it, that's dishonourable; here,
give me the paltry things, I'll write you an in the streets!
order on my merchant, for double their value. Bel. An angel, by this light! Oh, I am gone,
Mrs. Ful. An order! No order for me! no past all retrieving!
order upon merchants, with their value receiv- Lou. Mrs. Fulmer, sir, informs me, you
ed, and three days grace; their noting, pro- are the gentleman from whom my father has
testing, and endorsing, and all their counting- received such civilities.
house formalities; I'll have nothing to do with Bel. Her father! [Aside] Oh, never name
them; leave your diamonds with me, and give them.
your order for the value of them to the own- Lou. Pardon me, Mr. Belcour, they must
er: the money would be as good as the be both named and remembered; and if my
trinkets, I warrant you.
father was here-
Bel. Hey! how! I never thought of that;
but a breach of trust; 'tis impossible: I never
can consent, therefore give me the jewels back
again.
Mrs. Ful. Take them; I am now to tell
the lady is in this house.
Bel. In this house?
you,
Bel. Her father again! [Aside] I am much
better pleased with his representative.
Lou. That title is my brother's, sir; I have
no claim to it.
Bel. I believe it.
Lou. But as neither he nor my father were
fortunate enough to be at home, I could not
resist the opportunity-
Mrs. Ful. Yes, sir, in this very house; but
what of that? you have got what you like Bet. Nor I neither, by my soul, madam:
better: your toys, your trinkets; go, go; Oh! let us improve it, therefore. I am in love with
you are a man of notable spirit, are you not? you to distraction; I was charmed at the first
Bel. Provoking creature! bring me to the glance; I attempted to accost you; you fled;
sight of the dear girl, and dispose of me as I followed; but was defeated of an interview;
you think fit.
at length I have obtained one, and seize the
opportunity of casting my person and my for-
tune at your feet.
Mrs. Ful. And of the diamonds too?
Bel. Damn them, I would there was not
such a bauble in nature! But, come, come,
dispatch; if I had the throne of Delhi, I should
give it to her.
Mrs. Ful. Swear to me then, that you will
keep within bounds; remember, she passes for
the sister of young Dudley. Oh! if you come
to your flights and your rhapsodies, she'll be
off in an instant.
Bel. Never fear me.
Lou. You astonish me! Are you in your
senses, or do you make a jest of my misfor-
tunes? Do you ground pretences on your ge-
nerosity, or do you make a practice of this
folly with every woman you meet?
Bel. Upon my life, no: as you are the
handsomest woman I ever met, so you are
the first to whom I ever made the like pro-
fessions: as for my generosity, madam, I must
Mrs. Ful. You must expect to hear her talk refer you on that score to this good lady, who
of her father, as she calls him, and her bro-I believe has something to offer in my behalf.
ther, and your bounty to her family.
Lou. Don't build upon that, sir; I must
Bel. Ay, ay, never mind what she talks of, have better proofs of your generosity, than
only bring her.
the mere divestment of a little superfluous
dross, before I can credit the sincerity of pro-
fessions so abruptly delivered. [Exit hastily.
Mrs. Ful. You'll be prepared upon that head?
Bel. I shall be prepared, never fear: away
with you.
Mrs. Ful. But, hold, I had forgot: not a
word of the diamonds; leave that matter to
my management.
Bel. Oh! ye gods and goddesses, how her
anger animates her beauty! [Going out.
Mrs. Ful. Stay, sir; if you stir a step after
her, I renounce your interest for ever; why,
you'll ruin every thing.
Bel. Hell and vexation! Get out of the room,
or I shall run distracted. [Exit Mrs. Fulmer] Bel. Well, I must have her, cost what it
Of a certain, Belcour, thou art born to be the will: I see she understands her own value
fool of women! sure no man sins with so though; a little superfluous dross, truly! She
much repentance, or repents with so little must have better proofs of my generosity.
amendment, as I do. I cannot give away Mrs. Ful. 'Tis exactly as I told you; your
another person's property, honour forbids me; money she calls dross; she's too proud to
and I positively cannot give up the girl; love, stain her fingers with your coin; bait your
passion, constitution, every thing protests against hook well with jewels; try that experiment,
that. How shall I decide? I cannot bring my-and she's your own.
self to break a trust, and I am not at present Bel. Take them; let them go; lay them at
in the humour to baulk my inclinations. Is her feet; I must get out of the scrape as I
there no middle way? Let me consider-There can; my propensity is irresistible: there; you
is, there is: my good genius has presented me have them; they are yours; they are hers;
with one: apt, obvious, honourable, the girl but, remember, they are a trust; I commit

408
[ACT III.
THE WEST INDIAN.
them to her keeping, till I can buy them off, over strict in canvassing the morals of a com-
with something she shall think more valuable; mon acquaintance.
now tell me when shall I meet her?
Stock. I wish it may be my happiness to
Mrs. Ful. How can I tell that? Don't you see Mr. Belcour in the list, not of your com-
see what an alarm you have put her into? mon, but particular acquaintance of your
Oh! you're a rare one! But go your ways friends, miss Rusport-I dare not be more
for this while; leave her to my management, explicit.
-
and come to me at seven this evening; but Miss R. Nor need you, Mr. Stockwell: I
remember not to bring empty pockets with shall be studious to deserve his friendship;
you-Ha! ha! ha!
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.-LADY RUSPORT's House.
Enter MISS RUSPORT, followed by a Servant.
Miss R. Desire Mr. Stockwell to walk in.
[Exit Servant.
Enter STOCKWELL.
and, though I have long since unalterably pla-
ced my affections on another, I trust, I have
not left myself insensible to the merits of Mr.
Belcour; and hope, that neither you nor he
will, for that reason, think me less worthy
your good opinion and regards.
Stock. Miss Rusport, I sincerely wish you
happy: I have no doubt you have placed your
affection on a deserving man; and I have no
right to combat your choice.
[Exit.
Stock. Madam, your most obedient servant: Miss R. How honourable is that behaviour!
I am honoured with your commands, by cap- Now, if Charles was here, I should be happy.
tain Dudley; and have brought the money The old lady is so fond of her new Irish ac-
with me, as you directed; I understand the quaintance, that I have the whole house at
sum you have occasion for is two hundred my disposal.
[Exit.
pounds.
Enter BELCOUR, preceded by a Servant.
Sero. I ask your honour's pardon; I thought
my young lady was here: who shall I inform
her would speak to her?
Miss R. It is, sir; I am quite confounded
at your taking this trouble upon yourself, Mr.
Stockwell.
Stock. There is a Bank note, madam, to
the amount; your jewels are in safe hands, Bel. Belcour is my name, sir; and pray
and will be delivered to you directly. If I beg your lady to put herself in no hurry on
had been happy in being better known to my account; for I'd sooner see the devil, than
you, I should have hoped you would not have see her face. [Exit Servant] In the name of
thought it necessary to place a deposit in my all that's mischievous, why did Stockwell drive
hands for so trifling a sum as you have now me hither in such haste? A pretty figure,
required me to supply you with..
truly, I shall make! an ambassador, without
Miss R. The baubles I sent you may very credentials! Blockhead that I was, to charge
well be spared; and, as they are the only se- myself with her diamonds; officious, meddling
curity, in my present situation, I can give puppy! Now they are irretrievably gone: that
you, I could wish you would retain them in suspicious jade, Fulmer, wouldn't part even
your hands: when I am of age (which if I with a sight of them, though I would have
live a few months I shall be), I will replace ransomed them at twice their value. Now
your favour, with thanks.
must I trust to my poor wits, to bring me
Stock, It is obvious, miss Rusport, that your off: a lamentable dependence. Fortune be my
charins will suffer no impeachment by the helper: Here comes the girl-If she is noble-
absence of those superficial ornaments; but minded, as she is said to be, she will forgive
they should be seen in the suite of a woman me; if not, 'tis a lost cause; for I have not
of fashion, not as creditors to whom you are thought of one word in my excuse.
indebted for your appearance, but as subser-
vient attendants, which help to make up your
equipage.
Miss R. Mr. Stockwell is determined not to
wrong the confidence I reposed in his poli-
teness.
Stock. I have only to request, madam, that
you will allow Mr. Belcour, a young gentle-
man, in whose happiness I particularly inter-
est myself, to have the honour of delivering
you the box of jewels.
Miss R. Most gladly; any friend of yours
cannot fail of being welcome here.
Enter Miss RUSPORT.
Miss R. Mr. Belcour, I'm proud to see you:
your friend, Mr. Stockwell, prepared me to
expect this honour; and I am happy in the
opportunity of being known to you.
Bel. A fine girl, by my soul! Now what a
cursed hang dog do I look like! [Aside.
Miss R. You are newly arrived in this
country, sir?
Bel. Just landed, madam; just set ashore,
with a large cargo of Muscavado sugars, rum
puncheons, mahogany slabs, wet sweetmeats,
and green paroquets.
Miss R. May I ask you how you like Lon-
Stock. I flatter myself you will not find him
totally undeserving your good opinion; an
education not of the strictest kind, and strong don, sir?
animal spirits, are apt sometimes to betray Bel. To admiration: I think the town and
him into youthful irregularities; but a high the town's folk are exactly suited; 'tis a great,
principle of honour, and an uncommon bene-rich, overgrown, noisy, tumultuous place: the
volence, in the eye of candour, will, I hope, whole morning is a bustle to get money, and
atone for any faults, by which these good the whole afternoon is a hurry to spend it.
qualities are not impaired.
Miss R. Are these all the observations you
Miss R. I dare say Mr. Belcour's behaviour have made?
wants no apology: we have no right to be
Bel. No, madam; I have observed the wo-

SCENE 3.]
409
THE WEST INDIAN.
men are very captivating, and the men
soon caught.
Miss R. Ay, indeed! Whence do you
that conclusion?
Bel. From infallible guides; the first
mark I collect from what I now see, the
cond from what I now feel.
very crown your virtues, and reward your beauty,
be shower'd upon you; may you meet ad-
draw miration without envy, love without jealousy,
and old age without malady; may the man
re- of your heart be ever constant, and you never
se- meet a less penitent, or less grateful offender,
than myself!
Miss R. Oh, the deuce take you! But, to
wave this subject; I believe, sir, this was a
visit of business, not compliment; was it not?
Bel. Ay; now comes on my execution. [Aside.
Miss R. You have some foolish trinkets of
mine, Mr. Belcour; hav'n't you?
Enter Servant, and delivers a Letter.
Miss R. Does your letter require such haste?
Serv. I was bade to give it into your own
hands, madam.
Miss R. From Charles Dudley, I see-have
Bel. No, in truth; they are gone in search
of a trinket, still more foolish than themselves. I your permission? Good heaven, what do I
[Aside. read! Mr. Belcour, you are concerned in this-
Miss R. Some diamonds I mean, sir; Mr.
[Reads.
Stockwell informed me you was charged with Dear Charlotte-In the midst of our dis-
them.
Ctress, Providence has cast a benefactor in
Bel. Oh, yes, madam; but I have the most our way, after the most unexpected man-
treacherous memory in life-Here they are! ner: a young West Indian, rich, and with
Pray put them up; they're all right; you need a warmth of heart peculiar to his climate,
not examine them.
[Gives a Box. has rescued my father from his troubles,
Miss R. Hey day! right, sir! Why these satisfied his wants, and enabled him to ac-
are not my diamonds; these are quite differ-complish his exchange: when I relate to
ent; and, as it should seem, of much greater you the manner in which this was done,
you will be charmed: I can only now add,
value.
Bel. Upon my life I'm glad on't; for then that it was by chance we found out that
I hope you value them more than your own. his name is Belcour, and that he is a
Miss R. As a purchaser I should, but not friend of Mr. Stockwell's. I lose not a mo-
as an owner; you mistake; these belong to ment's time, in making you acquainted with
somebody else.
this fortunate event, for reasons which de-
Bel. "Tis yours, I'm afraid, that belong to licacy obliges me to suppress; but, perhaps,
somebody else.
[Aside. if you have not received the money on your
Miss R. What is it you mean? I must in- jewels, you will not think it necessary now
sist upon your taking them back again. to do it. I have the honour to be, dear
CHARLES DUDLEY.
Bel. Pray, madam, don't do that; I shall madam, most faithfully yours,
infallibly lose them; I have the worst luck
with diamonds of any man living.
Is this your doing, sir? Never was generosity
so worthily exerted.
Miss R. That you might well say, was you
to give me these in the place of mine; but, Bel. Or so greatly overpaid.
pray, sir, what is the reason of all this? Why Miss R. After what you have now done for
have you changed the jewels? And where this noble, but indigent family, let me not
have you disposed of mine?
scruple to unfold the whole situation of my
Bel. Miss Rusport, I cannot invent a lie for heart to you. Know then, sir (and don't think
my life; and, if it was to save it, I couldn't the worse of me for the frankness of my de-
tell one: I am an idle, dissipated, unthinking claration), that such is my attachment to the
fellow, not worth your notice: in short, I am son of that worthy officer, whom you relieved,
a West Indian; and you must try me accord- that the moment I am of age, and in posses-
ing to the charter of my colony, not by a sion of my fortune, I should hold myself the
jury of English spinsters: the truth is, I have happiest of women to share it with young
given away your jewels; caught with a pair Dudley.
of sparkling eyes, whose lustre blinded theirs, Bel. Say you so, madam! then let me pe-
I served your property as I should my own, rish if I don't love and reverence you above
and lavished it away; let me not totally des- all womankind; and, if such is your generous
pair of your forgiveness; I frequently do wrong, resolution, never wait till you are of age; life
but never with impunity; if your displeasure is too short, pleasure too fugitive; the soul
is added to my own, my punishment will be grows narrower every hour. I'll equip you
too severe. When I parted from the jewels, for your escape-I'll convey you to the man
I had not the honour of knowing their owner. of your heart, and away with you then to the
Miss R. Mr. Belcour, your sincerity charms first hospitable parson that will take you in,
me; I enter at once into your character, and Miss R. O blessed be the torrid zone for
I make all the allowances for it you can de- ever, whose rapid vegetation quickens nature
sire. I take your jewels for the present, be- into such benignity! But, had I spirit to ac-
cause I know there is no other way of re- cept your offer, which is not improbable,
conciling you to yourself; but, if I give way wouldn't it be a mortifying thing, for a fond
to your spirit in one point, you must yield girl to find herself mistaken, and sent back to
to mine in another: remember, I will not keep her home, like a vagrant ?-and such, for what
more than the value of my own jewels: there I know, might be my case,
is no need to be pillaged by more than one Bel. Then he ought to be proscribed the
woman at a time, sir.
society of mankind for ever-Ay, ay, 'tis the
Bel. Now, may every blessing that can sham sister, that makes him thus indifferent;
52

410
[ACT III
THE WEST INDIAN.
'twill be a mer torious office, to take that girl
out of the way.
Enter a Servant.
[Aside.
—
Miss R. Ha! ha! ha!
Bel. She does tell a lie with an admirable
countenance, that's true enough. [Aside.
Lou. What ails you, Charlotte?-VVhat
Sero. Miss Dudley, to wait on you, madam. impertinence have I been guilty of, that you
Bel. Who?
should find it necessary to humble me at such
Serv. Miss Dudley.
a rate? If you are happy, long may you be
Miss R. What's the matter, Mr. Belcour? so: but, surely, it can be no addition to it to
Are you frighted at the name of a pretty make me miserable.
girl?-Tis the sister of him we were speaking Miss R. So serious; there must be some
of-Pray admit her.
[Exit Servant. mystery in this-Mr. Belcour, will you leave
Bel. The sister!-So, so; he has imposed us together? You see I treat you with all the
on her too - this is an extraordinary visit, familiarity of an old acquaintance already.
truly. Upon my soul, the assurance of some Bel. Oh, by all means; pray command me.
folks is not to be accounted for. [Aside. Miss Rusport, I am your most obedient! By
Miss R. I insist upon your not running your condescension in accepting these poor
away; you'll be charmed with Louisa Dudley. trifles, I am under eternal obligations to you.-
Bel. O yes, I am charmed with her.
Miss R. You have seen her then, have you?
Bel. Yes, yes, I've seen her.
Miss R. Well, isn't she a delightful girl?
Bel. Very delightful.
Miss R. Why, you answer as if you was
in a court of justice. O'my conscience, I
believe you are caught; I've a notion she has
tricked you out of your heart.
Bel. I believe she has, and you out of your
jewels; for, to tell you the truth, she's the
very person I gave them to.
Miss R. You gave her my jewels! Louisa
Dudley my jewels! admirable! inimitable! Oh,
the sly little jade!-but, hush! here she comes;
I don't know how I shall keep my countenance.
Enter LOUISA.
To you, miss Dudley, I shall not offer a word
on that subject;-you despise finery; you have
a soul above it; I adore your spirit; I was
rather unprepared for meeting you here, but
I shall hope for an opportunity of making
myself better known to you.
[Exit.
Miss R. Louisa Dudley, you surprise me;
I never saw you act thus before: can't you
bear a little innocent raillery before the man
of your heart?
Lou. The man of my heart, madam! Be
assured I never was so visionary to aspire to
any man whom miss Rusport honours with
her choice.
Miss R. My choice, my dear! Why, we
are playing at cross-purposes: how entered it
into your head that Mr. Belcour was the man
of my choice?
Lou. Why, didn't he present you with those
My dear, I'm rejoiced to see you; how do
you do?-I beg leave to introduce Mr. Bel-diamonds?
cour, a very worthy friend of mine. I believe,
Louisa, you have seen him before.
Lou. I have met the gentleman.
Miss R. Well: perhaps he did-and pray,
Louisa, have you no diamonds?
Lou. I diamonds, truly! Who should give
Miss R. You have met the gentleman!-me diamonds?
well, sir, and you have met the lady; in short,
Miss R. Who but this very gentleman:
you have met each other, why, then, don't a propos! here comes your brother-
you speak to each other? How you both stand!
tongue-tied and fixed as statues-Ha! ha! ha!
Why, you'll fall asleep by-and-by.
Enter CHARLES.
I insist upon referring our dispute to him:
Lou. Fie upon you, fie upon you! is this fair? your sister and I, Charles, have a quarrel;
Bel. Upon my soul, I never looked so like Belcour, the hero of your letter, has just left
a fool in my life-the assurance of that girl us-somehow or other, Louisa's bright eyes
puts me quite down.
[Aside. have caught him; and the poor fellow's fallen
Miss R. Sir-Mr. Belcour-Was it your desperately in love with her-(don't interrupt
pleasure to advance any thing? Not a syllable. me, hussy)-Well, that's excusable enough,
Come, Louisa, woman's wit, they say, is never you'll say; but the jest of the story is, that
at a loss-Nor you neither?-Speechless both this hair-brain'd spark, who does nothing like
-Why, you was merry enough before this other people, has given her the very identical
lady came in.
Lou. I am sorry I have been any inter-
ruption to your happiness, sir.
Bel. Madam!
Miss R. Madam! Is that all you can say?
But come, my dear girl, 1 wont tease you--
a propos! I must show you what a present
this dumb gentleman has made me-Are not
these handsome diamonds?
Lou. Yes, indeed, they seem very fine; but
I am no judge of these things.
Miss R. Oh, you wicked little hypocrite;
you are no judge of these things, Louisa; you
have no diamonds, not you.
Lou. You know I haven't, miss Rusport:
you know those things are infinitely above
my reach.
jewels, which you pledged for me to Mr.
Stockwell; and will you believe that this little
deraure slut made up a face, and squeezed
out three or four hypocritical tears, because I
rallied her about it?
Charles. I'm all astonishment! Louisa, tell
me, without reserve, has Mr. Belcour given
you any diamonds.
Lou. None, upon my honour.
Charles. Has he made any professions to you?
Lou. He has; but altogether in a style so
whimsical and capricious, that the best which
can be said of them is to tell you, that they
seemed more the result of good spirits than
good manners.
Miss R. Ay, ay, now the murder's out; be's
in love with her, and she has no very great

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
411
THE WEST INDIAN.
dislike to him; trust to my observations, Charles, Charles. We, that are poor, Louisa, should
for that as to the diamonds, there's some be cautious: for this reason, I would guard
mistake about them, and you must clear it you against Belcour; at least, till I can un-
up: three minutes conversation with him will ravel the mystery of miss Rusport's diamonds;
put every thing in a right train: go, go, Charles, I was disappointed of finding him at Mr.
'tis a brother's business; about it instantly; ten Stockwell's, and am now going in search of
to one you'll find him over the way, at Mr. him again: he may intend honourably; but, I
Stockwell's.
confess to you, I am staggered; think no more
Charles. I confess I'm impatient to have of him, therefore, for the present; of this be
the case cleared up; I'll take your advice, and sure, while I have life and you have honour,
find him out: good bye to you.
I will protect you, or perish in your defence.
Miss R. Your servant: my life upon it, you'll
[Exit.
find Belcour a man of honour. Come, Louisa, Lou. Think of him no more! Well, I'll
let us adjourn to my dressing-room; I've a obey; but if a wandering, uninvited thought
little private business to transact with you, should creep by chance into my bosom, must
before the old lady comes up to tea, and I not give the harmless wretch a shelter? Fie,
interrupts us.
[Exeunt. fie upon it! Belcour pursues, insults me; yet,
such is the fatality of my condition, that what
should rouse resentment, only calls up love.
Enter BELCOUR.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-A Room in FULMER'S House.
Bel. Alone, by all that's happy!
Lou. Ah!
Enter FULMER and MRS. FULMER.
Ful. Patty, wasn't Mr. Belcour with you?
Mrs. Ful. He was; and is now shut up in Bel. Oh! shriek not, start not, stir not, love-
my chamber, in high expectation of an inter-liest creature! but let me kneel and gaze upon
view with miss Dudley: she's at present with your beauties.
her brother, and 'twas with some difficulty I Lou. Sir! Mr. Belcour, rise! What is it
persuaded my hot-headed spark to wait till he you do? Should he that parted from me but
this minute, now return, I tremble for the
consequence.
has left her.
Ful. Well, child, and what then?
Mrs. Ful. Why, then, Mr. Fulmer, I think
it will be time for you and me to steal a
march, and be gone.
Bel. Fear nothing; let him come: I love
you, madam; he'll find it hard to make me
unsay that.
Lou. You terrify me; your impetuous tem-
per frightens me; you know my situation; it
is not generous to pursue me thus.
Bel. Who that beholds such beauty can?
Ful. So this is all the fruit of your ingenious
project; a shameful overthrow, or a sudden
flight.
Mrs. Ful. Why, my project was a mere Bel. True, I do know your situation, your
impromptu, and can at worst but quicken real one, miss Dudley, and am resolved to
our departure a few days: you know we had snatch you from it; 'twill be a meritorious
fairly outliv'd our credit here, and a trip to act; the old captain shall rejoice; miss Rus-
Boulogne is no ways unseasonable. Nay, never port shall be made happy; and even he, even
droop, man- Hark! hark! here's enough to your beloved brother, with whose resentment
bear charges.
[Showing a Purse. you threaten me, shall in the end applaud and
Ful. Let me see, let me see: this weighs thank me. Come, thou art a dear enchanting
well; this is of the right sort: why your West girl, and I'm determined not to live a minute
Indian bled freely.
longer without thee.
Mrs. Ful. But that's not all: look here! Lou. Hold! are you mad? I see you are a
Here are the sparklers! [Showing the Jewels] bold assuming man; and know not where
Now what d'ye think of my performances? to stop.
Heh! a foolish scheme, isn't it-a silly woman-
Ful. Thou art a Judith, a Joan of Arc, and Provoking girl! is it within the stretch of my
I'll march under thy banners, girl, to the fortune to content you? What is it you can
world's end: come, let's be gone; I've little further ask, that I am not ready to grant?
to regret; my creditors may share the old Lou. Yes, with the same facility, that you
books amongst them; they'll have occasion for bestowed upon me miss Rusport's diamonds.
philosophy to support their loss; they'll find For shame! for shame! was that a manly story?
enough upon my shelves: the world is my Bel. So! so! these devilish diamonds meet
library; I read mankind - Now, Patty, lead me every where. Let me perish if I meant
the way.
you any harm: Oh! I could tear my tongue
out for saying a word about the matter.
Lou. Go to her then, and contradict it; till
Enter CHARLES DUDLEY and LOUISA. that is done, my reputation is at stake.
Charles. Well, Louisa, I confess the force Bel. Her reputation! Now she has got
of what you say: I accept miss Rusport's upon that, she'll go on for ever. [Aside]-
bounty; and when you see my generous Char- What is there I will not do for your sake?
lotte, tell ber-but have a care, there is a I will go to miss Rusport.
Mrs. Ful. Adieu, Belcour.
[Exeunt,
-
selfishness even in gratitude, when it is too Lou. Do so; restore her own jewels to her,
profuse; to be overthankful for any one favour, which I suppose you kept back for the pur-
is in effect to lay out for another; the best pose of presenting others to her of a greater
return I could make my benefactress would value; but for the future, Mr. Belcour, when
be, never to see her more.
you would do a gallant action to that lady,
don't let it be at my expense.
Lou. I understand you.

412
[ACT IV.
THE WEST INDIAN.
[They fight.
Bel. I see where she points: she is willing nor take an explanation; so, come on!
enough to give up miss Rusport's diamonds,
now she finds she shall be a gainer by the
exchange. Be it so! 'tis what I wished.-Well,
madam, I will return to miss Rusport her
own jewels, and you shall have others of ten-
fold their value.
Lou. No, sir, you err most widely; it is my
good opinion, not my vanity, which you must
bribe.
Bel. Why what the devil would she have
now?-Miss Dudley, it is my wish to obey
and please you; but I have some apprehension
that we mistake each other.
Lou. I think we do: tell me, then, in few
words, what it is you aim at.
Enter LOUISA and O'FLAHERTY.
Lou. Hold, hold, for heaven's sake!
O'Fla. Hell and confusion! What's all this
uproar for? Can't you leave off cutting one
another's throats, and mind what the poor
girl says to you? You've done a notable thing,
hav'n't you both, to put her into such a flurry?
I think, o'my conscience, she's the most fright-
ed of the three.
Charles. Dear Louisa, recollect yourself;
why did you interfere? 'tis in your cause.
Bel. Now could I kill him for caressing her.
O'Fla. O sir, your most obedient! You are
Bel. In few words, then, and in plain honesty, the gentleman I had the honour of meeting
I must tell you, so entirely am I captivated here before; you was then running off at full
with you, that had you but been such as it speed, like a Calmuck, now you are tilting
would have become me to have called my and driving like a bedlamite, with this lad
wife, I had been happy in knowing you by here, that seems as mad as yourself: 'tis pity
that name; as it is, you are welcome to par- but your country had a little more employ-
take my fortune, give me in return your per- ment for you both.
son, give me pleasure, give me love; free, Bel. Mr. Dudley, when you have recovered
disencumbered, antimatrimonial love.
the lady, you know where I am to be found.
[Exit.
O'Fla. Well, then, can't you stay where
Bel. Hold, hold, thou dear, tormenting, tan- you are, and that will save the trouble of
talizing girl! Upon my knees, I swear you looking after you? Yon volatile fellow thinks
shall not stir till you have consented to my bliss. to give a man the meeting by getting out of
Lou. Unhand me, sir: O, Charles! protect his way: by my soul, 'tis a roundabout method
me, rescue me, redress me.
[Exit. that of his. But I think he called you Dudley:
harkye, young man, are you son of my friend,
the old captain?
Lou. Stand off, and never let me see you
more.
Enter CHARLES DUDLEY.
Charles. How's this?-Rise, villain, and
defend yourself.
Bel. Villain!
Charles. The man who wrongs that lady
is a villain-Draw!
Bel. Never fear me, young gentleman; brand
me for a coward if I baulk you.
Charles. Yet hold! let me not be too hasty:
your name, I think, is Belcour.
Bel. Well, sir.
Charles. How is it, Mr. Belcour, you have
done this mean, unmanly wrong; beneath the
mask of generosity, to give this fatal stab to
our domestic peace? You might have had my
thanks, my blessing: take my defiance now.
'Tis Dudley speaks to you; the brother, the
protector, of that injured lady.
Bel. The brother! give yourself a truer title.
Charles. What is't you mean?
Charles. I am. Help me to convey this
lady to her chamber, and I shall be more at
leisure to answer your questions.
O'Fla. Ay, will I: come along, pretty one;
if you've had wrong done you, young man,
you need look no further for a second; Den-
nis O'Flaherty's your man for that: but never
draw your sword before a woman, Dudley;
damn it, never while you live draw your sword
before a woman.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-LADY RUSPORT's House.
Enter LADY RUSPORT and Servant.
Serv. An elderly gentleman, who says his
name is Varland, desires leave to wait on
your ladyship.
Lady R. Show him in: the very man I wish
to see. Varland, he was sir Oliver's solicitor,
and privy to all his affairs: he brings some
Bel. Come, come, I know both her and good tidings; some fresh mortgage, or another
you: I found you, sir (but how or why I bond come to light; they start up every day,
know not), in the good graces of miss Rus-
port (yes, colour at that name) I gave you
Enter VARLAND.
no disturbance there, never broke in upon you Mr. Varland, I'm glad to see you; you are
in that rich and plenteous quarter, but, when heartily welcome, honest Mr. Varland; you
I could have blasted all your projects with and I hav'n't met since our late irreparable
a word, spared you, in foolish pity spared loss: how have you passed your time this age?
you, nor roused her from the fond credulity
in which your artifice had lulled her.
Far. Truly, my lady, ill enough: I thought
I must have followed good sir Oliver.
Charles. No, sir, nor boasted to her of the Lady R. Alack-a-day, poor man! Well, Mr.
splendid present you had made my poor Louisa; Varland, you find me here overwhelmed with
the diamonds, Mr. Belcour: how was that? trouble and fatigue; torn to pieces with a
What can you plead to that arraignment? multiplicity of affairs; a great fortune poured
Bel. You question me too late; the name of upon me, unsought for and unexpected: 'twas
Belcour and of villain never met before; had my good father's will and pleasure it should
you inquired of me before you uttered that be so, and I must submit.
rash word, you might have saved yourself or Var. Your ladyship inherits under a will
me a mortal error; now, sir, I neither give made in the year forty-five, immediately after

SCENE 2.]
413
THE WEST INDIAN.
captain Dudley's marriage with your sister. my generosity neither; for, though it may not
Lady R. I do so, Mr. Varland; I do so. be in my power to do the favour you ask,
Var. I well remember it; I engrossed every look you, it can never be in my heart to
syllable; but I am surprised to find your lady- refuse it.
ship set so little store by this vast accession. Charles. Could this man's tongue do jus-
Lady R. Why, you know, Mr. Varland, I tice to his thoughts, how eloquent would he
am a moderate woman; I had enough before; be!
[Aside
a small matter satisfies me; and sir Stephen Miss R. Plant yourself, then, in that room:
Rusport (heaven be his portion!) took care I keep guard for a few moments upon the ene-
shouldn't want that.
my's motions in the chamber beyond; and if
Var. Very true, very true; he did so; and they should attempt a sally, stop their march
I am overjoyed to find your ladyship in this a moment, till your friend here can make
disposition; for, truth to say, I was not without good his retreat down the back stairs.
apprehension the news I have to communicate O'Fla. A word to the wise! I'm an old
would have been of some prejudice to your campaigner: make the best use of your time;
ladyship's tranquillity.
and trust me for tying the old cat up to the
picket. 1)
Lady R. News, sir! what news have you
for me?
Var. Nay, nothing to alarm you; a trifle
in your present way of thinking: I have a will
of sir Oliver's, you have never seen.
Lady R. A will! impossible! how came you
by it, pray?
Miss R. Hush! hush! not so loud.
Charles. 'Tis the office of a sentinel, major,
you have undertaken, rather than that of a
field-officer.
O'Fla. 'Tis the office of a friend, my dear
boy; and therefore no disgrace to a general.
[Exit.
Vur. I drew it up, at his command, in his
last illness: it will save you a world of trouble:
it gives his whole estate from you to his grand-yourself to me for a few minutes?
son, Charles Dudley.
Miss R. Well, Charles, will you commit
Lady R. To Dudley! his estate to Charles
Dudley? I can't support it! I shall faint! You
have killed me, you vile man! I never shall
Charles. Most readily; and let me, before
one goes by, tender you the only payment I
can ever make for your abundant generosity.
Miss R. Hold, hold! so vile a thing as money
must not come between us. What shall I
Var. Lookye there, now: I protest, I thought say? O Charles! O Dudley! What difficulties
you would have rejoiced at being clear of have you thrown upon me! Familiarly as we
the encumbrance.
have lived, I shrink not at what I am doing;
survive it!
Lady R. 'Tis false; 'tis all a forgery, con- and anxiously as I have sought this oppor-
certed between you and Dudley; why else tunity, my fears almost persuade me to aban-
did I never hear of it before?
Charles. You alarm me!
[don it.
Var. Have patience, my lady, and I'll tell Miss R. Your looks and actions have been
you: By sir Oliver's direction, I was to deliver so distant, and at this moment are so deterring,
this will into no hands but his grandson that, was it not for the hope that delicacy,
Dudley's: the young gentleman happened to and not disgust, inspires this conduct in you,
be then in Scotland; I was dispatched thither I should sink with shame and apprehension;
in search of him: the hurry and fatigue of but time presses; and I must speak, and plainly
my journey brought on a fever by the way, too-Was you now in possession of your
which confined me in extreme danger for grandfather's estate, as justly you ought to be,
several days; upon my recovery, I pursued and was you inclined to seek a companion
my journey, found young Dudley had left for life, should you, or should you not, in
Scotland in the interim, and am now directed that case, honour your unworthy Charlotte
hither; where, as soon as I can find him, with your choice?
doubtless, I shall discharge my conscience, Charles. My unworthy Charlotte! So judge
and fulfil my commission.
Lady R. Dudley then, as yet, knows nothing
of this will?
me, heaven, there is not a circumstance on
earth so valuable as your happiness, so dear
to me as your person; but to bring poverty,
Var. Nothing: that secret rests with me. disgrace, reproach from friends, ridicule from
Lady R. A thought occurs: by this fellow's all the world, upon a generous benefactress;
talking of his conscience, I should guess it thievishly to steal into an open and unreserved
was upon sale. [Aside]-Come, Mr. Varland, ingenuous heart, O Charlotte! dear unhappy
if 'tis as you say, I must submit. I was some-girl, it is not to be done.
what flurried at first, and forgot myself: I ask Miss R. Come, my dear Charles, I have
your pardon: this is no place to talk of bu- enough; make that enough still more by sharing
siness; step with me into my room; we will it with me: sole heiress of my father's fortune,
there compare the will, and resolve accord- a short time will put it in my disposal; in the
ingly-Oh! would your fever had you, and I mean while you will be sent to join your
your paper!
[Exeunt. regiment; let us prevent a separation, by set-
ting out this very night for that happy country,
where marriage still is free: carry me this
moment to Belcour's lodgings.
had
Enter MISS RUSPORT, CHARLES, and
O'FLAHERTY.
Miss R. So, so! My lady and her lawyer
have retired to close confabulation: now, major,
if you are the generous man I take you for,
grant me one favour.
O'Fla. 'Faith will I, and not think much of
Charles. Belcour's?-The name is ominous;
there's murder in it: bloody, inexorable ho-
nour!
[Aside.
1) Not to allow the old lady to pass beyond the Picket
as he calls his post.

414
[ACT IV.
THE WEST INDIAN.
Miss R. D'ye pause? Put me into his hands, in my hands than in yours; therefore give it
while you provide the means for our escape: me without more words, and save yourself
he is the most generous, the most honourable a beating: do now; you had best.
of men.
Var. Well, sir, I may as well make a grace
Charles. Honourable! most honourable! of necessity. There; I have acquitted my
Miss R. Can you doubt it? Do you demur? conscience, at the expense of five thousand
Have you forgot your letter? Why, Belcour pounds.
'twas that prompted me to this proposal, that
promised to supply the means, that nobly of
fered his unasked assistance-
Enter O'FLAHERTY, hastily.
O'Fla. Five thousand pounds! Mercy upon
me! When there are such temptations in the
law, can we wonder if some of the corps are
a disgrace to it?
Var. Well, you have got the paper; if you
O'Fla. Run, run; for holy St. Anthony's are an honest man, give it to Charles Dudley.
sake, to horse, and away! The conference is O'Fla. An honest man! look at me, friend,
broke up, and the enemy advances upon a I am a soldier, this is not the livery of a
full Piedmontese trot, within pistol-shot of knave; I am an Irishman, honey; mine is not
your encampment.
the country of dishonour. Now, sirrah, be
Miss R. Here, here, down the back stairs! gone; if you enter these doors, or give lady
O Charles, remember me!
Rusport the least item of what has passed, I
Charles. Farewell! Now, now I feel myself will cut off both your ears, and rob the pil-
[Exit. lory of its due.
a coward.
Miss R. What does he mean?
Var. I wish I was once fairly out of his
O'Fla. Ask no questions, but be gone: she sight.
has cooled the lad's courage, and wonders
[Exeunt.
he feels like a coward. There's a damned deal SCENE III.-A Room in STOCKWELL'S House.
Enter STOCKWELL.
Stock. I must disclose myself to Belcour;
of mischief brewing between this hyena and
her lawyer: 'egad I'll step behind this screen
and listen: a good soldier must sometimes
fight in ambush, as well as open field. [Retires. this noble instance of his generosity which
old Dudley has been relating, allies me to him
Enter VARLAND. dog at once; concealment becomes too painful;
Var. Let me consider-Five thousand pounds, I shall be proud to own him for my son-
prompt payment, for destroying this scrap of But see, he's here.
paper, not worth five farthings; 'tis a fortune
a Sofa.
Bel. O my curs'd tropical constitution!
easily earned; yes, and 'tis another man's Enter BELCOUR, and throws himself upon
fortune easily thrown away; 'tis a good round
sum, to be paid down at once for a bribe:
but 'tis a damned rogue's trick in me to take it. 'Would to heaven I had been dropped upon
O'Fla. So, so! this fellow speaks truth to the snows of Lapland, and never felt the bless-
himself, though he lies to other people. [Aside. ed influence of the sun, so I had never burnt
Var. 'Tis breaking the trust of my bene- with these inflammatory passions!
factor, that's a foul crime; but he's dead, and Stock. So, so, you seem disordered, Mr.
can never reproach me with it: and 'tis rob- Belcour.
bing young Dudley of his lawful patrimony, Bel. Disordered, sir! Why did I ever quit
that's a hard case; but he's alive, and knows the soil in which I grew; what evil planet
nothing of the matter.
drew me from that warm, sunny region, where
O'Fla. These lawyers are so used to bring naked nature walks without disguise, into this
off the rogueries of others, that they are never cold, contriving, artificial country.
without an excuse for their own. [Aside. Stock. Come, sir, you've met a rascal; what
Var. Were I assured now that Dudley o'that? general conclusions are illiberal.
would give me half the money for producing Bel. No, sir, I have met reflection by the
this will, that lady Rusport does for concealing way; I have come from folly, noise, and fury,
it, I would deal with him, and be an honest and met a silent monitor-Well, well, a vil-
man at half price: and I wish every gentle- lain! 'twas not to be pardoned -- pray never
man of my profession could lay his hand on mind me, sir.
his heart, and say the same thing.
Stock. Alas! my heart bleeds for him.
O'Fla. A bargain, old gentleman! Nay, Bel. And yet, I might have heard him: now,
never start nor stare; you was'nt afraid of plague upon that blundering Irishman, for
your own conscience, never be afraid of me. coming in as he did; the hurry of the deed
Var. Of you, sir! who are you, pray? might palliate the event: deliberate execution
O'Fla. I'll tell you who I am: you seem to has less to plead - Mr. Stockwell, I am bad
wish to be honest, but want the heart to set company to you.
about it; now I am the very man in the world Stock. Oh, sir, make no excuse. I think
to make you so; for if you do not give up you have not found me forward to pry into
that paper this very instant, by the soul of the secrets of your pleasures and pursuits;
me, fellow, I will not leave one whole bone 'tis not my disposition; but there are times,
in your skin that shan't be broken.
when want of curiosity would be want of
Var. What right have you, pray, to take friendship.
this paper from me?
O'Fla. What right have you, pray, to keep
it from young Dudley? I don't know what it
Bel. Ah, sir, mine is a case wherein you
and I shall never think alike.
Stock. 'Tis very well, sir; if you think I
contains, but I am apt to think it will be safer can render you any service, it may be worth

SCENE 3.]
415
THE WEST INDIAN.
your trial to confide in me; if not, your secret stand him right, 'tis the sister of young Dudley
is safer in your own bosom.
you've been attempting: you talked to me of
Bel. That sentiment demands my confidence: a professed wanton; the girl he speaks of has
pray, sit down by me. You must know, I beauty enough indeed to inflame your desires,
have an affair of honour on my hands with but she has honour, innocence, and simpli-
young Dudley; and, though I put up with no city, to awe the most licentious passion; if
man's insult, yet I wish to take away no you have done that, Mr. Belcour, I renounce
man's life.
you, I abandon you, I forswear all fellowship
Stock. I know the young man, and am ap- or friendship with you for ever.
prised of your generosity to his father; what
can have bred a quarrel between you?
Bel. A foolish passion on my side, and a
haughty provocation on his. There is a girl,
Mr. Stockwell, whom I have unfortunately
seen, of most uncommon beauty; she has
withal an air of so much natural modesty,
that, had I not had good assurance of her
being an attainable wanton, I declare I should
as soon have thought of attempting the chastity
of Diana.
Enter Servant.
Bel. Have patience for a moment; we do
indeed speak of the same person, but she is
not innocent, she is not young Dudley's sister.
Stock. Astonishing! who told you this?
Bel. The woman, where she lodges, the
person who put me on the pursuit, and con-
trived our meetings.
Stock. What woman? What person?
Bel. Fulmer her name is: I warrant you I
did not proceed without good grounds.
Stock. Fulmer, Fulmer? Who waits?
Enter a Servant.
Stock. Hey day, do you interrupt us? Send Mr. Stukely hither directly; [Exit Ser-
Sero. Sir, there's an Irish gentleman will vant] I begin to see my way into this dark
take no denial: he says he must see Mr. Bel- transaction. Mr. Belcour, Mr. Belcour, you
cour directly, upon business of the last con- are no match for the cunning and contri-
vances of this intriguing town.
sequence.
Enter STUKELY.
Bel. Admit him: 'tis the Irish officer that
parted us, and brings me young Dudley's
challenge; I should have made a long story Pr'ythee, Stukely, what is the name of the
of it, and he'll tell you in three words. woman and her husband, who were stopped
upon suspicion of selling stolen diamonds at
our next-door neighbour's, the jeweller?
Stuke. Fulmer.
Enter O'FLAHERTY.
O'Fla. 'Save you, my dear; and you, sir,
I have a little bit of a word in private for you.
Bel. Pray deliver your commands: this
gentleman is my intimate friend.
O'Fla. Why, then, ensign Dudley will be
glad to measure swords with you yonder, at
the London Tavern, in Bishopsgate-street, at
nine o'clock-you know the place.
Stock. So!
Bel. Can you procure me a sight of those
diamonds?
Stuke. They are now in my hand; I was
desired to show them to Mr. Stockwell.
Stock. Give them to me-What do I see?-
as I live, the very diamonds miss Rusport
Bel. I do, and shall observe the appointment. sent hither, and which I entrusted to you to
O'Fla. Will you be of the party, sir? we
shall want a fourth hand.
return.
Bel. Yes, but I betrayed that trust, and gave
them Mrs. Fulmer, to present to miss Dudley.
Stock. With a view, no doubt, to bribe her
compliance?
to
Bel. I own it.
Stock. Savage as the custom is, I close with
your proposal; and though I am not fully in-
formed of the occasion of your quarrel, I shall
rely on Mr. Belcour's honour for the justice
of it, and willingly stake my life in his defence. Stock. For shame, for shame; - and 'twas
O'Fla. Sir, you are a gentleman of honour, this woman's intelligence you relied upon for
and I shall be glad of being better known to miss Dudley's character.
you-But, harkye, Belcour, I had like to have Bel. I thought she knew her;-by heaven,
forgot part of my errand: there is the money I would have died, sooner than have insulted
you gave old Dudley: you may tell it over, a woman of virtue, or a man of honour.
faith: 'tis a receipt in full; now the lad can Stock. I think you would; but mark the
put you to death with a safe conscience, and danger of licentious courses; you are betrayed,
when he has done that job for you, let it be robbed, abused, and, but for this providential
a warning how you attempt the sister of a discovery, in a fair way of being sent out of
man of honour.
the world, with all your follies on your head.-
Bel. The sister?
Dear Stukely, go to my neighbour, tell him,
O'Fla. Ay, the sister; 'tis English, is it not? I have an owner for the jewels; and beg him
Or Irish; 'tis all one; you understand me, his to carry the people under custody to the
sister, or Louisa Dudley, that's her name, I London Tavern, and wait for me there. [Exit
think, call her which you will. By St. Patrick, Stukely] I see it was a trap laid for you,
'tis a foolish piece of business, Belcour, to go which you have narrowly escaped: you ad-
about to take away a poor girl's virtue from dressed a woman of honour with all the loose
her, when there are so many to be met with incense of a profane admirer; and you have
in this town, who have disposed of theirs to drawn upon you the resentment of a man of
your hands.
[Exit. honour, who thinks himself bound to protect
Stock. Why, I am thunderstruck! what is her. Well, sir, you must atone for this mistake.
it you have done, and what is the shocking! Bel. To the lady, the most penitent sub-
business in which I have engaged? If I under-mission I can make is justly due; but in the

416
[ACT V.
THE WEST INDIAN.
execution of an act of justice, it never shall Stock. He has only stepped into the count-
be said my soul was swayed by the least ing-house, and will wait upon you directly.
particle of fear. I have received a challenge You will not be over strict, madam, in weigh-
from her brother; now, though I would give ing Mr. Belcour's conduct to the minutest
my fortune, almost my life itself, to purchase scruple;-his manners, passions, and opinions,
her happiness, yet I cannot abate her one are not as yet assimilated to this climate; he
scruple of my honour; I have been branded comes amongst you a new character, an in-
with the name of villain. Niede habitant of a new world, and both hospitality,
Stock. Ay, sir, you mistook her character, as well as pity, recommend him to our in-
and he mistook yours: error begets error. dulgence.
Bel. Villain, Mr. Stockwell, is a harsh
word.
Stock. It is a harsh word, and should be
unsaid.
Enter BELCOUR; bows to MISS DUDLEY.
Bel. I am happy, and ashamed, to see you;
-no man in his senses would offend you; I for-
Bel. Come, come, it shall be unsaid. feited mine, and erred against the light of the sun,
Stock. Or else, what follows? Why, the when I overlooked your virtues; but your
sword is drawn; and to heal the wrongs you beauty was predominant, and hid them from
have done to the reputation of the sister, you my sight;--I now perceive, I was the dupe
make an honourable amends by murdering of a most improbable report, and humbly en-
treat your pardon.
the brother.
Bel. Murdering!
Lou. Think no more of it; 'twas a mistake.
Stock. 'Tis thus religion writes and speaks Bel. My life has been composed of little
the word; in the vocabulary of modern ho- else; 'twas founded in mystery, and has con-
nour, there is no such term.-But, come, I tinued in error:-I was once given to hope,
don't despair of satisfying the one, without Mr. Stockwell, that you was to have delivered
alarming the other; that done, I have a dis-me from these difficulties; but either I do not
covery to unfold, that you will then, I hope, deserve your confidence, or I was deceived
be fitted to receive.
[Exeunt. in my expectations.
ACT V.
SCENE I. STOCKWELL'S House.
CAPTAIN DUDLEY, LOUISA, and STUKELY.
Dud. And are those wretches, Fulmer and
his wife, in safe custody?
Stock. When this lady has confirmed your
pardon, I shall hold you deserving of my con-
fidence.
Lou. That was granted the moment it was
asked.
Bel. To prove my title to his confidence,
honour me so far with yours, as to allow me
Stuke. They are in good hands; I accom-a few minutes' conversation in private with
panied them to the tavern, where your son you.
[She turns to her Father.
was to be, and then went in search of you. Dud. By all means, Louisa;-come, Mr.
You may be sure, Mr. Stockwell will enforce Stockwell, let us go into another room.
the law against them as far as it will go. Charles. And now, major O'Flaherty, I
Dud. What mischief might their cursed claim your promise, of a sight of the paper,
machinations have produced, but for this time- that is to unravel this conspiracy of my aunt
ly discovery!
Rusport's. I think I have waited with great
Lou. Still I am terrified; I tremble with patience.
apprehension.
O'Fla. I have been endeavouring to call to
Stuke. Mr. Stockwell is with them, madam, mind what it was I overheard; I have got
and you have nothing to fear; you may ex- the paper, and will give you the best account
pect them every minute;-and see, madam, I can of the whole transaction. Exeunt.
agreeably to your wish, they are here. [Exit. Bel. Miss Dudley, I have solicited this au-
dience, to repeat to you my penitence and
confusion: How shall I atone? What repa-
ration can I make to you and virtue?
Enter CHARLES; afterwards STOCKWELL and
O'FLAHERTRY.
Lou. O Charles, O brother! how could you Lou. To me there's nothing due, nor any
serve me so? how could you tell me you was thing demanded of you but your more fa-
going to lady Rusport's, and then set out vourable opinion for the future, if you should
with a design of fighting Mr. Belcour? But chance to think of me. Upon the part of
where is he; where is your antagonist? virtue, I am not empowered to speak; but if
Stock. Captain, I am proud to see you; hereafter, as you range through life, you
and you, miss Dudley, do me particular ho- should surprise her in the person of some
nour. We have been adjusting, sir, a very wretched female, poor as myself, and not so
extraordinary and dangerous mistake, which, well protected, enforce not your advantage,
I take for granted, my friend Stukely has ex- complete not your licentious triumph; but
plained to you.
raise her, rescue her from shame and sorrow,
and reconcile her to herself again.
Dud. He has-I have too good an opinion
of Mr. Belcour, to believe he could be guilty Bel. I will, I will; by bearing your idea
of a designed affront to an innocent girl; and ever present in my thoughts, virtue shall keep
I am much too well acquainted with your an advocate within me: but tell me, loveliest,
character, to suppose you could abet him in when you pardon the offence, can you, all
such design; I have no doubt, therefore, all perfect as you are, approve of the offender?
things will be set to rights in a very few As I now cease to view you in that false
words, when we have the pleasure of seeing light I lately did, can you, and in the fulness
Mr. Belcour.
of your bounty will you, cease also to reflect

SCENE 1.]
417
THE WEST INDIAN.
upon the libertine addresses I have paid you, Dud. True, my good friend, you are the
and look upon me as your reformed, your
rational admirer?
father of this discovery; but how did you
contrive to get this will from the lawyer?
Lou. Are sudden reformations apt to last? O'Fla. By force, my dear; the only way
and how can I be sure the first fair face you of getting any thing from a lawyer's clutches.
meet will not ensnare affections to unsteady, Stock. Well, major, when he brings his
and that I shall not lose you lightly as I action of assault and battery against you, the
gained you?
least Dudley can do is to defend you with
Bel. Because though you conquered me by the weapons you have put into his hands.
surprise, I have no inclination to rebel; be- Charles. That I am bound to do; and af-
cause since the first moment that I saw you, ter the happiness I shall have in sheltering a
every instant has improved you in my eyes; father's age from the vicissitudes of life, my
because by principle as well as passion I am next delight will be in offering you an asylum
unalterably yours; in short, there are ten in the bosom of your country.
thousand causes for my love to you, would O'Fla. And upon my soul, my dear, 'tis
to heaven I could plant one in your soft bo-
som that might move you to return it!
Lou. Nay, Mr. Belcour-
high time I was there, for 'tis now thirty long
years since I sat foot in my native country,
and by the power of St. Patrick I swear I
think it's worth all the rest of the world put
together.
Bel. I know I am not worthy your regard;
I know I am tainted with a thousand faults,
sick of a thousand follies; but there's a healing Dud. Ay, major, much about that time have
virtue in your eyes, that makes recovery cer- I been beating the round of service, and 'twere
tain; 1 cannot be a villain in your arms. well for us both to give over; we have stood
Lou. That you can never be: whomever many a tough gale, and abundance of hard
you shall honour with your choice, my life blows, but Charles shall lay us up in a little
upon't, that woman will be happy: it is not private, but safe, harbour, where we'll rest
from suspicion that I hesitate, it is from ho- from our labours, and peacefully wind up the
nour; 'tis the severity of my condition, it is remainder of our days.
our case.
the world that never will interpret fairly in O'Fla. Agreed, and you may take it as a
proof of my esteem, young man, that major
Bel. Oh, what am I, and who in this wide O'Flaherty accepts a favour at your hands;
world concerns himself for such a nameless, for, by heaven, I'd sooner starve, than say I
such a friendless thing as I am? I see, miss thank you, to the man I despise: but I be-
Dudley, I've not yet obtained your pardon. lieve you are an honest lad, and I'm glad
Lou. Nay, that you are in full possession of. you've trounc'd the old cat; for, on my con-
Bel. Oh, seal it with your hand, then, love-science, I believe I must otherwise have mar-
liest of women; confirm it with your heart: ried her myself, to have let you in for a share
make me honourably happy, and crown your of her fortune.
penitent, not with your pardon only, hut
your love.
Lou. My love!-
Enter O'FLAHERTY, afterwards DUDLEY and
CHARLES, with STOCKWELL.
O'Fla. Joy, joy! sing, dance, leap, laugh
for joy. Ha' done making love, and fall down
on your knees, to every saint in the calendar,
for they are all on your side, and honest St.
Patrick at the head of them.
Charles. O Louisa, such an event! by the
luckiest chance in life, whe have discovered
a will of my grandfather's, made in his last
illness, by which he cuts off my aunt Rusport
with a small annuity, and leaves me heir to
his whole estate, with a fortune of fifteen
thousand pounds to yourself.
fortune.
Stock. Hey day, what's become of Belcour?
Lou. One of your servants called him out
just now, and seemingly on some earnest
occasion.
Stock. I hope, miss Dudley, he has atoned.
to you as a gentleman ought.
a
Lou. Mr. Belcour, sir, will always do what
gentleman ought, and in my case I fear
only you will think he has done too much.
Stock. What has he done? and what can
be too much? Pray heaven, it may be as I
wish!
[Aside.
Dud. Let us hear it, child.
Lou. With confusion for my own un-
worthiness, I confess he has offered me-
Stock. Himself.
Lou. 'Tis true.
Stock. Then I am happy; all my doubts,
Lou. What is it you tell me? O sir, in- my cares, are over, and I may own him for
struct me to support this unexpected turn of my son.-Why, these are joyful tidings; come,
[To her Father. my good friend, assis. me in disposing your
Dud. Name not fortune, 'tis the work of lovely daughter to accept this returning pro-
Providence; 'tis the justice of heaven that digal; he is no unprincipled, no hardened
would not suffer innocence to be oppressed, libertine: his love for you and virtue is the
nor your base aunt to prosper in her cruelty same.
and cunning. [4 Servant whispers Belcour, Dud. Twere vile ingratitude in me to doubt
and he goes out. his merit-What says my child?
O'Fla. You shall pardon me, captain Dud- O'Fla. Begging your pardon now, 'tis a
ley, but you must not overlook St. Patrick frivolous sort of a question, that of yours, for
neither; for, by my soul, if he had not put you may see plainly enough by the young
it into my head to slip behind the screen, I lady's looks, that she says a great deal, though
don't see how you would ever have come at she speaks never a word.
the paper there, that master Stockwell is Charles. Well, sister, I believe the major
reading.
has fairly interpreted the state of your heart.
53

418
[ACT V.
THE WEST INDIAN.
Lou. I own it; and what must that heart not furnish settlement quite sufficient for the
be, which love, honour, and beneficence, like heiress of sir Stephen Rusport.
Mr. Belcour's, can make no impression on?
Stock. I thank you: What happiness has
this hour brought to pass!
O'Fla. Why don't we all sit down to
supper, then, and make a night on't?
Miss R. But a good estate, in aid of a com-
mission, may do something.
Lady R. A good estate, truly! where should
he get a good estate, pray?
Stock. Why, suppose now a worthy old
gentleman, on his death-bed, should have ta-
Een it in mind to leave him one-
Lady R. Hah! what's that you say?
O'Fla. O ho! you begin to smell a plot,
Enter BELCOUR, introducing MISS RUSPORT.
Bel. Mr. Dudley, here is a fair refugee,
who properly conies under your protection;
she is equipped for Scotland, but your good do you?
fortune, which I have related to her, seems
inclined to save you both the journey-Nay,
madam, never go back! you are amongst
friends.
Charles. Charlotte!
Miss R. The same; that fond, officious girl,
that haunts you every where: that persecu-
ting spirit-
Charles. Say rather, that protecting angel;
such you have been to me.
Miss R. O Charles, you have an honest,
but proud heart.
Charles. Nay, chide me not, dear Charlotte.
Bel. Seal up her lips, then; she is an ador-
able girl; her arms are open to you; and love
and happiness are ready to receive you.
Charles. Thus, then, I claim my dear, my
destined wife.
[Embracing her.
Stock. Suppose there should be a paper in
the world, that runs thus-"I do hereby give
and bequeath all my 'estates, real and perso-
nal, to Charles Dudley, son of my late daughter
Louisa, etc. etc. etc.'
O'Fla. There's a fine parcel of etc.'s for
your ladyship.
Lady R. Why, I am thunderstruck! by
what contrivance, what villany, did you get
possession of that paper?
Stock. There was no villany, madam, in
getting possession of it; the crime was in
concealing it, none in bringing it to light.
Lady R. Oh, that cursed lawyer, Varland!
O'Fla. You may say that, 'faith; he is a
cursed lawyer; and a cursed piece of work I
had to get the paper from him; your lady-
ship now was to have paid him five thousand
pounds for it: I forced him to give it me of
Lady R. Hey day! mighty fine! wife, truly! his own accord, for nothing at all, at all.
mighty well! kissing, embracing- did ever Lady R. Is it you that have done this? am
any thing equal this? Why, you shameless I foiled by your blundering contrivances, af-
hussy!-But I won't condescend to waste a ter all?
Enter LADY RUSPORT.
word upon you.-You, sir, you, Mr. Stock- O'Fla. 'Twas a blunder, 'faith, but as na-
well; you fine, sanctified, fair-dealing man of tural a one as if I had made it o'purpose.
conscience; is this the principle you trade Charles. Come, let us not oppress the fallen;
upon? is this your neighbourly system, to do right even now, and you shall have no
keep a house of reception for runaway daugh- cause to complain.
ters, and young beggarly fortune hunters? Lady R. Am I become an object of your
O'Fla. Be advised now, and don't put your-pity, then? Insufferable! confusion light amongst
self in such a passion; we were all very happy you! marry, and be wretched: let me
till you came.
Lady R. Stand away, sir; hav'n't I a reason
to be in a passion?
O'Fla. Indeed, honey, and you have, if you
knew all.
Lady R. Come, madam, I have found out
your haunts; dispose yourself to return horae
with me. Young man, let me never see you
within my doors again: Mr. Stockwell, I shall
report your behaviour, depend on it.
Stock, Hold, madam, I cannot consent to
lose miss Rusport's company this evening, and
I am persuaded you won't insist upon it; 'tis
see you more.
[Exit.
Miss R. She is outrageous; I suffer for her
and blush to see her thus exposed.
Charles. Come, Charlotte, don't let this an-
gry woman disturb our happiness: we will
save her, in spite of herself; your father's me-
mory shall not be stained by the discredit of
his second choice.
Miss R. I trust implicitly to your discretion,
and am in all things yours.
Bel. Now, lovely, but obdurate, does not
this example soften?
Lou. What can you ask for more? Accept
an unmotherly action to interrupt your daugh- my hand, accept my willing heart.
ter's happiness in this manner, believe me it is. Bel. O, bliss unutterable! brother, father,
Lady R. Her happiness truly! upon my friend, and you, the author of this general
word! and I suppose it's an unmotherly ac-joy-
tion to interrupt her ruin; for what but ruin O'Fla. Blessing of St. Patrick upon us all!
must it be to marry a beggar? I think my 'tis a night of wonderful and surprising ups
sister had a proof of that, sir, when she made and downs: I wish we were all fairly set
choice of you.
[To Captain Dudley. down to supper, and there was an end on't.
Dud. Don't be too lavish of your spirits, Stock. Hold for a moment! I have yet one
lady Rusport.
word to interpose-Entitled by my friendship
O'Fla. By my soul, you'll have occasion to a voice in your disposal, I have approved
for a sip of the cordial elixir by-and-by. your match; there yet remains a father's con-
sent to be obtained.
Stock. It don't appear to me, madam, that
Mr. Dudley can be called a beggar.
Lady R. But it appears to me, Mr. Stock-
Bel. Have I a father?
Stock. You have a father; did not I tell you
well; I am apt to think a pair of colours can- I had a discovery to make?-Compose your

SCENE 1.]
419
THE WEST INDIAN.
self-you have a father, who observes, who Stock. Yes, Belcour, I have watched you
knows, who loves you.
with a patient, but inquiring eye, and I have
Bel. Keep me no longer in suspense; my discovered through the veil of some irregular-
heart is softened for the affecting discovery,
and nature fits me to receive his blessing.
Stock. I am your father.
Bel. My father!-Do I live?
Stock. I am your father.
ities, a heart beaming with benevolence, and
animated nature; fallible indeed, but not in-
corrigible; and your election of this excellent
young lady makes me glory in acknowledging
you to be my son.
Bel. It is too much-my happiness over- Bel. I thank you, and in my turn, glory in
powers me to gain a friend, and find a fa- the father I have gained. Sensibly impressed
ther, is too much: I blush to think how little with gratitude for such extraordinary dispen-
I deserve you.
[They embrace. sations, I beseech you, amiable Louisa, for
Dud. See, children, how many new rela- the time to come, whenever you perceive me
tions spring from this night's unforeseen events, deviating into error or offence, bring only to
to endear us to each other.
my mind the providence of this night, and I
O'Fla. O'my conscience, I think we shall will turn to reason and obey.
be all related by-and-by.
GEORGE FARQUHAR
Was born at Londonderry, in 1678, where he received the rudiments of erudition and from whence, as soon as he
was properly qualified, he was sent to Trinity College, Dublin, where he was entered as a sizer, July 17, 1694; but
the modes of study in that place being calculated rather for making deep than polite scholars, and Mr. Farquhar being
totally averse to serious pursuits, he was reckoned by all his fellow-students one of the dullest young men in the university,
and even as a companion he was thought extremely heavy and disagreeable. On quitting college, he engaged himself
to Mr. Ashbury, the manager of the Dublin theatre, and was soon introduced on the stage, in the character of Othello,
In this situation he continued no longer than part of one season, nor made any very considerable figure. For though
his person was sufficiently in his favour, and he was possessed of the requisites of a strong etentive memory, a just
manner of speaking, and an easy and elegant deportment, yet his natural diffidence and timidity,
or what is usually
termed the stage-terror, which he was never able to overcome, added to a thin insufficiency of voice, were strong bars
in the way of his success, more especially in tragedy. However, notwithstanding these disadvantages, it is not impro-
bable, as from his amiable private behaviour he was very much esteemed, and has never met with the least repulse
from the audience in any of his performances, that he might have continued much longer on the stage, but for an acci-
dent which determined him to quit it on a sudden; for being to play the part of Guyomar, in Dryden's Indian Em-
peror, who kills Velasquez, one of the Spanish generals, Mr. Farquhar, by some mistake, took a real sword instead of
a foil on the stage with him, and in the engagement wounded his brother-tragedian, who acted Velasquez, in so danger-
ous a manner, that, although it did not prove mortal, he was a long time before he recovered it; aud the consideration
of the fatal consequences that might have insued, wrought so strongly on our author's humane disposition, that he took
up a resolution never to go on the stage again, or submit himself to the possibility of such another mistake. Notwithstand-
ing the several disappointments and vexations which this gentleman met with during his short stay in this transitory
world, (only thirty years) nothing seems to have been able to overcome the readiness of his genius, or the easy good-
nature of his disposition; for he began and finished his well-known comedy of The Beaux Stratagem in about six
weeks, during his last illness; notwithstanding he, for a great part of the time, was extremely sensible of the ap-
proaches of death, and even foretold what actually happened, viz. that he should die before the run of it was over.
Nay, in so calm and manly a manner did he treat the expectation of that fatal event, as even to be able to exercise
his wonted pleasantry on the very subject. For while his play was in rehearsal, his friend Mr. Wilks, who frequently
visited him during his illness, observing to him that Mrs. Oldfield thought he had dealt too freely with the character
of Mrs. Sullen, in giving her to Archer, without such a proper divorce as might be a security for her honour,-"Ol,"
replied the author, with his accustomed vivacity, "I will, if she pleases, salve that immediately, by getting a real di-
vorce, marrying her myself, and giving her my bond, that she shall be a real widow in less than a fortnight." But
nothing can give a more perfect idea of that disposition we have hinted at in him, than the very laconic but expres-
sive billet which Mr. Wilks found, after his death, among his papers, directed to himself, and which, as a curiosity in
its kind, we cannot refrain from giving to our readers; it was as follows: "Dear Bob, I have not any thing to leave
thee to perpetuale my memory, but two helpless girls; look upon them sometimes, and think of him that was, to the
last moment of life, thine George Farquhar." Of his character as a man, we have an account by himself in a piece,
addressed to a lady, which he calls The Picture. It begins thus: "My outside is neither better nor worse than my
Creator made it; and the piece being drawn by so great an artist, it were presumption to say there were many strokes
amiss. I have a body qualified to answer all the ends of its creation, and that is sufficient. As to the mind, which in
most men wears as many changes as their body, so in me it is generally dressed like my person, in black. Melan-
choly is its every day apparel; and it has hitherto found few holidays to make it change its clothes. In short, my
constitution is very splenetic, and yet very amourous; both which I endeavour to hide, lest the former should
offend others, and that the latter might incommode myself. And my reason is so vigilant in restraining these two
failings, that I am taken for an easy-natured man with my own sex, and an illnatured clown by yours. I have
very little estate, but what lies under the circumference of my hat, and should I by mischance come to lose
my head, I should not be worth a groat; but I ought to thank Providence that I can by three hours study live
one and twenty with satisfaction to myself, and contribute to the maintenance of more families than some who
have thousands a year. I have somewhat in my outward behaviour, which gives strangers a worse opinion of me
than 1 deserve; but 1 am more than recompensed by the opinion of my acquaintance, which is as much above
my desert. I have many acquaintance, very few intimates, but no friend, I mean in the old romantic way; I have no
secret so weighty, but what I can bear in my own breast; nor any duels to fight, but what I may engage in without
a second; nor can 1 love after the old romantic discipline. I would have my passion, if not led, yet at least waited
on, by my reason; and the greatest proof of my affection that a lady must expect, is this: I would run any hazard to
make us both happy, but would not for any transitory pleasure make either of us miserable. If ever, Madam, you come
to know the life of this piece, as well as he that drew it, you will conclude that I need not subscribe the name to the
picture." As a writer, the opinions of critics have been various; the general character which has been given of his
comedies is, that the success of most of them far exceeded the author's expectations, that he was particularly happy in
the choice of his subjects, which he always took care to adorn with a great variety of characters and incidents, that
his style is pure and unaffected, his wit natural and flowing, and that his plots are generally well contrived. But then, on
the contrary, it has been objected, that he was too hasty in his productions, that his works are loose, though indeed not
so grossly libertine as those of some other wits of his time; that his imagination, though lively, was capable of no
great compass, and his wit, though passable, not such as would gain ground on consideration. In a word, he seems
to have been a man of a genius rather sprightly than great, rather flowing than solid; his characters are natural yet
not overstrongly marked, nor peculiarly heightened; yet, as it is apparent he drew his observations from those he con-

420
[Arc I.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
versed with, and formed all his portraits from nature, it is more than probable, that if he had lived to have gained a
more general knowledge of life, or if his circumstances had not been so straitened as to prevent his mingling with per-
sons of rank, we might have seen his plays embellished with more finished characters, and adorned with a more
polished dialogue.
THE RECRUITING OFFICER,
Com. by George Farquhar. Acted at Drury Lane 1705. This most entertaining and lively comedy, which is at this
time, and probably will ever continue to be, one of the most standard and established amusements of the British stage,
was written on the very spot where the author has fixed his scene of action, viz. at Shrewsbury, and at a time when
he was himself a recruiting officer in that town, and, by all accounts of him, the very character he has drawn in that
of Captain Plume. His Justice Balance was designed, as he tells us himself, as a compliment to a very worthy gentle-
man in that neighbourhood (Mr. Perkely, then recorder of Shrewsbury). Worthy, was a Mr. Owen, of Russason,
on the borders of Shropshire. Brazen is unknown. Melinda was a Miss Harnage, of Balsadine, near the Wrekin.
Sylvia was the daughter of Mr. Berkely, above-mentioned. He has dedicated the play in a familiar and at the same
time grateful manner, to all friends round the Wrekin. The story is of the author's invention; the characters are na-
tural, the dialogue is easy, and the wit entirely spirited and genuine. In short, to say the least we can in its praise,
we can scarcely keep within the limits assigned us; and, were we to say the most, we could scarcely do justice to its
merit. An anecdote, connected with this play, is related of Quin, which only shows that great, as well as humble ac-
tors, will occasionally trip. Quin was performing the part of Balance with Mrs. Woffington, who was playing the
part of his daughter. Quin, having, it is supposed, taken a little more wine than usual after dinner, addressed her thus:
"Sylvia, how old were you when your mother was married?"-"What, Sir!" said the actress, tittering.-"Pshaw!"
says he, "I mean, how old were you when your mother was born?"-"I regret, Sir, that I cannot answer you precisely
on either of those questions; but I can tell you, if that be necessary, how old I was when my mother died!"
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
BALANCE.
SCALE.
SCRUPLE..
KITE.
BULLOCK.
SYLVIA.
Constable,
Recruits,
COSTAR PEARMAIN.
LUCY.
Mob,
WORTHY.
THOMAS APPLETREE.
ROSE.
Servants,
CAPTAIN PLUME.
CAPTAIN BRAZEN.
WELSH COLLIER.
MELINDA.
WOMAN.
WIFE.
and
Attendants.
ACT I.
SCENE.- Shrewsbury.
SCENE I.- The Market Place.
Drum beats the Grenadier's March. Enter
SERGEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS AP-
PLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the Mob.
Cos. Pray, sergeant, what writing is this
upon the face of it?
Serg. K. The crown, or the bed of honour
bed of honour?
Cos. Pray now, what may be that same
Serg. K. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger
by half than the great bed at Ware-ten
thousand people may lie in it together, and
never feel one another.
Serg. K. If any gentlemen soldiers or others
have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull
down the French king; if any, prentices have
severe masters, any children have undutiful
parents; if any servants have too little wages,
or any husband too much wife, let them re-
pair to the noble sergeant Kite, at the sign of
the Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury,
and they shall receive present relief and en-
tertainment. Gentlemen, I don't beat my Serg. K. Say you so! then I find, brother-
drums here to ensnare or inveigle any man; Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no
for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a kindred to you that I know of yet.-Lookye,
man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for sergeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see;
common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers; if I have a mind to list, why so; if not, why
grenadiers, gentlemen.-Pray, gentlemen, ob- 'tis not so: therefore, take your cap and your
serve this cap-this is the cap of honour; it brothership back again, for I am not dispo-
dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a sed at this present writing.-No coaxing; no
trigger; and he that has the good fortune to brothering me, faith!
Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie
in't-But do folk sleep sound in this same bed
of honour?
Serg: K. Sound! ay, so sound that they
never wake.
Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife,
lay there.
-
be born six feet high was born to be a greal Serg. K. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it,
man.-Sir, will you give me leave to try this sir; I have serv'd twenty campaigns-But, sir,
cap upon your head? [To Costar Pearmain. you talk, well, and I must own that you are
Cos. Is there no harm in't? won't the cap a man every inch of you; a pretty, young,
list¹) me?
sprightly fellow!-I love a fellow with a spi-
Serg. K. No, no, no more than I can.-rit; but I scorn to coax: 'tis base; though I
Come, let me see how it becomes you.
Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration
in it? no gunpowder-plot upon me?
Serg. K. No, no, friend; don't fear, man.
Cos. My mind misgives me plaguily.-Let
me see it. [Going to put it on] It smells
woundily of sweat and brimstone: smell,
Tummas.
Tho. Ay, wauns, does it.
1) Eulis!,
must say, that never in my life have I seen a
man better built. How firm and strong he
treads! he steps like a castle! but I scorn to
wheedle any man.-Come, honest lad! will
you take share of a pot?
Cos. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my
penny with the best he that wears a head;
that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a
fair way.
Serg. K. Give me your hand then; and

SCENE 1.]
421
RECRUITING OFFICER.
now, gentlemen, I have no more to say than roll. [Draws it out] Let me see-[Reads]
this-here's a purse of gold, and there is a Imprimis, Mrs. Shely Snikereyes, she sells
tub of humming ale at my quarters; 'tis the potatoes upon Ormond Key in Dublin
king's money, and the king's drink: he's a Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman at the
generous king, and loves his subjects. I hope, Horse Guards at Whitehall-Dolly Wag-
gentlemen, you won't refuse the king's health. gon, the carrier's daughter at Hull-Mada-
Mob. No, no, no.
moiselle Fan Bottomflat, at the Buss-then
Serg. K. Huzza, then! huzza, for the king Jenny Oakum, the ship-carpenter's widow
and The honour of Shropshire.
Mob. Huzza!
Serg. K. Beat drum.
at Portsmouth; but I don't reckon upou her,
for she was married at the same time to two
lieutenants of marines, and a man-of-war's
[Exeunt shouting; Drum beating a Gre-boatswain.
nadier's March.
Capt. P. A full company-you have named
five-Come, make them half a dozen. Kite,
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME, in a Riding Habit. is the child a boy or a girl?
Capt. P. By the grenadier's march, that should
Serg. K. A chopping boy.
Capt. P. Then set the mother down in your
be my drum; and by that shout it should
beat with success. Let me see-four o'clock. list, and the boy in mine; and now go com-
[Looks at his Watch] At ten yesterday fort the wench in the straw.
morning I left London-pretty smart riding; Serg. K. I shall, sir.
but nothing to the fatigue of recruiting.
Re-enter SERGEANT KITE.
Serg. K. Welcome to Shrewsbury, noble
captain! from the banks of the Danube to the
Severn side, noble captain! you're welcome.
Capt. P. A very elegant reception indeed,
Mr. Kite I find you are fairly entered into
your recruiting strain-Pray what success?
Serg. K. I've been here a week, and I've
recruited five.
Capt. P. Five! Pray what are they?
Serg. K. I have listed the strong man of
Kent, the king of the gipsies, a Scotch pedler,
a scoundrel attorney, and a Welch parson.
Capt. P. An attorney! wert thou mad? list
a lawyer! discharge him, discharge him this
minute.
Serg. K. Why, sir?
Capt. P. But hold, have you made any use
of your German doctor's habit since you
arriv'd?
Serg. K. Yes, yes, sir, and my fame's all
about the country for the most faithful for-
tune-teller that ever told a lie. I was obliged
to let my landlord into the secret for the con-
venience of keeping it so; but he is an ho-
nest fellow, and will be faithful to any ro-
guery that is trusted to him. This device, sir,
will get you men, and me money, which I
think is all we want at present.-But yonder
comes your friend, Mr. Worthy. Has your
honour any further commands?
Capt. P. None at present. [Exit Sergeant
Kite] 'Tis indeed the picture of Worthy, but
the life's departed.
Enter WORTHY.
Capt. P. Because I will have nobody in my What, arms across, Worthy! methinks you
company that can write: I say, this minute should hold them open when a friend's so
discharge him.
near. The man has got the vapours in his
Serg. K. And what shall I do with the ears I believe. I must expel this melancholy
parson.
Capt. P. Can he write?
Serg. K. Hum! he plays rarely upon the
fiddle.
spirit.
Spleen, thou worst of fiends below,
Fly, I conjure thee, by this magic blow.
[Slaps Worthy on the Shoulder.
Wor. Plume! my dear captain! return'd!
safe and sound, I hope.
Capt. P. Keep him by all means. But how
stands the country affected? were the people
pleas'd with the news of my coming to town? Capt. P. You see I have lost neither leg
Serg. K. Sir, the mob are so pleased with nor arm; then, for my inside, 'tis neither
your honour, and the justices and better sort troubled with sympathies nor antipathies; and
of people are so delighted with me, that we I have an excellent stomach for roast beef.
shall soon do your business. But, sir, you Wor. Thou art a happy fellow: once I
have got a recruit here that you little think of. was so.
Capt. P. Who?
Serg. K. One that you beat up for the last
time you were in the country. You remem-
ber your old friend Molly, at the Castle.
Capt. P. She's not-I hope-
Serg. K. She was brought to bed yesterday.
Capt. P. Kite, you must father the child.
Serg. K. And so her friends will oblige me
to marry the mother.
Capt. P. If they should, we'll take her with
us; she can wash you know, and make a bed
upon occasion.
Serg. K. But your honour knows that I am
married already.
Capt. P. To how many?
Capt. P. What ails thee, man? no inunda-
tions nor earthquakes in Wales I hope! Has
your father rose from the dead, and reassu-
med his estate?
Wor. No.
Capt. P. Then you are married, surely?
Wor. No.
Capt. P. Then you are mad, or turning
methodist?
Wor. Come, I must out with it. Your
once gay roving friend is dwindled into an
obsequious, thoughtful, romantic, constant cox-
comb.
Serg. K. I can't tell readily-I have set
them down here upon the back of the muster-to
Capt. P. And pray what is all this for?
Wor. For a woman,
Capt. P. Shake hands, brother. If thou go
that, behold me as obsequious, as thought-

422
[ACT I
RECRUITING OFFICER.
ful, and as constant a coxcomb as your worship.
Wor. O ho! very well. I wish you joy,
Mr. Kite.
Wor. For whom?
Capt. P. For a regiment-but for a woman! Serg. K. Your worship very well may; for
'Sdeath! I have been constant to fifteen at a I have got both a wife and child in half an
time, but never melancholy for one. Pray hour. But as I was saying, you sent me to
who is this wonderful Helen?
comfort Mrs. Molly-my wife, I mean-But
Wor. A Helen indeed! not to be won un- what do you think, sir? she was better com-
der ten years siege; as great a beauty, and forted before I came.
as great a jilt.
Capt. P. But who is she? do I know her?
Wor. Very well.
Capt. P. As how?
Serg. K. Why, sir, a footman in livery
had brought her ten guineas to buy her baby-
wo-clothes.
Capt. P. Who, in the name of wonder,
could send them?
Serg. K. Nay, sir, I must whisper that-
Mrs. Sylvia.
Capt. P. Sylvia! generous creature!
Wor. Sylvia! Impossible!
Capt. P. That's impossible. I know no
man that will hold out a ten years siege.
Wor. What think you of Melinda?
Capt. P. Melinda! you must not think to
surmount her pride by your humility. Would
you bring her to better thoughts of you, she
must be reduced to a meaner opinion of her-
self. Let me see, the very first thing that I Serg. K. Here are the guineas, sir. I took
would do, should be to make love to her the gold as part of my wife's portion. Nay,
chambermaid. Suppose we lampooned all the further, sir, she sent word the child should
pretty women in town, and left her out; or, be taken all imaginable care of, and that she
what if we made a ball, and forgot to invite intended to stand godmother. The same foot-
her, with one or two of the ugliest.
man, as I was coming to you with the news,
Wor. These would be mortifications, I called after me, and told me that his lady
must confess; but we live in such a precise would speak with me: I went; and upon hear-
dull place, that we can have no balls, no ing that you were come to town she gave me
lampoons, no-
half-a-guinea for the news, and ordered me
Capt. P. What! no young ones? and so to tell you that justice Balance, her father,
many recruiting officers in town! I thought who is just come out of the country, would
'twas a maxim among them to leave as many be glad to see you.
recruits in the country as they carried out. Capt. P. There's a girl for you, Worthy.
Wor. Nobody doubts your good will, no- Is there any thing of woman in this? No,
ble captain! witness our friend Molly at the 'tis noble, generous, manly friendship. The
Castle; there have been tears in town about common jealousy of her sex, which is nothing
that business, captain.
but their avarice of pleasure, she despises;
Capt. P. I hope Sylvia has not heard of it. and can part with the lover, though she dies
Wor. Oh, sir! have you thought of her? for the man. Come, Worthy, where's the
I began to fancy you had forgot poor Sylvia. best wine? for there I'll quarter.
Capt. P. Your affairs had quite put mine Wor. Horton has a fresh pipe of choice
out of my head. 'Tis true, Sylvia and I had Barcelona, which I would not let him pierce
once agreed, could we have adjusted prelimi- before, because I reserved it for your wel-
naries; but I am resolved never to bind my-come to town.
self to a woman for my whole life, till I Capt. P. Let's away, then. Mr. Kite, go to
know whether I shall like her company for the lady, with my humble service, and tell
half an hour. If people would but try one her I shall only refresh a little and wait
another before they engaged, it would prevent upon her.
all these elopements, divorces, and the devil
knows what.
Wor. Nay, for that matter, the town did
not stick to say that.
Wor. Hold, Kite! have you seen the other
recruiting captain?
Serg. K. No, sir; I'd have you to know I
don't keep such company.
Capt. P. Another! who is he?
Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the
most unaccountable fellow: but I'll tell you
[Exeunt.
Capt. P. I have country towns for that rea-
son. If your town has a dishonourable thought
of Sylvia it deserves to be burned to the
ground. I love Sylvia, I admire her frank more as we go.
generous disposition; in short, were I once a
general, I would marry her.
Wor. Faith, you have reason; for were
you but a corporal, she would marry you.
But my Melinda coquets it with every fellow
she sees; I'll lay fifty pounds she makes love
to you.
Capt. P. I'll lay you a hundred that I re-
turn it if she does.
Re-enter SERGEANT KITE.
Serg. K. Captain, captain! a word in your ear.
Capt. P. You may speak out; here are none
but friends.
Serg. K. You know, sir, that you sent me
to comfort the good woman in the straw,
Mrs. Molly; my wife, Mr. Worthy.
SCENE II.-An Apartment.
Enter MELINDA and SYLVIA, meeting.
Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia.
[They salute] I envied you your retreat in
the country; for Shrewsbury, methinks, and
all your heads of shires, are the most irregu-
lar places for living: here we have smoke,
noise, scandal, affectation and pretension; in
short, every thing to give the spleen, and
nothing to divert it: then the air is intolerable.
Syl. Oh, madam! I have heard the town
commended for its air.
Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how
long I have lived in't! for I can assure you,
that to a lady the least nice in her constitu-

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
423
RECRUITING OFFICER.
tion, no air can be good above half a year.
Change of air I take to be the most agree-
able of any variety in life.
Syl. My meaning needs no interpretation,
Syl. My
madam.
Mel. Better it had, madam, for methinks
Syl. As you say, cousin Melinda, there are you are too plain.
several sorts of airs?
Syl. If you mean the plainness of my per-
son, I think your ladyship's as plain as me to
Mel. Pshaw! I talk only of the air we
breathe, or more properly of that we taste. the full.
Have not you, Sylvia, found a vast difference
in the taste of airs?
Mel. Were I sure of that, I would be
glad to take up with a rakish officer as you do.
Syl. Again! lookye madam, you are in
your own house
Syl. Pray, cousin, are not vapours a sort
of air? Taste air! you might as well tell me
I may feed upon air! But, pr'ythee, my dear
Melinda! don't put on such an air to me. have excused you.
Your education and mine were just the same;
and I remember the time when we never desire to have my visit returned.
troubled our heads about air, but when the
sharp air from the Welsh mountains made
our fingers ache in a cold morning at the
boarding-school.
Mel. And if you had kept in yours I should
Syl. Don't be troubled, madam, I sha'n't
Mel. Our education, cousin, was the same,
but our temperaments had nothing alike; you
have the constitution of a horse.
Syl. So far as to be troubled neither with
spleen, cholic, nor vapours. I need no salts
for my stomach, no hartshorn for my head,
nor wash for my complexion; I can gallop
all the morning after the hunting horn, and
all the evening after a fiddle.
Mel. I am told your captain is come to
town.
Syl. Ay, Melinda, he is come, and I'll take
care he sha'n't go without a companion.
Mel. You are certainly mad, cousin.
Syl. And there's a pleasure in being mad
Which none but madmen know.
Mel. Thou poor romantic quixote! hast
thou the vanity to imagine that a young
sprightly officer, that rambles over half the
globe in half a year, can confine his thoughts
to the little daughter of a country justice in
an obscure part of the world?
Syl. Pshaw! what care I for his thoughts!
I should not like a man with confined thoughts;
it shows a narrowness of soul.
Mel. O'my conscience, Sylvia, hadst thou
Mel. The sooner, therefore, you make an
end of this the better.
Syl. I am easily persuaded to follow me
inclinations; and so, madam, your humbly
servant.
[Exit.
Mel. Saucy thing!
Enter Lucy.
Lucy. What's the matter, madam?
Mel. Did not you see the proud nothing,
how she swelled upon the arrival of her
fellow?
Lucy. I don't believe she has seen him yet.
Mel. Nor shan't, if I can help it. Let me
see-I have it-bring me pen and ink-Hold,
I'll go write in my closet.
Lucy. An answer to this letter, I hope, ma-
dam.
[Presents a Letter.
Mel. Who sent it?
Lucy. Your captain, madam.
Mel. He's a fool, and I'm tired of him:
send it back unopened.
Lucy. The messenger's gone, madam.
Mel. Then how should I send an answer?
Call him back immediately, while I go write.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I-An Apartment.
been a man thou hadst been the greatest rake Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and CAPTAIN PLUME.
in Christendom.
Syl. I should have endeavoured to know
the world. But now I think on't, how stands
your affair with Mr. Worthy?
Mel. He's my aversion.
Syl. Vapours!
Mel. What do you say, madam?
Just B. Lookye, captain, give us but blood
for our money, and you shan't want men.
Adds my life, captain, get us but another
marshal of France, and I'll go myself for a
soldier.
Capt. P. Pray, Mr. Balance, how does your
fair daughter?
Syl. I say that you should not use that honest Just B. Ah, captain! what is my daughter
fellow so inhumanly; he's a gentleman of to a marshal of France? we're upon a nobler
parts and fortune, and besides that he's my subject; I want to have a particular description
Plume's friend; and by all that's sacred if you of the last battle.
don't use him better I shall expect satisfaction. Capt P. The battle, sir, was a very pretty
Mel. Satisfaction! you begin to fancy your-battle as any one should desire to see; but we
self in breeches in good earnest. But to be were all so intent upon victory that we never
plain with you, I like Worthy the worse minded the battle: all that I know of the
for being so intimate with your captain, for matter is, our general commanded us to beat
I take him to be a loose, idle, ill-mannerly the French, and we did so; and if he pleases
coxcomb.
but to say the word, we'll do it again. But
Syl. Oh, madam! you never saw him per- pray, sir, how does Mrs. Sylvia?
haps since you were mistress of twenty thou- Just B. Still upon Sylvia! for shame, cap-
sand pounds: you only knew him when you tain! you are engaged already, wedded to the
were capitulating with Worthy for a settle-war; victory is your mistress, and 'tis below
ment, which perhaps might encourage him a soldier to think of any other.
to be a little loose and unmannerly with
you
Mel. What do you mean, madam?
Capt. P. As a mistress I confess, but as a
friend, Mr. Balance.
Just B. Come, come, captain, never mince

424
[ACT II.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
the matter; would not you debauch my daughter boy! lack-a-day, madam! that alone may con-
if you could?
vince you 'twas none of mine: why, the girl,
Capt. P. How, sir? I hope she is not to be madam, is my sergeant's wife, and so the poor
debauched.
creature gave out that I was the father, in
Just B. Faith, but she is, sir, and any wo- hopes that my friends might support her in
man in England of her age and complexion, case of necessity-That was all, madam-My
by a man of your youth and person. Lookye, boy! no, no, no!
captain, once I was young, and once an offi-
cer, as you are, and I can guess at your
thoughts now by what mine were then; and Serv. Madam, my master has received some
I remember very well that I would have given ill news from London, and desires to speak
one of my legs to have deluded the daughter with you immediately; and he begs the cap-
of an old country gentleman as like me as Itain's pardon that the can't wait on him as
was then like you.
he promised.
Capt. P. But, sir, was that country gentle-]
man your friend and benefactor?
Just B. Not much of that.
Capt. P. There the comparison breaks: the
favours, sir, that-
I
Just B. Pho, pho! I hate set speeches: if
have done you any service, captain, it was to
please myself. I love thee, and if I could part
with my girl you should have her as soon as
any young fellow I know; but I hope you
have more honour than to quit the service,
and she more prudence than to follow the
camp; but she's at her own disposal; she has
fifteen hundred pounds in her pocket, and so
--Sylvia, Sylvia!
[Calls.
Enter SYLVIA.
Enter a Servant.
[Exit.
Capt. P. Ill news! Heaven avert it! nothing
could touch me nearer than to see that gene-
rous worthy gentleman afflicted. I'll leave you
to comfort him, and be assured that if my life
and fortune can be any way serviceable to
the father of my Sylvia, he shall freely com-
mand both.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-An Apartment.
Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and SYLVIA.
Syl. Whilst there is life there is hope, sir;
perhaps my brother may recover.
Just B. We have but little reason to ex-
pect it; the doctor acquaints me here, that be-
fore this comes to my hands he fears I shall
have no son-Poor Owen!-but the decree is
just; I was pleased with the death of my fa-
Syl. There are some letters, sir, come by ther, because he left me an estate, and now I
the post from London; I left them upon the am punished with the loss of an heir to in-
table in your closet.
herit mine. I must now look upon you as
Just B. And here is a gentleman from Ger- the only hopes of my family, and I expect
many. [Presents Capt. B. to her] Captain, that the augmentation of your fortune will
you'll excuse me; I'll go and read my letters give you fresh thoughts and new prospects.
and wait on you.
[Exit.
Syl. My desire in being punctual in my
Syl. Sir, you are welcome to England. obedience, requires that you would be plain
Capt. P. You are indebted to me a welco- in your commands, sir.
me, madam, since the hopes of receiving it
from this fair hand was the principal cause
of my seeing England.
Just B. The death of your brother makes
you sole heiress to my estate, which you know
is about two thousand pounds a year: this
Syl. I have often heard that soldiers were fortune gives you a fair claim to quality and
sincere; shall I venture to believe public re-a title: you must set a just value upon your-
port?
self, and in plain terms, think no more of cap-
Capt. P. You may, when 'tis backed by pri-tain Plume.
vate insurance; for I swear, madam, by the Syl. You have often commended the gentle-
honour of my profession, that whatever dan-man, sir.
feet.
gers I went upon it was with the hope of Just B. And I do so still; he's a very pretty
making myself more worthy of your esteem; fellow; but though I liked him well enough
and if ever I had thoughts of preserving my for a bare son-in-law, I don't approve of him
life, 'twas for the pleasure of dying at your for an heir to my estate and family: fifteen
hundred pounds indeed I might trust in his
Syl. Well, well, you shall die at my feet, hands, and it might do the young fellow a
or where you will; but you know, sir, there kindness; but, odds my life! two thousand
is a certain will and testament to be made pounds a year would ruin him, quite turn his
beforehand."
brain. A captain of foot worth two thousand
pounds a year! 'tis a prodigy in nature!
Capt. P. My will, madam, is made already,
and there it is; and if you please to open this
paper, which was drawn the evening before.
our last battle, you will find whom I left my
heir.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Sir, here's one with a letter below
for your worship, but he will deliver it into
no hands but your own.
Syl. Mrs. Sylvia Balance. [Opens the Will
and reads] Well, captain, this is a handsome Just B. Come, show me the messenger.
and a substantial compliment; but I can as-
[Exit with Servant.
sure you I am much better pleased with the Syl. Make the dispute between love and
bare knowledge of your intention, than I duty, and I am prince Prettyman exactly. If
should have been in the possession of your my brother dies, ah, poor brother! if he lives,
legacy: but, methinks, sir, you should have ah, poor sister! It is bad both ways. I'll try
left something to your little boy at the Castle. it again-Follow my own inclinations and
Capt. P. That's home. [Aside] My little break my father's heart, or obey his commands

SCENE 3.]
425
RECRUITING OFFICER.
and break my own! Worse and worse. Sup-
pose I take it thus: a moderate fortune, a
pretty fellow, and a pad; or a fine estate, a
coach and six, and an ass.
ass. That will never
do neither.
Re-enter JUSTICE BALANCE.
Wor. I hope, sir, you're under no appre-
hensions of wrong from any body.
Just B. You know I ought to be.
Wor. You wrong my honour in believing
I could know any thing to your prejudice,
without resenting it as much as you should.
Just. B. This letter, sir, which I tear in pie-
ces to conceal the person that sent it, informs
Just. B. Put four horses to the coach. [To me that Plume has a design upon Sylvia, and
a Servant without] Ho, Sylvia!
Syl. Sir.
Just. B. How old were you when your mo-
ther died?
Syl. So young that I don't remember I ever
had one; and you have been so careful, so
indulgent to me since, that indeed I never
wanted one.
Just. B. Have I ever denied you any thing
you asked of me?
Syl. Never, that I remember.
that you are privy to't.
Wor. Nay then, sir, I must do myself jus-
tice, and endeavour to find out the author.
[Takes up a Piece] Sir, I know the hand,
and if you refuse to discover the contents,
Melinda shall tell me.
[Going.
Just. B. Hold, sir; the contents I have told
you already, only with this circumstance, that
her intimacy with Mr. Worthy had drawn
the secret from him.
Wor. Her intimacy with me!-Dear sir, let
Just. B. Then, Sylvia, I must beg that, once me pick up the pieces of this letter; 'twill give
in your life, you will grant me a favour. me such a power over her pride to have her
Syl. Why should you question it, sir? own an intimacy under her hand. This was
Just. B. I don't; but I would rather counsel the luckiest accident! [Gathers up the Letter]
than command. I don't propose this with the The aspersion, sir, was nothing but malice,
authority of a parent, but as the advice of the effect of a little quarrel between her and
your friend, that you would take the coach Mrs. Sylvia.
this moment and go into the country.
Syl. Does this advice, sir, proceed from the
contents of the letter you received just now?
Just. B. No matter; I will be with you in
three or four days, and then give you my
reasons. But before you go, I expect you
will make me one solemn promise.
Syl. Propose the thing, sir.
Just. B. Are you sure of that, sir?
Wor. Her maid gave me the history of part
of the battle just now, as she overheard it.
But I hope, sir, your daughter has suffered
nothing upon the account?
Just. B. No, no, poor girl! she's so afflicted
with the news of her brother's death, that to
avoid company she begged leave to go into
Wor. And is she gone?
Just. B. That you will never dispose of your- the country.
self to any man without consent.
Syl. I promise..
my
Just. B. I could not refuse her, she was so
pressing; the coach went from the door the
minute before you came.
Just. B. Very well; and to be even with you,
I promise I never will dispose of you without
your own consent: and so, Sylvia, the coach Wor. So pressing to be gone, sir?-I find
is ready. Farewell. [Leads her to the Door, her fortune will give her the same airs with
and returns] Now she's gone, I'll examine Melinda; and then Plume and I may laugh at
the contents of this letter a little nearer, one another.
-
[Reads] Sir,-My intimacy with Mr. Worthy Just. B. Like enough; women are as sub-
has drawn a secret from him, that he had ject to pride as men are; and why mayn't
from his friend, captain Plume; and my great women, as well as great men, forget
friendship and relation to your family ob- their old acquaintance? But come, where's
lige me to give you timely notice of it. The this young fellow? I love him so well, it would
captain has dishonourable designs upon break the heart of me to think him a rascal.
my cousin Sylvia. Evils of this nature are -I am glad my daughter's fairly off though.
more easily prevented than amended; and [Aside] Where does the captain quarter?
you would immediately send my cou- Wor. At Horton's: I am to meet him there
sin into the country is the advice of, sir, two hours hence, and we should be glad of
your humble servant, MELINDA.-Why, the your company.
that
devil's in the young fellows of this age; they Just. B. Your pardon, dear Worthy. I must
are ten times worse than they were in my allow a day or two to the death of my son
time. Hang it! I can fetch down a woodcock Afterwards, I'm yours over a bottle, or how
or a snipe, and why not a hat and cockade?
you will
I have a case of good pistols, and have a
good mind to try.
Enter WORTHY.
Worthy! your servant.
Wor. I'm sorry, sir, to be the messenger
of ill news.
Just. B. I apprehend it, sir; you have heard
that my son Owen is past recovery.
Wor. My letters say he's dead, sir.
Just. B. He's happy, and I am satisfied: the
stroke of heaven I can bear; but injuries from
men, Mr. Worthy, are not so easily supported.
Wor. Sir, I'm your humble servant.
[Exeunt apart.
SCENE III.-The Street.
Enter SERGEANT KITE, with COSTAR PEAR-
MAIN in one Hand, and THOMAS APPLE-
TREE in the other, drunk.
Serg. K. [Sings] Our 'prentice Tom, may
now refuse
To wipe his scoundrel master's shoes,
For now he's free to sing and play
Over the hills and far away.-Over, etc.
[The Mob sings the Chorus.
54

426
[ACT II.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
that are willing to serve the king. I have en-
tertained 'em just now as volunteers under
We shall lead more happy lives,
By getting rid of brats and wives,
That scold and brawl both night and day, your honour's command.
Over the hills and far away.-Over, etc. Capt. P. And good entertainment they shall
Hey, boys! thus we soldiers live! drink, sing, have: volunteers are the men I want; those
dance, play-we live, as one should say we are the men fit to make soldiers, captains, ge-
live-'tis impossible to tell how we live-we nerals.
are all princes-why-why, you are a king-
Cos. Wounds, Tummas! what's this? are
you are an emperor, and I'm a prince-now you listed?
-an't we?
Tho. No, sergeant, I'll be no emperor.
Serg. K. No?
Tho. I'll be a justice of peace.
Serg. K. A justice of peace, man?
Tho. Ay, wauns, will I.
Serg. K. Done; you are a justice of peace,
Tho. Flesh! not I. Are you, Costar?
Cos. Wounds! not I.
Serg. K. What! not listed? ha, ha, ha! a
very good jest, i'faith.
Cos. Come, Tummas, we'll go home.
Tho. Ay, ay, come.
Serg. K. Home! for shame, gentlemen! be-
and you are a king, [To Cos.] and I am a have yourselves better before your captain.
duke, and a rum duke, an't I?
Cos. Ay, but I'll be no king.
Serg. K. What then?
Cos. I'll be a queen.
Serg K. A queen?
Cos. Ay, of England; that's greater than
any king of 'em all.
Serg. K. Bravely said, faith! huzza for the
queen. [Huzza] But harkye, you Mr. Justice,
and you Mr. Queen, did you ever see the
king's picture?
Cos. Tho. No, no, no.
Serg. K. I wonder at that; I have two of
'em set in gold, and as like his majesty-bless
the mark! see here, they are set in gold.
[Takes two broad Pieces out of his
Pocket, gives one to each.
Tho. The wonderful works of nature!
[Looks at it.
Cos. What's this written about? here's a
posy, I believe. Ca-ro-lus! - what's that, ser-
geant?
Serg. K. O! Carolus! why, Carolus is Latin
for king George; that's all.
Cos. Tis a fine thing to be a scollard. Ser-
geant, will you part with this? I'll buy it on
you, if it come within the compass of a crown.
Serg. K. A crown! never talk of buying;)
'tis the same thing among friends, you know;
I'll present them to ye both: you shall give
me as good a thing. Put 'em up, and re-
member your old friend, when I am over the
thills and far away.
[They sing, and put up the Money.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME, singing.
Over the hills, and over the main,
To Flanders, Portugal, or Spain;
The king commands, and we'll obey,
Over the hills and far away.
Come on, my men of mirth, away with it;
I'll make one among ye.
Who are these
hearty lads?
Dear Tummas! honest Costar!
Tho. No, no, we'll be gone.
Serg. K. Nay, then, I command you to stay.
I place you both sentinels in this place for
two hours, to watch the motion of St. Mary's
clock you, and you the motion of St. Chad's;
and he that dares stir from his post till he be
relieved, shall have my sword in his guts the
next minute.
Capt. P. What's the matter, sergeant? I'm
afraid you are too rough with these gentlemen.
Serg. K. I'm too mild, sir; they disobey
command, sir; and one of 'em should be shot
for an example to the other.
Cos. Shot, Tummas?
Capt. P. Come, gentlemen, what's the matter?
Tho. We don't know; the noble sergeant
is pleas'd to be in a passion, sir; but-
Serg. K. They disobey command; they deny
their being listed.
Tho. Nay, sergeant, we don't downright
deny it neither; that we dare not do for fear
of being shot; but we humbly conceive, in a
civil way, and begging your worship's pardon,
that we may go home.
Capt. P. That's easily known. Have either
of you received any of the king's money?
Cos. Not a brass farthing, sir.
Serg. K. They have each of them received
one-and-twenty shillings, and 'tis now in their
pockets.
Cos. Wounds! if I have a penny in my
pocket but a bent sixpence, I'll be content to
be listed, and shot into the bargain.
Tho. And I. Look ye here, sir.
Cos. Nothing but the king's picture, that
the sergeant gave me just now.
Serg. K. See there, a guinea, one-and-twenty
shillings: t'other has the fellow on't.
Capt. P. The case is plain, gentlemen; the
goods are found upon you; those pieces of
gold are worth one-and-twenty shillings each.
Cos. So it seems that Carolus is one-and-
Serg. K. Off with your hats! 'ounds! off twenty shillings in Latin.
with hats! This is the captain, the cap-
your
Tho. 'Tis the same thing in Greek, for we
Cos. 'Flesh! but we an't, Tummus. I desire
tain.
[are listed.
Tho. We have seen captains afore now, to be carried before the mayor, captain.
mun.
Cos. Ay, and lieutenant-captains too. 'Sflesh!
I'll keep on my nab.
[Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite
whisper.
Capt. P. "Twill never do, Kite; your damn'd
Tho. And I'se scarcely d'off mine for any tricks will ruin me at last. I won't lose the
captain in England. My vether's a freeholder. fellows though, if I can help it. [Apart]
Capt. P. Who are those jolly lads, ser- Well, gentlemen, there must be some trick
geant?
in this; my sergeant offers to take his oath
Serg. K. A couple of honest, brave fellows, that you are fairly listed.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
427
RECRUITING OFFICER.
[Apart.
Tho. Why, caplain, we know that you and I will travel the world o'er, and com-
soldiers have more liberty of conscience than mand it wherever we tread.-Bring your friend
other folks; but for me, or neighbour Costar with you if you can.
here, to take such an oath, 'twould be down- Cos. Well, Tummas, must we part?
right perjuration.
Tho. No, Costar, I cannot leave thee.-Come,
Capt. P. Lookye, rascal, you villain! if I captain, I'll e'en go along too; and if you
find that you have imposed upon these two have two honester simpler lads in your com-
honest fellows, I'll trample you to death, you pany than we two have been, I'll say no more.
dog.-Come, how was't?
Capt. P. Here, my lad. [Gives him Money]
Now your name.
Tho. Nay, then we'll speak. Your sergeant,
as you say, is a rogue, an't like your worship,
begging your worship's pardon-and-
Cos. Nay, Tummas, let me speak; you know
I can read. And so, sir, he gave us those
two pieces of money, for pictures of the king,
by way of a present.
Capt. P. How! by way of a present? the
son of a whore! I'll teach him to abuse honest
fellows like you! scoundrel! rogue! villain!
[Beats off the Sergeant, and follows.
Tho. Cos. O brave, noble captain: huzza.
A brave captain, faith.
Cos. Now, Tummas, Carolus is Latin for a
beating. This is the bravest captain I ever
saw. Wounds! I've a month's mind to go
with him.
Re-enter CAPTAIN PLUME.
Capt. P. A dog, to abuse two such honest
fellows as you-Lookye, gentlemen, I love a
pretty fellow; I come among you as an officer
to list soldiers, not as a kidnapper to steal
slaves.
Cos. Mind that, Tummas.
Tho. Tummas Appletree.
Capt. P. And yours?
Cos. Costar Pearmain.
Capt. P. Well said, Costar! Born where?
Tho. Both in Herefordshire.
Capt. P. Very well. Courage, my lads-
Now we'll
[Sings.
Over the hills and far away.
Courage, boys, it is one to ten
But we return all gentlemen;
While conq'ring colours we display,
Over the hills and far away.
Re-enter SERGEANT KITE.
Kite, take care of 'em.
[Exit.
Serg. K. A'n't you a couple of pretty fellows
now? Here you have complained to the cap-
tain, I am to be turned out, and one of you
will be sergeant. Which of you is to have
my halberd?
Cos. Tho. I.
Serg. K. So you shall-in your guts.-March,
you sons of-
[Exit, beating them off.
ACT III
SCENE I-The Market Place.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME and WORTHY.
Wor. I cannot forbear admiring the equa-
Capt. P. I desire no man to go with me
but as I went myself: I went a volunteer, as
you or you may do; for a little time carried
a musket, and now I command a company.
Tho. Mind that, Costar--a sweet gentleman!
Capt. P. 'Tis true, gentlemen, I might take lity of our two fortunes: we love two ladies;
an advantage of you; the king's money was they meet us half way; and just as we were
in your pockets; my sergeant was ready to upon the point of leaping into their arms,
take his oath you were listed; but I scorn to fortune drops into their laps, pride possesses
do a base thing: you are both of you at your their hearts, and away they run.
liberty.
Capt. P. And leave us here to mourn upon
Cos. Thank you, noble captain-Ecod! I the shore, a couple of poor melancholy monsters.
can't find in my heart to leave him, he talks-What shall we do?
so finely.
Tho. Ay, Costar, would he always hold in
this mind?
Capt. P. Come, my lads, one thing more
I'll tell you: you're both young tight fellows,
and the army is the place to make you men
for ever: every man has his lot, and you bave
Wor. I have a trick for mine: the letter,
you know, and the fortune-teller.
Capt. P. And I have a trick for mine.
Wor. What is't?
Capt. P. I'll never think of her again.
Wor. No!
Capt. P. No; I think myself above admi-
yours; what think you now of a purse of nistering to the pride of any woman, were
French gold out of a monsieur's pocket, after she worth twelve thousand a year; and I ha'n't
you have dash'd out his brains with the but the vanity to believe I shall ever gain a lady
end of your firelock, eh?
worth twelve hundred. The generous, good-
Cos. Wauns! I'll have it. Captain, give natur'd Sylvia, when poor, I admire; but the
me a shilling; I'll follow you to the end of haughty and scornful Sylvia, with her fortune,
I despise. What! sneak out of town, and
Tho. Nay, dear Costar! do'na: be advis'd. not so much as a word, a line, a compli-
Capt. P. Here, my hero, here are two gui-ment!-'Sdeath! how far off does she live?
neas for thee, as earnest of what I'll do fur- I'll go and break her windows,
the world.
ther for thee.
Wor. Ha, ha, ha! ay, and the window-bars
Tho. Do'na take it; do'na, dear Costar! too to come at her. Come, come, friend, no
[Cries, and pulls back his Arm. more of your rough military airs.
Cos. I wull-I wull.-Waunds! my mind
misgives me that I shall be a captain myself
-I take your money, sir, and now I am a
gentleman.
Capt. P. Give me thy hand; and now you
Enter SERGEANT KITE.
Serg. K. Captain, captain! Sir, look yonder,
she's a-coming this way. 'Tis the prettiest,
cleanest, little tit!

428
[ACT III.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Capt. P. Now, Worthy, to show you how bodkin, about the thickness of
much I'm in love-here she comes. But, Kite,
what is that great country fellow with her?
Serg. K. I can't tell, sir.
Enter Rose, followed by her brother BULLOCK,
with Chickens in a Basket on her Arm.
Rose. Buy chickens, young and tender
chickens, young and tender chickens.
Capt. P. Here, you chickens.
Rose. Who calls?
Capt. P Come hither, pretty maid!
Rose. Will you please to buy, sir?
Wor. Yes, child, we'll both buy.
Capt. P. Nay, Worthy, that's not fair;
market for yourself-Come, child, I'll buy all
your stock.
Rose. Then it's all at your service.
[Courtesies.
Wor. Then must I shift for myself I find.
[Exit.
Capt. P. Let me see; young and tender you
say?
my leg.
Bul. That's a fib, I believe. [Aside] Eh!
where's Rouse? Rouse, Rouse! 'Sflesh!
where's Rouse gone?
Serg. K. She's gone with the captain.
Bul. The captain! wauns! there's no press-
ing of women sure?
Serg. K. But there is sure.
Bul. If the captain should press Rouse, I
should be ruined. Which way went she?-
Oh! the devil take your rabelins and palisadoes.
Serg. K. You shall be better acquainted with
them, honest Bullock, or I shall miss of my aim.
Re-enter WORTHY.
Wor. Why thou art the most useful fellow
in nature to your captain; admirable in your
way, I find.
I
Serg. K. Yes, sir, I understand my business,
will say it.
Wor. How came you so qualified?
Serg. K. You must know, sir, I was born
[Chucks her under the Chin. a gipsy, and bred among that crew till I was
Rose. As ever you tasted in your life, sir. ten years old; there I learned canting and
Capt. P. Come, I must examine your basket, lying: I was bought from my mother Cleo-
my dear!
patra, by a certain nobleman, for three pistoles;
Rose. Nay, for that matter, I warrant my who, liking my beauty, made me his page;
ware is as good as any in the market.
Capt. P. And I'll buy it all, child, were it
ten times more.
there I learned impudence and pimping: I was
turned off for wearing my lord's linen, and
drinking my lady's ratafia, and turned bailiff's
Rose. Sir, I can furnish you.
follower; there I learned bullying and swearing:
Capt. P. Come, then, we won't quarrel about I at last got into the army; and there I learned
the price; they're fine birds.-Pray what's your wenching and drinking-so that if your wor-
name, pretty creature?
ship pleases to cast up the whole sum, viz.
Rose. Rose, sir. My father is a farmer canting, lying, impudence, pimping, bullying,
within three short miles o'the town: we keep swearing, drinking, and a halberd, you will
this market; I sell chickens, eggs, and butter; find the sum total amount to a recruiting
and my brother Bullock there sells corn. sergeant.
Bul. Come, sister, haste, we shall be late
home.
[Whistles about the Stage.
Capt. P. Kite! [Tips him the Wink, he
returns it] Pretty Mrs. Rose, you have-let
me see-how many?
Wor. And pray what induc'd you to turn
soldier?
Serg. K. Hunger and ambition. The fears
of starving, and hopes of a truncheon, led me
to a gentleman with a fair tongue, who loaded
Rose. A dozen, sir; and they are richly me with promises; but, 'gad, it was the lightest
worth a crown.
load that ever I felt in my life.-He promised
Bul. Come, Rouse; I sold fifty strake of to advance me; and indeed he did so-to a
barley to-day in half this time; but you will garret in the Savoy. I asked him, "Why he
higgle and higgle for a penny more than the put me in prison?" he call'd me, "Lying dog,"
commodity is worth.
and said, "I was in a garrison;" and indeed
Rose. What's that to you, oaf? I can make 'tis a garrison that may hold out till dooms-
as much out of a groat as you can out of day before I should desire to take it again.
fourpence, I'm sure. The gentleman bids fair; But here comes justice Balance.
and when I meet with a chapman, I know
how to make the best of him.-And so, sir, I
say for a crown-piece the bargain's yours.
Capt. P. Here's a guinea, my dear.
Rose. I can't change your money, sir.
Capt. P. Indeed, indeed, but you can. My
lodging is hard by, chicken: and we'll make
change there.
[Exit; Rose follows him.
Serg. K. So, sir, as I was telling you, I have
seen one of these hussars eat up a ravelin for
his breakfast, and afterwards picked his teeth
with a palisado.
Bul. Ay, you soldiers see very strange
things; but pray, sir, what is a rabelin?
Serg. K. Why, 'tis like a modern minced
pie; but the crust is confounded hard, and
the plums are somewhat hard of digestion.
Bul. Then your palisado, pray what may
he be?-Come, Rouse, pray ha' done.
Serg. K. Your palisado is a pretty sort of
Re-enter BULLOCK, with JUSTICE BALANCE.
Just. B. Here you, sergeant, where's your
captain? here's a poor foolish fellow comes
clamouring to me with a complaint that your
captain has press'd his sister. Do you know
any thing of this matter, Worthy?
Wor. I know his sister is gone with Plume
to his lodgings, to sell him some chickens.
Just. B. Is that all? the fellow's a fool.
Bul. I know that, an't like your worship;
but if your worship pleases to grant me a
warrant to bring her before your worship, for
fear of the worst.
Just. B. Thou'rt mad, fellow; thy sister's
safe enough.
Serg. K. I hope so too.
[Aside.
Wor. Hast thou no more sense, fellow, than
to believe that the captain can list women?
Bul. I know not whether they list them, or

SCENE 1.]
429
RECRUITING OFFICER.
what they do with them; but I'm sure they
carry as many women as men with them out
of the country.
Just. B. But how came you not to go along
with your sister?
Bul. Lord, sir, I thought no more of her
going than I do of the day I shall die; but
this gentleman here, not suspecting any hurt
neither, I believe-You thought no harm, friend,
did you?
[To Sergeant Kite.
Serg. K. Lack-a-day, sir, not I-only that I
believe I shall marry her to-morrow.
Just. B. I begin to smell powder. [Aside]
Well, friend, but what did that gentleman do
with you?
Bul. Why, sir, he entertain'd me with a
fine story of a great sea fight between the
Hungarians, I think it was, and the wild Irish.
Serg. K. And so, sir, while we were in the
heat of battle, the captain carried off the
baggage.
Just. B. Sergeant, go along with this fellow
to your captain; give him my humble service,
and desire him to discharge the wench, though
he has listed her.
Bul. Ay, and if she be'nt free for that, he
shall have another man in her place.
Serg. K. Come, honest friend, you shall go
to my quarters instead of the captain's.
[Aside, and exit with Bullock.
Just. B. We must get this mad captain his
complement of men, and send him packing,
eise he'll overrun the country.
Wor. You see, sir, how little he values
your daughter's disdain.
Just. B. I like him the better; I was just
such another fellow at his age.-But how goes
your affair with Melinda?
Wor. Whispering, sir, before company is
not manners; and when nobody's by 'tis foolish.
Capt. B. Company! mort de ma vie! I beg
the gentleman's pardon-who is he?
Wor. Ask him.
Capt. B. So I will. My dear! I am your
servant, and so forth-Your name, my dear!
[To Justice Balance.
I
Just. B. Very laconic, sir.
Capt. B. Laconic! a very good name, truly.
have known several of the Laconics abroad.
Poor Jack Laconic! he was killed at the battle
I remember that he had a blue riband in
his hat that very day; and after he fell, we
found a piece of neat's tongue in his pocket.
Just. B. Pray, sir, did the French attack us,
or we them?
Capt. B. The French attack us! No, sir, we
attack'd them on the-I have reason to re-
member the time, for I had two-and-twenty
horses killed under me that day.
Wor. Then, sir, you must have rid mighty
hard.
Just. B. Or perhaps, sir, you rid upon half-
a-dozen horses at once.
Capt. B. What do ye mean, gentlemen?
I tell you they were killed; all torn to pieces
by cannon shot, except six I stak'd to death
upon the enemy's chevaux-de-frise.
Just. B. Noble captain! may I crave your
name?
I
Capt. B. Brazen, at your service.
Just. B. Oh, Brazen! a very good name.
have known several of the Brazens abroad.
Wor. Do you know one captain Plume, sir?
[To Capiain Brazen.
Capt. B. Is he any thing related to Frank
Plume in Northamptonshire?-Honest Frank!
Wor. Very slowly. Cupid had formerly many, many a dry bottle have we crack'd
wings; but I think in this age he gres upon hand to fist. You must have known his brother
crutches; or, I fancy Venus had been dallying Charles, that was concerned in the India Com-
with her cripple, Vulcan, when my amour pany; he married the daughter of old Tongue-
commenced, which has made it go on so lame-pad, the master in Chancery; a very pretty
ly. My mistress has got a captain too; but woman, only she squinted a little: she died in
such a captain!-As I live, yonder he comes! childbed of her first child; but the child sur-
Just. B. Who, that bluff fellow? I don't viv'd: 'twas a daughter - but whether it was
know him.
called Margaret or Margery, upon my soul,
Wor. But I engage he knows you and every I can't remember. [Looks at his Watch]
body at first sight; his impudence were a But, gentlemen, I must meet a lady, a twenty
prodigy, were not his ignorance proportion- thousand pounder, presently, upon the walk by
able; he has the most universal acquaintance the water. Worthy, your servant; Laconic,
of any man living; for he won't be alone, and yours.
nobody will keep him company twice: then Just. B. If you can have so mean an opinion
he's a Caesar among the women, veni, vidi, of Melinda as to be jealous of this fellow,
vici, that's all. If he has but talked with the think she ought to give you cause to be so.
maid, he swears he has lain with the mistress: Wor. I don't think she encourages him so
but the most surprising part of his character much for gaining herself a lover, as to set up
is his memory, which is the most prodigious, a rival. Were there any credit to be given
and the most trifling in the world.
to his words, I should believe Melinda had
Just. B. I have known another acquire so made him this assignation: I must go see.
much by travel, as to tell you the names of Sir, you'll pardon me.
[Exit.
most places in Europe, with their distances of Just. B. Ay, ay, sir, you're a man of bu-
miles, leagues, or hours, as punctually as a siness-But what have we got here?
postboy; but for any thing else as ignorant as
the horse that carries the mail.
Wor. This is your man, sir: add but the
traveller's privilege of lying, and even that he
abuses. This is the picture: behold the life,
Re-enter ROSE, singing.
[Exit.
I
Rose. And I shall be a lady, a captain's
lady, and ride single upon a white horse with
a star, upon a velvet side-saddle; and I shall
go to London and see the tombs, and the
lions, and the king and queen. Sir, an' please
Capt. B. Mr. Worthy, I'm your servant, your worship, I have often seen your wor-
and so forth-Harkye, my dear!
Enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN.
ship ride through our grounds a hunting,

430
[ACT III.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
begging your worship's pardon. Pray what
may this lace be worth a yard?
[Shows some Lace.
Just. B. Right, Mechlin, by this light! Where
did you get this lace, child?
Rose. No matter for that, sir; I came ho-
nestly by it.
Lucy. They only barter one sort of prohi-
bited goods for another, madam.
Mel. Has any of 'em been bartering with
you, Mrs. Pert, that you talk so like a trader?
Lucy. One would imagine, madam, by your
concern for Worthy's absence, that you should
use him better when he's with you.
Just. B. I question it much. [Aside. Mel. Who told you, pray, that I was con-
Rose. And see here, sir, a fine Turkey-shell cerned for his absence? I'm only vexed that
snuff-box, and fine mangere: see here. [Takes I have had nothing said to me these two days:
Snuff affectedly] The captain learned me one may like the love, and despise the lover,
how to take it with an air.
I hope, as one may love the treason, and hate
Just. B. Oh, ho! the captain! now the mur- the traitor.-Oh! here comes another captain,
der's out. [Aside] And so the captain taught and a rogue that has the confidence to make
you to take it with an air?
love to me; but indeed I don't wonder at that,
Rose. Yes, and give it with an air too. when he has the assurance to fancy himself a
Will your worship please to taste my snuff? fine gentleman.
[Offers it affectedly.
Lucy. If he should speak o'the assignation,
[Aside, and exit.
Just. B. You are a very apt scholar, pretty I should be ruined.
maid! And pray what did you give the cap-
tain for these fine things?
Enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN.
Rose. He's to have my brother for a soldier, Capt. B. True to the touch, faith!
Capt. B. True to the touch, faith! [Aside]
and two or three sweethearts I have in the Madam, I am your humble servant, and all
Country: they shall all go with the captain. that, madam. A fine river this same Severn.
Oh! he's the finest man, and the humblest Do you love fishing, madam?
withal. Would you believe it, sir? he talked Mel. 'Tis a pretty, melancholy amusement
to me with as much fam-mam-mil-ya- for lovers.
ra-ral-ity as if I had been the best lady in
the land,
Just. B. Oh! he's a mighty familiar gentle-
man as can be.
Re-enter CAPTAIN PLUME, singing.
But it is not so
With those that go
Through frost and snow-
Most apropos,
My maid with the milking-pail.
[Takes hold of Rose.
How, the justice! then I'm arraigned, con-
demned, and executed,
Just. B. Oh, my noble Captain!
Rose. And my noble captain too, sir.
Capt. P. 'Sdeath! child, are you mad? [To
Rose]-Mr. Balance, I am so full of business
about my recruits that I han't a moment's time
to-I have just now three or four people to-
Just. B. Nay, captain, I must speak to you.
Rose. And so must I too, captain.
Capt. P. Any other time, sir-I cannot for
my life, sir-
Just. B. Pray, sir-
Capt. B. I'll go buy hooks and lines pre-
sently; for you must know, madam, that I
have served in Flanders against the French,
in, Hungary against the Turks, and in Tangier
against the Moors, and I never was so much
in love before; and split me, madam, in all
the campaigns I ever made, I have not seen
so fine a woman as your ladyship.
Mel. And from all the men I ever saw, I
never had so fine a compliment: but you sol-
diers are the best bred men, that we must allow.
Capt. B. Some of us, madam; but there are
brutes among us too, very sad brutes: for my
own part, I have always had the good luck
to prove agreeable. I have had very con-
siderable offers, madam. I might have mar-
ried a German princess, worth fifty thousand
crowns a year; but her stove disgusted me.
The daughter of a Turkish bashaw fell in love
with me too when I was a prisoner among
the infidels: she offered to rob her father of
his treasure, and make her escape with me;
but I don't know how, my time was not come.
Hanging and marriage, you know, go by
destiny. Fate has reserved me for a Shrop-
Capt. P. Twenty thousand things-I would shire lady, worth twenty thousand pounds.
-but-now, sir, pray-devil take me-I can- Do you know any such person, madam?
not-I must-
[Breaks away. Mel. Extravagant coxcomb! [Aside] To be
[Exit. sure, a great many ladies of that fortune
[Exit. would be proud of the name of Mrs. Brazen.
Capt. B. Nay, for that matter, madam, there
are women of very good quality of the name
Just. B. Nay, I'll follow you.
Rose. And I too.
A
SCENE II-The Walk by the SEVERN Side.
Enter MELINDA and LUCY.
of Brazen.
Enter WORTHY.
Mel. And pray was it a ring, or buckle, or
pendants, or knots; or in what shape was the Mel. Oh, are you there, gentleman? [Aside]
almighty gold transformed, that has bribed Come, captain, we'll walk this way. Give me
you so much in his favour?
your hand.
Lucy. Indeed, madam, the last bribe I had Capt. B. My hand and heart are at your
from the captain was only a small piece of service.-Mr. Worthy, your servant, my dear.
Flanders lace for a cap.
Mel. Ay, Flanders lace is a constant present
from officers to their women. They every
year bring over a cargo of lace, to cheat the
king of his duty, and his subjects of their
honesty.
[Exit, leading Mel.
Wor. Death and fire! this is not to be borne.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME.
Capt. P. No more it is, faith.
Wor. What?

SCENE 2.]
431
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Capt. P. The March beer at the Raven. I
have been doubly serving the king, raising
men and raising the excise. Recruiting and
elections are rare friends to the excise.
Wor. You an't drunk?
Capt. P. No, no, whimsical only; I could
be mighty foolish, and fancy myself mighty
witty. Keason still keeps its throne, but it
nods a little, that's all.
Wor. Then you're just fit for a frolic.
There's your play then; recover me that vessel
from that Tangerine.
Capt. P. She's well rigged, but how is she
manned?
Wor. By captain Brazen, that I told you
of to-day. She is called the Melinda; a first
rate, I can assure you. She sheered off with
him just now on purpose to affront me; but,
according to your advice, I would take no
notice, because I would seem to be above a
concern for her behaviour. But have a care
of a quarrel.
Capt. P. No, no; I never quarrel with any
thing in my cups but an oyster-wench or a
cookmaid; and if they ben't civil, I knock
'em down.
Wor. Here they come; I must leave you.
[Exit.
Capt. P. So! now must I look as sober and
demure as a whore at a christening.
bizon
Re-enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN and MELINDA.
Capt. B. Who's that, madam?
Mel. A brother officer of yours, I suppose, sir.
Capt. B. Ay.-My dear! [To Captain Plume.
Capt. P. My dear! [Runs and embraces him.
Capt. B. My dear boy! how is't? Your name,
my dear. If I be not mistaken, I have seen
your face.
s in my life, my
Capt. P. I never saw yours in my life, my
dear; but there's a face well known as the
sun's, that shines on all, and is by all adored.
Capt. B. Have you any pretensions, sir?
Capt. P. Pretensions!
Capt. B. No, sir, you are my man.
Capt. P. I don't like the wages; I won't be
your man.
Capt. B. Then you're not worth my sword.
Capt. P. No! pray what did it cost?
Capt. B. It cost me twenty pistoles in France,
and my enemies thousands of lives in Flanders.
Capt. P. Then they had a dear bargain.
Enter SYLVIA, in Man's Apparel.
Syl. Save ye, save ye! gentlemen.
Capt. B. My dear! I'm yours.
Capt. P. Do you know the gentleman?
Capt. B. No, but I will presently. Your
name, my dear?
Syl. VVilful, Jack Wilful, at your service.
Capt. B. What, the Kentish Wilfuls, or
those of Staffordshire?
Syl. Both, sir, both: I'm related to all the
Wilfuls in Europe; and I'm head of the fa-
mily at present.
Capt. P. Do you live in this country, sir?
Syl. Yes, sir, I live where I stand; I have
neither home, house, nor habitation, beyond
this spot of ground.
Capt. B. What are you, sir?
Syl. A rake.
Capt. P. In the army, I presume?
Syl. No, but I intend to list immediately.
Lookye, gentlemen, he that bids the fairest
has me.
Capt. B. Sir, I'll prefer you; I'll make you
a corporal this minute.
Capt. P. Corporal! I'll make you my com-
panion; you shall eat with me.
Capt. B. You shall drink with me; you shall
receive your pay, and do no duty.
Then you must
Capt. P. Pho, pho make me a field-officer.
all this, I'll make you a corporal, and give
pho! I'll do more than
you a brevet for sergeant.
Capt. B. Can you read and write, sir?
Syl. Yes.
Capt. B. Then your business is done; I'll
Capt. B. That is, have you ever served abroad? make you chaplain to the regiment.
Capt. P. I have served at home, sir, for Syl. Your promises are so equal, that I'm
ages served this cruel fair; and that will serve at a loss to choose. There is one Plume, that
the turn, sir.
hear much commended in town; pray which
of you is captain Plume?
Mel. So, between the fool and the rake, I
shall bring a fine spot of work upon my hands!
[Aside.
Capt. B. Will you fight for the lady, sir?
Capi. P. No, sir; but I'll have her notwith-
standing.
I
Capt. P. I am captain Plume.
Capt. B. No, no, I am captain Plume.
Syl. Hey-day!
201
Capt. P. Captain Plume! I'm your servant,
my dear!
Thou peerless princess of Salopian plains,
Envy'd by nymphs, and worshipp'd by the fellow dares not fight.
swains-
Capt. B. Captain Brazen! I'm yours.-The
het Aside.
Enter SERGEANT KITE.
Serg. K. Sir, if you please-
[Goes to whisper Captain Plume.
Capt. P. No, no, there's your captain.-
Captain Plume, your sergeant has got so
drunk, he mistakes me for you.
Capt. B. Oons! sir, not fight for her?
Capt. P. Pr'ythee be quiet-I shall be out.
Behold how humbly does the Severn glide,
To greet thee princess of the Severn side.
Capt. B. Don't mind him, madam. If he
were not so well dressed I should take him Capt. B. He's an incorrigible sot. Here, my
for a poet; but I'll show you the difference Hector of Holborn, here's forty shillings for
presently. Come, madam, we'll place you you.
[To Sylvia.
between us, and now the longest sword carries Capt. P. I forbid the banns. Lookye, friend,
[Draws. Melinda shrieks. you shall list with captain Brazen.
Re-enter WORTHY.
Syl. I will see captain Brazen hanged first;
Mel. Oh, Mr. Worthy! save me from these I will list with captain Plume. I am a free-
madmen.
[Exit with Worthy. born Englishman, and will be a slave my own
Capt. P. Ha, ha, ha! why don't you follow, way. Lookye, sir, will you stand by me?
sir, and fight the bold ravisher?
[To Captain Brazen.
her.
920

432
[ACT IV.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Capt. B. I warrant you, my lad.
rel with him afterwards. And now I'll tell
Syl. Then I will tell you, captain Brazen, you a secret, my dear friend! that lady we
that you are an ignorant, pretending, im- frightened out of the walk just now I found
pudent coxcomb.
[To Captain Plume. at home this morning, so beautiful, so in-
viting; I presently locked the door-but I'm a
man of honour-but I believe I shall marry
her nevertheless-her twenty thousand pounds,
Capt. P. Ay, ay, a sad dog.
Syl. A very sad dog. Give me the money,
noble captain Plume.
Capt. P. Then you won't list with captain you know, will be a pretty conveniency. I
Brazen?
Syl. I won't.
Capt. B. Never mind him, child; I'll end
the dispute presently.-Harkye, my dear!
[Takes Captain Plume to one Side of the
Stage, and entertains him in dumb Show.
Serg. K. Sir, he in the plain coat is captain
Plume; I am his sergeant, and will take my
oath on't.
Syl. What! you are sergeant Kite?
Serg. K. At your service.
Syl. Then I would not take your oath for
a farthing.
age.
Serg. K. A very understanding youth of his
in your fide] Pray, sir, let me look you full
[Aside]
Syl. Well, sir, what have you to say to
my face?
face.
Serg. K. The very image of my brother;
two bullets of the same caliber were never so
like: sure it must be Charles--Charles-
had an assignation with her here, but your
coming spoil'd my sport. Curse you, my dear!
but don't do so again-
Capt. P. No, no, my dear! men are my
business at present.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-The same.
[Exeunt.
Enter ROSE and BULLOCK, meeting.
Rose. Where have you been, you great
booby? you are always out of the way in the
time of preferment.
Bul. Preferment! who should prefer me?
prefer a man but prefer an Corne, show
Rose. I would
you! who should
a a woman?
away that great club, and hold up your head.
Bul. Ah, Rouse, Rouse! Here has been
Cartwheel, your sweetheart; what will become
of him?
Rose. Lookye, I'm a great woman, and will
provide for my relations. I told the captain
how finely he played on the tabor and pipe,
so he set him down for drum-major.
Syl. What do you mean by Charles?
Serg. K. The voice too, only a little variation
in E flat. My dear brother! for I must call
you so, if you should have the fortune to Bul. Nay, sister, why did not you keep that
enter into the most noble society of the sword, place for me? you know I have always loved
I bespeak you for a comrade.
to be a drumming, if it were but on a table
or on a quart pot.
Syl. No, sir; I'll be the captain's comrade,
if any body's.
Enter SYLVIA.
Serg. K. Ambition there again! 'tis a noble
passion for a soldier; by that I gained this Syl. Had I but a commission in my pocket,
glorious halberd. Ambition! I see a commission I fancy this dress would become me as well
in his face already. But I see a storm coming. as any ranting fellow of 'em all; for I take a
Syl. Now, sergeant, I shall see who is your bold step, and an impudent air, to be the
captain by your knocking down the other. principal ingredients in the composition of a
Serg. K. My captain scorns assistance, sir. captain. What's here? Rose, my nurse's
Capt. B. How dare you contend for any daughter! I'll go and practise. Come, child,
thing, and not dare to draw your sword? kiss me at once. [Kisses Rose] And her
But you are a young fellow, and have not brother too! Well, honest Dungfork, do you
been much abroad; I excuse that; but, pr'ythee, know the difference between a horse and a
resign the man, pr'ythee do: you are very cart and a cart-horse, eh?
honest fellow.
Bul. I presume that your worship is a cap-
Capt. P. You lie; and you are a son of tain, by your clothes and your courage.
a whore.
Syl. Suppose I were, would you be con-
Rose. No, no; though your worship be a
handsome man, there be others as fine as you.
My brother is engaged to captain Plume.
[Draws, and makes up to Captain Brazen. tented to list, friend?
Capt. B. Hold, hold, did not you refuse to
fight for the lady?
[Retiring.
Capt. P. I always do, but, for a man I'll
fight kneedeep; so you lie again.
[Capt. P. and Capt. B. fight a traverse
or two about the Stage; Sylvia draws,
and is held by Kite, who sounds to
arms with his Mou h, takes Sylvia in
his Arms, and carries her off the Stage.
Capt. B. Hold! where's the man?
Capt. P. Gone.
Capt. B. Then what do we fight for? [Puts
up] Now let's embrace, my dear.
time
Syl. Plume! do you know captain Plume?
Rose. Yes, I do, and he knows me. I can
assure you that I can do any thing with the
captain.
Bul. That is, in a modest way, sir. Have
a care what you say, Rouse; don't shame
your parentage.
Rose. Nay, for that matter, I am not so
simple as to say that I can do any thing with
the captain, but what I may do with any
body else.
Syl. So! And pray what do you expect
from this captain, child?
Capt. P. With all my heart, my dear! [Puts
up] I suppose Kite has listed him by this
[Embraces.
Capt. B. You are a brave fellow: I always Rose. I expect, sir!-I expect - but he or-
fight with a man before I make him my friend; dered me to tell nobody-but suppose that he
and if once I find he will fight I never quar- should promise to marry me?

SCENE 1.]
433
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Syl. You should have a care, my dear! men]
will promise any thing beforehand.
Rose. I know that; but he promised to
marry me afterwards.
Bul. Wauns! Rouse, what have you said?
Syl. Afterwards! after what?
Rose. After I had sold my chickens: I hope
there's no harm in that.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME.
Capt. P. What, Mr. Wilful, so close with
my market-woman?
Syl. I'll try if he loves her. [Aside] Close,
sir, ay, and closer yet, sir. Come, my pretty
maid! you and I will withdraw a little.
Capt. P. No, no, friend, I ha'nt done with
her yet.
Syl. Nor have I begun with her; so I have
as good a right as you have.
Capt. P. Thou'rt a bloody impudent fellow!
Syl. Sir, I would qualify myself for the
service.
Capt. P. Hast thou really a mind to the
service?
Syl. Yes, sir; so let her go.
Rose. Pray, gentlemen, don't be so violent,
Capt. P. Come, leave it to the girl's own
choice. Will you belong to me, or to that
gentleman?
Rose. Let me consider: you're both very
handsome.
Capt. P. Now the natural inconstancy of
her sex begins to work.
Capt. P. Ay, that is promised; but what
think you of barrack-master? you are a per-
son of understanding, and barrack-master you
shall be. But what's become of this same
Cartwheel, you told me of, my dear?
Rose. We'll go fetch him. Come, brother
barrack-master. We shall find you at home,
noble captain?
[Exit with Bullock.
Capt. P. Yes, yes; and now, sir, here are
your forty shillings.
Syl. Captain Plume, I despise your listing
money; if I do serve, 'tis purely for love-of
that wench, I mean.-But now let me beg
you to lay aside your recruiting airs, put on
the man of honour, and tell me plainly what
usage I must expect when I am under your
command.
Capt. P. Your usage will chiefly depend
upon your behaviour; only this you must
expect, that if you commit a small fault I will
excuse it, if a great one, I'll discharge you;
for something tells me I shall not be able to
punish you.
Syl. And something tells me that if you do
discharge me, 'twill be the greatest punish-
ment you can inflict; for were we this mo-
ment to go upon the greatest dangers in your
profession, they would be less terrible to me
than to stay behind you. And now your
hand; this lists me-and now you are my
captain.
Capt. P. Your friend. 'Sdeath! there's somet-
hing in this fellow that charms me. [Aside.
Rose. Pray, sir, what will you give me? Syl. One favour I must beg-this affair
Bul. Dunna be angry, sir, that my sister will make some noise, and I have some friends
should be marcenary, for she's but young. that would censure my conduct if I threw
Syl. Give thee, child? I'll set thee above myself into the circumstance of a private sen-
scandal; you shall have a coach with six be- tinel of my own head-I must therefore take
fore and six behind; an equipage to make care to be impressed by the act of parlia-
vice fashionable, and put virtue out of coun-ment; you shall leave that to me.
tenance.
Capt. P. Pho! that's easily done: I'll do
more for thee, child, I'll buy you a new
gown, and give you a ticket to see a play.
Bul. A play! wauns! Rouse, take the ticket,
and let's see the show.
Syl. Lookye, captain, if you won't resign,
I'll go list with captain Brazen this minute.
Capt. P. Will you list with me if I give
up my title?
Syl. I will.
Capt. P. Take her; I'll change a woman
for a man at any time.
Rose. I have heard before indeed that you
captains used to sell your men.
But. Pray, captain, do not send Rouse to
the Western Indies.
Capt. P. What you please as to that. Will
you lodge at my quarters in the mean time?
Syl. No, no, captain; you forget Rose;
she's to be my bedfellow you know.
Capt. P. I had forgot: pray be kind to her.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter MELINDA and LUCY.
Mel. 'Tis the greatest misfortune in nature
for a woman to want a confidant: we are so
weak that we can do nothing without assist-
ance, and then a secret racks us worse than
the cholic-I am at this minute so sick of a
secret that I'm ready to faint away-Help me,
Lucy!
Lucy. Bless me! madam, what's the matter?
Mel. Vapours only; I begin to recover. If
Sylvia were in town I could heartily forgive
her faults for the ease of discovering my own.
Lucy. You are thoughtful, madam; am not
Capt. P. Ha, ha, ha! West Indies! No, no,
my honest lad, give me thy hand; nor you
nor she shall move a step further than I do.
This gentleman is one of us, and will be I worthy to know the cause?
kind to you, Mrs. Rose.
Mel. Oh, Lucy! I can hold my secret no
Rose. But will you be so kind to me, sir, longer. You must know, that hearing of a
as the captain would?
famous fortune-teller in town, I went disguis-
Syl. I can't be altogether so kind to you; ed to satisfy a curiosity which has cost me
my circumstances are not so good as the cap-dear. The fellow is certainly the devil, or
tain's; but I'll take care of you, upon my word, one of his bosom-favourites: he has told me
Capt. P. Ay, ay, we'll all take care of her; the most surprising things of my past life.
she shall live like a princess, and her brother Lucy. Things past, madam, can hardly be
here shall be-What would you be?
reckoned surprising, because we know them
Bul. Oh, sir, if you had not promised the already. Did he tell you any thing surpris-
place of drum-major-
ing that was to come?
55

434
[ACT IV.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Mel. One thing very surprising; he said I expect at my hands.
should die a maid!
don.
Captain, I ask your par-
[Exit with Lucy.
Lucy. Die a maid! come into the world Capt. B. I grant it. You see, Mr. Worthy,
for nothing!-Dear madam! if you should 'twas only a random shot; it might have tak-
believe him it might come to pass; for the en off your head as well as mine. Courage,
bare thought on't might kill one in four-and- my dear! 'tis the fortune of war; but the
twenty hours. And did you ask him any enemy has thought fit to withdraw, I think.
questions about me?
Wor. Withdraw! Oons! sir, what do ye
Mel. You! why, I passed for you.
mean by withdraw?
Lucy. So, 'tis I that am to die a maid.
But the devil was a liar from the beginning;
he can't make me die a maid: I've put it out Plume's advice has ruined me. 'Sdeath! why
of his power already.
[Aside. should I, that knew her haughty spirit, be
Mel. I do but jest. I would have passed ruled by a man that's a stranger to her pride?
for you, and called myself Lucy, but he pre-
sently told me my name, my quality, my for-
tune, and gave me the whole history of my
life. He told me of a lover I had in this
Capt. B. I'll show you.
[Exit.
Wor. She's lost, irrecoverably lost, and
SCENE II.-A Chamber.
Exit..
country, and described Worthy exactly, but KITE, disguised in a strange Habit, disco-
vered sitting at a Table, with Books and
in nothing so well as in his present indiffer-
Globes.
ence.
1 fled to him for refuge here to-day;
he never so much as encouraged me in my Serg. K. [Rises] By the position of the
fright, but coldly told me he was sorry for heavens, gained from my observation upon
the accident, because it might give the town these celestial globes, I find that Luna was a
cause to censure my conduct, excused his not tide waiter; Sol, a surveyor; Mercury, a thief;
waiting on me home, made me a careless Venus, a whore; Saturn, an alderman; Jupi-
bow, and walk'd off. 'Sdeath, I could have ter, a rake; and Mars, a sergeant of grena-
stabb'd him or myself, 'twas the same thing. diers--and this is the system of Kite, the
Yonder he comes-I will so use him!
conjurer.
Lucy. Don't exasperate him; consider what
the fortune-teller told you. Men are scarce,
and as times go, it is not impossible for a
woman not to die a maid.
Enter WORTHY.
Mel. No matter.
Wor. I find she's warmed; I must strike
while the iron is hot. [Aside.] You've a great
deal of courage, madam, to venture where you
were so lately frightened.
Mel. And you have a quantity of impu-
dence, to appear before me that you so lately
have affronted.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME and WORTHY,
Capt. P. Well, what success?
Serg. K. I have sent away a shoemaker and
a tailor already; one's to be a captain of ma-
rines, and the other a major of dragoons. I
am to manage them at night. Have you seen
the lady, Mr. Worthy?
Wor. Ay, but it won't do. Have you show-
ed her her name that I tore off from the
bottom of the letter?
Serg. K. No, sir, I reserve that for the last
stroke.
Capt. P. What letter?
Wor. I had no design to affront you, nor Wor. One that I would not let you see,
appear before you either, madam; and came for fear that you should break windows
hither thinking to meet another person. in good earnest. Here, captain, put it into
Mel. Since you find yourself dissappointed your pocket-book, and have it ready upon
I hope you'll withdraw to another place.
[Knocking at the Door.
Serg. K. Officers, to your posts. Tycho,
mind the door.
Wor. The place is broad enough for us both
[They walk by one another, she fretting
and tearing her Fan] Will you please to
take snuff, madam?
[He offers her his Box, she strikes it out
of his Hand; he gather's up the Snuff.
Enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN, who takes Melinda
round the Waist; she cuffs him.
Capt. B. What, here before me, my dear?
Mel. What means this insolence?
Lucy. Are you mad? don't you see Mr.
Worthy?
[To Brazen.
Capt. B. No, no; I'm struck blind. Worthy!
odso! well turn'd-My mistress has wit at her
finger's ends-Madam, I ask your pardon; 'tis
our way abroad-Mr. Worthy, you're the
happy man.
occasion.
[Exeunt Captain Plume and Worthy.
Enter MELINDA and LUCY.
Serg. K. Tycho, chairs for the ladies.
Mel. Don't trouble yourself; we shan't stay,
doctor.
Serg. K. Your ladyship is to stay much
longer than you imagine.
Mel. For what?
Serg. K. For a husband. For your part,
madam, you won't stay for a husband.
[To Lucy
Lucy. Pray, doctor, do you converse with
the stars, or the devil?
Serg. K. With both; when I have the des-
tinies of men in search, I consult the stars;
Wor. I don't envy your happiness very when the affairs of women come under my
much, if the lady can afford no other sort of hands, I advise with my t'other friend.
favours but what she has bestowed upon you. Mel. And have you raised the devil upon
Mel. I'm sorry the favour miscarried, for it my account?
was designed for you, Mr. Worthy; and be
Serg. K. Yes, madam, and he's now under
assured 'tis the last and only favour you must the table.

SCENE 2.1
435
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Lucy. Oh, heavens protect us! Dear ma- by a gentleman who will come to take his
dam, let's be gone.
leave of you, being designed for travel; his
Serg. K. If you be afraid of him, why do intention of going abroad is sudden, and the
you come to consult him?
Mel. Don't fear, fool. Do you think, sir,
that because I'm a woman I'm to be fooled
out of my reason, or frightened out of my
senses? Come, show me this devil.
Serg. K. He's a little busy at present, but
when he has done, he shall wait on you.
Mel. What is he doing?
Serg. K. Writing your name in his pocket-
book.
Mel. Ha, ha! my name! pray what have
you or he to do with my name?
occasion a woman. Your fortune and his are
like the bullet and the barrel, one runs plump
into the other-In short, if the gentleman tra-
vels he will die abroad, and if he does you
will die before he comes home.
Mel. What sort of a man is he?
Serg. K. Madam, he's a fine gentleman,
and a lover; that is, a man of very good
sense, and a very great fool.
Mel. How is that possible, doctor?
Serg. K. Because, madam-because it is so.
-A woman's reason is the best for a man's
being a fool.
Mel. Ten o'clock, you say?
Serg. K. Ten-about the hour of tea-drink-
ing throughout the kingdom.
Mel. Here, doctor. [Gives Money] Lucy,
have you any questions to ask?
Serg. K. Lookye, fair lady! the devil is a
very modest person, he seeks nobody unless
they seek him first; he's chained up like a
mastiff, and can't stir unless he be let loose.
You come to me to have your fortune told-
do you think, madam, that I can answer you
of my own head? No, madam, the affairs
of women are so irregular, that nothing less Serg. K. I must beg your patience till
than the devil can give any account of them. another time, for I expect more company this
Now, to convince you of your incredulity, minute; besides, I must discharge the gentle-
I'll show you a trial of my skill. Here, you man under the table.
Lucy. Oh, madam, a thousand.
[Exeunt Melinda and Lucy.
Enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN.
Cacodemo del Plumo, exert your power, draw Lucy. O pray, sir, discharge us first!
me this lady's name, the word Melinda, in Serg. K. Tycho, wait on the ladies down
proper letters and characters of her own stairs.
hand-writing-do it at three motions-one-
two-three-'tis done. - Now, madam, will
you please to send your maid to fetch it?
Lucy. I fetch it! the devil fetch me if I do.
Mel. My name in my own hand-writing!
that would be convincing indeed.
Capt. B. Your servant, my dear!
Serg. K. Stand off, I have my familiar already.
Capt. B. Are you bewitched, my dear?
Serg. K. Yes, my dear! but mine is a peace-
Serg. K. Seeing is believing. [Goes to the able spirit, and hates gunpowder. Thus I
Table and lifts up the Carpet] Here, Tre, fortify myself; [Draws a Circle round him-
Tre, poor Tre, give me the bone, sirrah. self] and now, captain, have a care how you
There's your name upon that square piece of force my lines.
paper. Behold-
Mel. 'Tis wonderful! my very letters to a
tittle!
Lucy. "Tis like your hand, madam, but not
so like your hand neither; and now I look
nearer, 'tis not like your hand at all.
Serg. K. Here's a chambermaid that will
outlie the devil?
Lucy. Lookye, madam, they shan't impose
upon us; people can't remember their hands,
no more than they can their faces. Come,
madam, let us be certain; write your name
upon this paper, then we'll compare the two
hands. [Takes out a Paper and folds it.
Serg. K. Any thing for your satisfaction,
madam-Here's pen and ink.
Capt. B. Lines! what dost talk of lines?
You have something like a fishing-rod there
indeed; but I come to be acquainted with
you, man.-What's your name, my dear?
Serg, K. Conundrum.
Capt. B. Conundrum? rat me! I knew a
famous doctor in London of your name.-
Where were you born?
Serg. K. I was born in Algebra.
Capt. B. Algebra! 'tis no country in Chris-
tendom, I'm sure, unless it be some place in
the Highlands in Scotland.
Serg. K. Right; I told you I was bewitched.
Capt. B. So am I, my dear; I am going
to be married. I have had two letters from
a lady of fortune that loves me to madness,
[Mel. writes, Lucy holds the Paper. fits, cholic, spleen, and vapours. Shall I marry
Lucy. Let me see it, madam; 'tis the same her in four-and-twenty hours, ay or no?
-the very same. But I'll secure one copy
for my own affairs.
Mel. This is demonstration.
[Aside.
Serg K Certainly.
Capt. B. Gadso, ay.
Serg. K. Or no. But I must have the year
Serg. K. 'Tis so, madam-the word de- and the day of the month when these letters
monstration comes from demon, the father were dated.
of lies.
Capt. B. Why, you old bitch! did you
Mel. Well, doctor, I'm convinced: and ever hear of love-letters dated with the year
now, pray, what account can you give of and day of the month? Do you think billet-
my future fortune?
doux are like bank-bills?
Serg. K. Before the sun has made one
course round this earthly globe, your fortune
will be fixed for happiness or misery.
Serg. K. They are not so good, my dear;
but if they bear no date, I must examine the
contents.
Capt. B. Contents! that you shall, old boy!
Mel. What! so near the crisis of my fate?
Serg. K. Let me see--About the hour of here they be both..
ten to-morrow morning, you will be saluted
Serg. K. Only the last you received, if you

436
[ACT V.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
please. [Takes the Letter] Now, sir, if you part, I shall be very tender in what regards
please to let me consult my books for a mi- the officers of the army.
nute, I'll send this letter enclosed to you,
with the determination of the stars upon it, Enter SYLVIA, BULLOCK, ROSE, Prisoners,
to your lodgings.
Constable, and Mob.
Capt. B. With all my heart. I must give Const. May it please your worships, we
bim-[Puts his Hands in his Pockets] Al- took them in the very act, re infecta, sir.
gebra! I fancy, doctor, 'tis hard to calculate The gentleman indeed behaved himself like
the place of your nativity?- Here. [Gives him a gentleman; for he drew his sword and
Money] And if I succeed, I'll build a watch- swore, and afterwards laid it down and said
tower on the top of the highest mountain in nothing.
Wales, for the study of astrology and the Just. B. Give the gentleman his sword again.
benefit of the Conundrums.
Wait you without. [Exeunt Constable and
Watch] I'm sorry, sir, [To Sylvia] to know
a gentleman upon such terms, that the occa-
sion of our meeting should prevent the satis-
[Exit.
Re-enter CAPTAIN PLUME and WORTHY.
Wor. O doctor! that letter's worth a mil-
lion. Let me see it-and now I have it, I'm faction of an acquaintance.
afraid to open it.
Syl. Sir, you need make no apology for
Capt. P. Pho! let me see it. [Opens the your warrant, no more than I shall do for
Letter] If she be a jilt-damn her, she is my behaviour; my innocence is upon an
one! there's her name at the bottom on't. equal foot with your authority
Wor. By all my hopes, 'tis Lucy's hand.
Capt. P. Lucy's?
Wor. Certainly. "Tis no more like Me-
linda's character than black is to white.
Just. Scale. Innocence! Have you not se-
duced that young maid?
Capt. B. Then 'tis certainly Lucy's contri-ed
vance to draw in Brazen for a husband. But
are you sure 'tis not Melinda's hand?
Wor. You shall see. Where's the bit of
paper I gave you just now that the devil
wrote Melinda upon?
Serg. H. Here, sir.
Syl. No, Mr. Goosecap, she seduced me.
Bul. So she did, I'll swear; for she propos-
marriage first.
Just. B. What! then you are married, child?
[To Rose.
Rose. Yes, sir, to my sorrow.
Just. B. Who was witness?
Bul. That was I. I danced, threw the stock-
ing, and spoke jokes by their bedside, I'm sure.
Just. B. Who was the minister?
Bul. Minister! we are soldiers, and want
no minister. They were married by the ar-
ticles of war.
Capt. P. Tis plain they are not the same.
And is this the malicious name that was sub-
scribed to the letter which made Mr. Balance
send his daughter into the country?
Wor. The very same The other fragments Just. B. Hold thy prating, fool.-Your ap-
I showed you just now I once intended for pearance, sir, [To Sylvia] promises some
another use; but I think I have turned it now understanding; pray what does this fellow
to a better advantage.
mean?
Capt. P. But 'twas barbarous to conceal Syl. He means marriage, I think; but that,
this so long, and to continue me so many you know, is so odd a thing, that hardly any
hours in the prenicious heresy of believing two people under the sun agree in the cere-
that angelic creature could change. Poor mony; some make it a convenience, and others
Sylvia!
make it a jest; but among soldiers 'tis most
Wor. Rich Sylvia, you mean, and poor sacred. Our sword, you know, is our honour;
captain; ha, ha, ha!-Come, come, friend, that we lay down; the hero jumps over it
Melinda is true, and shall be mine; Sylvia is first, and the Amazon after: the drum beats a
constant, and may be yours.
ruff, and so to bed: that's all. The ceremony
is concise.
Capt. P. No, she's above my hopes: but
for her sake I'll recant my opinion of her sex.
By some the sex is blam'd without design:
Light, harmless censure, such as yours and
mine,
Sallies of wit, and vapours of our wine:
Others the justice of the sex condemn,
And wanting merit to create esteem,
Would hide their own defects by cens'ring
them:
But they, secure in their all-conqu'ring charms,
Laugh at the vain efforts of false alarms.
He magnifies their conquests who complains,
For none would struggle, were they not in
chains. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I-JUSTICE BALANCE'S House.
Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and JUSTICE SCALE.
Just. Scale. I say 'tis not to be borne, Mr.
Balance.
Bul. And the prettiest ceremony; so full of
pastime and prodigality-
Just. B. What! are you a soldier?
Bul. Ay, that I am. Will your worship
lend me your cane, and I'll show
can exercise?
you how I
Just. B. Take it. [Strikes him over the
Head] Pray, sir, what commission may you
bear?
[To Sylvia.
Syl. I'm called captain, sir, by all the cof-
fee-men, drawers, and groom-porters in Lon-
don; for I wear a red coat, a sword, a pi-
quet in my head, and dice in my pocket.
Just. Scale. Your name, pray, sir?
Syl. Pinch.
Just. B. And pray, sir, what brought you
into Shropshire?
Syl. A pinch, sir: I know you country
gentlemen want wit, and you know that we
town gentlemen want money; and so-
Just. B. I understand you, sir.-Here, con-
Just. B. Lookye, Mr. Scale, for my own stable!

SCENE 2.]
437
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Re-enter Constable.
and behave yourself handsomely till Lent be
Take this gentleman into custody till further over: here's my hand, I'll use you as a gentle-
orders.
Rose. Pray, your worship, dont be uncivil
to him, for he did me no hurt; he's the most
harmless man in the world, for all he talks so.
Just. Scale. Come, come, child, I'll take care
of you.
man should be.
Wor. And if I don't use you as a gentle-
woman should be, may this be my poison.
[Kisses her Hand.
Enter a Servant.
Syl. What, gentlemen, rob me of my free- Serv. Madam, the coach is at the door.
dom and my wife at once? 'Tis the first time
[Exit.
they ever went together.
Mel. I am going to Mr. Balance's country
Just. B. Harkye, constable. [Whispers him. house to see my cousin Sylvia: I've done her
Const. It shall be done, sir.-Come along, an injury, and can't be easy till I've ask'd
sir. [Exeunt Constable, Bullock, and Sylvia. her pardon.
Just. B. Come, Mr. Scale, we'll manage Wor. I dare not hope for the honour of
the spark presently.
[Exeunt. waiting on you.
SCENE II.-MELINDA'S Apartment.
Enter MELINDA and WORTHY.
Mel. So far the prediction is right, 'tis ten
exactly. [Aside] And pray, sir, how long have.
you been in this travelling humour?
Wor. 'Tis natural, madam, for us to avoid
what disturbs our quiet.
Mel. Rather the love of change, which is
more natural, may be the occasion of it.
Wor. To be sure, madam, there must be
charms in variety, else neither you nor I
should be so fond of it.
Mel. My coach is full; but if you'll be so
gallant as to mount your own horse, and
follow us, we shall be glad to be overtaken;
and if you bring captain Plume with you we
shan't have the worse reception.
Wor. I'll endeavour it.
[Exit, leading Melinda.
SCENE III-A Court of Justice.
JUSTICE BALANCE, JUSTICE SCALE, and JUS-
TICE SCRUPLE discovered upon the Bench,
with Constable, SERGEANT KITE, and Mob
standing by. SERGEANT KITE, and Con-
stable advance.
Serg. K. Pray who are those honourable
gentlemen upon the bench?
Mel. You mistake, Mr. Worthy; I am not
so fond of variety as to travel for't; nor do
I think it prudence in you to run yourself
into a certain expense and danger, in hopes Const. He in the middle is justice Balance,
of precarious pleasures, which at best never he on the right is justice Scale, and he on
answer expectation, as it is evident from the the left is justice Scruple; and I am Mr. Con-
example of most travellers, that long more to stable: four very honest gentlemen.
return to their own country than they did
to go abroad.
Wor. What pleasures I may receive abroad
are indeed uncertain; but this I am sure of,
I shall meet with less cruelty among the most
barbarous of nations than I have found at
home.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME.
Just. B. Captain, you're welcome.
Capt. P. Gentlemen, I thank you.
Just. Scr. Come, honest captain, sit by me.
[Captain Plume ascends, and sits upon
the Bench] Now produce your prisoners-
Mel. Come, sir, you and I have been jang- Here, that fellow there, set him up. Mr. Con-
ling a great while: I fancy if we made our stable, what have you to say against this
accounts we should the sooner come to an man?
agreement.
hither?
Const. I don't know, an' please your worship.
Just. Scale. Did not the contents of your
warrant direct you what sort of men to take up?
Const. I can't tell, an' please ye; I can't
Const. I have nothing to say against him,
Wor. Sure, madam, you won't dispute your an' please you.
being in my debt-My fears, sighs, vows, Just. B. No! what made you bring him
promises, assiduities, anxieties, jealousies, hve
run on for a whole year without any payment.
Mel. A year! oh, Mr. Worthy, what you
owe to me is not to be paid under a seven
year's servitude. How did you use me the
year before! when, taking the advantage of read.
my innocence and necessity, you would have Just. Ser. A very pretty constable, truly.
made me your mistress, that is, your slave? I find we have no business here.
-Remember the wicked insinuations, artful Serg. K. May it please the worshipful bench,
baits, deceitful arguments, cunning pretences; I desire to be heard in this case, as being the
then your impudent behaviour, loose expres- counsel for the king.
sions, familiar letters, rude visits: remember
those, those, Mr. Worthy.
Just. B. Come, sergeant, you shall be heard,
since nobody else will speak; we won't come
Wor. I do remember, and am sorry I here for nothing.
made no better use of 'em. [Aside] But you Serg. This man is but one man, the coun-
may remember, madam, that-
try may spare him, and the army wants him;
Mel. Sir, I'll remember nothing-'tis your besides, he's cut out by nature for a grena-
interest that I should forget. You have been dier; he's five feet ten inches high: he shall
barbarous to me, I have been cruel to you; box, wrestle, or dance the Cheshire round
put that and that together, and let one bal- with any man in the country; he gets drunk
ance the other. Now, if you will begin upon every Sabbath day, and he beats his wife.
a new score, lay aside your adventuring airs, Wife. You lie, sirrah, you lie; an' please

438
[ACT V.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
your worship, he's the best-natured pains- Syl. Sir, I don't care a farthing for you
taking'st man in the parish; witness my five nor your bench neither.
poor children.
Just. Scr. Lookye, gentlemen, that's enough;
Just. Scr. A wife and five children! you he's a very impudent fellow, and fit for a
constable, you rogue, how durst you impress soldier.
a man that has a wife and five children?
Just. Scale. Discharge him, discharge him!
Just. B. Hold, gentlemen. Hearkye, friend,
how do you maintain your wife and five
children?
Capt. P. They live upon wildfowl
venison, sir; the husband keeps a gun,
kills all the hares and partridges within
miles round.
Just. Scale. A notorious rogue, I say, and
very fit for a soldier.
Just. B. What think you, captain?
Capt. P. I think he is a very pretty fellow,
and therefore fit to serve.
and Syl. Me for a soldier! send your own lazy
and lubberly sons at home; fellows that hazard
five their necks every day in the pursuit of a fox,
yet dare not peep abroad to look an enemy
Just. B. A gun! nay, if he be so good at in the face.
gunning, he shall have enough on't.
Just. B. Pray, captain, read the articles of
Serg. K. Ay, ay, I'll take care of him, if war; we'll see him listed immediately.
you please.
[Takes him down.
up
Capt. P. [Reads] Articles of war against
Just. Scale. Here, you constable, the next. mutiny and desertion, etc.-
Set
that black-fac'd fellow, he has a gun-
powder look: what can you say against this
man, constable?
Const. Nothing, but that he is a very ho-
nest man.
Capt. P. Pray, gentlemen, let me have one
honest man in my company for the novelty's
sake.
Syl. Hold, sir- Once, more, gentlemen,
have a care what you do, for you shall se-
verely smart for any violence you offer to
me; and you, Mr. Balance, I speak to you
particularly, you shall heartily repent it.
Capt. P. Lookye, young spark, say but
one word more, and I'll build a horse for
you as high as the ceiling, and make you
ride the most tiresome journey that ever you
made in your life.
Just. B. What are you, friend?
Welsh C. A collier; I work in the coal-pits.
Just. Scr. Lookye, gentlemen, this fellow Syl. You have made a fine speech, good
has a trade, and the act of parliament here captain Huffcap! but you had better be quiet;
expresses that we are to impress no man that I shall find a way to cool your courage.
has any visible means of a livelihood.
Serg. K. May it please your worship, this
man has no visible means of a livelihood, for
he works under ground.
Capt. P. Well said, Kite; besides, the army
wants miners.
Just. B. Right; and had we an order of
government for't, we could raise you in this,
and the neighbouring county of Stafford, five
hundred colliers, that would run you under
ground like moles, and do more service in a
siege than all the miners in the army.
Just. Scr. Well, friend, what have you to
say for yourself?
Welsh C. I'm married.
Serg. K. Lack-a-day! so am I.
Welsh C. Here's my wife, poor woman.
Just. B. Are you married, good woman?
Woman. I'm married in conscience.
Just. Scale. Who married you, mistress?
Woman. My husband. We agreed that I
should call him husband, and that be should
call me wife, to shun going for a soldier.
Just. Scr. A very pretty couple! Pray, cap-
tain,, will you take them both?
Capt. P. What say you, Mr. Kite? will
you take care of the woman?
Serg. K. Yes, sir; she shall go with us to
the sea-side, and there if she has a mind to
drown herself, we'll take care that nobody
shall hinder her.
Just. B. Here, constable, bring in my man.
[Exit Constable] Now, captain, I'll fit you
with a man such as you never listed in your
life.
Re-enter Constable, with SYLVIA.
Oh, my friend Pinch! I'm very glad to see you.
Syl. Well, sir, and what then?
Just. Scale. What then! is that your re-
spect to the bench.
Capt. P. Pray, gentlemen, don't mind him,
he's distracted.
Syl. 'Tis false; I am descended of as good
a family as any in your county; my father
is as good a man as any upon your bench;
and I am heir to two thousand pounds a year.
Just. B. He's certainly mad. Pray, captain,
read the articles of war.
Syl. Hold, once more. Pray, Mr. Balance,
to you I speak; suppose I were your child,
would you use me at this rate?
Just. B. No, faith; were you mine I would
send you to Bedlam first, and into the army
afterwards.
Syl. But consider my father, sir; he's as
good, as generous, as brave, as just a man
as ever served his country; I'm his only child:
perhaps the loss of me may break his heart.
Just. B. He's a very great fool if it does.
Captain, if you don't list him this minute, I'll
leave the court.
Capt. P. Kite, do you distribute the levy
money to the men while I read,
Serg. K. Ay, sir. Silence, gentlemen.
[Captain Plume reads the Articles of War.
Just, B. Very well; now, captain, let me
beg the favour of you not to discharge this
fellow upon any account whatsoever. Bring
in the rest.
Const. There are no more, an't please your
worship.
Just. B. No more! there were five two
hours ago.
Syl. 'Tis true, sir; but this rogue of a con-
stable let the rest escape for a bribe of eleven
shillings a man, because he said the act allowed
him but ten, so the odd shilling was clear
gains.
All. Just. How?
Syl. Gentlemen, he offered to let me go

SCENE 4.]
439
RECRUITING OFFICER.
away for two guineas, but I had not so much
about me: this is 'truth, and I'm ready to
swear it.
Just. B. So that between you both Rose
has been finely managed.
Capt. P. Upon my honour, sir, she had no
Serg. K. And I'll swear it; give me the harm from me.
book; 'tis for the good of the service.
Just. B. All's safe, I find. [Aside] Now,
Welsh C. May it please your worship I captain, you must know that the young fel-
gave him half-a-crown to say that I was an low's impudence in court was well grounded:
honest man; but now, since that your wor- he said I should heartily repent his being list-
ships have made me a rogue, I hope I shall ed; and so I do from my soul.
have my money again.
Capt. P. Ay! for what reason?
Jusl. B. 'Tis my opinion that this constable Just. B. Because he is no less than what
be put into the captain's hands, and if his he said he was; born of as good a family as
friends don't bring four good men for his any in the county, and he is heir to two thou-
ransom by to-morrow night, captain, you sand pounds a year.
shall carry him to Flanders.
Just. Scale. Just. Scru. Agreed, agreed.
Capt. P. Mr. Kite, take the constable into
custody.
Serg. K. Ay, ay, sir. Will you please to
have your office taken from you, or will you
handsomely lay down your staff, as your
bet-
ters have done before you?
[To the Constable, who drops his Staff.
Just. B. Come, gentlemen, here needs no
great ceremony in adjourning this court. Cap-
tain, you shall dine with me.
Capt. P. I'm very glad to hear it; for I
wanted but a man of that quality to make my
company a perfect representative of the whole
commons of England.
Just. B. Won't you discharge him?
Capt. P. Not under a hundred pounds sterling.
Just. B. You shall have it; for his father
my intimate friend..
is
Capt. P. Then you shall have him for nothing.
Just. B. Nay, sir, you shall have your price.
Capl. P. Not a penny, sir; I value an ob-
ligation to you much above an hundred
Serg. K. Come, Mr. Militia Sergeant, I pounds.
shall silence you now, I believe, without your
Just. B. Perhaps, sir, you shan't repent your
taking the law of me.
[Exeunt. generosity. Will you please to write his dis-
charge in my pocket-book? [Gives his Book]
SCENE IV.-A Room in JUSTICE BALANCE'S In the mean time we'll send for the gentle-
House.
Enter JUSTICE BALANCE and Steward.
man.-Who waits there?
Enter a Servant.
Stew. We did not miss her till the evening, Go to the captain's lodging, and inquire for
sir; and then, searching for her in the cham- Mr. Wilful; tell him his captain wants him
ber that was my young master's, we found here immediately.
her clothes there; but the suit that your son Serv. Sir, the gentleman's below at the door,
left in the press when he went to London inquiring for the captain.
was gone.
Just B. You han't told that circumstance to
any body?
Stew. To none but your worship.
Just B. And be sure you don't.
Go, and
tell captain Plume that I beg to speak with
him.
Capt. P. Bid him come up. [Exit Servant]
Here's the discharge, sir.
Just. B. Sir, I thank you.-'Tis plain he had
no hand in't.
Enter SYLVIA.
[Aside.
Syl. I think, captain, you might have used
me better than to leave me yonder among
Stew. I shall.
[Exit. your swearing, drunken crew;-and you, Mr.
Just B. Was ever man so imposed upon? Justice, might have been so civil as to have
I had her promise indeed that she would never invited me to dinner, for I have eaten with as
dispose of herself without my consent. I have good a man as your worship.
Syl. Discharged me?
consented with a witness, given her away as Capt. P. Sir, you must charge our want of
my act and deed; and this, I warrant, the respect upon our ignorance of your quality.
captain thinks will pass. No, I shall never Bat now you are at liberty; I have discharged
pardon him the villany, first of robbing me of
you.
my daughter, and then the mean opinion he
must have of me to think that I could be so
wretchedly imposed upon. Her extravagant go home to your father.
passion might encourage her in the attempt,
but the contrivance must be his. I'll know
the truth presently.
Enter CAPTAIN PLUME.
Just. B. Yes, sir; and you must once more
Syl. My father! then I am discovered.-Oh,
sir! [Kneels] I expect no pardon.
Just. B. Pardon! no, no, child; your crime
shall be your punishment. Here, captain, I
deliver her over to the conjugal power for her
Pray, captain, what have you done with our chastisement. Since she will be a wife, be
young gentleman soldier?"
Capt. P. He's at my quarters, I suppose,
with the rest of my men.
Just. B. Does he keep company with the
common soldiers?
Capt. P. No, he's generally with me; but
the young rogue fell in love with Rose, and
has lain with her, I think, since she came to
town.
you a husband, a very husband. When she
tells you of her love, upbraid her with her
folly; be modishly ungrateful, because she has
been unfashionably kind; and use her worse
than you would any body else, because you
can't use her so well as she deserves.
Capt. P. And are you Sylvia in good earnest?
Syl. Earnest! I have gone too far to make
a jest, sir.
it

440
[ACT V.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
Capt. P. And do you give her to me in way. When my cousin is pleased to surren-
good earnest?
der, 'tis probable I shan't hold out much longer.
Just. B. If you please to take her, sir.
Capt. P. Why then I have saved my legs
and arms, and lost my liberty. Secure from
wounds, I am prepared for the gout. Farewell I
subsistence, and welcome taxes.-Sir, my li-
berty and the hopes of being a general are
much dearer to me than your two thousand
pounds a year; but to your love, madam, I
resign my freedom, and to your beauty my
ambition; greater in obeying at your feet,
than commanding at the head of an army.
Enter WORTHY.
Wor. I am sorry to hear, Mr. Balance, that
your daughter is lost.
Just. B. So am not I, sir, since an honest
gentleman has found her.
Enter MELINDA.
Re-enter CAPTAIN BRAZEN.
Capt. B. Gentlemen, I am yours.-Madam,
am not yours.
[To Melinda.
Mel. I'm glad on't, sir.
Capt. B. So am I.-You have got a pretty
house here, Mr. Laconic.
Just. B. 'Tis time to right all mistakes-my
name, sir, is Balance.
Capt. B. Balance! Sir, I am your most obe-
dient-I know your whole generation - had
not you an uncle that was governor of the
Leeward Islands some years ago?
Just. B. Did you know him?
Capt. B. Intimately, sir-He played at bil-
liards to a miracle. You had a brother too
that was a captain of a fire-ship-poor Dick
-he had the most engaging way with him of
making punch-and then his cabin was so
of neat-but his poor boy Jack was the most
comical bastard-Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! a pickled
yon-dog; I shall never forget him.
Mel. Pray, Mr. Balance, what's become
my cousin Sylvia?
Just. B. Your cousin Sylvia is talking
der with your cousin Plume.
Mel. And Worthy.-How?
Syl. Do you think it strange, cousin, that a
woman should change? But I hope you'll ex-
Capt. P. Have you got your recruits, my
dear?
Capt. B. Not a stick, my dear!
Capt. P. Probably I shall furnish you, my
cuse a change that has proceeded from con- dear! instead of the twenty thousand pounds
stancy. I altered my outside because I was you talk'd of, you shall have the twenty brave
the same within, and only laid by the woman recruits that I have raised at the rate they
to make sure of my man: that's my history. cost me. My commission I lay down, to be
Mel. Your history is a little romantic, cou-
sin; but since success has crowned your ad-
ventures, you will have the world on your
side; and I shall be willing to go with the
tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I of-
fered you in the letter to your father.
Capt. P. That injury, madam, was done to
me, and the reparation I expect shall be made
to my friend: make Mr. Worthy happy, and
I shall be satisfied.
Mel. A good example, sir, will go a great
taken up by some braver fellow, that has more
merit and less good fortune-whilst I endea-
vour, by the example of this worthy gentle-
man, to serve my king and country at home.
With some regret I quit the active field,
Where glory full reward for life does yield;
But the recruiting trade, with all its train
Of endless plague, fatigue, and endless pain,
I gladly quit, with my fair spouse to stay,
And raise recruits the matrimonial way.
[Exeunt.
GARRICK.
DAVID GARRICK was born at Hereford and baptized Feb. 28, 1716. At the age of ten years he was put under the
care of Mr. Hunter, master of the Grammar school of Lichfield, but made no great progress in Literature. He very
early showed his attachment to dramatic entertainments; having in the year 1727 represented the character of Sergeant
Kite in the Recruiting Officer, with great applause. From school he went to Lisbon to visit his uncle, but stayed only
a short time there before he returned to England, on which he went again to Mr. Hunter; and in 1735 became the
pupil of Dr. Johnson.
The progress he made under this able tutor was not such as the brilliancy of his parts might seem to promise;
the vivacity of his character unfitted him for serious pursuits, and his attention to the drama prevailed over every other
object. After a time Johnson grew tired of teaching; and Mr. Garrick being desirous of a more active life, it was
agreed by both the pupil and his tutor to quit Lichfield and try their fortunes in the metropolis. They accordingly set
out together on the 2d of March 1736; and on the 9th of the same month Mr. Garrick was entered of Lincoln's Inn,
it being intended that the law should be his profession.
His father died soon after, and was not survived by his mother. He then engaged in the wine-trade, in partner-
ship with his brother Peter Garrick; but this connexion lasting for a short time he resolved to try his talents on the
stage, and in the summer of 1741 went down to Ipswich, where he acted with great applause under the name of Lyddal.
The part which he first performed was that of Aboan, in the Tragedy of Oroonoko. He made his first appearance at
the Theatre in Goodman's Fields the 19th of Oct. 1741, in the character of Richard the Third, his excellence dazzled and
astonished every one; and the seeing a young man, in no more than his twenty-fourth year, and a novice to the stage,
reaching at one single step to that height of perfection which maturity of years and long practical experience had not
been able to bestow on the then capital performers on the English stage, was a phenomenon which could not but be-
come the object of universal speculation and as universal admiration. The theatres towards the court-end of the town
were on this occasion deserted, persons of all ranks flocking to Goodman's Fields where Mr. Garrick continued to
act till the close of the season; in the ensuing winter he engaged himself to Mr. Fleetwood, then manager of Drury
Lane play-house, in which theatre he continued till the year 1745, in the winter of which he went over to
Ireland, and continued there through the whole of that season, being joint manager with Mr. Sheridan in the direction
and profits of the Theatre Royal in Smock Alley. From there he returned to England, and was engaged for the sea-
[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
441
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.

son of 1746 with the late Mr. Rich, patentee of Covent-garden. This however was his last performance as a hired
actor; for in the close of the season, Mr. Garrick, in conjunction with Mr. Lacy purchased the property of that
theatre, together with the renovation of the patent.
In this station Mr. Garrick continued until the year 1776, with an interval of two years, from 1763 to 1765,
which he devoted to travelling abroad.
While Mr. Garrick was in France, he made a short excursion from the capital with the celebrated Parisian per-
former Preville. They were on horseback, and Preville took a fancy to act the part of a drunken cavalier. Garrick
applauded the imitation, but told him, he wanted one thing which was essential to complete the picture, he did not
make his legs drunk. "Hold, my friend," said he, "and I will show you an English blood, who, after having dined
at a tavern, and swallowed three or four bottles of Port, mounts his horse in a summer evening to go to his box in
the country." He immediately proceeded to exhibit all the gradations of intoxication. He called to his servant, that
the sun and the fields were turning round him; whipped and spurred his horse, until the animal reared and wheeled
in every direction: at length he lost his whip, his feet seemed incapable of resting in the stirrups, the bridle dropped
from his hand, and he appeared to have lost the use of his faculties. Finally, he fell from his horse in such a death-
like manner, that Preville gave an involuntary cry of horror; and his terror greatly increased when he found that his
friend made no answers to his questions. After wiping the dust from his face, he asked again, with the emotion and
anxiety of friendship, whether he was hurt. Garrick whose eyes were closed, half opened one of them, hiccuped,
and, with the most natural tone of intoxication, called for another glass. Preville was astonished; and when Garrick
started up, and resumed his usual demeanour, the French actor exclaimed-"My friend, allow the scholar to em-
brace his master, and thank him for the valuable lesson he has given him."
The 10th of June 1776, after performing the character of Don Felix in Mrs. Centlivre's Comedy of the Wonder
for the benefit of the fund for decayed actors he took leave of the stage.
He died at his house in the Adelphi, after a few day's sickness, on the 20th of January 1779. His body was in-
terred with great funeral pomp at Westminster Abbey, on the 1st of February following. Tragedy, Comedy, and
Farce, the lover and the hero, the jealous husband who suspects his wife's virtue without cause and the thoughtless
lively rake who attacks it without design, were all alike open to his imitation and all alike did honour to his execu-
tion. Every passion of the human breast seemed subjected to his powers of expression; nay, even time itself appeared
to stand still or advance as he would have it. Rage and ridicule, doubt and despair, transport and contempt, love,
jealousy, fear, fury, and simplicity, all took in turn possession of his features, while each of them in turn appeared
to be sole possessor of those features. One night old age sat on his countenance, as if the wrinkles she had stamped
there were indelible; the next the gaiety and bloom of youth seemed to overspread his face, and smooth even those
marks which time and muscular conformation might have really made there. As if Nature had from his cradle marked
him out for her truest representative, she bestowed on him such powers of expression in the muscles of his face, as
no performer ever yet possessed; not only for the display of a single passion, but also for the combination of those va-
rious conflicts with which the human breast at times is fraught, so that in his countenance, even when his lips were
silent, his meaning stood portrayed in characters too legible for any to mistake it. In a word, the beholder felt himself
affected he knew not how; and it may be truly said of him, by future writers, what the poet has said of Shakspeare,
that in his acting, as in the other's writing: "His powerful strokes presiding truth impressed,
And unresisted passion storm'd the breast."
Notwithstanding the numberless and laborious avocations attending on his profession as an actor, and his station as
a manager, yet still his active genius was perpetually bursting forth in various little productions both in the dramatic
and poetical way, the merit of which cannot but make us regret his want of time for the pursuit of more extensive
and important works.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE,
was first acted at Drury Lane, in 1766. When two such names as Colman the Elder and Garrick, united to write
a play upon an original idea of such a third man as Hogarth, much was to be expected; and all that expectation could
rationally form is here most amply fulfilled. The Epilogue artfully tells us that Hogarth's Marriage Alamode is the
foundation, we find all our faculties seized on by the irresistible effect of caricature; and we are in imagination hur-
ried through the whole list of his inimitable productions; The two Apprentices, The Gates of Calais, Midnight Con-
versation, Players in a Barn, and Marriage Alamode, put us in the best humour in the world to judge of an author's
productions; and before our reason has had time to examine, our heart has approved. Mrs. Inchbald says, "Lord
Ogleby, once the most admired part in this comedy, is an evidence of the fluctuation of manners, modes, and opi-
nions; forty years ago, it was reckoned so natural a representation of a man of fashion, that several noblemen are
said to have been in the author's thoughts when he designed the character; now, no part is so little understood in the
play; and his foibles seem so discordant with the manly faults of the present time, that his good qualities cannot atone
for them." To this it has been well replied, that, "considered merely as a delineation of manners, Lord Ogleby
is, no doubt, a fleeting and fugacious being; but the foundation of his artificial character is so noble, so generous, and
so kindly, that, whenever it can find a proper representative, it must continue to excite our sympathies."
But we
must observe, that the part of Canton, however amusing to the galleries, is an illiberal caricature of the Swiss nation,
and therefore disgraceful to the English stage.

-
LORD OGLEBY.
SIR JOHN MELVIL.
STERLING.
LOVEWELL.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SERGEANT FLOWER.
TRAVERSE.
TRUEMAN.
CANTON.
ACT I.
SCENE I-A Room in STERLING'S House.
Enter FANNY and BETTY, meeting.
Bet. [Running in] MA'AM! Miss Fanny!
Ma'am!
Fan. What's the matter, Betty?
Bet. Oh, la! ma'am! as sure as I am alive,
here is your husband-I saw him crossing the
court-yard in his boots.
BRUSH.
MRS. HEIDELBERG.
MISS STERLING.
FANNY.
CHAMBERMAID.
BETTY.
TRUSTY.
of that sort, for fear of an accident.
Bet. Dear ma'am, you may depend upon
me. There is not a more trustier creature
on the face of the earth than I am. Though
I say it, I am as secret as the grave-and if
it is never told till I tell it, it may remain
untold till doomsday for Betty.
Fan. I know you are faithful-but in our
circumstances we cannot be too careful.
Bet. Very true, ma'am! and yet I vow and
Fan. I am glad to hear it.-But pray now, protest there's more plague than pleasure with
my dear Betty, be cautious. Don't mention a secret; especially if a body mayn't mention
that word again on any account. You know it to four or five of one's particular acquain-
we have agreed never to drop any expressions tance.
56

442
[ACT I.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Fan. Do but keep this secret a little while am under the perpetual terrors of a shameful
longer, and then I hope you may mention it detection.
to any body.-Mr. Lovewell will acquaint the Love. Indeed, indeed, you are to blame.
family with the nature of our situation as soon The amiable delicacy of your temper, and
as possible.
your quick sensibility, only serve to make
Bet. The sooner the better, I believe: for you unhappy.-To clear up this affair pro-
if he does not tell it, there's a little tell-tale, perly to Mr. Sterling, is the continual employ-
I know of, will come and tell it for him. ment of my thoughts. Every thing now is in
Fan. Fie, Betty!
[Blushes. a fair train. It begins to grow ripe for a dis-
But you're covery; and I have no doubt of its conclud-
wan, and so ing to the satisfaction of ourselves, of your
father, and the whole family.
Bet. Ah! you may well blush.
not so sick, and so pale, and so
many qualms-
Fan. Have done! I shall be
with you.
quite angry
Fan. End how it will, I am resolv'd it shall
end soon-very soon. I would not live ano-
Bet. Angry-Bless the dear puppet! I am ther week in this agony of mind to be mis-
sure I shall love it as much as if it was my tress of the universe.
own. I meant no harm, heaven's knows.
Love. Do not be too violent neither. Do
Fan. Well, say no more of this-it makes not let us disturb the joy of your sister's mar-
me uneasy.-All I have to ask of you is, to riage with the tumult this matter may occa-
be faithful and secret, and not to reveal this sion!-I have brought letters from lord Ogleby
matter till we disclose it to the family our- and sir John Melvil to Mr. Sterling. They
will be here this evening--and I dare say
within this hour.
selves.
Bet. Me reveal it!-If I say a word, I wish
I may be burned. I would not do you any
harm for the world-and as for Mr. Lovewell,
I am sure I have loved the dear gentleman
ever since he got a tide-waiter's place for my
brother. But let me tell you both, you must
leave off your soft looks to each other, and
your whispers, and your glances, and your
always sitting next to one another at dinner,
and your long walks together in the evening.
-For my part, if I had not been in the se-
cret, I should have known you were a pair
of lovers at least, if not man and wife, as-
Fan. See there now again! Pray be careful.
Bet. Well, well-nobody hears me.-Man
and wife-I'll say no more.-What I tell you
is very true, for all that-
Love. [Within] William!
Bet. Hark! I hear your husband-
Fan. What!
Fan. I am sorry for it.
Love. Why so?
Fan. No matter-only let us disclose our
marriage immediately!
Love. As soon as possible.
Fan. But directly.
Love. In a few days, you may depend on it.
Fan. To-night-or to-morrow morning.
Love. That, I fear, will be impracticable.
Fan. Nay, but you must.
Love. Must! Why?
Fan. Indeed you must I have the most
alarming reasons for it.
Love. Alarming, indeed! for they alarm me,
even before I am acquainted with them-
What are they?
Fan. I cannot tell you.
Love. Not tell me?
Fan. Not at present. When all is settled,
Bet. I say here comes Mr. Lovewell.-Mind you shall be acquainted with every thing.
the caution I give you-I'll be whipped now
Love. Sorry they are coming!-Must be
if you are not the first person he sees or speaks discovered!-What can this mean? Is it pos-
to in the family. However, if you choose it, sible you can have any reasons that need be
it's nothing at all to me-as you sow, so you concealed from me?
must reap-as you brew, so you must bake. Fan. Do not disturb yourself with conjec-
-I'll e'en slip down the back stairs, and leave tures-but rest assur'd, that though you are
you together.
[Exit. unable to divine the cause, the consequence
Fan. I see, I see I shall never have a mo- of a discovery, be it what it will, cannot be
ment's ease till our marriage is made public. attended with half the miseries of the present
New distresses crowd in upon me every day. interval.
The solicitude of my mind sinks my spirits, Love. You put me upon the rack-I would
preys upon my health, and destroys every do any thing to make you easy.-But you
comfort of my life. It shall be revealed, let know your father's temper-Money (you will
what will be the consequence.
Enter LOVEWELL.
excuse my frankness) is the spring of all his
actions, which nothing but the idea of acquir-
ing nobility or magnificence can ever make
him forego-and these he thinks his money
Love. My love!-How's this?-In tears?- will purchase.-You know, too, your aunt's,
Indeed this is too much. You promised me Mrs. Heidelberg's, notions of the splendour of
to support your spirits, and to wait the deter-high life; her contempt for every thing that
mination of our fortune with patience. For does not relish of what she calls quality; and
my sake, for your own, be comforted! Why that from the vast fortune in her hands, by
will you study to add to our uneasiness and her late husband, she absolutely governs Mr.
perplexity?
Sterling and the whole family. Now if they
Fan. Oh, Mr. Lovewell, the indelicacy of should come to the knowledge of this affair
a secret marriage grows every day more and too abruptly, they might perhaps be incensed
more shocking to me. I walk about the house beyond all hopes of reconciliation.
like a guilty wretch: I imagine myself the ob- Fan. Manage it your own way. I am per-
ject of the suspicion of the whole family, and suaded.
SCENE 1.]
443
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.

Love. But in the mean time make yourself easy. not be able to keep my word with you, if I
Fan. As easy as I can, I will. We had did promise you.
better not remain together any longer at pre- Ster. Why, you would not offer to marry
sent. Think of this business, and let me know her without my consent! would you, Love-
how you proceed.
well?
Love. Depend on my care! But pray be
cheerful.
Fan. I will.
Enter STERLING, as she is going.
Ster. Hey-day! who have we got here?
Fan. [Confused] Mr. Lovewell, sir.
Ster. And where are you going, hussy?
Love. Marry her, sir!
[Confused.
Ster. Ay, marry her, sir!-I know very
well, that a warm speech or two from such
a dangerous young spark as you are would
go much further towards persuading a silly
girl to do what she has more than a month's
mind to do, than twenty grave lectures from
fathers or mothers, or uncles or aunts, to pre-
Fan. To my sister's chamber, sir.. [Exit. vent her. But you would not, sure, be such
Ster. Ah, Lovewell! What! always getting a base fellow, such a treacherous young
my foolish girl yonder into a corner?-Well rogue, as to seduce my daughter's affections,
-well-let us but once see her eldest sister and destroy the peace of my family in that
fast married to sir John Melvil, we'll soon manner.-I must insist on it, that you give
provide a good husband for Fanny, I warrant me your word not to marry her without my
you.
Love. Would to heaven, sir, you would
provide her one of my recommendation!
Ster. Yourself! eh, Lovewell?
Love. With your pleasure, sir.
Ster. Mighty well!
Love. And I flatter myself, that such a pro-
posal would not be very disagreeable to miss
Fanny.
Ster. Better and better!
Love. And if I could but obtain your con-
sent, sir-
consent.
Love. Sir-I-I-as to that-I-I beg, sir-
Pray, sir, excuse me on this subject at present.
Ster. Promise then, that you will carry this
matter no further without my approbation.
Love. You may depend on it, sir, that it
shall go no further.
Ster. Well-well-that's enough-I'll take
care of the rest, I warrant you.-Come, come,
let's have done with this nonsense! What's
doing in town?-Any news upon 'Change?
Love. Nothing material.
Ster. What! You marry Fanny?-no-no Ster. Have you seen the currants, the soap,
-that will never do, Lovewell!- You're a and Madeira safe in the warehouse? Have you
good boy, to be sure-I have a great value compared the goods with the invoice and bills
for you-but can't think of you for a son-in- of lading, and are they all right?
law. There's no stuff in the case; no money,
Lovewell!
-
Love. My pretensions to fortune, indeed,
are but moderate; but though not equal to
splendour, sufficient to keep us above distress.
-Add to which, that I hope by diligence to
increase it-and have love, honour-
Love. They are, sir.
Ster. And how are stocks?
Love. Fell one and a half this morning.
Ster. Well, well-some good news from
America, and they'll be up again.-But how
are lord Ogleby and sir John Melvil?-when
are we to expect them?
Ster. But not the stuff, Lovewell!-Add one Love. Very soon, sir. I came on purpose
little round 0 to the sum total of your fortune, to bring you their commands. Here are let-
and that will be the finest thing you can say ters from both of them. [Giving Letters.
to me.-You know I've a regard for you- Ster. Let me see-let me see-'Slife, how
would do any thing to serve you-any thing his lordship's letter is perfumed!-It takes my
on the footing of friendship-but-
breath away. [Opening it] And French pa-
Love. If you think me worthy of your per too!-with a slippery gloss on it that dazzles
friendship, sir, be assured that there is no one's eyes.-My dear Mr. Sterling-[Read-
instance in which I should rate your friendship ing]-Mercy on me! his lordship writes a
so highly.
worse hand than a boy at his exercise. But
Ster. Pshaw! pshaw! that's another thing, how's this?-Eh!-With you to-night-Law-
you know. Where money or interest is con- yers to-morrow morning.-To-night!-that's
cerned, friendship is quite out of the question. sudden, indeed-Where's my sister Heidel-
Love. But where the happiness of a daughter berg? She should know of this immediately.
is at stake, you would not scruple, sure, to Here, John! Harry! Thomas! [Calling the
sacrifice a little to her inclinations.
Servants] Harkye, Lovewell!
Love. Sir.
Ster. Inclinations! why you would not per-
suade me that the girl is in love with you-
eh, Lovewell?
Ster. Mind now, how I'll entertain his lord-
ship and sir John-We'll show your fellows
Love. I cannot absolutely answer for miss at the other end of the town how we live in
Fanny, sir; but am sure that the chief happi- the city-They shall eat gold-and drink gold
ness or misery of my life depends entirely and lie in gold.-Here, cook! butler! [Call-
upon her.
ing What signifies your birth, and educa-
Ster. Why, inded, now if your kinsman, tion, and titles!-Money, money!-that's the
lord Ogleby, would come down handsomely stuff that makes the great man in this country.
for you-but that's impossible-No, no-'twill Love. Very true, sir.
never do--I must hear no more of this-Come, Ster. True, sir!-Why then have done with
Lovewell, promise me that I shall hear no your nonsense of love and matrimony. You're
not rich enough to think of a wife yet. A man
of business should mind nothing but his bu-
more of this.
Love. [Hesitating] I am afraid, sir, I should

444
[ACT I.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
siness. Where are these fellows?-John! transparent!-Here, the tops, you see, will
Thomas!-[Calling] Get an estate, and a wife take off, to wear in a morning, or in an un-
will follow of course-Ah! Lovewell! an En-dress-how d'ye like them? [Shows Jewels.
glish merchant is the most respectable character Fan. Very much, I assure you-Bless me,
in the universe.-'Slife, man, a rich English sister, you have a prodigious quantity of jew-
merchant may make himself a match for the els-you'll be the very queen of diamonds.
daughter of a nabob.-Where are all my ras- Miss S. Ha, ha, ha! very well, my dear!-
cals?-Here, William !- [Exit, calling. I shall be as fine as a little queen indeed.-I
Love. So-as I suspected.-Quite averse to have a bouquet to come home to-morrow-
the match, and likely to receive the news of made up of diamonds, and rubies, and eme-
it with great displeasure.-What's best to be ralds, and topazes, and amethysts-jewels of
done?-Let me see-Suppose I get sir John all colours, green, red, blue, yellow, intermix-
Melvil to interest himself in this affair. He ed-the prettiest thing you ever saw in your
may mention it to lord Ogleby with a better life! The jeweller says I shall set out with
grace than I can, and more probably prevail as many diamonds as any body in town, ex-
on him to interfere in it. I can open my cept lady Brilliant, and Polly What-d'ye-call-
mind also more freely to sir John. He told it, lord Squander's kept mistress.
me, when I left him in town, that he had Fan. But what are your wedding-clothes,
something of consequence to communicate, sister?
and that I could be of use to him. I am glad Miss S. O, white and silver, to be sure, you
of it: for the confidence he reposes in me, know. I bought them at sir Joseph Lute-
and the service I may do him will ensure me string's, and sat above an hour in the parlour
his good offices.-Poor Fanny! it hurts me to behind the shop, consulting lady Lutestring
see her so uneasy, and her making a mystery about gold and silver stuffs, on purpose to
of the cause adds to my anxiety.-Something mortify her.
must be done upon her account; for, at all Fan. Fie, sister! how could you be so abom-
events, her solicitude shall be removed. inably provoking?
[Exit. Miss S. Oh, I have no patience with the
ever observe the airs of lady Lutestring, dress-
pride of your city-knights' ladies. Did you
SCENE II.-MISS STERLING'S Dressing-room.
MISS STERLING and FANNY discovered.
ed in the richest brocade out of her husband's
Miss S. O, my dear sister, say no more!-shop, playing crown whist at Haberdasher's-
This is downright hypocrisy.-You shall never hall-whilst the civil smirking sir Joseph, with
convince me that you don't envy me beyond a snug wig trimmed round his broad face as
measure.-Well, after all, it is extremely na-close as a new cut yew hedge, and his shoes
tural-It is impossible to be angry with you. so black that they shine again, stands all day
Fan. Indeed, sister, you have no cause. in his shop, fastened to his counter like a bad
Miss S. And you really pretend not to envy
me?
Fan. Not in the least.
Miss S. And you don't in the least wish
that you was just in my situation?
shilling?
Fan. Indeed, indeed, sister, this is too much
-If you talk at this rate, you will be abso-
lutely a bye-word in the city-You must ne-
ver venture on the inside of Temple-bar again.
Fan. No, indeed I don't. Why should I? Miss S. Never do I desire it-never, my
Miss S. Why should you? What! on the dear Fanny, I promise you. Oh, how I long
brink of marriage, fortune, title-But I had to be transported to the dear regions of Gros-
forgot-There's that dear sweet creature, Mr. venor-square-far-far from the dull districts
Lovewell, in the case.-You would not break of Aldersgate, Cheap, Candlewick, and Far-
your faith with your truelove now for the ringdon Without and Within! - my heart
world, I warrant you.
goes pit-a-pat at the very idea of being in.
Fan. Mr. Lovewell!-always Mr. Lovewell! troduced at court!-gilt chariot!-pieballed
-Lord, what signifies Mr. Lovewell, sister? horses!-laced liveries!-and then the whispers
Miss S. Pretty peevish soul!-O, my dear, buzzing round the circle-"Who is that young
grave, romantic sister!-a perfect philosopher lady? Who is she?"-"Lady Melvil, ma'am!"
in petticoats! Love and a cottage!-eh, Fanny-Lady Melvil! My ears tingle at the sound.
-Ah, give me indifference and a coach and -And then at dinner, instead of my father
perpetually asking-"Any news upon Change?"
Fan. And why not a coach and six with--to cry, "Well, sir John!
any thing
out the indifference?-But pray when is this new from Arthur's?" or, to say to some
happy marriage of yours to be celebrated? I other woman of quality, "Was your ladyship
long to give you joy.
at the duchess of Rubber's last night? - Did
six!
Miss S. In a day or two-I cannot tell ex- you call in at lady Thunder's?- In the im-
actly-Oh, my dear sister!-I must mortify mensity of crowd I swear I did not see you
her a little: [Aside] I know you have a pretty -Scarce a soul at the opera last Saturday-
taste. Pray give me your opinion of my jew- Shall I see you at Carlisle-house next Thurs-
els. How do you like the style of this es- day?"- Oh, the dear beau monde! I was
clavage?
[Showing Jewels. born to move in the sphere of the great world.
Fan. Extremely handsome indeed, and well Fan. And so in the midst of all this hap-
fancied.
piness you have no compassion for me-no
Miss S. What d'ye think of these bracelets? pity for us poor mortals in common life.
I shall have a miniature of my father set Miss S. [Affectedly] You? - You're above
round with diamonds to one, and sir John's to pity.-You would not change conditions with
the other. And this pair of ear-rings!-set me.-You're over head and ears in love, you
SCENE 2.]
445
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.

know.-Nay, for that matter, if Mr. Lovewell yourself as loose and as big-I declare there
and you come together, as I doubt not you is not such a thing to be seen now, as a
will, you will live very comfortably, I dare young woman with a fine waist-You all make
say. He will mind his business-you'll employ yourselves as round as Mrs. Deputy Barter.
yourself in the delightful care of your family Go, child!-You know the qualaty will be
-and once in a season, perhaps, you'll sit here by-and-by. Go, and make yourself a
together in a front box at a benefit play, as little more fit to be seen. [Exit Fanny] She
we used to do at our dancing-master's, you is gone away in tears- absolutely crying, I
know-and perhaps. I may meet you in the vow and pertest. This ridicalous love! we
summer, with some other citizens at Tun- must put a stop to it. It makes a perfect na-
bridge. 1) For my part, I shall always enter- taral of the girl.
tain a proper regard for my relations. - You
sha'nt want my countenance, I assure you.
Fan. Oh, you're too kind, sister!
Enter MRS. HEIDELBERG.
1
Miss S. Poor soul! she can't help it.
[Affectedly.
Mrs. H. Well, my dear! Now I shall have
an opportoonity of convincing you of the ab-
surdity of what you was telling me concern-
Mrs. H. [At entering] Here this evening! ing sir John Melvil's behaviour to you.
-I vow and pertest 2) we shall scarce have time Miss S. Oh, it gives me no manner of unea-
to provide for them-Oh, my dear! [To siness. But indeed, ma'am, I cannot be per-
Miss Sterling] I am glad to see you're not suaded but that sir John is an extremely cold
quite in a dishabille. Lord Ogleby and Sir lover. Such distant civility, grave looks, and
John Melvil will be here to-night.
lukewarm professions of esteem for me and
the whole family! I have heard of flames and
darts, but sir John's is a passion of mere ice
on a smarter cap, and change those ordinary and snow.
Miss S. To-night, ma'am?
Mrs. H. Yes, my dear, to-night.
-
Oh, put
ruffles!-Lord, I have such a deal to do, I Mrs. H. Oh fie, my dear! I am perfectly
shall scarce have time to slip on my Italian ashamed of you. That's so like the notions
lutestring. Where is this dawdle of a house-
keeper?
Enter TRUSTY.
Oh, here, Trusty! do you know that people
of qualaty are expected here this evening?
Trus. Yes, ma'am.
Mrs. H. Well-Do you be sure now that
every thing is done in the most genteelest
manner-and to the honour of the family.
Trus. Yes, ma'am.
Mrs. H. Well-but mind what I say to you.
Trus. Yes, ma'am.
of your poor sister! What you complain of
as coldness and indiffarence, is nothing but
the extreme gentilaty of his address, an exact
pictur of the manners of qualaty.
Miss S. O, he is the very mirror of com-
plaisance! full of formal bows and set speech-
es! - I declare, if there was any violent pas-
sion on my side, I should be quite jealous of
him.
Mrs. H. Jealous!-I say, jealous, indeed-
Jealous of who, pray?
Miss. S. My sister Fanny. She seems a
much greater favourite than I am; and he pays
Mrs. H. His lordship is to lie in the chintz her infinitely more attention, I assure you.
bedchamber-d'ye hear?-and sir John in the Mrs. H. Lord! d'ye think a man of fashion,
blue damask room-his lordship's valet-de- as he is, cannot distinguish between the gen-
chamb in the opposite-
teel and the vulgar part of the family? - Be-
Trus. But Mr. Lovewell is come down-tween you and your sister, for instance-or
and you know that's his room, ma'am. me and my brother? - Be advised by me,
Mrs. H. Well-well-Mr. Lovewell may child! It is all puliteness and goodbreeding.
make shift-or get a bed at the George.-But Nobody knows the qualaty better than I do.
harkye, Trusty!
Miss S In my mind the old lord, his uncle,
has ten times more gallantry about him than
Trus. Ma'am !
Mrs. H. Get the great dining-room in order sir John. He is full of attentions to the ladies,
as soon as possable. Unpaper the curtains, and smiles, and grins, and leers, and ogles,
take the kivers 3) off the couch and the chairs, and fills every wrinkle of his old wizen face
and, do you hear-take the china dolls out of with comical expressions of tenderness. I
my closet, and put them on the mantlepiece think he would make an admirable sweetheart.
immediately-
Enter STERLING.
[Going.
Trus. Yes, ma'am.
Mrs. H. And mind, as soon as his lordship Ster. [At entering] No fish?-Why the
comes in, be sure you set all their heads a pond was dragged but yesterday morning-
nodding.
Trus. Yes, ma'am.
Mrs. H. Be gone, then! fly, this instant!-
Where's my brother Sterling?
Trus. Talking to the butler, ma'am.
There's carp and tench in the boat.-Pox on't,
if that dog Lovewell had any thought, he
would have brought down a turbot, or some
of the land-carriage mackrell.
Mrs. H. Lord, brother, I am afraid his lord-
Mrs. H. Very well. [Exit Trusty] Miss ship and sir John will not arrive while it is
Fanny, I pertest I did not see you before-light.
Lord, child, what's the matter with you?
Fan. With me! Nothing, ma'am.
Ster. I warrant you.-But pray, sister Hei-
delberg, let the turtle be dressed to-morrow,
Mrs. H. Bless me! Why your face is as and some venison-and let the gardener cut
pale, and black, and yellow-of fifty colours, some pine-apples-and get out some ice. -I'll
vow and pertest.-And then you have drest answer for wine, I warrant you-I'll give them
1) A Watering-place. 2) Protest. 3) Covers. such a glass of champagne as they never drank

446
[ACT II.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
in their lives-no, not at a duke's table. spectacles [Sips] What with qualms, age,
Mrs. H. Pray now, brother, mind how you rheumatism, and a few surfeits in his youth,
behave. I am always in a fright about you he must have a great deal of brushing, oiling,
with people of qualaty. Take care that you screwing, and winding-up, to set him a going
don't fall asleep directly after supper, as you for the day.
commonly do. Take a good deal of snuff;
and that will keep you awake-And don't
burst out with your horrible loud horse-laughs.
It is monstrous wulgar.
Cham. [Sips] That's prodigious indeed-
[Sips] My lord seems quite in a decay.
Brush. Yes, he's quite a spectacle, [Sips]
a mere corpse, till he is reviv'd and refresh'd
Ster. Never fear, sister! - Who have he from our little magazine here- When the
here?
restorative pills and cordial waters warm his
Mrs. H. It is Mons. Cantoon, the Swish stomach, and get into his head, vanity frisks
gentleman that lives with his lordship, I vow in his heart, and then he sets up for the lover,
and pertest.
the rake, and the fine gentleman.
Enter CANTON.
Ster. Ah, mounseer! your servant. - I am
very glad to see you, mounseer.
Cham. [Sips] Poor gentleman! but should
the Swish gentleman come upon us.
[Frightened.
Brush. Why then the English gentleman
Can. Mosh oblige to Mons. Sterling. -would be very angry. No foreigner must
Ma'am, I am your-Matemoiselle, I am your. break in upon my privacy. [Sips] But I can
[Bowing round. assure you Monsieur Canton is otherwise
Mrs. H. Your humble servant, Mr. Cantoon! employ'd-He is obliged to skim the cream of
Can. Kiss your hand, matam!
half a score newspapers for my lord's break-
Ster. Well, mounseer!-and what news of fast-ha, ha, ha! Pray, madam, drink
your
your good family?-when are we to see his cup peaceably-My lord's chocolate is remark-
lordship and sir John?
ably good; he won't touch a drop, but what
comes from Italy.
Can. Mons. Sterling! milor Ogleby and sir
Jean Melvil will be here in one quarter hour.
Ster. I am glad to hear it.
Mrs. H. O, I am perdigious glad to hear it.
Being so late, I was afeard of some accident.
-Will you please to have any thing, Mr.
Cantoon, after your journey?
Can. No, tank you, ma'am.
Mrs H. Shall I go and show you the
ments, sir?
Can. You do me great honeur, ma'am.
Mrs. H. Come then!-come, my dear.
Cham. [Sipping] 'Tis very fine indeed!
[Sips] and charmingly perfum'd-it smells for
all the world like our young ladies' dressing-
boxes.
Brush. You have an excellent taste, madam;
and I must beg of you to accept of a few
cakes for your own drinking; [Takes them
apart-out of a Drawer in the Table] and in return
I desire nothing but to taste the perfume of
your lips. [Kisses her]-A small return of
favours, madam, will make, I hope, this country
and retirement agreeable to us both. [He
bows, she courtesies]-Come, pray sit down-
Your young ladies are fine girls, faith; [Sips]
though, upon my soul, I am quite of my old
lord's mind about them; and were I inclined to
matrimony, I should take the youngest. [Sips.
[To Miss Sterling. Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-An Anti-chamber to LORD OGLE-
BY'S Bed-chamber. Table with Chocolate,
and small Case for Medicines.
BRUSH and Chambermaid discovered.
Brush. You shall stay, my dear, I insist
upon it.
Cham. Nay pray, sir, don't be so positive;
I cannot stay indeed.
Cham. Miss Fanny! The most affablest,
and the most best natur'd creter!-
Brush. And the eldest a little haughty or so-
Cham. More haughtier and prouder than
Saturn 1) himself- but this I say quite con-
fidential to you; for one would not hurt a
Brush. You shall drink one cup to our young lady's marriage, you know. [Sips.
better acquaintance.
Brush. By no means; but you cannot hurt
Cham. I seldom drinks chocolate; and, if it with us we don't consider tempers-we
I did, one has no satisfaction with such ap- want money, Mrs. Nancy. Give us plenty of
prehensions about one-if my lord should that, we'll abate you a great deal in other
wake, or the Swish gentleman should see one, particulars, ha, ha, ha!
-
or madam Heidelberg should know of it, I Cham. Bless me, here's somebody!--[Bell
should be frighted to death-besides, I have rings]- Ch, 'tis my lord!- Well, your ser-
had my tea already this morning-I'm sure I vant, Mr. Brush-I'll clean the cups in the
hear my lord.
[In a fright. next room.
Brush. No, no, madam, don't flutter your- Brush. Do so-but never mind the bell-
self-the moment my lord wakes he rings his I sha'nt go this half hour. Will you drink
bell, which I answer sooner or later, as it tea with me in the afternoon?
suits my convenience.
Cham. Not for the world, Mr. Brush - I'll
Cham. But should he come upon us with- be here to set all things to rights-But I must
out ringing-
Brush. I'll forgive him if he does-This key
[Takes a Vial out of the Case] locks him
up till I please to let him out.
not drink tea indeed-and so your servant.
[Exit, with Teaboard. Bell rings again.
Brush. Yes, yes, I hear you.-It is impos-
sible to stupify one's self in the country for a
week, without some little flirting with the
Abigails;-this is much the handsomest wench
Cham. Law! sir, that's potecary's stuff.
Brush. It is so-but without this he can no
more get out of bed-that he can read without 1) Satan.

SCENE 1.]
447
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
in the house, except the old citizen's youngest question but that the cosmetique royale vi
daughter, and I have not time enough to lay utterly take away all heats, pimps, frecks,
a plan for her.-[Bell rings] O, my lord- oder eruptions of de skin, and likewise de
[Going. wrinque of old age, etc. etc.- A great deal
more, my lor.-Be sure to ask for de cos-
Enter CANTON, with Newspapers in his Hand. metique royale, signed by the docteur own.
Can. Monsieur Brush!- Maistre Brush!-hand-Dere is more raison for dis caution
my lor stirra yet?
dan good men vil tink.-Eh bien, my lor.
Lord O. Eh bien, Canton! Will you
purchase any?
Brush. He has just rung his bell- I am
going to him.
[Exit.
Can. Depechez vous donc. [Puts on his
Spectacles]-I wish de deveil had all dese
papiers-I forget as fast as I read - de Ad-
vertise put out of my head de Gazette, de
Chronique, and so dey all go l'un après l'autre
-I must get some nouvelle for my lor, or
he'll be enragé contre moi.-Voyons! [Reads
the Paper] Here is nothing but Anti-Sejanus
and advertise-
Enter Maid, with Chocolate Things.
Vat you want, chil?-
Maid. Only the chocolate things, sir.
Can. O, ver well-dat is good girl-and
very prit too.
[Exit Maid.
Lord O. [Within] Canton! he, he!
[Coughs] Canton!-
Can. I come, my!-vat shall I do?-I have
no news-he will make great tintamarre!-
Lord O. [Within] Canton! I say, Canton!
Where are you?
Enter LORD OGLEBY, leaning on BRUSH.
Can. Here, my lor!-I ask pardon, my lor,
I have not finish de papiers.-
Lord O. D-n your pardon and your papiers
-I want you here, Canton.
Can. Den I run, dat is all.
[Shuffles along. Lord Ogleby leans upon
Canton too, and comes forward.
Lord O. You Swiss are the most unaccount-
able mixture-you have the language and the
impertinence of the French, with the laziness
of Dutchmen.
Can. 'Tis very true, my lor-I can't help-
Lord O. [Cries out] O Diavolo!
Can. For you, my lor?
Lord O. For me, you old puppy? for what?
Can. My lor!
Lord O. Do 1 want cosmetics?
Can. My lor!
Lord O. Look in my face- come, be sin-
cere.-Does it want the assistance of art?
Can. [With his Spectacles] En verité non
-Tis very smoose and brillian-but tote dat
you might take a little by way of prevention.
Lord O. You thought like an old fool, mon-
sieur, as you generally do. Try it upon your
own face, Canton, and if it has any effect,
the doctor cannot have a better proof of the
efficacy of his nostrum.-The surfeit water,
Brush! [Brush pours out]- What do you
think, Brush, of this family we are going to
be connected with?-Eh!
Brush. Very well to marry in, my lord;
but it would never do to live with.
Lord O. You are right, Brush-There is no
washing the blackmoor white - Mr. Sterling
will never get rid of Blackfriars-always taste
of the Borachio- and the poor woman, his
sister, is so busy, and so notable, to make one
welcome, that I have not yet got over the
fatigue of her first reception; it almost amount-
ed to suffocation!-I think the daughters are
tolerable-Where's my cephalic snuff?
[Brush gives him a Box.
Can. Dey tink so of you, my lor, for dey
look at noting else, ma foi.
Lord O. Did they? Why I think they did
a little- Where's my glass?-[Brush puts
one on the Table] The youngest is delectable.
[Takes Snuff.
Can. O oui, my lor, very delect inteed;
That she made doux yeux at you, my lor.
Can. You are not in pain, I hope, my lor?
Lord O. Indeed but I am, my lor.
vulgar fellow, Sterling, with his city politeness, Lord O. She was particular.-The eldest,
would force me down his slope last night to my nephew's lady, will be a most valuable
see a clay-coloured ditch, which he calls a wife; she has all the vulgar spirits of her
canal; and what with the dew and the east father and aunt, happily blended with the
wind, my hips and shoulders are absolutely termagant qualities of her deceased mother.-
screw'd to my body.
Can. A littel veritable eau d'arquibusade vil
set all to right-
[Lord Ogleby sits down, and
Brush gives Chocolate.
Lord O. Where are the palsy drops, Brush?
Brush. Here, my lord! [Pours out.
Some peppermint water, Brush - How happy
is it, Canton, for young ladies in general, that
people of quality overlook every thing in a
marriage contract but their fortune.
Can. C'est bien heureux, et commode aussi.
Lord O. Brush, give me that pamphlet by
my bed side.-[Brush goes for it] "Canton,
Lord O. Quelles nouvelles avez vous, Canton? do you wait in the anti-chamber, and let no-
Can. A great deal of papier, but no news body interrupt me till I call you.
at all.
Lord O. What! nothing at all, you stupid
fellow?
Can. Oui, my lor, I have little advertise
here vil give you more plaisir den all de lies
about nothing at all. La voila!
Can. Mush good may do your lordship. [Exit.
Lord O. [To Brush, who brings the Pam-
phlet] And now, Brush, leave me a little to
my studies. [Exit Brush]-What can I pos-
sibly do among these women here, with this
confounded rheumatism: It is a most grievous
[Puts on his Spectacles. enemy to gallantry and address. [Gets off
Lord O. Come, read it, Canton, with good his Chair] He! courage, my lor! by heavens,
emphasis, and good discretion.
I'm another creature. [Hums and dances a
Can. I vil, my lor. [Reads] Dere is no little] It will do, faith.-Bravo, my lor! these

448
[ACT II.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
girls have absolutely inspir'd me-If they are
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL.
for a game of romps-Me voila prêt! [Sings Well, sir John, what news from the island of
and dances]-Oh!-that's an ugly twinge- love? Have you been sighing and serenading
but it's gone. I have rather too much of the this morning?
lily this morning in my complexion; a faint Sir J. I am glad to see your lordship in
tincture of the rose will give a delicate spirit such spirits this morning.
to my eyes for the day. [Unlocks a Drawer Lord O. I'm sorry to see you so dull, sir-
of the Bottom of the Glass, and takes out What poor things, Mr. Sterling, these very
Rouge; while he is painting himself, a knock-young fellows are! They make love with faces
ing at the Door] Who's there? I won't be as if they were burying the dead - though
disturb'd.
indeed a marriage sometimes may be properly
called a burying of the living-eh, Mr. Sterling?
Ster. Not if they have enough to live upon,
my lord-Ha, ha, ha!
Can. [Without] My lor! my lor! here is
monsieur Sterling, to pay his devoir to you
this morn in your chambre.
-
Lord O. What a fellow! [Softly] - I am Can. Dat is all monsieur Sterling tink of.
extremely honour'd by Mr. Sterling. Why Sir J. Pr'ythee, Lovewell, come with me
don't you see him in, monsieur? [Aloud into the garden; I have something of con-
I wish he was at the bottom of his stinking sequence for you, and I must communicate it
canal. [Softly. Door opens] Oh, my dear directly.
[Apart to Lovewell.
Mr. Sterling, you do me a great deal of honour.
Love. We'll go together. [Apart] If your
lordship and Mr. Sterling please, we'll pre-
Enter STERLING and LoVEWELL.
pare the ladies to attend you in the garden.
Ster. I hope, my lord, that your lordship [Exeunt Sir John Melvil and Lovewell.
slept well last night-I believe there are no Ster. My girls are always ready; I make
better beds in Europe than I have I spare them rise soon, and to-bed early; their hus-
no pains to get them, nor money to buy them. bands shall have them with good constitutions
-His majesty, God bless him, don't sleep upon and good fortunes, if they have nothing else,
a better out of his palace; and if I had said my lord.
in too, I hope no treason, my lord.
-
-
Lord O. Your beds are like every thing else
about you incomparable! - They not only
make one rest well, but give one spirits, Mr.
Sterling.
Lord O. Fine things, Mr. Sterling!
Ster. Fine things indeed, my lord-Ah, my
lord, had you not run off your speed in your
youth, you had not been so crippled in your
age, my lord.
Lord O. Very pleasant, he, he, he!-
[Half laughing.
Ster. What say you then, my lord, to
another walk in the garden? You must see
my water by day-light, and my walks, and Ster. Here's mounseer now, I suppose, is
my slopes, and my clumps, and my bridge, pretty near your lordship's standing; but having
and my flowering trees, and my bed of Dutch little to eat, and little to spend in his own
tulips.-Matters look'd but dim last night, my country, he'll wear three of your lordship
lord. I feel the dew in my great toe-but I out-eating and drinking kills us all,
would put on a cut shoe, that I might be able
to walk you about-I may be laid up to-morrow.
Lord O. I pray heaven you may! [Aside.
Ster. What say you, my lord?
Lord O. Very pleasant, I protest-What a
vulgar dog!
[Aside.
Can. My lor so old as me!-He is chicken
to me-and look like a boy to pauvre me.
Lord O. I was saying, sir, that I was in Ster. Ha, ha, ha! Well said, mounseer-
hopes of seeing the young ladies at breakfast: keep to that, and you'll live in any country
Mr. Sterling, they are, in my mind, the finest of the world - Ha, ha, ha! - But, my lord, I
tulips in this part of the world, he, he, he! will wait upon you in the garden: we have
Can. Bravissimo, my lor! ha, ha, ha! but a little time to breakfast - I'll go for my
Ster. They shall meet your lordship in the hat and cane, fetch a little walk with you,
garden- we won't lose our walk for them; my lord, and then for the hot rolls and butter!
I'll take you a little round before breakfast,
and a larger before dinner, and in the evening
you shall go the grand tour, as I call it, ha,
ha, ha!
[Exit.
Lord O. I shall attend you with pleasure-
Hot rolls and butter in July! I sweat with the
thoughts of it-What a strange beast it is!
Can. C'est un barbare.
Lord O. Not a foot I hope, Mr. Sterling;
consider your gout, my good friend- - you'll Lord O. He is a vulgar dog; and if there
certainly be laid by the heels for your polite-was not so much money in the family, which
ness, he, he, he!
I can't do without, I would leave him and his
Can. Ha, ha, ha! 'tis admirable, en vérité! hot rolls and butter directly-Come along,
[Laughs very heartily. monsieur!
Ster. If my young man [To Lovewell]
here would but laugh at my jokes, which he
ought to do, as mounseer does at yours, my
lord, we should be all life and mirth.
Lord O. What say you, Canton, will you
take my kinsman into your tuition? You have
certainly the most companionable laugh I ever
met with, and never out of tune.
Can. But when your lordship is out of spirits.
Lord O. Well said, Canton! But here comes
my nephew, to play his part.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The Garden.
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL and LOVEWELL.
Love. In my room this morning? Impossible.
Sir J Before five this morning, I promise you.
Love. On what occasion?
Sir J. I was so anxious to disclose my mind
to you, that I could not sleep in my bed-
but I found that you could not sleep neither-
The bird was flown, and the nest long since
cold-Where was you, Lovewell?

SCENE 2.]
449
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Love. Pooh! pr'ythee! ridiculous!
turned many a thousand of my money. It
Sir J. Come now, which was it? Miss commands the whole road. All the coaches,
Sterling's maid? a pretty little rogue! or miss and chariots, and chaises, pass
and repass
Fanny's Abigail? a sweet soul too-or- under your eye. I'll mount you up there in
Love. Nay, nay, leave trifling, and tell me the afternoon, my lord.
your business.
where I was?
-
Lord O. No, I thank you, Mr. Sterling.
Sir J. Well, but where was you, Lovewell? Ster. 'Tis the pleasantest place in the world
Love. Walking - writing what signifies to take a pipe and a bottle, and so you shall
say, my lord.
Sir J. Walking! yes, I dare say. It rained Lord O. Ay, or a bowl of punch, or a can
as hard as it could pour. Sweet, refreshing of flip, Mr. Sterling; for it looks like a cabin
showers to walk in! No, no, Lovewell. Now in the air. If flying chairs were in use, the
would I give twenty pounds to know which captain might make a voyage to the Indies in
of the maids-
it still, if he had but a fair wind.
Can. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Love.
sir John!
But your business! your business,
Sir J. Let me a little into the secrets of the
family.
Love. Pshaw!
Sir J. Poor Lovewell! he can't bear it, I
see. [Aside] She charged you not to kiss and
tell, eh, Lovewell?-However, though you will
not honour me with your confidence, I'll ven-
ture to trust you with mine. - What do you
think of Miss Sterling?
Love. What do I think of Miss Sterling?
Sir J. Ay, what do you think of her?
Love. An odd question!-but I think her a
smart, lively girl, full of mirth and sprightliness.
Sir J. All mischief and malice, I doubt.
Love. How? chief and
Mrs. H. My brother's a little comical in his
ideas, my lord! - But you'll excuse him. - I
have a little Gothic dairy, fitted up entirely in
my own taste.-In the evening, I shall hope
for the honour of your lordship's company to
take a dish of tea there, or a sullabub warm
from the cow.
Lord O. I have every moment a fresh op-
portunity of admiring the elegance of Mrs.
Heidelberg-the very flower of delicacy and
cream of politeness.
Mrs. H. O, my lord!-
[Leers at Lord Ogleby.
Lord O. O, madam!-
[Leers at Mrs. Heidelberg.
Ster. How d'ye like these close walks, my
Sir J. But her person-what d'ye think lord?
of that?
Love. Pretty and agreeable.
Sir J. A little grisette thing.
Love. What is the meaning of all this?
Lord O. A most excellent serpentine! It
forms a perfect maze, and winds like a true-
lover's knot.
Ster. Ay, here's none of your straight lines
Sir J. I'll tell you. You must know, Love-here-but all taste-zigzag-crinkum-crankum
well, that notwithstanding all appearances--in and out-right and left-to and again-
[A loud laugh heard without] We are inter-twisting and turning like a worm, my lord!
rupted-When they are gone, I'll explain. Lord O. Admirably laid out indeed, Mr.
Sterling! one can hardly see an inch beyond
one's nose any where in these walks. You
are a most excellent economist of your land,
and make a little go a great way. It lies
together in as small parcels as if it was placed
in pots out at your window in Gracechurch-
street.
Can. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Lord O. What d'ye laugh at, Canton?
Can. Ah! que cette similitude est drole! so
clever what you say, mi lor!-
Enter LORD OGLEBY, STERLING, MRS. HEIDEL-
BERG, MISS STERLING, FANNY, and CANTON.
Lord O. Great improvements ¹) indeed, Mr.
Sterling! wonderful improvements! The four
seasons in lead, the flying Mercury, and the
bason with Neptune in the middle, are in the
very extreme of fine taste. You have as many
rich figures as the man at Hyde-park corner.
Ster. The chief pleasure of a country house
is to make improvements, you know, my lord.
I spare no expense, not I.-This is quite
another-guess sort of a place than it was when
I first took it, my lord. We were surrounded
with trees. I cut down above fifty to make Fan. Only making up a nosegay, my lord!
the lawn before the house, and let in the wind-Will your lordship do me the honour of
and the sun-smack smooth- as you see.-accepting it?
[Presents it.
Then I made a green-house out of the old Lord O. I'll wear it next my heart, madam!
laundry, and turned the brew-house into a-I see the young creature dotes on me! [Aside.
pinery. The high octagon summerhouse, you Miss S. Lord, sister! you've loaded his lord-
see yonder, is raised on the mast of a ship, ship with a bunch of flowers as big as the
given me by an East India captain, who has cook, or the nurse, carries to town, on a
Monday morning, for a beaupot.-Will
Lord O. You seem mightily engaged, madam.
What are those pretty hands so busily em-
ployed about?
[To Fanny.
your
1) Every citizen that can acquire an independency, retires lordship give me leave to present you with
to his box at Hackney, Hammersmith, or some other this rose and a sprig of sweetbriar?
village on the high road within a league of London:
and there he encloses about 50 or 60 yards of ground Lord O. The truest emblems of yourself,
before his door into what he calls his garden, pro- madam! all sweetness and poignancy.-A little
ceeding to dig little canals, plant small woods, erect jealous, poor soul!
summer-houses, and make other improvements, till,
by the help of a statue or two, he has filled the whole
of his ground, and has hardly any room to stir about
to take the dust comfortably, and get a good view of
the stage-coaches, which in his opinion greatly tend
to enliven his retirement.
[Aside.
Ster. Now, my lord, if you please, I'll carry
you to see my ruins.
Mrs. H. You'll absolutely fatigue his lord-
ship with over walking, brother!
57

450
[ACT II.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Lord O. Not at all, madam! We're in the its sincerest votaries. In short, my defection
garden of Eden, you know; in the region of from Miss Sterling proceeds from the violence
perpetual spring, youth, and beauty.
of my attachment to another.
[Leers at the Women. Love. Another! So, so! here will be fine
Mrs. H. Quite the man of qualaty, I vow work. And pray who is she?
and pertest.
Can. Take a my arm, mi lor!
[Aside.
[Lord Ogleby leans on him.
Ster. I'll only show his lordship my ruins,
and the cascade, and the Chinese bridge, and
then we'll go in to breakfast.
Sir J. Who is she! who can she be but
Fanny-the tender, amiable, engaging Fanny?
Love. Fanny! What Fanny?
Sir J. Fanny Sterling. Her sister - Is not
she an angel, Lovewell?
Love. Her sister? Confusion!- You must
Lord O. Ruins, did you say, Mr. Sterling? not think of it, sir John.
Ster. Ay, ruins, my lord! and they are Sir J. Not think of it? I can think of nothing
reckoned very fine ones, too. You would else. Nay, tell me, Lovewell, was it possible
think them ready to tumble on your head. for me to be indulged in a perpetual inter-
It has just cost me a hundred and fifty pounds course with two such objets as Fanny and
to put my ruins in thorough repair. This her sister, and not find my heart led by in-
way, if your lordship pleases.
sensible attraction towards her? You seem
-
Lord O. [Going, stops] What steeple's that confounded-Why don't you answer me?
we see yonder?-the parish church, I suppose. Love. Indeed, sir John, this event gives me
Ster. Ha, ha, ha! that's admirable. It is no infinite concern. Why did not you break
church at all, my lord! it is a spire that I this affair to the family before?
have built against a tree, a field or two off, Sir J. Under such embarrassed circumstances
to terminate the prospect. One must always as I have been, can you wonder at my ir-
have a church, or an obelisk, or something to resolution or perplexity? Nothing but des-
terminate the prospect, you know. That's a pair, the fear of losing my dear Fanny, could
rule in taste, my lord!
bring me to a declaration even now; and yet
Lord O. Very ingenious indeed! For my I think I know Mr. Sterling so well, that
part, I desire no finer prospect than this I see strange as my proposal may appear, if I can
before me. [Leers at the Women] Simple, make it advantageous to him as a money
yet varied; bounded, yet extensive.-Get away, transaction, as I am sure I can, he will cer-
Canton! [Pushes Canton away] I want no tainly come into it.
assistance-I'll walk with the ladies.
Ster. This way, my lord!
Lord O. Lead on, sir! We young folks
here will follow you. - Madam!- Miss Ster-
ling!-Miss Fanny! I attend you.
ma foi!
Love. But even suppose he should, which
I very much doubt, I don't think Fanny her-
self would listen to your addresses.
Sir J. You are deceived a little in that
particular.
Love. You'll find I'm in the right.
Sir J. I have some little reason to think
otherwise.
Exit after Sterling, gallanting the Ladies.
Can. [Following] He is cock o'de game,
[Exit.
Sir J. Harkye, Lovewell, you must not go-
at length, thank heaven! I have an opportunity to
to unbosom.-I know you are faithful, Love-
well, and flatter myself you would rejoice to
serve me.
Love. Be assured you may depend upon me.
Sir J. You must know then, notwithstanding
all appearances, that this treaty of marriage
between Miss Sterling and me will come to
nothing.
Love. How!
Sir J. It will be no match, Lovewell.
Love. No match?
Sir J. No.
Love. You have not declared your passion
her already?
Sir J. Yes, I have.
Love. Indeed!-And-and-and how did
she receive it?
Sir J. I think it is not very easy for me to
make my addresses to any woman, without
receiving some little encouragement.
Love. Encouragement! - did she give you
any encouragement?
Sir J. I don't know what you call encou-
ragement-but she blushed-and cried - and
desired me not to think of it any more:-
upon which I pressed her hand-kissed it-
Love. You amaze me. What should pre- swore she was an angel- and I could see it
vent it?
Sir J. I.
Love, You! Wherefore?
Sir J. I don't like her..
tickled her to the soul.
Love. And did she express no surprise at
your declaration?
Sir J. Why, faith, to say the truth, she
Love. Very plain indeed! I never supposed was a little surprised-and she got away from
that you were extremely devoted to her from me too before I could thoroughly explain
inclination, but thought you always con- myself. If I should not meet with an oppor-
sidered it as a matter of convenience rather tunity of speaking to her, I must get you to
than affection.
deliver a letter for me.
Sir J. Very true. I came into the family Love. I!- a letter! I had rather have
without any impressions on my mind with nothing-
an unimpassioned indifference, ready to receive Sir J. Nay, you promised me your assist-
one woman as soon as another. I looked ance- and I am sure you cannot scruple to
upon love, serious sober love, as a chimera, make yourself useful on such an occasion.-
and marriage as a thing of course, as you You may, without suspicion, acquaint her
know most people do. But I, who was lately verbally of my determined affection for her, and
so great an infidel in love, am now one of that I am resolved to ask her father's consent.

SCENE 2.]
451
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Love. As to that, I-your commands, you By these common pretences of the heart half
know that is, if she - Indeed, sir John, I our sex are made fools, and a greater part of
think you are in the wrong.
yours despise them for it.
Sir J. Well-well-that's my concern-Ha! Sir J. Affection, you will allow, is involun-
there she goes, by heaven! along that walk tary. We cannot always direct it to the ob-
yonder, d'ye see! I'll go to her immediately.ject on which it should fix-but when it is
Love. You are too precipitate. Consider once inviolably attached, inviolably as mine is
what you are doing.
Sir J. I would not lose this opportunity for
the universe.
Love. Nay, pray don't go! Your violence
and eagerness may overcome her spirits.-
The shock will be too much for her.
to you, it often creates reciprocal affection.-
When I last urged you on this subject, you
heard me with more temper, and I hoped,
with some compassion.
Fan. You deceived yourself. If I forbore to
exert a proper spirit, nay if I did not even
[Detains him. express the quickest resentment at your be-
Sir J. Nothing shall prevent me.-Ha! now haviour, it was only in consideration of that
she turns into another walk-Let me go! respect I wish to pay you in honour to my
[Breaks from him] I shall lose her. [Going, sister; and be assured, sir, woman as I am,
turns back] Be sure now to keep out of the that my vanity could reap no pleasure from
way! If
you interrupt us, I shall never forgive a triumph that must result from the blackest
you.
[Exit hastily. treachery to her.
[Going.
Love. 'Sdeath! I can't bear this. In love Sir J. One word, and I have done. [Stops
with my wife! acquaint me with his passion her] - Your sister, I verily believe, neither
for her! make his addresses before my face!-entertains any real affection for me, or tender-
I shall break out before my time. This was ness for you. Your father, I am inclined to
the meaning of Fanny's uneasiness. She could think, is not much concerned by means of
not encourage him-I am sure she could not. which of his daughters the families are united.
Ha! they are turning into the walk, and -Now as they cannot, shall not be connected,
coming this way. Shall I leave the place? otherwise than by my union with you, why
Leave him to solicit my wife? I can't submit will you, from a false delicacy, oppose a
to it. They come nearer and nearer. If I measure so conducive to my happiness, and,
stay, it will look suspicious-It may betray us, I hope, your own? I love you, most passionate-
and incense him.-They are here-I must go ly and sincerely love you and hope to
-I am the most unfortunate fellow in the propose terms agreeable to Mr. Sterling: - If
world!
[Exit. then you don't absolutely loath, abhor, and
scorn me-if there is no other happier
-
man-
-
Re-enter SIR JOHN MELVIL and FANNY.
Fan. Leave me, sir John-I beseech you, Fan. Hear me, sir; hear my final deter-
leave me! Nay, why will you persist to follow mination.-Were my father and sister as in-
me with idle solicitations, which are an affront
to my character, and an injury to your own
honour?
sensible as you are pleased to represent them;
were my heart for ever to remain disen-
gaged to any other, I could not listen to your
Sir J. I know your delicacy, and tremble proposals. What! you on the very eve of a
to offend it: but let the urgency of the oc- marriage with my sister; I, living under the
casion be my excuse! Consider, madam, that same roof with her, bound not only by the
the future happiness of my life depends on laws of friendship and hospitality, but even
my present application to you! Consider that the ties of blood, to contribute to her happi-
this day must determine my fate; and these ness, and not to conspire against her peace,
are perhaps the only moments left me to in- the peace of a whole family, and that of my
cline you to warrant my passion, and to entreat own too!-Away, away, sir John!-At such
you not to oppose the proposals I mean to a time, and in such circumstances, your ad-
open to your father.
Fan. For shame, for shame, sir John! Think
of your previous engagements! Think of your
own situation, and think of mine! What have
you discovered in my conduct that might en-
courage you to so bold a declaration? I am
shocked that you should venture to say so
much, and blush that I should even dare to
give it a hearing.-Let me be gone.
dresses only inspire me with horror. - Nay,
you must detain me no longer-I will go..
Sir J. Do not leave me in absolute despair!
-Give me a glimpse of hope!
[Falls on his Knees.
Fan. I cannot,-Pray, sir John!-
[Struggles to go.
Sir J. Shall this hand be given to another?
[Kisses her Hand] No, I cannot endure it.
My whole soul is yours, and the whole
happiness of my life is in your power.
Re-enter MISS STERLING.
Fan. Ha! my sister is here. Rise, for shame,
[Rises.
Sir J. Nay stay, madam, but one moment.-
Your sensibility is too great.-Engagements!
what engagements have been pretended on
either side, more than those of family con-
venience? I went on in the trammels of a
matrimonial negociation, with a blind sub- sir John.
mission to your father and lord Ogleby; but Sir J. Miss Sterling!
my heart soon claimed a right to be con- Miss S. I beg pardon, sir! You'll excuse
sulted. It has devoted itself to you, and obliges me, madam! I have broke in upon you a
me to plead earnestly for the same tender little unopportunely, I believe-but I did not
interest in yours.
mean to interrupt you-I only came, sir, to
Fan. Have a care, sir John! do not mistake let you know that breakfast waits, if you have
a depraved will for a virtuous inclination. finished your morning's devotions.

452
[ACT III.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Sir J. I am very sensible, Miss Sterling,
that this may appear particular, but-
Flow. Let Mr. Sterling know, that Mr. Ser-
geant Flower, and two other gentlemen of
Miss S. O dear, sir John, don't put your- the bar, are come to wait on him according
self to the trouble of an apology-the thing to his appointment.
explains itself.
Serv. I will, sir.
[Going.
Sir J. It will soon, madam. - In the mean Flow. And harkye, young man, [Servant
time, I can only assure you of my profound returns] desire my servant- Mr. Sergeant
respect and esteem for you, and make no Flower's servant, to bring in my green and
doubt of convincing Mr. Sterling of the honour gold saddle-cloth and pistols, and lay them
and integrity of my intentions.-And-and-down here in the hall, with my portmanteau.
your humble servant, madam!
Serv. I will, sir.
[Exit.
[Exit in confusion. Flow. Well, gentlemen! the settling these
Miss S. Respect! - Insolence! -Esteem!- marriage articles falls conveniently enough,
Very fine, truly!-And you, madam! my sweet, almost just on the eve of the circuits. - Let
delicate, innocent, sentimental sister! will you me see-the Home, the Midland, and Western;
convince my papa too of the integrity of your ay, we can all cross the country well enough
intentions?
to our several destinations. - Traverse, when
Fan. Do not upbraid me, my dear sister! do you begin at Hertford?
Indeed I don't deserve it. Believe me you Trav. The day after to-morrow.
can't be more offended at this behaviour than Flow. That is commission-day with us at
I am, and I am sure it cannot make you half Warwick too; but my clerk has retainers for
so miserable.
every cause in the paper, so it will be time
Miss S. Make me miserable! - You are enough if I am there next morning. Besides
mightily deceived, madam; it gives me no sort I've half a dozen cases that have lain by me
of uneasiness, I assure you.-A base fellow!-ever since the spring assizes, and I must tack
As for you, miss, the pretended softness of opinions to them before I see my country
your disposition, your artful good nature, clients again; so I'll take the evening before
never imposed upon me. I always knew you me, and then currente calamo, as I say, eh,
to be sly, and envious, and deceitful.
Traverse?
Fan. Indeed you wrong me.
Trav. True; but pray, Mr. Sergeant, are
you concerned in Jones and Thomas, at
Lincoln?
Flow. I am-for the plaintiff.
Trav. And what do you think on't?
Flow. A nonsuit,
Trav. I thought so.
Miss S. Oh, you are all goodness, to be
sure! Did not I find him on his knees be-
fore you? Did not I see him kiss your sweet
hand? Did not I hear his protestations? Was
not I a witness of your dissembled modesty?
-No, no, my dear! don't imagine that you
can make a fool of your elder sister so easily.
Fan. Sir John I own is to blame; but I
am above the thoughts of doing you the least
injury.
Miss S. We shall try that, madam.-I hope, Flow. Why, my lord chief does not go the
miss, you'll be able to give a better account circuit this time, and my brother Puzzle being
to my papa and my aunt, for they shall both in the commission, the cause will come on
know of this matter, I promise you. [Exit. before him.
Flow. Oh, no matter of doubt on't-luce
clarius-we have no right in us.-- We have
but one chance.
Trao. What's that?
Fan. How unhappy I am! my distresses True. Ay, that may do indeed, if you can
multiply upon me.-Mr. Lovewell must now but throw dust in the eyes of the defendant's
become acquainted with sir John's behaviour counsel.
to me, and in a manner that may add to his Flow. True. -- Mr. Trueman, I think you
uneasiness. My father, instead of being dis- are concerned for lord Ogleby in this affair?
posed by fortunate circumstances to forgive True. I am, sir-I have the honour to be
any transgressions, will be previously incensed related to his lordship, and hold some courts
against me. My sister and my aunt will be- for him in Somersetshire-go the Western
come irreconcilably my enemies, and rejoice circuit- and attend the sessions at Exeter,
in my disgrace.-Yet, on all events, I am de- merely because his lordship's interests and
termined on a discovery. I dread it, and am property lie in that part of the kingdom.
resolved to hasten it. It is surrounded with Flow. Ha!-and pray, Mr. Trueman, how
more horrors every instant, as it appears every long have you been called to the bar?
instant more necessary.
True. About nine years and three quarters.
Flow. Ha!-I don't know that I ever had
the pleasure of seeing you before. I wish
you success, young gentleman!
ACT III.
SCENE I.-A Hall.
[Exit.
Enter a Servant, conducting in SERJEANT
FLOWER, and COUNSELLORS TRAVERSE and
TRUEMAN, all booted.
Enter STERLING.
Ster. Oh, Mr. Sergeant Flower, I am glad
to see you-your servant, Mr. Serjeant! gen-
Serv. This way, if you please, gentlemen! tlemen, your servant!-Well, are all matters
my master is at breakfast with the family at concluded? Has that snail-paced conveyancer,
present, but I'll let him know, and he will old Ferret, of Gray's-inn, settled the articles
wait on you immediately.
at last? Do you approve of what he has done?
Will his tackle hold, tight and strong?-Eh,
master Sergeant?
Flow. Mighty well, young man, mighty well.
Serv. Please to favour me with your names,
gentlemen.
Flow. My friend Ferret's slow and sure,
SCENE 1.]
453
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.

sir-But then, serus aut citius, as we say, Flow. I must be at Warwick, Mr. Sterling,
sooner or later, Mr. Sterling, he is sure to the day after.
put his business out of hand as he should do. Ster. Nay, nay, I shan't part with you to-
My clerk has brought the writings, and all night, gentlemen, I promise you. My house
other instruments along with him; and the is very full, but I have beds for you all, beds
settlement is, I believe, as good a settlement for your servants, and stabling for all your
as any settlement on the face of the earth! horses.-Will you take a turn in the garden,
Ster. But that d-n'd mortgage of sixty thou- and view some of my improvements before
sand pounds. There don't appear to be any dinner? Or will you amuse yourselves on
other incumbrances, I hope?
the green, with a game at bowls and a cool
Trav. I can answer for that, sir and that tankard?-My servants shall attend you.-Do
will be cleared off immediately on the pay- you choose any other refreshment? - Call for
ment of the first part of Miss Sterling's por- what you please; do as you please; make
tion. You agree, on your part, to come down yourselves quite at home, I beg of you.-
with eighty thousand pounds.
Here, Thomas! Harry! William! wait on these
Ster. Down on the nail.-Ay, ay, my money gentlemen!-[Follows the Lawyers out, bawl-
is ready to-morrow if he pleases - he shall ing and talking, and then returns to Sir
have it in India bonds, or notes, or how he John] And now, sir, I am entirely at your
chooses. Your lords and your dukes, and service. What are your commands with me,
your people at the court end of the town, sir John?
-
-
stick at payments sometimes debts unpaid, Sir J. After having carried the negociation
no credit lost with them - but no fear of us between our families to so great a length;
substantial fellows-Eh, Mr. Sergeant?
after having assented so readily to all your
Flow. Sir John having last term, according proposals, as well as received so many in-
to agreement, levied a fine and suffered a stances of your cheerful compliance with the
recovery, has hitherto cut off the entail of the demands made on our part, I am extremely
Ogleby estate, for the better effecting the pur- concerned, Mr. Sterling, to be the involuntary
poses of the present intended marriage; on cause of any uneasiness.
which above-mentioned Ogleby estate, a join- Ster. Uneasiness! what uneasiness?-Where
ture of two thousand pounds per annum is business is transacted as it ought to be, and
secured to your eldest daughter, now Eliza- the parties understand one another, there can
beth Sterling, spinster; and the whole estate, be no uneasiness. You agree, on such and
after the death of the aforesaid earl, descends such conditions, to receive my daughter for a
to the heirs male of sir John Melvil, on the wife; on the same conditions I agree to re-
body of the aforesaid Elizabeth Sterling law-ceive you as a son-in-law; and as to all the
fully to be begotten.
rest, it follows of course, you know, as re-
Trav. Very true- and sir John is to be gularly as the payment of a bill after acceptance.
put in immediate possession of as much of Sir J. Pardon me, sir, more uneasiness has
his lordship's Somersetshire estate, as lies in arisen than you are aware of. I am myself,
the manors of Hoginore and Cranford, amount-at this instant, in a state of inexpressible em-
ing to between two and three thousand pounds barrassment; Miss Sterling, I know, is ex-
per annum, and at the death of Mr. Sterling, tremely disconcerted too; and unless you will
a further sum of seventy thousand-
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL.
oblige me with the assistance of your friend-
ship, I foresee the speedy progress of dis-
content and animosity through the whole
Ster. Ah, sir John! Here we are-hard at family.
it-paving the road to matrimony.-First the Ster. What the deuce is all this? I don't
lawyers, then comes the doctor. Let us but understand a single syllable.
dispatch the longrobe, 1) we shall soon get Sir J. In one word, then-it will be abso-
pudding-sleeves 2) to work, I warrant you. lutely impossible for me to fulfil my engage-
Sir J. I am sorry to interrupt you, sir-ments in regard to Miss Sterling.
but I hope that both you and these gentlemen Ster. How, sir John? Do you mean to put
will excuse me.-Having something very par- an affront upon my family? What! refuse to-
ticular for your private ear, I took the liberty Sir J. Be assured, sir, that I neither mean
of following you, and beg you will oblige me to affront nor forsake your family. My only
with an audience immediately. [To Ster. Fear is, that you should desert me; for the
Ster. Ay, with all my heart! - Gentlemen, whole happiness of my life depends on my
Mr. Sergeant, you'll excuse it-business must being connected with your family, by the
be done, you know. The writings will keep nearest and tenderest ties in the world.
cold till to-morrow morning. 3)
1) The lawyer's official covering is called a robe; it is
distinguished from the clergy's gown in shape, though
they are both of the black colour.
Ster. Why, did not you tell me, but a
moment ago, that it was absolutely impossible
for you to marry my daughter?
Sir J. True.-But you have another daugh-
ter, sir-
Ster. Well!
2) Sterling calls the clergy by the name of pudding-
sleeves, from the white lawn surplice in which they
are dressed, in performing the ceremony of marriage. Sir J. Who has obtained the most absolute
The meaning of this phrase is, "let us finish the mar-dominion over my heart. I have already de-
riage settlement and we will soon dispatch the mar-
riage ceremony."
clared my passion to her; nay, Miss Sterling
herself is also apprised of it; and if you will
3) This is a simile from the pantry: the writings, like
meat, will not be spoiled in so short a time from be-
ing cold. It is a terrible task in a small family in
England, to be working at the same round of cold
boiled beef, or leg of mutton, from when it comes
piping hot to table on Sunday, to its appearing and
re-appearing, hashed up, for the last time, the Friday
or Saturday following.

454
[ACT III.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
but give a sanction to my present addresses, pounds therefore I shall be able to pay you
the uncommon merit of Miss Sterling will no immediately; and for the remaining twenty
doubt recommend her to a person of equal, thousand, you shall have a mortgage on that
if not superior rank to myself, and our fa- part of the estate which is to be made over
milies may still be allied by my union with to me, with whatever security you shall re-
Miss Fanny.
quire for the regular payment of the interest,
Ster. Mighty fine, truly! Why, what the till the principal is duly discharged.
plague do you make of us, sir John? Do you Ster. Why-to do you justice, sir John,
come to market for my daughter, like servants there is something fair and open in your
at a statute-fair? Do you think that I will proposal; and since I find you do not mean
suffer you, or any man in the world, to come to put an affront upon the family-
into my house, like the grand seignior, and Sir J. Nothing was ever further from my
throw the handkerchief first to one, and then thoughts, Mr. Sterling. And after all the
to t'other, just as he pleases? Do you think I whole affair is nothing extraordinary - such
drive a kind of African slave-trade with them, things happen every day; and as the world
has only heard generally of a treaty between
and-
Sir J. A moment's patience, sir! Nothing the families, when this marriage takes place,
but the excess of my passion for miss Fanny nobody will be the wiser, if we have but dis-
should have induced me to take any step that cretion enough to keep our own counsel.
had the least appearance of disrespect to any Ster. True, true; and since you only trans-
part of your family; and even now I am fer from one girl to the other, it is no more
desirous to atone for my trangression, by than transferring so much stock, you know.
making the most adequate compensation that
lies in my power.
Ster. Compensation! what compensation can
you possibly make in such a case as this,
sir John?
Sir J. The very thing!
Ster. Odso! I had quite forgot. - We are
reckoning without our host here - there is
another difficulty-
Sir J. You alarm me. What can that be?
Sir J. Come, come, Mr. Sterling, I know Ster. I can't stir a step in this business
you to be a man of sense, a man of business, without consulting my sister Heidelberg.-The
a man of the world. I'll deal frankly with family has very great expectations from her,
you; and you shall see that I don't desire a and we must not give her any offence.
change of measures for my own gratification, Sir J. But if you come into this measure,
without endeavouring to make it advantageous surely she will be so kind as to consent-
to you.
Ster. I don't know that, Betsy is her darling,
Ster. What advantage can your inconstancy and I can't tell how far she may resent any
be to me, sir John?
slight that seems to be offered to her favourite
Sir J. I'll tell you, sir.-You know that by niece. However, I'll do the best I can for
the articles at present subsisting between us, you. You shall go and break the matter to
on the day of my marriage with miss Sterling, her first, and by that time I may suppose that
you agree to pay down the gross sum of eighty your rhetoric has prevailed on her to listen
thousand pounds.
to reason, I will step in to reinforce your
arguments.
Ster. Well!
Sir J. Now, if you will but consent to my
waving that marriage-
Ster. I agree to your waving that mar-
riage? Impossible, sir John!
Sir J. I'll fly to her immediately-you pro-
mise me your assistance?
Ster. I do.
Sir J. Ten thousand thanks for it! And now,
Sir J. I hope not, sir; as, on my part, I success attend me!
will agree to wave my right to thirty thou-
[Going.
Ster. Harkye, sir John! [Sir John returns]
sand pounds of the fortune I was to receive Not a word of the thirty thousand to my
with her.
sister, sir John.
Ster. Thirty thousand, d'ye say?
Sir J. Yes, sir; and accept of miss Fanny
with fifty thousand, instead of fourscore.
Ster. Fifty thousand-
Sir J. Instead of fourscore.
[Pausing.
-
Sir J. O, I am dumb, I am dumb, sir.
[Going.
Ster. You'll remember it is thirty thousand?
Sir J. To be sure I do.
Ster. But, sir John! one thing more. [Sir
Ster. Why-why-there may be something John returns] My lord must know nothing
in that.-Let me see-Fanny with fifty thous- of this stroke of friendship between us.
and, instead of Betsy with fourscore. But Sir J. Not for the world. Let me alone!
how can this be, sir John? for you know I let me alone!
am to pay this money into the hands of my
lord Ogleby; who I believe, between you and
me, sir John, is not overstocked with ready be
money at present; and threescore thousand of
it, you know, is to go to pay off the present a
encumbrances on the estate, sir John.
is
[Offering to go.
Ster. [Holding him] And when every thing
agreed, we must give each other a bond to
held fast to the bargain.
Sir J. To be sure.
Sir J. To be sure. A bond, by all means!
bond, or whatever you please. [Exit hastily.
Ster. I should have thought of more con-
Sir J. That objection is easily obviated.ditions - he's in a humour to give me every
Ten of the twenty thousand, which would thing - Why, what mere children are your
remain as a surplus of the fourscore, after fellows of quality, that cry for a plaything
paying off the mortgage, was intended by his one minute and throw it by the next! - as
lordship for my use, that we might set off changeable as the weather, and as uncertain
with some little eclat on our marriage; and as the stocks. Special fellows to drive a bar-
the other ten for his own. Ten thousand gain! and yet they are to take care of the
-

SCENE 2.1
455
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
interest of the nation, truly! Here does this confounded, indeed, though I knew nothing of
whirligig man of fashion offer to give up what had passed in the garden. You seemed
thirty thousand pounds in hard money, with to sit upon thorns too: but Fanny and Mr.
as much indifference as if it was a china Lovewell made quite another guess sort of a
orange, By this mortgage, I shall have a hold figur; and were as perfect a pictur of two
on his terra firma; and if he wants more mo-distrest lovers, as if it had been drawn by
ney, as he certainly will, let him have chil- Raphael Angelo. As to sir John and Fanny,
dren by my daughter or no, I shall have his I want a matter of fact.
whole estate in a net for the benefit of my Miss S. Matter of fact, madam! Did not I
family.-Well, thus it is, that the children of come unexpectedly upon them? Was not sir
citizens who have acquired fortunes, prove John kneeling at her feet, and kissing her
persons of fashion; and thus it is, that per- hand? Did not he look all love, and she all
sons of fashion who have ruined their fortunes, confusion? Is not that matter of fact? and did
reduce the next generation to cits. [Exit. not sir John, the moment that papa was called
out of the room to the lawyer-men, get up
SCENE II. Another Apartment..
from breakfast, and follow him immediately?
Enter MRS. HEIDELBERG and MISS STERLING. And I warrant you that by this time he has
Miss S. This is your gentle-looking, soft-made proposals to him to marry my sister-
speaking, sweet-miling, affable miss Fanny, Oh, that some other person, an earl or a duke,
for you!
would make his addresses to me, that I might
Mrs. H. My miss Fanny! I disclaim her.- be revenged on this monster!
With all her arts, she never could insinuate Mrs. H. Be cool, child! you shall be lady
herself into my good graces; and yet she has Melvil, in spite of all their caballins, if it costs
a way with her, that deceives man, woman, me ten thousand pounds to turn the scale.
and child, except you and me, niece.
Sir John may apply to my brother indeed;
but I'll make them all know who governs in
this fammaly.
Miss S. O ay-she
she wants nothing but a
crook in her hand, and a lamb under her
arm, to be a perfect picture of innocence and
simplicity.
Mrs. H. Just as I was drawn at Amsterdam,
when I went over to visit my husband's re-
lations.
Miss S. As I live, madam, yonder comes
sir John. A base man! I can't endure the
sight of him. I'll leave the room this instant.
[Disordered.
Mrs. H. Poor thing! Well, retire to your
Miss S. And then she's so mighty good to own chamber, child; I'll give it him, I war-
servants-"Pray, John, do this-pray, Thomas, rant you; and by-and-by I'll come and let
do that-thank you, Jenny" and then so you know all that has past between us.
humble to her relations-"To be sure, papa Miss S. Pray do, madam.-[Looking back]
-as my aunt pleases-my sister knows best." -A vile wretch!
[Exit in a rage.
-But with all her demureness and humility,
she has no objection to be lady Melvil, it
seems, nor to any wickedness that can make
her so.
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL.
Sir J. Your most obedient humble servant,
madam.
[Bowing very respectfully.
Mrs H. Your servant, sir John.
Mrs. H. She lady Melvil! Compose your-
self, niece! I'll ladyship her, indeed: - a little [Dropping a half courtesy and pouting.
creppin, cantin-She shan't be the better for Sir J. Miss Sterling's manner of quitting the
a farden of my money. But tell me, child, room on my approach, and the visible cool-
how does this intriguing with sir John cor-ness of your behaviour to me, madam, con-
respond with her partiality to Lovewell? I vince me that she has acquainted you with
don't see a concatunation here.
what passed this morning.
Miss S. There I was deceived, madam. I Mrs. H. I am very sorry, sir John, to be
took all their whisperings and stealings into made acquainted with any thing that should
corners to be the mere attraction of vulgar induce me to change the opinion which I
minds; but, behold! their private meetings would always wish to entertain of a person
were not to contrive their own insipid hap- of qualaty.
[Pouting.
piness, but to conspire against mine. But I Sir J. It has always been my ambition to
know whence proceeds Mr. Lovewell's resent-merit the best opinion from Mrs. Heidelberg;
ment to me. I could not stoop to be familiar and when she comes to weigh circumstances,
with my father's clerk, and so I have lost his I flatter myself-
Mrs. H. You do flatter yourself, if you
interest.
Mrs. H. My spurit to a T. 1)-My dear child! imagine that I can approve of your behaviour
[Kisses her]-Mr. Heidelberg lost his elec- to my niece, sir John.-And give me leave to
tion for member of parliament, because I tell you, sir John, that you have been drawn
would not demean myself to be slobbered into an action much beneath you, sir John;
about by drunken shoemakers, beastly cheese- and that I look upon every injury offered to
mongers, and tallow-chandlers. However, miss Betty Sterling, as an affront to myself,
niece, I can't help diffuring a little in opinion sir John.
[Warmly
from you in this matter. My experunce and Sir J. I would not offend you for the world,
sagucity makes me still suspect that there is madam; but when I am influenced by a par-
something more between her and that Love- tiality for another, however ill-founded, I hope
well, notwithstanding this affair of sir John. your discernment and good sense will think
I had my eye upon them the whole time of it rather a point of honour to renounce en-
breakfast. Sir John, I observed, looked a little gagements which I could not fulfil so strictly
1) My spirit exactly.
as I ought; and that you will excuse the

456
[ACT III.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
change in my inclinations, since the new ob- thought you knew her better, brother Sterling!
ject, as well as the first, has the honour of -What! approve of having your eldest daughter
being your niece, madam.
returned upon your hands, and exchanged for
the younger?-I am surprised how
listen to such a scandalous proposal.
Mrs. H. I disclaim her as a niece, sir John;
miss Sterling disclaims her as a sister; and
the whole fammaly must disclaim her, for her
monstrous baseness and treachery.
you could
Ster. I tell you, I never did listen to it.-
Did not I say, that I would be entirely go-
Sir J. Indeed she has been guilty of none, verned by my sister, sir John?-And unless
madam. Her hand and her heart are, I am she agreed to your marrying Fanny-
sure, entirely at the disposal of yourself and Mrs. H. I agree to his marrying Fanny!.
Mr. Sterling. And if you should not oppose abominable!-The man is absolutely out of his
my inclinations, I am sure of Mr. Sterling's
consent, madam.
Mrs. H. Indeed!
Sir J. Quite certain, madam.
Enter STERLING.
senses.-Can't that wise head of yours fore-
see the consequence of all this, brother Ster-
ling? Will sir John take Fanny without a for-
tune?-No!-After you have settled the largest
part of your property on your youngest
daughter, can there be an equal portion left
Ster. [Behind] So! they seem to be com- for the eldest?-No!-Does not this overturn
ing to terms already. I may venture to make the whole systum of the fammaly?--Yes, yes,
my appearance.
Mrs. H. To marry Fanny?
you say?
yes!
Ster. Do you see now what you've done?
[Sterling advances by degrees. -Don't betray me, sir John.
Sir J. Yes, madam.
[Apart to Sir John.
Mrs. H. My brother has given his consent, Mrs. H. You know I was always for my
niece Betsy's marrying a person of the very
Sir J. In the most ample manner, with no first qualaty. That was my maxum:- and,
other restriction than the failure of your con- therefore, much the largest settlement was of
currence, madam. [Sees Sterling]-Oh, he- course to be made upon her. As for Fanny,
re's Mr. Sterling, who will confirm what I if she could, with a fortune of twenty or
have told you.
thirty thousand pounds, get a knight, or a
Mrs. H. What! have you consented to give member of parliament, or a rich common
up your eldest daughter in this manner, bro-council-man, for a husband, I thought it might
ther?
do very well.
Ster. Give her up, heaven forbid! no, not
give her up, sister; only in case that you-
Zounds, I am afraid you have said too much,
sir John.
[Apart to Sir J.
Mrs. H. Yes, yes; I see now that it is true
enough what my niece told me. You are all
plottin and caballin against her. Pray, does
lord Ogleby know of this affair?
Sir J. I have not yet made him acquainted
with it, madam.
Mrs. H. No, I warrant you. I thought so.
-And so his lordship and myself, truly, are
not to be consulted till the last.
Ster. What! did not you consult my lord?
Oh, fie for shame, sir John!
Sir J. Nay, but Mr. Sterling-
Sir J. But if a better match should offer
itself, why should it not be accepted, madam?
Mrs. H. What, at the expense of her elder
sister?-O fie, sir John!-How could you
bear to hear such an indignaty, brother Ster-
ling?
Ster. I! Nay, I sha'nt hear of it, I promise
you.-I can't hear of it indeed, sir John.
Mrs. H. But you have heard of it, brother
Sterling-You know you have, and sent sir
John to propose it to me. But if you can
give up your daughter, I sha'nt forsake my
niece, I assure you. Ah, if my poor dear Mr.
Heidelberg, and our sweet babes had been
alive, he would not have behaved so.
Ster. Did I, sir John?-Nay, speak!-Bring
Mrs. H. We, who are the persons of most me off, or we are ruined. [Apart to Sir John.
consequence and experunce in the two fam- Sir J. Why to be sure, to speak the truth-
malies, are to know nothing of the matter, Mrs. H. To speak the truth!-To speak the
till the whole is as good as concluded upon. truth, I'm ashamed of you both. But have a
But his lordship, I am sure, will have more care what you are about, brother! have a care,
generosaty than to countenance such a per- I say.-The counsellors are in the house, Í
ceding. And I could not have expected such hear; and if every thing is not settled to my
behaviour from a person of your qualaty, sir liking, I'll have nothing
sir liking, I'll have nothing more to say to you,
John.-And as for you, brother-
if I live these hundred years-I'll go over to
Ster. Nay, nay, but hear me, sister. Holland, and settle with Mr. Vanderspracken,
Mrs. H. I am perfectly ashamed of you.- my poor husband's first cousin, and my own
Have you no spurrit? no more concern for fammaly shall never be the better for a far-
the honour of our fammaly then to consent-den of my money, I promise you. [Exit.
Ster. Consent! I consent! As I hope for Ster. I thought so. I knew she never would
mercy, I never gave my consent.-Did I con- agree to it.
sent, sir John?
Sir J. Not absolutely, without Mrs. Heidel-
berg's concurrence. But in case of her ap-
probation-
Sir J. 'Sdeath, how unfortunate! What can
we do, Mr. Sterling?
Ster. Nothing.
Sir J. What, must our agreement break off
Ster. Ay, in case I grant you, that is, if my the moment it is made, then?
sister approved-But that's quite another thing, Ster. It can't be helped, sir John.-The fa-
you know-
[To Mrs. Heidelberg, mily, as I told you before, have great expec-
Mrs. H. Your sister approve, indeed!-Itations from my sister; and if this matter pro-

[ACT IV. SCENE 1. 2.] THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
457
ceeds, you hear yourself that she threatens to Sterling] The post-shay shall be at the door
leave us. My brother Heidelberg was a warm by six o'clock in the morning; and if miss
man a very warm man; and died worth a Fanny does not get into it, why I will - and
plum ¹) at least:-a plum! ay, I warrant you, so there's an end of the matter. [Bounces
he died worth a plum and a half.
Sir J. Well; but if I-
out with Miss Sterling; then returns] One
word more, brother Sterling-I expect that
you will take your eldest daughter in your
hand, and make a formal complaint to lord
Ster. And then, my sister has three or four
very good mortgages, a deal of money in the
three per cents, and old South Sea annuities, Ogleby, of sir John Melvil's behaviour.-Do
besides large concerns in the Dutch and French
funds. The greatest part of all this she means
to leave to our family.
y
this, brother;-show a proper regard for the
honour of your fammaly yourself, and I shall
throw in my mite to the raising of it. If not
-but now you know my mind. So act as
you please, and take the consequences. [Exit.
Sir J. I can only say, sir-
Ster. Why, your offer of the difference of
thirty thousand was very fair and handsome, Ster. The devil's in the women for tyranny!
to be sure, sir John. Joini
-Mothers, wives, mistresses, or sisters, they
Sir J. Nay, but I am willing to-
always will govern us.-As to my sister Hei-
Ster. Ay, but if I was to accept it against delberg, she knows the strength of her purse,
her will, I might lose above a hundred thou- and domineers upon the credit of it.-"I will
sand; so you see the balance is against you, do this," and "you shall do that," and "you
sir John. 1 meh
shall do t'other-or else the fammaly shan't
Sir J. Suppose I was to prevail on lord have a farden of" [Mimicking]-So absolute
Ogleby to apply to her, do you think that with her money!-But, to say the truth, nothing
would have any influence over her? do but money can make us absolute, and so wo
must e'en make the best of her. [Exit.
Ster. I think he would be more likely to
persuade her to it than any other person in
the family. She has a great respect for lord
Ogleby. She loves a lord.
Sir J. I'll apply to him this very day.-And
if he should prevail on Mrs. Heidelberg, I may
depend on your friendship, Mr. Sterling?
Ster. Ay, ay, I shall be glad to oblige you,
when it is in my power; but as the account
stands now, you see it is not upon the figures.
And so your servant, sir John. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-A Room.li
Float
Enter MR. STERLING, MRS. HEIDELBERG, and
MISS STERLING.
Ster. What! will you send Fanny to town,
sister?
Mrs. H. To-morrow morning. I've given
orders about it already.m
Ster. Indeed!
Mrs. H. Posatively..
Ster. But consider, sister, at such a time as
this, what an odd appearance it will have.
Mrs. H. Not half so odd as her behaviour,
brother. This time was intended for happi-
ness, and I'll keep no incendiaries here to de-
stroy it. I insist on her going off to-morrow
morning. g
SCENE II.-The Garden.
Enter LORD OGLEBY and CANTON.
Lord O. What! Mademoiselle Fanny to be
sent away?-Why? Wherefore? - What's
the meaning of all this?
-
Can. Je ne sais pas - I know nothing.
Lord O. It can't be-it shan't be:-I protest
against the measure. She's a fine girl, and I
had much rather that the rest of the family
were annihilated, than that she should leave
us.-Her vulgar father, that's the very abstract
of 'Change-alley-the aunt, that's always en-
deavouring to be a fine lady - and the pert
sister, for ever showing that she is one, are
horrid company indeed, and without her would
be intolerable. Ah, la petite Fanchon! she's
the thing: isn't she, Canton?
Can. Dere is very good sympatie entre vous
and that young lady, my lor.
Lord O. I'll not be left among these Goths
and Vandals, your Sterlings, your Heidelbergs,
and Devilbergs-if she goes, I'll positively go
too.
most
Can. In de same post-chay, my lor? You
have no objection to dat, I believe, nor ma
demoiselle neither too-ha, ha, ha!
Lord O. Pr'ythee hold thy foolish tongue,
Ster. I'm afraid this is all your doing, Betsy? Cant. Does thy Swiss stupidity imagine that
Miss S. No indeed, papa. My aunt knows I can see and talk with a fine girl without
that it is not. For all Fanny's baseness to me, desires?-My eyes are involuntarily attracted
I am sure I would not do or say any thing by beautiful objects-I fly as naturally to a
to hurt her with you or my aunt for the world. fine girl-
Mrs. H. Hold your tongue, Betsy; I will Can. As de fine girl to you, my lor, ha, ha,
have my way. When she is packed off, ha! you alway fly togedre like une paire de
every thing will go on as it should do.-Since pigeons-
they are at their intrigues, I'll let them see Lord O. Like une paire de pigeons-[Mocks
that we can act with vigur on our part; and him]-Vous êtes un sot, monsieur Canton-
the sending her out of the way, shall be the Thou art always dreaming of my intrigues,
purluminary step to all the rest of my per- and never seest me badiner but you suspect
ceedings.
Ster. Well, but sister-
Mrs. H. It does not signify talking, brother
Sterling, for I'm resolved to be rid of her,
and I will.-Come along, child. [To Miss
1) A plum is 100,000 pounds sterling,
mischief, you old fool you.
Can. I am fool, I confess, but not always
fooi in dat, my lor, he, he, he!
Lord O. He, he, he!-Thou art incorrigible,
Thou art like
but thy absurdities amuse one.
my rappee here, [Takes out his Box] a most
58

458
[ACT IV,
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
ridiculous superfluity; but a pinch of thee
now and then is a more delicious treat.
Can. You do me great honeur, mi lor.
Lord O. 'Tis fact, upon my soul. Thou art
properly my cephalic snuff, and art no bad
medicine against megrims, vertigoes, and pro-
found thinking-ha, ha, ha!
Can. Your flatterie, my lor, vil make me
too prode.
madam, is a satire upon mankind, and 'tis for-
tunate that one man has broke in upon your
reverie for the credit of our sex. I say one,
madam; for poor Canton here, from age and
infirmities, stands for nothing.
Can. Noting at all, indeed.
Fan. Your lordship does me great honour.
I had a favour to request, my lord!
Lord O. A favour, madam?--To be honour-
Lord O. The girl has some little partiality ed with your commands is an inexpressible
for me, to be sure: but pr'ythee, Cant, is not favour done to me, madam.
that miss Fanny yonder!
Can. [Looks with a Glass] Ah-la voilà!
En vérité, 'tis she, mi lor-'tis one of de pi-
geons-de pigeons d'amour.
Fan. If your lordship could indulge me
with the honour of a moment's-What's the
matter with me?
[Aside.
Lord O. The girl's confused-He! here's
something in the wind, faith-I'll have a tête-
[Smiles. à-tête with her. [Aside]-Allez vous en!
Lord O. Don't be ridiculous, you old mon-
key.
[To Canton.
Can. I am monkee, I am ole; but I have
eye, I have ear, and a little understand, now Can. I go-Ah, pauvre mademoiselle! My
dolor, have pitié upon the poor pigeon!
and den.
Lord O. Taisez vous, bête!o't of Bed
Can. Elle vous attend, my lor. - She vil
make a love to you.
[Apart to Lord 0.
Lord O. I'll knock you down, Cant. [Smiles.
Can. Den I go-[Shuffles along]-You are
mosh please, for all dat. [Aside, and exit.
Fan. I shall sink with apprehension. [Aside.
Lord O. What a sweet girl!-she's a civi-
Lord O. Will she? Have at her then! A
fine girl can't oblige me more-'Egad, I find
myself a little enjoué- Come along, Cant.!
she is but in the next walk-but there is such lized being, and atones for the barbarism of
a deal of this d-ned crinkum-crankum, as the rest of the family.
Sterling calls it, that one sees people for half
an hour before one can get to them-Allons,
monsieur Canton, allons donc!
[Exeunt, singing in French.
SCENE III.-Another Part of the Garden.
Enter LOVEWELL and FANNY.
Love. My dear Fanny, I cannot bear your
distress! it overcomes all my resolutions, and
I am prepared for the discovery.
[Aside.
Fan. My lord! I- [Courtesies and blushes.
Lord O. I look upon it, madam, to be one
of the luckiest circumstances of my life, that
I have this moment the honour of receiving
your commands, and the satisfaction of con-
firming with my tongue what my eyes per-
haps have but too weakly expressed--that I
am literally the humblest of your servants.
Fan. I think myself greatly honoured by
your lordship's partiality to me; but it distresses
me that I am obliged, in my present situation,
to apply to it for protection.
Fan. But how can it be effected before my
departure?
Love. I'll tell you.-Lord Ogleby seems to Lord O. I am happy in your distress, ma-
entertain a visible partiality for you; and not-dam, because it gives me an opportunity to
withstanding the peculiarities of his behaviour, show my zeal.-Beauty to me is a religion in
I am sure that he is humane at the bottom. which I was born and bred a bigot, and
He is vain to an excess; but withal extremely would die a martyr.-I'm in tolerable spirits,
good-natured, and would do any thing to re- faith!
[Aside.
commend himself to a lady.-Do you open Fan. There is not, perhaps, at this moment,
the whole affair of our marriage to him im- a more distressed creature than myself. Af-
mediately. It will come with more irresistible fection, duty, hope, despair, and a thousand dif-
persuasion from you than from myself; and I ferent sentiments are struggling in my bosom;
doubt not but you'll gain his friendship and and even the presence of your lordship, to
protection at once. His influence and author- whom I have flown for protection, adds to
ity will put en end to sir John's solicitations, my perplexity.
remove your aunt's and sister's unkindness Lord O. Does it, madam?-Venus forbid!-
and suspicions, and, I hope, reconcile your My old fault; the devil's in me, I think, for
father and the whole family to our marriage. perplexing young women. [Aside, and smiling]
Fan. Heaven grant it! Where is my lord? Take courage, madam! dear miss Fanny, ex-
Love. I have heard him and Canton, since plain.-You have a powerful advocate in my
dinner, singing French songs under the great breast, I assure you-My heart, madam--I am
walnut-tree by the parlour door. If you meet attached to you by all the laws of sympathy
with him in the garden, you may disclose the and delicacy.-By my honour, I am.
whole immediately. To-morrow morning is Fan. Then I will venture to unburden my
fixed for your departure, and if we lose this mind-Sir John Melvil, my lord, by the most
opportunity, we may wish in vain for another. misplaced and mistimed declaration of affec-
-He approaches-I must retire.- Speak, my tion for me, has made me the unhappiest of
dear Fanny, speak, and make us happy! women.
[Exit.
Lord O. How, madam? Has sir John made
Fan. What shall I do? What shall I say his addresses to you?
to him? I am all confusion.
Fan. He has, my lord, in the strongest
terms. But I hope it is needless to say that
my duty to my father, love to my sister, and
Lord O. To see so much beauty so solitary, regard to the whole family, as well as the
Enter LORD OGLEBY and CANTON.

SCENE 3.]
459
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
great respect I entertain for your lordship, when you know them, pity and protect me.
[Courtesies] made me shudder at his ad-
[Exit in Tears.
dresses.
Lord O. How the devil could I bring her
Lord O. Charming girl!-Proceed, my dear to this? It-it is too much-too much-I can't
miss Fanny, proceed!
bear it-I must give way to this amiable weak-
Fan. In a moment-give me leave, my lord! ness. [Wipes his Eyes] My heart over-
-But if what I have to disclose should be flows with sympathy, and I feel every tender-
received with anger or displeasure-
ness I have inspired. [Stifles a Tear] Can
Lord O. Impossible, by all the tender pow-I be a man, and withstand it? No-I'll sacri-
ers!- Speak, I beseech you, or I shall divine fice the whole sex to her. But here comes
the cause before you utter it.
the father, quite apropos. I'll open the matter
Fan. Then, my lord, sir John's addresses immediately, settle the business with him, and
are not only shocking to me in themselves, take the sweet girl down to Ogleby-house to-
but are more particularly disagreeable to me morrow morning. But what the devil! Miss
at this time-as-as-
[Hesitates. Sterling too! What mischief's in the wind
now? No conquest there-no, no, that would
Lord O. As what, madam?
Fan. As-pardon my confusion I am en-be too much desolation in the family.
tirely devoted to another.
Lord O. If this is not plain, the devil's in it.
[Aside]-But tell me, my dear miss Fanny,
for I must know; tell me the how, the when,
and the where-Tell me
Re-enter CANTON, hastily.
Can. My lor, my lor, my lor!
Lord O. D-n your Swiss impertinence!
how durst you interrupt me in the most cri-
tical, melting moment that ever love and beau-
ty honoured me with?
Enter STERLING and MISS STERLING.
Ster. My lord, your servant! I am attend-
ing my daughter here upon rather a disagree-
able affair. Speak to his lordship, Betsy.
Lord O. Your eyes, miss Sterling, for I al-
ways read the eyes of a young lady, betray
some little emotion. What are your com-
mands, madam?
Miss S. I have but too much cause for my
emotion, my lord!
Lord O. I cannot commend my kinsman's
behaviour, madam. He has behaved like a
Miss S. Miss Fanny's baseness has been the
cause of sir John's inconstancy.
Can. I demande pardon, my lor! Sir John false knight, I must confess. I have heard of
Melvil, my lor, sent me to beg you do him his apostasy. Miss Fanny has informed me
de honeur to speak a little to you, my lor. of it.
Lord O. I'm not at leisure-I am busy-Get
away, you stupid old dog, you Swiss rascal,
or I'll
Lord O. Nay, now, my dear miss Sterling,
Can. Fort bien, my lor. [Goes out on Tiptoe. your passion transports you too far. Sir John
Lord O. By the laws of gallantry, madam, may have entertained a passion for miss Fan-
this interruption should be death; but as no ny, but believe me, my dear miss Sterling,
punishment ought to disturb the triumph of believe me, miss Fanny has no passion for sir
the softer passions, the criminal is pardoned John. She has a passion, indeed, a most ten-
and dismissed. Let us return, madam, to the der passion. She has opened her whole soul
highest luxury of exalted minds-a declaration to me, and I know where her affections are
of love from the lips of beauty.
placed.
[Conceitedly.
Fan. The entrance of a third person has a Miss S. Not upon Mr. Lovewell, my lord.
little relieved me, but I cannot go through Lord O. Lovewell! No, poor lad! she does
with it; and yet I must open my heart with not think of him. [Smiles] I know better:
a discovery, or it will break with its burden. however, a little time will solve all mysteries.
[Aside. Miss S. Have a care, my lord, that both the
Lord O. What passion in her eyes! I am families are not made the dupes of sir John's
alarmed to agitation. [Aside] I presume, ma- artifice, and my sister's dissimulation! You
dam (and as you have flattered me, by mak- don't know her; indeed, my lord, you don't
ing me a party concerned, I hope you'll ex-know her; a base, insinuating, perfidious!-It
cuse the presumption), that-
is too much-She has been beforehand with
Fan. Do you excuse my making you a me, I perceive, endeavouring to prejudice your
party concerned, my lord, and let me interest lordship in her favour; and I am to be laughed
your heart in my behalf, as my future happi- at by every body. Such unnatural behaviour
ness or misery in a great measure depend-to me! But since I see I can have no redress,
Lord O. Upon me, madam?
I am resolved that some way or other I will
Fan. Upon you, my lord.
[Sighs. have revenge.
[Exit.
Lord O. There's no standing this: I have Ster. This is foolish work, my lord!
caught the infection-her tenderness dissolves Lord O. I have too much sensibility to bear
me.
[Sighs. the tears of beauty.
Ster. It is touching indeed, my lord; and
Fan. And should you too severely judge of
a rash action which passion prompted, and very moving for a father.
modesty has long concealed-
Lord O. To be sure, sir! You, with your
Lord O. [Takes her Hand] Thou amiable exquisite feelings, must be distressed beyond
creature, command my heart, for it is van-measure! Wherefore, to divert your too ex-
quished. Speak but thy virtuous wishes, and quisite feeling, suppose we change the subject,
enjoy them.
and proceed to business.
Fan. I cannot, my lord; indeed I cannot.
Mr. Lovewell must tell you my distresses; and
Ster. With all my heart, my lord.
Lord O. You see, Mr. Sterling, we can make

460
[ACT IV.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
no union in our families by the proposed
marriage.
Ster. And I am very sorry to see it, my
lord.
Lord O. Have you set your heart upon be-
ing allied to our house, Mr. Sterling?
Ster. 'Tis my only wish at present, my om-
nium, as I may call it.
Lord O. Your wishes shall be fulfilled.
Sier. Shall they, my lord? but how-how?
Lord O. I'll marry in your family.
Ster. What! my sister Heidelberg?
Lord 0. You throw me into a cold sweat,
Mr. Sterling. No, not your sister, but your
daughter.
Ster. My daughter?
Re-enter LOVEWELL, hastily.
Love. I beg your lordship's pardon; are
you alone, my
lord?
Lord O. No, my lord, I am not alone; I
am in company, the best company.
Love. My lord!
Lord O. I never was in such exquisite, en-
chanting company since my heart first con-
ceived, or my senses tasted, pleasure.
Love. Where are they, my lord?
[Looks about.
Lord O. In my mind, Horatio.
Love. What company have you there, my
lord?
[Smiles.
Lord O. My own ideas, sir, which so crowd
upon my imagination, and kindle in it such a
delirium of ecstasy, that wit, wine, music,
poetry, all combined, and each in perfection,
are but mere mortal shadows of my felicity.
Love. I see that your lordship is happy, and
[Smiles. I rejoice at it. com that
Lord O. Fanny;-now the murder's out!
Ster. What you, my lord?
Lord O. Yes, I, I, Mr. Sterling.
Ster. No, no, my lord; that's too much.
Lord O. Too much! I don't comprehend you. Lord O. You shall rejoice at it, sir; my fe-
Ster. What you, my lord, marry my Fan- licity shall not selfishly be confined, but shall
? Bless me! what will the folks say? spread its influence to the whole circle of my
Lord O. Why, what will they say? afriends. I need not say, Lovewell, that you
Ster. That you're a bold man, my lord; shall have your share of it.
that's all.
Lord O. Mr. Sterling, this may be city wit,
for aught I know. Do you court my alliance?
Ster. To be sure, my lord.ne
Lord O. Then I'll explain-My nephew won't
marry your eldest daughter, nor I neither.-
Your youngest daughter won't marry him; I
will marry your youngest daughter.
Ster. What! with a youngest daughter's
fortune, my lord?
Lord O. With any fortune, er no fortune
at all, sir. Love is the idol of my heart, and
the demon interest sinks before him. So, sir,
as I said before, I will marry your youngest
daughter; your youngest daughter will marry
Ster. Who told you so, my lord?
Lord O. Her own sweet self, sir.
Ster. Indeed!
[me.
Love. Shall I, my lord?-then I understand
you; you have heard; miss Fanny has informed
you
Lord O. She has; I have heard, and she
shall he happy; 'tis determined.
Love. Then I have reached the summit of
my wishes. And will your lordship pardon
the folly?
Lord O. O yes, poor creature, how could
she help it? "Twas unavoidable-fate and ne-
cessity.
Love. It was indeed, my lord. Your kind-
ness distracts me.
100
Lord O. And so it did the poor girl, faith.
Love. She trembled to disclose the secret,
and declare her affections?
Lord O. The world, I believe, will not think
her affections ill placed.
Lord O. Yes, sir; our affection is mutual; Love. [Bows] You are too good, my lord.
your advantage double and treble; your daugh--And do you really excuse the rashness of
ter will be a countess directly-I shall be the the action?
happiest of beings, and you'll be father to an
earl instead of a baronet.
Ster. But what will my sister say? and my
daughter?
Lord O. I'll manage that matter; nay, if they
won't consent, I'll run away with your daughter
in spite of you.
Ster. Well said, my lord! your spirit's good;
I wish you had my constitution; but if you'll
venture, I have no objection, if my sister has
none.
Lord O. From my very soul, Lovewell.
Love. [Bows] I was afraid of her meeting
with a cold reception.
Lord O. More fool you then. [beauty,
Who pleads her cause with never failing
Here finds a full redress.
[Strikes his Breast.
She's a fine girl, Lovewell.
Love. Her beauty, my lord, is her least
merit. She has an understanding-
Lord O. Her choice convinces me of that.
Love. [Bows] That's your lordship's good-
I'llness. Her choice was a disinterested one.
Lord O. I'll answer for your sister, sir.
A propos, the lawyers are in the house.
have articles drawn, and the whole affair con-
cluded to-morrow morning.
Lord O. No, no, not altogether; it began
with interest, and ended in passion.
Ster. Very well! and I'll dispatch Lovewell Love. Indeed, my lord, if you were ac-
to London immediately for some fresh papers quainted with her goodness of heart, and ge-
I shall want; you must excuse me, my lord, nerosity of mind, as well as you are with the
but I can't help laughing at the match. He, inferior beauties of her face and person-
he, he! what will the folks say? [Exit. Lord O. I am so perfectly convinced of
Lord O. What a fellow am I going to make their existence, and so totally of your mind,
a father of! He has no more feeling than the touching every amiable particular of that sweet
post in his ware-house-But Fanny's virtues girl, that were it not for the cold, unfeeling
tune me to rapture again, and I won't think impediments of the law, I would marry her
of the rest of the family.
to-morrow morning.

ACT V. SCENE 1.]
461
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Love. My lord!
Sir J. Your lordship's generosity encourages
Lord O. I would, by all that's honourable me to tell you that I cannot marry miss
in man, and amiable in woman.
Sterling.
Love. Marry her! Who do you mean,
my lord?
Lord O. Miss Fanny Sterling that is; the
countess of Ogleby that shall be.
Love. I am astonished!
Lord O. Why, could
could you expect less
from me?
Sife
Love. I did not expect this, my lord.
Lord O. Trade and accounts have destroyed
your feeling.
Love. No indeed, my lord.
Lord O. I am not at all surprised at it-
she's a bitter potion, that's the truth of it;
but as you were to swallow it, and not I, it
was your business, and not mine.-Any thing
more?
Sir J. But this, my lord; that I may be
permitted to make my addresses to the other
sister.
Lord O. O yes, by all means-have you
0.
any hopes there, nephew? Do you think he'll
[Sighs. succeed, Lovewell? aid house cod gal
Lord O. The moment that love and pity
[Smiles and winks at Lovewell.
entered my breast, I was resolved to plunge Love. I think not, my lord. [Gravely.
into matrimony, and shorten the girl's tor- Lord O. I think so too; but let the fool try.
tures-I never do any thing by halves, do I, Sir J. Will your lordship favour me with
Lovewell?rf
So your good offices to remove the chief obsta-
Love. No indeed, my lord. [Sighs] What cle to the match, the repugnance of Mrs.
an accident!
[Aside. Heidelberg?
Lord 0. What's the matter, Lovewell? thou Lord O. Mrs. Heidelberg? - Had not you
seem'st to have lost thy faculties. Why don't better begin with the young lady first? It will
you wish me joy, man? gard as He save you a great deal of trouble, won't it,
Love. O, I do, my lord.
[Sighs. Lovewell? [Smiles] But do what you please,
Lord O. She said that you would explain it will be the same thing to me: won't it,
what she had not power to utter; but I want- Lovewell? [Conceitedly] Why don't you
ed no interpreter for the language of love. laugh at him?
Love. But has your lordship considered the
consequences of your resolution?
lo
Lord O. No, sir, I am above consideration,
when my desires are kindled.
Love. But consider the consequences, my
lord, to your nephew, sir John.
Lord Ŏ. Sir John has considered no con-
sequences himself, Mr. Love well.
Love. I do, my lord. [Forces a smile.
Sir J. And your lordship will endeavour to
prevail on Mrs. Heidelberg to consent to my
marriage with miss Fanny?
Lord O. I'll speak to Mrs. Heidelberg about
Th the adorable Fanny as soon as possible.
Sir J. Your generosity transports me.
poniesLord O. Poor fellow, what a dupe! he little
Love. Mr. Sterling, my lord, will certainly thinks who's in possession of the town. [Aside.
refuse his daughter to sir John.
Lord O. Sir John has already refused Mr.
Sterling's daughter.
Love. But what will become of miss Ster-
ling, my lord?
Sir J. And your lordship is not in the
least offended at this seeming inconstancy?
Lord O. Not in the least. Miss Fanny's
charms will even excuse infidelity. I look
upon women as the feræ naturæ-lawful game
Lord O. What's that to you? You may-and every man who is qualified, has a na-
have her, if you will. I depend upon Mr. tural right to pursue them;-Lovewell as well
Sterling's city philosophy to be reconciled to as you, and you as well as he, and I as well
lord Ogleby's being his son-in law, instead of as either of you.-Every man shall do his
sir John Melvil, baronet. Don't you think best, without offence to any-what say you,
that your master may be brought to that, kinsmen?
without having recourse to his calculations,
eh, Lovewell?
Sir J. You have made me happy, my lord.
Love. And me, I assure you, my lord.
Love. But, my lord, that is not the question. Lord O. And I am superlatively so-allons
Lord O. Whatever is the question, I'll tell donc! "To horse and away, boys!-you to
you my answer. I am in love with a fine your affairs, and I' to mine-suivons l'amour.
girl, whom I resolve to marry.
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL. OF
What news with you, sir John? You look
all hurry and impatience-like a messenger
after a battle.
[Sings. Exeunt severally.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-FANNY'S Apartment.
BETTY.
Sir J. After a battle indeed, my lord. 1 Enter LOVEWELL and FANNY, followed by
have this day had a severe engagement; and
wanting your lordship as an auxiliary, I have
at last mustered up resolution to declare what
my duty to you and to myself have demanded
from me some time.
Lord O. To the business then, and be as
concise as possible, for I am upon the wing
-eh, Lovewell? [Smiles, and Lovewell bows.
Sir J. I find 'tis in vain, my lord, to strug-
gle against the force of inclination.
Fan. Why did you come so soon, Mr.
Lovewell? the family is not yet in bed, and
Betty certainly heard somebody listening near
the chamber-door.
Bet. My mistress is right, sir! evil spirits
are abroad; and I am sure you are both too
good, not to expect mischief from them.
Love. But who can be so curious, or so
wicked?
Lord O. Very true, nephew; I am your Bet. I think we have wickedness and cu-
witness, and will second the motion-shan't I, riosity enough in this family, sir, to expect
Lovewell? [Smiles, and Lovewell bows. the worst.

462
[ACT V.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Fan. I do expect the worst.
-
Pr'ythee, head two or three times, and went so with
Betty, return to the outward door, and listen my hand.
if you hear any body in the gallery; and let Fan. Well-well-and so-
us know directly.
Bet. And so, madam, when I heard Mr.
Bet. I warrant you, madam-the Lord bless Lovewell a little loud, I heard the buzzing
you both!
[Exit. louder too-and pulling off my handkerchief
Fan, What did my father want with you softly, I could hear this sort of noise-ups.
this evening?
[Makes an indistinct sort of noise, like
Si speaking.d
Love. He gave me the key of his closet,bisogno
with orders to bring from London some pa-
pers relating to lord Ogleby.
Fan. And why did you not obey him?
Love. Because I am certain that his lord-
ship has opened his heart to him about you,
and those papers are wanted merely on that
account-But as we shall discover all to-mor-
row, there will be no occasion for them, and
it would be idle in me to go.
Fan. Well, and what did they say?
Bet. O! I could not understand a word of
what was said. shoe
Love. The outward door is lock'd?
Bet. Yes; and I bolted it too, for fear of
the worst. helt torion
Fan. Why did you? they must have heard
you, if they were nearly homoist staf
Bet. And I did it on purpose, madam, and
Fan. Hark!-hark! bless me, how I tremble! cough'd a little too, that they might not hear
-I feel the terrors of guilt-Indeed, Mr. Love-Mr. Lovewell's voice-when I was silent, they
well, this is too much for me this situa- were silent, and so I came to tell you.
tion may have very unhappy consequences. Fan. What shall we do?red
at die greWeeps.
[Weeps. Love. Fear nothing; we know the worst;
Love. But it sha'nt-I would rather tell our it will only bring on our catastrophe a little
story this moment to all the house, and run too soon-but Betty might fancy this noise-
the risk of maintaining you by the hardest she's in the conspiracy, and can make a man
labour, than suffer you to remain in this dan- a mouse at any time.
gerous perplexity.-What! shall I sacrifice all Bet. I can distinguish a man from a mouse
my best hopes and affections, in your dear as well as my betters-I'm sorry you think
health and safety, for the mean, and in such so ill of me, sir.
[Exit.
case the meanest consideration-of our for Fan. lle compliments you, don't be a fool!
tune?-Were we to be abandoned by all our-Now you have set her tongue a running,
relations, we have that in our hearts and she'll mutter for an hour. [To Lovewell] I'll
minds will weigh against the most affluent go and hearken myself.
circumstances. I should not have proposed Bet. I'll turn my back upon no girl for
the secresy of our marriage, but for your sincerity and service.
sake; and with hopes that the most generous
sacrifice, you have made to love and me,
might be less injurious to you, by waiting a
lucky moment of reconciliation.
hos [Half aside and muttering.
Leve. Thou art the first in the world for
both; and I will reward you soon, Betty, for
one and the other.
Fan. Hush! hush! for heaven's sake, my Bet. I am not mercenary neither-I can
dear Lovewell; don't be so warm! your ge- live on a little, with a good carreter ¹).
nerosity gets the better of your prudence; p Re-enter FANNY.
you will be heard, and we shall be discover- Fan. All seems quiet.-Suppose, my dear,
ed. I am satisfied indeed I am.-Excuse you go to your own room-I shall be much
this weakness, this delicacy, this what you easier then-and to-morrow we will be pre-
will. My mind's at peace-indeed it is-pared for the discovery.
[Kisses her.
think no more of it, if you love me!aci Bet. You may discover, if you please; but
Love. That one word has charmed me, as for my part, I shall still be secret.
it always does, to the most implicit obedience:
[Half aside, and muttering.
it would be the worst of ingratitude in me to Love. Should I leave you now; if they
distress you a moment.
still are upon the watch, we shall lose the
Re-enter BETTY.
advantage of our delay. Besides, we should
a low Voice] I'm sorry to dis- consult upon to-morrow's business. Let Betty
go to her own room, and lock the outward
door after her; we can fasten this; and when
she thinks all safe, she may return and let me
out as usual.
Bet. [In
turb you.
Fan. Ha! what's the matter?
Love. Have you heard any body?
Bet. Yes, yes, I have; and they have heard
you too, or I'm mistaken-if they had seen
you too, we should have been in a fine
quandary.
Fan. Pr'ythee don't prate now, Betty!
Love. What did you hear?
Bet. I was preparing myself, as usual, to
take me a little nap-
Love. A nap!
Bet. Shall I, madam?
Fan. Do let me have my way to-night,
and you shall command me ever after.
Love. I live only to oblige you, my sweet
Fanny! I'll be gone this moment. [Going.
Fan. Betty shall go first, and if they lay
hold of her-
Bet. They'll have the wrong sow by the
[Going hastily.
Bet. Yes, sir, a nap; for I watch much ear, I can tell them that.
better so than wide awake; and when I had Fan. Softly-softly-Betty! don't venture
wrapped this handkerchief round my head, out, if you hear a noise.
Softly, I beg of
for fear of the ear-ache from the key-hole, I you! See, Mr. Lovewell, the effects of indis-
thought I heard a kind of a sort of a buzzing, cretion!
which I first took for a gnat, and shook my 1) Character.

SCENE 1.]
463
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Love. But love, Fanny, makes amends for
all.
[Exeunt softly.
SCENE II-4 Gallery, which leads to se-
veral Bed-chambers. The Stage dark.
Enter MISS STERLING, leading MRS. HEI-
DELBERG in a Night-cap.
Miss S. Hush, madam! I hear something!
Mrs. H. You frighten me-let me put on
my fly-cap-I would not be seen in this figur
for the world.
Miss S. 'Tis dark, madam; you can't be seen.
Mrs. H. I protest there's a candle coming,
and a man too!
Miss S. Nothing but servants;-let us re-
[They retire.
Miss. S. This way, dear madam, and then tire a moment!
I'll tell you all.
BRUSH, half drunk, laying hold of
the Chamber-maid, who has a Candle
in her Hand.
Mrs. H. Nay but, niece-consider a little-Enter
don't drag me out this figure; let me put on
my fly-cap!-If any of my lord's fammaly, or
the counsellors at law should be stirring, I
should be perdigus disconcerted.
Cham. Be quiet, Mr. Brush; I shall drop
How down with terror!s of Batulani shite
Miss S. But, my dear madam, a moment Brush. But my sweet, and most amiable
is an age, in my situation. I am sure my chambermaid, if you have no love, you may
sister has been plotting my disgrace and ruin hearken to a little reason; that cannot pos-
in that chamber! O! she's all craft and sibly do your virtue any harm.
wickedness.
Cham. But you may do me harm, Mr. Brush,
Mrs. H. Well, but softly; Betsy!-you are and a great deal of harm too; -pray let me
all in emotion-your mind is too much flus-go; I am ruined if they hear you; I tremble
trated-you can neither eat, nor drink, nor like an asp¹).
take your natural rest-compose yourself, Brush. But they shan't hear us; and if you
child; for if we are not as warisome as they have a mind to be ruined, it shall be the
are wicked, we shall disgrace ourselves and making of your fortune, you little slut, you!
the whole fammaly.
therefore, I say it again, if you have no love,
hear a little reason!
Miss S. We are disgraced already, madam.
Sir John Melvil has forsaken me; my lord Cham. I wonder at your impurence 2), Mr.
cares for nobody but himself; or if any body, Brush, to use me in this manner; this is not
it is my sister: my father, for the sake of a the way to keep me company, I assure you.
better bargain, would marry me to a 'Change You are a town-rake, I see, and now you
broker: so that if you, madam, don't continue are a little in liquor you fear nothing.
my friend-if you forsake me if I am to Brush. Nothing, by heavens! but your
lose my best hopes and consolation--in your frowns, most amiable chambermaid; I am
tenderness-and affections-I had better-at little electrified, that's the truth on't; I am not
once-give up the matter-and let my sister used to drink port, and your master's is so
enjoy the fruits of her treachery-trample heady, that a pint of it oversets a claret drin-
with scorn upon the rights of her elder sister ker. Come now, my dear little spider-
-the will of the best of aunts-and the weak- brusher!
nd the
ness of a too interested father.
a
Cham. Don't be rude! bless me!-I shall
[She pretends to be bursting into Tears be ruined-what will become of me?
during this speech. Brush. I'll take care of you, by all that's
honourable.
Mrs. H. Don't, Betsy-keep up your spur-
rit-I hate whimpering-I am your friend- Cham. You are a base man to use me so
depend upon me in every particular.-But be -I'll cry out, if you don't let me go. That
composed, and tell me what new mischief is miss Sterling's chamber, that miss Fanny's,
you have discovered.
and that madam Heidelberg's.
Miss S. I had no desire to sleep, and Brush. We know all that. And that lord
would not undress myself, knowing that my Ogleby's, and that my lady What-d'ye-call-
Machiavel sister would not rest till she had 'em's: I don't mind such folks when I'm so-
broke my heart:-I was so uneasy that I ber, much less when I am whimsical-rather
could not stay in my room, but when I thought above that, too.
that all the house was quiet, I sent my maid Cham. More shame for you, Mr. Brush!-
to discover what was going forward; she you terrify me-you have no modesty.
immediately came back and told me, that Brush. O, but I have, my sweet spider-
they were in high consultation; that she had brusher-for instance, I reverence miss Fanny
heard only, for it was in the dark, my sister's-she's a most delicious morsel, and fit for a
maid conduct sir John Melvil to her mistress, prince.-With all my horrors of matrimony,
and then lock the door.
I could marry her myself-but for her sister-
Miss S. [Within] There, there, madam, all
in a story!her
Mrs. H. And how did you conduct your-
self in this dilemma?
Cham. Bless me, Mr. Brush! - I heard
something!
Miss S. I returned with her, and could
hear a man's voice, though nothing that they
said distinctly; and you may depend upon it, Brush. Rats, I suppose, that are gnawing
that sir John is now in that room, that they the old timbers of this execrable old dungeon
have settled the matter, and will run away-If it was mine, I would pull it down, and
together before morning, if we don't prevent them. fill your fine canal up with the rubbish; and
Mrs. H. Why, the brazen slut! she has got then I should get rid of two d-n'd things
her sister's husband (that is to be) lock'd up at once.
in her chamber! at night too!-I tremble at
Cham. Law! law! how you blaspheme!-
the thoughts!
1) An aspen leaf,
2) Impudence.

464
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
[ACT V.
we shall have the house upon our heads Cham. I will, I will, though I'm frighten'd
for it.
out of my wits.
[Exit.
Brush. No, no, it will last our time-but, Mrs. H. Do you watch here, my dear;
as I was saying, the eldest sister-Miss and I'll put myself in order to face them.
Jezebel-
We'll plot 'em, and counterplot 'em too.
Cham. Is a fine young lady, for all your
[Exit into her Chamber.
evil tongue.
Miss S. I have as much pleasure in this
Brush. No-we have smoked her already; revenge, as in being made a countess.-Ha!
and unless she marries our old Swiss, she they are unlocking the door.-Now for it!
can have none of us.-No, no, she won't do
are a little too nice.
[Retires.
Cham. You're a monstrous rake, Mr. Brush, FANNY's Door is unlocked, and BETTY comes
and don't care what you say.
Brush. Why, for that matter, my dear, I
am a little inclined to mischief; and if you
don't have pity upon me, I will break open
that door, and ravish Mrs. Heidelberg.
Mrs. H. [Coming forward] There's no
bearing this-you profligate monster!d
Cham. Ha! I am undone!
Brush. Zounds! here she is, by all that's
[Runs off.
discourse you have had
monstrous.
Miss S. A fine
with that fellow.
Mrs. H. And a fine time of night it is to
be here with that drunken monster!
out; MISS STERLING approaches her.
Bet. [Calling within] Sir! sir!- now's
your time-all's clear. [Seeing Miss Sterling]
Stay, stay-not yet-we are watch'd.
Miss S. And so you are, madam Betty.
[Miss Sterling lays hold of her, while
Betty locks the Door, and puts the Key
into her Pocket.
Bet. [Turning round] What's the matter,
madam?NEY
Miss S. Nay, that you shall tell my father
and aunt, madam.
Bet. I am no tell-tale, madam, and no thief;
they'll get nothing from me.
Miss S. You have a great deal of courage,
Miss S. What have you to say for yourself?
Cham. I can say nothing-I'm so frightened, Betty, and considering the secrets you have
and so ashamed. But indeed I am vartuous to keep, you have occasion for it,
-I am vartuous, indeed.n
Mrs. H. Well, well-don't tremble so; but
tell us what you know of this horrable plot
here.
Miss S. We'll forgive you, if you'll dis-
cover all.
Cham. Why, madam, don't let me betray
my fellow-servants-I sha'n't sleep in my bed,
if I do.
Mrs. H. Then you shall sleep somewhere
else to-morrow night.
Cham. O dear! what shall I do?
Mrs. H. Tell us this moment, or I'll turn
you out of doors directly.
Cham. Why our butler has been treating
us below in his pantry-Mr. Brush forced us
to make a kind of a holiday night of it.
Miss S. Holiday! for what??
Cham. Nay, I only made one.
Miss S. Well, well; but upon what ac-
count?
Cham. Because as how, madam, there was
a change in the family, they said that his
honour, sir John, was to marry miss Fanny
instead of your ladyship.
Miss. S. And so you make a holiday for
that-Very fine!
Cham. I did not make it, ma'am.
Mrs. H. But do you know nothing of sir
John's being to run away with miss Fanny
to-night?
Cham. No indeed, ma'am.
Miss S. Nor of his being now locked up
my sister's chamber?
in
Bet. My mistress shall never repent her
good opinion of me, ma'am.
Enter STERLING.
a
Ster. What's all this? What's the matter?
Why am I disturb'd in this manner?
Miss S. This creature, and my distresses,
sir, will explain the matter.
Re-enter MRS. HEIDELBERG, with another
Head-dress.
Mrs. H. Now I'm prepar'd for the rancoun-
ter.-Well, brother, have you heard of this
scene of wickedness?
Ster. Not I-But what is it? speak.-I was
got into my little closet, all the lawyers were
in bed, and I had almost lost my senses in
the confusion of lord Ogleby's mortgages,
when I was alarmed with a foolish girl, who
could hardly speak; and whether it's fire, or
thieves, or murder, or a rape, I'm quite in
the dark.
Mrs. H. No, no, there's no rape, brother!
all parties are willing, I believe.
Miss S. Who's in that chamber?
[Detaining Betty, who seemed to be steal-
ing away.
Bet. My mistress,
Miss S. And who's with your mistress?
Bet. Why, who should there be?
Miss S. Open the door then, and let us see.
Bet. The door is open, madam. [Miss Ster-
ling goes to the Door] I'll sooner die than
peach.
[Exit hastily.
Miss S. The door is lock'd; and she has
got the key in her pocket.
Mrs. H. There's impudence, brother! piping
Cham. No, as I hope for marcy, ma'am.
Mrs. H. Well, I'll put an end to all this
directly-do you run to my brother Sterling-hot from your daughter Fanny's school!
Cham. Now, ma'am?-'Tis so very late,
ma'am-
Mrs. H. I don't care how late it is. Tell
him there are thieves in the house-that the
Ster, But, zounds! what is all this about?
You tell me of a sum total, and you don't
produce the particulars.
Mrs. H. Sir John Melvil is locked up in
house is on fire-tell him to come here im- your daughter's bed-chamber-There is the
mediately-Go, I say,
particular.

SCENE 2.]
465
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
Ster. The devil he is!
That's bad.
very much alarmed about thieves at circuit
Miss S. And he has been there some time time. They would be particularly severe with
too.
Ster. Ditto!
Mrs. H. Ditto! worse and worse, I say. I'll
raise the house, and expose him to my lord,
and the whole fammaly.
us gentlemen of the bar.
Trav. No danger, Mr. Sterling-no tres-
pass, I hope?
Ster. None, gentlemen, but of those ladies'
making.
Ster. By no means! we shall expose our-
Mrs. H. You'll be asham'd to know, gentle-
selves, sister!-The best way is to insure pri- men, that all your labours and studies about
vately-let me alone! I'll make him marry this young lady are thrown away-Sir John
her to-morrow morning.
Melvil is at this moment locked up with this
Miss S. Make him marry her! this is beyond lady's younger sister.
all patience!-You have thrown away all your Flow. The thing is a little extraordinary,
affection, and I shall do as much by my obe- to be sure; but, why were we to be frighten'd
dience;
unnatural fathers make unnatural out of our beds for this? Could not we have
children. My revenge is in my own power, tried this cause to-morrow morning?
and I'll indulge it.-Had they made their es- Miss S. But, sir, by to-morrow morning,
cape, I should have been exposed to the de- perhaps, even your assistance would not have
rision of the world: but the deriders shall be been of any service-the birds now in that
derided; and so-Help, help, there!-Thieves! cage would have flown away.
thieves!
300
Enter LORD OGLEBY, in his Robe-de-cham-
bre, Night-cap, etc. leaning on CANTON.
Lord O. I had rather lose a limb than my
night's rest. What's the matter with you all?
Ster. Ay, ay, 'tis all over!-Here's my lord,
too.g
Mrs. H. Tit-for-tat, Betsy! you are right,
my girl.
Ster. Zounds! you'll spoil all-you'll raise
the whole family-The devil's in the girl.
Mrs. H. No, no; the devil's in you, brother:
I am ashamed of your principles. - What!
would you connive at your daughter's being
locked up with her sister's husband? Help! Lord O. What's all this shrieking and
Thieves! thieves, I say!
[Cries out. screaming? Where's my angelic Fanny? She's
Ster. Sister, I beg you! daughter, I com- safe, I hope?
mand you!-If you have no regard for me, Mrs. H. Your angelic Fanny, my lord, is
consider yourselves!- we shall lose this op-lock'd up with your angelic nephew in that
portunity of ennobling our blood, and getting chamber.
above twenty per cent, for our money.
Lord O. My nephew! Then will I be ex-
Miss S. What, by my disgrace and my communicated.
sister's triumph? I have a spirit above such
Mrs. H. Your nephew, my lord, has been
mean considerations: and to show you that plotting to run away with miss Fanny, and
it is not a low-bred, vulgar, 'Change-alley miss Fanny has been plotting to run away
spirit-Help! help! Thieves! thieves! thieves,
I say!
Ster. Ay, ay, you may save your lungs
the house is in an uproar.
Enter CANTON, in a Night-gown and Slippers.
Can. Eh, diable! vat is de raison of dis
great noise, dis tintamarre?
Ster. Ask those ladies, sir; 'tis of their
making.
with your nephew: and if we had not watched
them and call'd up the fammaly, they had
been upon the scamper to Scotland by this
time.
Lord O. Lookye, ladies! I know that sir
John has conceived a violent passion for miss
Fanny; and I know too that miss Fanny has
conceived a violent passion for another per-
son; and I am so well convinced of the rec-
titude of her affections, that I will support
Lord O. [Calls within] Brush!-Brush!-them with my fortune, my honour, and my
Canton!-Where are you?-What's the mat- life.-Eh, shan't I Mr. Sterling? [Smiling]
ter? [Rings a Bell] Where are you? What say you?
Ster. 'Tis my lord calls, Mr. Canton.
Can. I com, mi lor!
[Exit. L. Ogleby still rings.
Flow. [Calls within] A light! a light here!
where are the servants? Bring a light for
me and my brothers.
Ster. [Sulkily] To be sure, my lord.-
These bawling women have been the ruin of
every thing.
[Aside.
Lord O. But come, I'll end this business in
a trice-If you, ladies, will compose your-
selves, and Mr. Sterling will ensure miss Fanny
from violence, I will engage to draw her
[Exit. from her pillow with a whisper through the
Mrs. H. The horrid creatures!-I say, my
Ster. Lights here! lights for the gentlemen!
Mrs. H. My brother feels, I see-your sis-key-hole.
ter's turn will come next.
Miss S. Ay, ay, let it go round, madam, it lord, break the door open.
is the only comfort I have left.
Re-enter STERLING, with Lights; before
SERGEANT FLOWER, with one Boot and a
Slipper, and TRAVERSE.
Lord O. Let me beg of your delicacy not
to be too precipitate! Now to our experiment!
[Advancing towards the Door.
Miss S. Now, what will they do? My heart
will beat through my bosom.
Ster. This way, sir! this way, gentlemen!
Flow. Well but, Mr. Sterling, no danger,
I hope? Have they made a burglarious entry?
Are you prepared to repulse them? I am doors,
Re-enter BETTY, with the Key.
Bet. There's no occasion for breaking open
my lord; we have done nothing that
59

466
[ACT V.
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
we ought to be ashamed of, and my mistress
shall face her enemies.
Bet. I could cry my eyes out to hear his
Love. By that right which makes me the
happiest of men! and by a title which I
[Going to unlock the Door. would not forego for any the best of kings
Mrs. H. There's impudence! of
could give.
Lord O. The mystery thickens. Lady of
the bed-chamber, [To Betty] open the door, magnanimity.
and entreat sir John Melvil (for the ladies
will have it that he is there) to appear, and
answer to high crimes and misdemeanors.
Call sir John Melvil into the court!
Lord O. I am annihilated!
Ster. I have been choaked with rage and
wonder; but now I can speak.-Lovewell,
you are a villain!-You have broke your word
with me.
Enter SIR JOHN MELVIL, on the other side. Fan. Indeed, sir, he has not-you forbade
Sir J. I am here, my lord.
Mrs. H. Hey-day!
Sir J. What's all this alarm and confusion?
There is nothing but hurry in this house!
What is the reason of it?
him to think of me, when it was out of his
power to obey you-we have been married
these four months.
Ster. And he shan't stay in my house four
hours. What baseness and treachery! As for
Lord O. Because you have been in that you, you shall repent this step as long as
chamber; have been! nay, you are there at you live, madam!
this moment, as these ladies have protested,
so don't deny it-
Trav. This is the clearest alibi I ever knew,
Mr. Sergeant.
Flow. Luce clarius.
Fan. Indeed, sir, it is impossible to con-
ceive the tortures I have already endured in
consequence of my disobedience. My heart
has continually upbraided me for it; and
though I was too weak to struggle with af-
Lord O. Upon my word, ladies, if you fection, I feel that I must be miserable for
have often these frolics, it would be really ever without your forgiveness.
entertaining to pass a whole summer with Ster. Lovewell, you shall leave my house
you. But come [To Betty] open the door, directly! and you shall follow him, madam!
and entreat your amiable mistress to come Lord O. And if they do, I will receive
forth and dispel all our doubts with her them into mine. Lookye, Mr. Sterling, there
smiles.
have been some mistakes, which we had all bet-
Bet. [Opening the Door] Madam, you are ter forget for our own sakes; and the best way
wanted in this room.
[Pertly to forget them, is to forgive the cause of
them; which I do from my soul.-Poor girl!
Enter FANNY, in great confusion.
Miss S. You see she's ready dressed and I swore to support her affection with my life
what confusion she's in!
esan
Mrs. H. Ready to pack off, bag and bag-
gage! Her guilt confounds her!
and fortune; 'tis a debt of honour, and must
be paid-You swore as much too, Mr. Ster-
ling; but your laws in the city will excuse
you, I suppose; for you never strike a balance
without-errors excepted.
Flow. Silence in the court, ladies!
Fan. I am confounded, indeed, madam!
Lord O. Don't droop, my beauteous lily! Ster. I am a father, my lord; but for the
but with your own peculiar modesty declare sake of all other fathers, I think I ought not to
your state of mind. - Pour conviction into forgive her, for fear of encouraging other silly
their ears, and rapture into mine. [Smiling. girls, like herself, to throw themselves away
Fan. I am at this moment the most un- without the consent of their parents.
happy-most distressed-the tumult is too Love. I hope there will be no danger of
much for my heart and I want the power that, sir. Young ladies, with minds like my
to reveal a secret, which to conceal has been Fanny's, would startle at the very shadow of
the misfortune and misery of my- vice; and when they know to what uneasiness
only an indiscretion has exposed her, her ex-
ample, instead of encouraging, will rather
serve to deter them.
[Faints away.
LOVEWELL rushes out of the Chamber.
Love. My Fanny in danger! I can contain Mrs. H. Indiscretion, quotha! a mighty
no longer! Prudence were now a crime; all pretty delicate word to express obedience!
other cares were lost in this! Speak, speak, Lord O. For my part, I indulge my own
speak to me, my dearest Fanny! let me but passions too much to tyrannise over those
hear thy voice: open your eyes, and bless of other people. Poor souls! I pity them.
me with the smallest sign of life!
And you must forgive them too. Come, come,
melt a little of your flint, Mr. Sterling!
[During this Speech they are all in
Amazement.
Miss S. Lovewell!-I am easy.
Mrs. H. I am thunderstruck!
Lord O. I am petrified!
Sir J. And I undone.
Ster. Why, why, as to that, my lord-
to be sure, he is a relation of yours, my lord
What say you, sister Heidelberg?
Mrs. H. The girl's ruin'd, and I forgive her.
Ster. Well-so do I then.-Nay, no thanks
Fan. [Recovering] 0, Lovewell!-even-[To Lovewell and Fanny, who seem pre-
supported by thee, I dare not look my father paring to speak] there's an end of the
nor his lordship in the face.
Ster. What now? did not I send you to
London, sir?
Lord O. Eh!-What! How's this? By what
right and title have you been half the
in that lady's bed-chamber?
matter.
-
Lord O. But, Lovewell, what makes you
dumb all this while?
Love. Your kindness, my lord-I can scarce
night believe my own senses-they are all in a tu-
mult of fear, joy, love, expectation, and grati-

SCENE 2.]
467
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
tude; I ever was, and am now more bound saved me, yourself, and that lady (who I hope
in duty to your lordship.-For you, Mr. Ster-will pardon my behaviour), a great deal of
ling, if every moment of my life, spent grate- uneasiness. Give me leave, however, to as-
fully in your service, will in some measure sure you that light and capricious as I may
compensate the want of fortune, you perhaps have appeared, now my infatuation is over, I
will not repent your goodness to me. And have sensibility enough to be ashamed of the
you, ladies, I flatter myself, will not for the part I have acted, and honour enough to re-
future suspect me of artifice and intrigue-Ijoice at your happiness.
shall be happy to oblige and serve you. - As Love. And now, my dearest Fanny, though
for you, sir John-
we are seemingly the happiest of beings, yet
Sir J. No apologies to me, Lovewell; I do all our joys will be damped, if his lordship's
not deserve any. All I have to offer in ex-generosity and Mr. Sterling's forgiveness should
cuse for what has happened, is my total igno- not be succeeded by the indulgence, approba-
rance of your situation. Had you dealt a tion, and consent of these our best benefactors.
little more openly with me, you would have
[To the Audience. Exeunt,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
Was born at Elphin, in the county of Roscommon, in Ireland, November 29, 1728. His father, the Rev. Charles
Goldsmith had four sons, of whom Oliver was the third. He was instructed in the classics at the school of Mr.
Hughes, at Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford; whence he was removed to Trinity College, Dublin, where
he was admitted a sizar on the 11th of June 1744. At the university he exhibited no specimen of that genius which
distinguished him in his maturer years. On the 27th of February 1749, O. S. (two years after the regular time), he
obtained the degree of bachelor of arts. He then turned his thoughts to the profession of physic; and after attending
some courses of anatomy in Dublin, proceeded to Edinburgh in the year 1751, where he studied the several branches.
of medicine under the different professors in that university. Here, however, that incautious spirit of benevolence,
which so strongly marked his life, soon involved him in difficulties. Having imprudently engaged as security, in a
considerable sum of money, for a fellow-student, who, from want either of means or of principle, failed to pay the
debt, he sought to shun the horrors of imprisonment by a precipitate flight; and early in the year 1754 he reached
Sunderland. In this place, however, he had not been long before he was arrested, at the suit of Mr. Barclay, a tailor
in Edinburgh, the person to whom he had imprudently become security for his friend. From this difficulty he was al
length released by the kindness of Dr. Sleigh and Mr. Laughlin Maclaine, whose friendship he probably acquired at
the College of Edinburgh. He then embarked for Rotterdam, proceeded to Leyden, where he resided about a year,
studying chemistry and anatomy, and afterwards visited a great part of Flanders and Brabant, on foot, subsisting fre-
quently by his voluntary performances on the German flute; his learning, we are told, made him a welcome guest to
the monks, and his pipe to the peasants. After passing some time at Strasbourg and Louvain (where he obtained the
degree of bachelor in physic) he accompanied an English gentleman to Berne and Geneva. On his arrival at the latter
place, it is said, he was recommended as a proper person to be travelling tutor to a young man who had heen unex-
pectedly left a considerable sum of money by his uncle, Mr. S-, a pawnbroker, near Holborn. This youth, who had
been articled to an attorney, on receipt of his fortune, determined to see the world; but, on engaging with Goldsmith,
as his preceptor, made a proviso that he should be permitted to govern himself; and our traveller soon found that his
pupil understood extremely well the art of directing in morey concerns, for avarice was his predominant passion.
During Goldsmith's continuance in Switzerland, he assiduously cultivated a poetical talent, of which he had given some
promising proofs at the college of Edinburgh; and it was from hence that he sent the first sketch (about 200 lines) of
his poem called The Traveller, to his brother Henry, a clergyman in Ireland, who, with a beloved wife, was living
in retirement and obscurity, on an income of forty pounds a year. With a youth of a disposition so opposite to his own, as
it appears his pupil was, it will not be supposed that Goldsmith could long continue. A disagreement happened on their arrival
in the South of France, where the young man paid him such part of his salary as remained due, and embarked at Mar-
seilles for England. Our wanderer was left once more upon the wide world, and encountered numberless difficulties,
in traversing the greater part of France; whence, his curiosity being gratified, he bent his course toward England, and
arrived at Dover in the winter of 1757-58. When he reached London, his stock of cash did not amount to two livres.
Ile applied to several apothecaries, in the hope of engaging himself as a journeyman; but his awkward appearance, and
broad Irish accent, almost every where met with repulse and insult: at length a chemist, near Fish Street Hill, struck
with his forlorn condition, and the simplicity of his manner, employed him in his laboratory where he remained till
he learned that his old friend Dr. Sleigh was in town. The worthy Doctor received Goldsmith into his family, and
undertook to support him till some establishment could be procured. Goldsmith, however, unwilling to be a burden
to his friend, a short time after eagerly embraced an offer which was made him, to assist the late Dr. John Milner,
a dissenting minister of eminence, in instructing the young gentlemen of the academy at Peckham. It was during the
time of his being usher at Dr. Milner's that Goldsmith commenced auth r; and the earliest performance of his, now
known, was, The Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned to the Gallies of France for his Religion Written by himself.
Translated from the Original, just published at the Hague, by James Willington; 1758, two volumes, 12mo. for which
Mr. Edward Dilly paid him twenty guineas. At Dr. Milner's table, sometime in the year 1758, he happened to meet
with Mr. Ralph Griffiths, the originator and proprietor of The Monthly Review, who invited him to become a writer
in that work, and offered him such terms as our author deemed worth acceptance, viz, lodging, board, and a liberal
salary. By a written agreement, this engagement was to last for a year; but at the expiration of seven or eight months
it was dissolved by mutual consent; and Goldsmith took a smoky, miserable apartment, in Green Arbour Court, near
the Old Bailey, immediately over Breakneck Steps, as they are vulgarly called; where he completed a work that he
had before begun, entitled, in Inquiry into the present State of polite Learning in Europe. This was published by
Dodsley in 1759, and obtained its writer some reputation. In October, of the same year, he began The Bee, a weekly
publication, of which, however, only eight numbers were printed. In the following year he became known to Fr.
Smollett, who was then editor of The British Magazine; and for that work he wrote most of those essays and tales
which were afterwards collected and published in a separate volume. He also contributed occasionally to The Critical
Review; in fact, it was the merit which he discovered in criticising a despicable translation of Ovid's Epistles, by a
schoolmaster, and his Inquiry into the present State of polite Learning, that first introduced him to the acquaintance of
Dr. Smollett, who recommended him to some respectable booksellers, by whom he was afterwards patronized.. Among
these, Goldsmith's most fortunate connexion was with the celebrated Mr. John Newbery, of philanthropic memory, who
being a principal proprietor of The Public Ledger, engaged him at a salary of 100 l. a year to write a periodical paper.
Our author accordingly undertook a series of what he called Chinese Letters, which were afterwards collected and pub-
Jished in two volumes, under the title of The Citizen of the World; and they exhibit striking proofs of judgment,
wit, and humour. On embarking in this undertaking, Goldsmith quitted his hovel in Green Arbour Court, removed to
a decent apartment in Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, dropped the plain Mister, dubbed himself Doctor, and was af-
terwards commonly known and addressed as Dr. Goldsmith. Here he finished his Vicar of Wakefield; but at the
time of its completion he was much embarrassed in his circumstances, and very apprehensive of arrest; in fact, he was
at last entrapped by the following artifice. An ingenious limb of the law, yeleped a bailiff, being apprised of one of
Goldsmith's foibles (a vanity of being noticed by distinguished persons), wrote a letter, stating that he was steward
to a nobleman, who was charnied with reading Goldsmith's last production, and had ordered him to desire the Doctor

468
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
But
to appoint a place, where he might have the honour of meeting with him, to conduct him to his Lordship. Poor
Goldsmith swallowed the bait, and appointed the British Coffee-house, to which he was accompanied by his friend
Mr. Hamilton, the printer of The Critical Review, who in vain remonstrated on the singularity of the application. On
their entering the coffee-room, the bailiff paid his respects to Goldsmith, and desired that he might have the honour
of immediately attending him; hut they had scarcely entered Pall Mall, when the officer produced his writ. Mr. Ha-
milton generously paid the money, and rescued his critic from incarceration. It may be supposed, however, that Gold-
smith was now out of cash. He sent to represent his case to Dr. Johnson, with whose acquaintance he had been
sometimes honoured; and Johnson disposed of the MS, of his Vicar of Wakefield, to Mr. Newbery, for 601. a sum
(as Goldsmith used to say) which he had been so little accustomed to receive in a lump, that he felt himself under
the embarrassment of Brazen in the play, whether he should build a privateer or a playhouse with the money.
though the money was paid to him at the time, so little reputation had he then acquired, that the book was not pub-
lished till two or three years after, when The Traveller had fixed his fame. In the spring of the year 1765, Gold-
smith took lodgings at Canonbury House, Islington, where he compiled, or revised and corrected, several publications,
for his patron Mr. Newbery: particularly The Art of Poetry, 2 vols. 12 mo. and a Life of Nash, 8vo. Here also he
wrote his History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 2 vols. 12 mo, a work which was
by some attributed to the Earl of Orrery, but more commonly to George Lord Lyttleton; and what is rather singular,
this generally-received opinion was never contradicted, either directly or indirectly, by those noblemen or their friends.
In the year 1764, Goldsmith removed his abode to the Inner Temple, where he took chambers in the upper story of
the Library Staircase. He was still, however, not much known, except among the booksellers, till the year 1765,
when he completed and published The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society; a poem, which, as we have before re-
marked, he had begun to write while he was in Switzerland; and of which Dr. Johnson pronounced, "that there had
not been so fine a poem since the time of Pope." This charming performance procured him the friendship of Lord
Nugent, afterwards Earl of Clare, Sir Joshua Reynalds, Mr. Burke, Mr. Topham Beauclerc, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Langton
etc., and he was elected one of the first members of "The Literary Club," which was just then instituted by Dr.
Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Mr. Burke. In 1765, Goldsmith published his pathetic ballad of The Hermit,
which he dedicated to the Countess (afterwards Dutchess) of Northumberland, and which soon became popular with
those who could appreciate poclic merit. Having been thus successful in the several walks of a critic, a novelist, and
a moral poet, our author was encouraged to try his hand at the drama; and, on the 29th of January 1768, his Good-
natured Man was performed for the first time at Covent Garden Theatre. It kept possession of the stage nine nights;
but was not received with that general approbation which its intrinsic erit led his friends to expect. By the profit
of his three third nights however, and the sale of the copy-right, he netted 500 1. With this money, and the savings
made from the produce of his Romen History, 2 vols. and other compilations (which he used to call "building of
books"), he descended from his attic story, on the Library Staircase, Inner Temple, and purchased chambers on the
first floor of No. 2, Brick Court, Middle Temple, for which he gave 400 l, These he furnished in rather an elegant
manner, enlarged his library, and commenced quite the man of lettered ease and consequence. At the establishment
of the Royal Academy of Painting, in 1769, Goldsmith had, by the recommendation of Sir Joshua Reynolds to His Ma-
jesty, the honorary professorship of history conferred upon him; and in the spring of 1770 his beautiful poem, The
Deserted Village, was first published. A well-authenticated and characteristic anecdote of our author has been related,
respecting this poem. Previous to its publication, the bookseller (the late Mr. Griffn, of Catherine Street, Strand) had
given him a note for one hundred guineas, for the copy; which Goldsmith mentioned some hours after to one of his
friends, who observed, that it was a very great sum for so short a performance. "In truth (replied Goldsmith) I
think so too; it is nearly five shillings a couplet, which is much more than the honest man can afford; and, indeed,
more than any modern poetry is worth. I have not been easy since I received it, I will, therefore, go back and return
him his note;" which he actually did, and left it to the bookseller to pay him according to the profits produced by
the sale of the poem, which proved to be very considerable, and at least equal to the first douceur, In 1771 appeared
his History of England, from the earlist Times to the Death of George II., 4 vols. 8vo. For this, Mr. Thomas Davies,
the bookseller, gave him 500l. He also wrote this year a Life off Parnell, which was prefixed to a new edition of
his poems. On the 15th of March 1773, his Comedy of she Stoops to Conquer, or, The Mistakes of a Night, was per-
formed for the first time at Covent Garden Theatre. Notwithstanding this drama is in some parts rather too farcical,
and very improbable, it had a surprising run, and produced to Goldsmith a clear profit of 800 1. In return for Mr.
Quick's exertions in the part of Tony Lumpkin, Goldsmith is said to have reduced Ledley's comedy of The Grumbler
to a farce of one act; and it was performed for the benefit of that comedian on the 8th of May. The principal cha-
racter of this petite piece (the Grumbler) was acted by Mr. Quick, and furnished great entertainment, especially in a
scene with a dancing-master, who insists upon teaching the touchy old man to dance an Allemande, against his incli-
nation. The piece, upon the whole, was well received; but it wants incident, and, excepting the parts represented
by Mr. Quick and Mr. Sanders, was but indifferently supported in the performance. One of the last of his publica-
tions, of any consequence, was, An History of the Earth and Animated Nature, in 8 vols. 8vo. which was printed in
1774, and for which he received 8501. He had at this time ready for the press The Grecian History, from the ear-
liest State to the Death of Alexander the Great; which was afterwards printed in 2 vols. 8vo. He had also written
at intervals, about this time, his Haunch of Venison, Retaliation, and some other little sportive sallies, which were not
printed till after his death; Retaliation, indeed, was left unfinished. But, though his receipts had for a long time been
very considerable, yet by his literal and indiscreet bene actions to poor authors, as Pardon, Pilkington, Hiffernan,
Lloyd etc, and poor Irishmen, in fact, needy adventurers from all countries, together with an unhappy attachment to
gaming, with the arts of which he was litle acquainted, and an habitual carelessness as to money-matters, he became
much embarrassed in his circumstances, and, in consequence, uneasy, fretful, and peevish. To this mental inquietude
was superadded a violent stranguary, with which he had been some years afflicted; and this at length brought on a sort
of occasional despondency, in which he used to express his great indifference about life. A nervous fever added to this
despondency, which induced him, against the advice of his physicians, to take so large a portion of James's powder,
that it was supposed to have contributed to his dissolution, which happened on the 4th of April 1774, after an illness
of ten days,
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,
Comedy by Oliver Goldsmith. Acted at Covent Garden 1768. Many parts of this play exhibit the strongest in-
dications of our author's comic talents. There is perhaps no character on the stage more happily imagined and more
highly finished than Croaker's; nor do we recollect so original and successful an incident as that of the letter which he
conceives to be the composition of an incendiary, and feels a thousand ridiculous horrors in consequence of his absurd
apprehension. Our audiences, however, having been recently exalted on the sentimental stilts of False Delicacy, a com-
edy by Kelly, regarded a few scenes in Dr. Goldsmith's piece as too low for their entertainment, and therefore treat-
ed them with unjustifiable severity. Nevertheless, The Good-natured Man succeeded, though in a degree inferior to
its merit. Dr. Samuel Johnson declared the present to be the best comedy produced since The Provoked Husband, and
that there had not been lately any such character on the stage as that of Croaker. Dr. Goldsmith seems to have taken
the hint of the character from whom his play is named from the lover of Miss Braddock, in his own Life of Beau
Nash, p. 85.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
HONEYWOOD.
LEONTINE.
CROAKER.
JARVIS.
DUBARDIEU.
POSTBOY.
LOFTY.
BUTLER.
MISS RICHLAND.
MRS CROAKER
GARNET.
LANDLADY,
SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD.
BAILIFF.
OLIVIA.
SCENE.
London.

[ACT 1, SCENE 1.]
469
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
ACT I.ut out
House.
Sir W. We must try him once more, how-
SCENE I.-An Apartment in HONEYWOOD's ever; and I don't despair of succeeding; as,
by your means, I can have frequent opportu
nities of being about him, without being known.
Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD and JARVIS. What a pity it is, Jarvis, that any man's good
Sir W. Goon Jarvis, make no apologies will to others should produce so much neg-
for this honest bluntness. Fidelity, like yours, lect of himself as to require correction; yet
is the best excuse for every freedom.
there are some faults so nearly allied to ex-
Jar. I can't help being blunt, and being cellence, that we can scarce weed out the
very angry too, when I hear you talk of dis- vice without eradicating the virtue. [Exit.
inheriting so good, so worthy a young gen-
tleman as your nephew, my master.
world loves him.
All the
Sir W. Say rather that he loves all the
world; that is his fault.
Jar. I'm sure there is no part of it more
dear to him than you are, though he has not
seen you since he was a child.
Sir W. What signifies his affection to me,
or how can I be proud of a place in a heart
where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy
entrance?
Jar. I grant you that he's rather too good-
natur'd; that he's too much every man's man;
that he laughs this minute with one, and cries
the next with another; but whose instructions
may he thank for all this?
Enter HONEYWOOD.
Honey. Well, Jarvis, what messages from
my friends this morning?
Jar. You have no friends.
Honey. Well, from my acquaintance then?
Jar. [Pulls out Bills] A few of our usual
cards of compliment, that's all. This bill from
your tailor, this from your mercer, and this
from the little broker in Crooked-lane. He
says he has been at a great deal of trouble to
get back the money you borrowed.
Honey. That I don't know; but I'm sure
we were at a great deal of trouble in getting
him to lend it.
Jar. He has lost all patience.
Honey. Then he has lost a very good thing.
Sir W. Not mine, sure? My letters to him Jar. There's that ten guineas you were
during my employment in Italy, taught him sending to the poor gentleman and his children
only that philosophy which might prevent, not in the Fleet. I believe that would stop his
defend, his errors.
mouth, for a while at least.
Jar. Faith, begging your honour's pardon, Honey. Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their
this same philosophy is a good horse in the mouths in the mean time? Must I be cruel
stable, but an
an errant jade on a journey. because he happens to be importunate; and,
Whenever I hear him mention the name on't, to relieve his avarice, leave them to insupport-
I'm always sure he's going to play the fool.able distress?
Sir W. Don't let us ascribe his faults to Jar. 'Sdeath! sir, the question now is how
his philosophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis, his to relieve yourself-yourself! Hav'n't I reason
good nature arises rather from his fears of to be out of my senses, when I see things
offending the importunate, than his desire of going at sixes and sevens?¹)
making the deserving happy.
Jar. What it rises from I don't know; but,
to be sure, every body has it that asks it.
Sir W. Ay, or that does not ask it. I have
been now for some time a concealed spectator
of his follies, and find them as boundless as
his dissipation.
Jar. And yet, faith, he has some fine name
or other for them all. He calls his extrava-
gance generosity, and his trusting every body
universal benevolence. It was but last week
he went security for a fellow whose face he
scarce knew, and that he called an act of ex-
alted mu-mu-munificence; ay, that was the
name he gave it..
Honey. Whatever reason you may have
for being out of your senses, I hope you'll
allow that I'm not quite unreasonable for con-
tinuing in mine.
Jar. You're the only man alive in your
present situation that could do so. Every
thing upon the waste. There's miss Richland
and her fine fortune gone already, and upon
the point of being given to your rival.
Honey. I'm no man's rival.
Jar. Your uncle in Italy preparing to dis-
inherit you; your own fortune almost spent;
and nothing but pressing creditors, false friends,
and a pack of drunken servants that your
kindness has made unfit for any other family.
Honey. Then they have the more occasion
for being in mine.
Sir W. And upon that I proceed, as my
last effort, though with very little hopes to
reclaim him. That very fellow has just ab- Jar. So!-What will you have done with
sconded, and I have taken up the security. him that I caught stealing your plate in the
Now my intention is to involve him in ficti- pantry? In the fact; I caught him in the fact.
tious distress, before he has plunged himself Honey. In the fact! If so, I really think that
into real calamity; to arrest him for that very we should pay him his wages, and turn him
debt, to clap an officer 1) upon him, and then off.
let him see which of his friends will come to Jar. Yes, he shall be turned off, the dog;
his relief.
we'll hang him, if it be only to frighten the
Jar. Well, if I could but any way see him rest of the family.
thoroughly vexed-yet, faith, I believe it im- Honey. No, Jarvis; it's enough that we have
possible. I have tried to fret him myself every lost what he has stolen, let us not add to it
morning these three years; but instead of be- the loss of a fellow creature.
ing angry, he sits as calmly to hear me scold,
as he does to his hair-dresser.
1) To have him arrested,
Jar. Well, here was the footman just now
to complain of the butler; he says he does
1) In disorder.

470
[[ACT I.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Jar. One whose voice is a passing-bell-
Honey. Well, well, go, do.
most work, and ought to have most wages. Honey. Hush, hush, he's coming up, he'll
Honey. That's but just; though perhaps here hear you.
comes the butler to complain of the footman.
Jar. Ay, it's the way with them all, from
the scullion to the privy counsellor. If they
have a bad master, they keep quarrelling with a
him; if they have a good master, they keep a
quarrelling with one another.
Enter Butler, drunk.
Jar. A raven that bodes nothing but mischief;
coffin and cross-bones; a bundle of rue;
sprig of deadly night-shade; a-
[Honeywood stops his Mouth,
and pushes him off.
Honey. I must own my old monitor is not
But. Sir, I'll not stay in the family with entirely wrong. There is something in my
Jonathan; you must part with him, or part friend Croaker's conversation that quite de-
with me, that's the ex-ex-- position of the presses me. His very mirth is an antidote to
matter, sir.
all gaiety, and his appearance has a stronger
Honey. Explicit enough. But what's his effect on iny spirits that an undertaker's shop.
fault, good Philip?ty
Enter CROAKER.
But. Sir, he's given to drinking, sir; and I
shall have my morals corrupted by keeping Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfaction-
such company.
Croak. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honey-
Honey. Ha, ha! he has such a diverting way. wood, and many of them. How is this? You
Jar. O quite amusing.
look most shockingly to-day, my dear friend.
But. I find my wines a going, sir; and I hope this weather does not affect your
liquors don't go without mouths. I hate a spirits. To be sure, if this weather continues
drunkard, sir.
-I say nothing but God send we be all
better this day three months.
Honey. Well, well, Philip, I'll hear you
upon that another time; so go to bed now.
Honey. I heartily concur in the wish, though
Jar. To bed! Let him go to the devil! I own not in your apprehensions.
But. Begging your honour's pardon, and Croak. May be not! Indeed what signifies
begging your pardon, master Jarvis, I'll not what weather we have in a country going to
go to bed, nor to the devil neither: I have ruin like ours? Then so many foreigners,
enough to do to mind my cellar. I forgot, that I'm afraid for our wives and daughters.
your honour, Mr. Croaker is below. I came Honey. I have no apprehensions for the
on purpose to tell you.
ladies, I assure you.
Honey. Why didn't you show him up,
blockhead?
Croak. May be not. And what signifies?
The women in my time were good for some-
But. Show him up, sir? With all my heart, thing. I have seen a lady dressed from top
sir. Up or down, all's one to me. [Exit. to toe in her own manufactures formerly.
Jar. Ay, we have one or other of that But now-a-days the devil a thing of their
family in this house from morning till night. own manufactures about them, except their
He comes on the old affair, I suppose; the faces.
match between his son, that's just returned Honey. But, however these faults may be
from Paris, and miss Richland, the young lady practised abroad, you don't find them at home,
he's guardian to.
either with Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss
Honey, Perhaps so. Mr. Croaker, knowing Richland.
my friendship for the young lady, has got it Croak. By-the-by, my dear friend, I don't
into his head that, I can persuade her to what find this match between miss Richland and
I please.
my son much relished, either by one side or
t'other.
Jar. Ah! if you loved yourself but half as
well as she loves you, we should soon see a
marriage that would set all things to rights
again.
Honey. I thought otherwise.
Croak. Ah, Mr. Honeywood, a little of your
fine serious advice to the young lady might
Honey. Love me! Sure, Jarvis, you dream. go far: I know she has a very exalted opinion
No; that she is the most lovely woman that of your understanding.
ever warmed the human heart with desire, I Honey. But would not that be usurping
own; but never let me harbour a thought of an authority that more properly belongs to
making her unhappy, by a connexion with yourself?
one so unworthy her merits as I am. No, Croak. My dear friend you know but little
Jarvis, it shall be my study to serve her, eyen of my authority at home. People think, in-
in spite of my wishes; and to secure her hap-deed, because they see me come out in a
piness, though it destroys my own.
morning thus, with a pleasant face, and to
Jar. Was ever the like? I want patience. make my friends merry, that all's well within.
Honey. Besides, Jarvis, though I could ob- But I have cares that would break a heart of
tain miss Richland's consent, do you think I stone. My wife has so encroach'd upon every
could succeed with her guardian, or Mrs. one of my privileges, that I'm now no more
Croaker, his wife? who, though both very than a mere lodger in my own house.
fine in their way, are yet a little opposite in
their dispositions, you know.
Honey. But a little spirit exerted on your
side might perhaps restore your authority.
Jar. Opposite enough, heaven knows; the Croak. No, though I had the spirit of a
very reverse of each other: she, all laugh, and lion! I do rouse sometimes. But what then?
no joke; he, always complaining, and never Always haggling and haggling. A man is
sorrowful; a fretful, poor soul, that has a new tired of getting the better, before his wife is
distress for every hour in the four-and-twenty. tired of losing the victory.

SCENE 1.]
471
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Honey. It's a melancholy consideration in- Mrs. C. I vow he seems as melancholy as
deed, that our chief comforts often produce if he had taken a dose of my husband this
our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of morning. Well, if Richland here will pardon
our possessions is but an inlet to new dis- you, I must.
quietudes.
200
Miss R. You would seem to insinuate, ma-
Croak. Ah, my dear friend, these were the dam, that I have particular reasons for being
very words of poor Dick Doleful to me not disposed to refuse it.
a week before he made away with himself. Mrs. C. Whatever I insinuate, my dear,
Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, I never see you but don't be so ready to wish an explanation.
you put me in mind of poor Dick.-Ah, there Miss R. I own I should be sorry, Mr. Honey-
was merit neglected for you! and so true a wood's long friendship and mine should be
friend; we loved each other for thirty years, misunderstood.
and yet he never asked me to lend him a Honey. There's no answering for others,
single farthing.ed in all
madam. But I hope you'll never find me
Honey. Pray what could induce him to presuming to offer more than the most deli-
comit so rash an action at last?
cate friendship may readily allow.
Croak. I don't know, some people were
malicious enough to say it was keeping com-
Miss R. And I shall be prouder of such a
tribute from you than the most passionate
pany with me; because we used to meet now professions from others.
Miss R. And, without a compliment, I know
none more disinterested or more capable of
friendship than Mr. Honeywood.
and then and open our hearts to each other. Honey. My own sentiments, madam: friend-
To be sure I loved to hear him talk, and he ship is a disinterested commerce between
loved to hear me talk; poor dear Dick. He equals; love, an abject intercourse between
used to say that Croaker rhymed to joker; tyrants and slaves.
and so we us'd to laugh-Poor Dick.
[Going to Cry.
Honey. His fate affects me.
Croak. Ay, he grew sick of this miserable Mrs. C. And indeed I know nobody that
life, where we do nothing but eat and grow has more friends, at least among the ladies.
hungry, dress and undress, get up and lie Miss Fruzz, miss Odbody, and miss Winter-
down; while reason, that should watch like a bottom, praise him in all companies. As for
nurse by our side, falls as fast asleep as we do. miss Biddy Bundle, she's his professed admirer.
Honey. Very true, sir, nothing can exceed Miss R. Indeed! an admirer! But is she
the vanity of our existence, but the folly of seriously so handsome? Is she the mighty
our pursuits. We wept when we came into thing talked of?
the world, and every day tells us why.
Honey. The town, madam, seldom begins
Croak. Ah, my dear friend, it is a perfect to praise a lady's beauty, till she's beginning
satisfaction to be miserable with you. My to lose it.
[Smiling.
son Leontine shan't lose the benefit of such Mrs. C. But she's resolved never to lose it,
fine conversation. I'll just step home for him. it seems. For as her natural face decays, her
And what if I bring my last letter to the Ga- skill improves in making the artificial one.
zetteer, on the increase and progress of earth- Well, nothing diverts me more than one of
quakes? It will amuse us, I promise you. I those fine, old, dressy things, who thinks to
there prove how the late earthquake is coming conceal her age, by every where exposing her
round to pay us another visit from London to person; sticking herself up in the front of a
Lisbon, from Lisbon to the Canary Islands, sidebox; trailing through a minuet at Almack's;
from the Canary Islands to Palmyra, from and then, in the public gardens looking for
Palmyra to Constantinople, and so from Con- all the world like one of the painted ruins of
stantinople back to London again. [Exit. the place.
Honey. Poor Croaker! I shall scarce re- Honey. Every age has its admirers, ladies.
cover my spirits these three days. Sure, to While you, perhaps, are trading among the
live upon such terms is worse than death it- warmer climates of youth, there ought to be
self. And yet, when I consider my own some to carry on a useful commerce in the
situation, a broken fortune, an hopeless pas- frozen latitudes beyond fifty.
sion, friends in distress; the wish, but not the
power to serve them- [Pauses and sighs.
Re-enter Butler.
Miss R. But then the mortifications they
must suffer before they can be fitted out for
traffic. I have seen one of them fret a whole
morning at her hair-dresser, when all the
fault was her face.
But. More company below, sir; Mrs. Croaker
and miss Richland; shall I show them up? Honey. And yet I'll engage has carried that
But they're showing themselves up. [Exit. face at last to a very good market. This
good-natured town, madam, has husbands,
Enter MRS. CROAKER and MISS RICHLAND. like spectacles, to fit every age, from fifteen
Miss R. You're always in such spirits. to fourscore.
Mrs. C. We have just come, my dear Honey- Mrs. C. Well, you're a dear good-natured
wood, from the auction. There was the old
deaf dowager, as usual, bidding like a fury
against herself. And then so curious in an-
tiques! Herself the most genuine piece of an-
tiquity in the whole collection.
Honey. Excuse me, ladies, if some uneasiness
from friendship makes me unfit to share in
this good humour: I know you'll pardon me.
creature. But you know you're engaged with
us this morning upon a strolling party. I
want to show Olivia the town, and the things;
believe I shall have business for you for the
whole day.
I
Honey. I am sorry, madam, I have an ap-
pointment with Mr. Croaker, which it is im-
possible to put off.

472
[ACT I.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Mrs. C. What! with my husband? Then consider every look, every expression of your
I'm resolved to take no refusal. Nay, I protest esteem, as due only to me. This is folly per-
you must. You know I never laugh so much haps: I allow it; but it is natural to suppose,
as with you.
that merit which has made an impression on
Honey. Why, if I must, I must. Do you one's own heart, may be powerful over that
find jest, and I'll find laugh, I promise you. of another.
We'll wait for the chariot in the next room. Leon. Don't, my life's treasure, don't let us
[Exeunt. make imaginary evils, when you know we
have so many real ones to encounter.
worst, you know, if Miss Richland should
consent, or my father refuse his pardon, it
can but end in a trip to Scotland; and-
Re-enter CROAKER.
Enter LEONTINE and OLIVIA.
Leon. There they go, thoughtless and happy.
My dearest Olivia, what would I give to see
you capable of sharing in their amusements,
and as cheerful as they are.
At
Oli. How, my Leontine, how can I be cheer- Croak. Where have you been, boy? I have
ful, when I have so many terrors to oppress been seeking you. My friend Honeywood
me? The fear of being detected by this family, here has been saying such comfortable things.
and the apprehensions of a censuring world Ah! he's an example indeed. Where is he?
when I must be detected-
I left him here.
Leon. The world! my love, what can it say? Leon. Sir, I believe you may see him, and
At worst it can only say, that being com- hear him too in the next room; he's preparing
pelled by a mercenary guardian to embrace to go out with the ladies.
a life you disliked, you formed a resolution Croak. Can I believe my eyes or ears? I'm
of flying with the man of your choice; that struck dumb with his vivacity, and stunn'd
you confided in his honour, and took refuge with the loudness of his laugh. Was there
in my father's house; the only one where yours ever such a transformation! [A Laugh behind
could remain without censure.
the Scenes; Croaker mimics it] Ha, ha, ha!
Oli. But consider, Leontine, your being sent there it goes; a plague take their balderdash;
to France to bring home a sister; and instead yet I could expect nothing less, when my
of a sister bringing home-
precious wife was of the party.
Leon. One dearer than a thousand sisters. Leon. Since you find so many objections to
One that I am convinced will be equally dear a wife, sir, how can you be so earnest in
to the rest of the family, when she comes to recommending one to me?
be known.
Croak. I have told you, and tell you again,
boy, that miss Richland's fortune must not go
out of the family.
Leon. But, sir, it may be possible she has
no inclination to me.
102
Oli. And that, I fear, will shortly be.
Leon. Impossible, till we ourselves think
proper to make the discovery. My sister, you
know, has been with her aunt, at Lyons, since
she was a child, and you find every creature Croak. I'll tell you once for all how it
in the family takes you for her.
stands: a good part of miss Richland's large
Oli. But mayn't she write? mayn't her fortune consists in a claim upon government,
aunt write?
which my good friend, Mr. Lofty, assures me
Leon. Her aunt scarce ever writes, and all the Treasury will allow. One half of this she
my sister's letters are directed to me.
is to forfeit, by her father's will, in case she
Oli. But won't your refusing miss Richland, refuses to marry you. So, if she rejects you,
for whom, you know, the old gentleman in- we seize half her fortune; if she accepts you,
tends you, create a suspicion?
we seize the whole, and a fine girl into the
Leon. But, sir, if you will but listen to
Leon. There, there's my master-stroke. I bargain.
have resolved not to refuse her; nay, an hour
hence I have consented to go with my father, reason-
to make her an offer of my heart and fortune.
Oli. Your heart and fortune!
Croak. I tell you I'm fix'd, determined; so
now produce your reasons. When I'm de-
termined, I always listen to reason, because it
can then do no harm.
Leon. Don't be alarmed, my dearest. Can
Olivia think so meanly of my honour or my
love, as to suppose I could ever hope for hap- Leon. You have alleged that a mutual choice
piness from any but her? No, my Olivia, was the first requisite in matrimonial happiness.
neither the force nor, permit me to add, the Croak. Well, and you have both of you a
delicacy of my passion, leave any room to mutual choice. She has her choice-to marry
suspect me. I only offer miss Richland a you, or lose half her fortune; and you have
heart I am convinced she will refuse; as I am your choice to marry her, or pack out of
confident that, without knowing it, her affec-doors without any fortune at all.
tions are fixed upon Mr. Honeywood.
Leon. An only son, sir, might expect more
Oli. Mr. Honeywood! you'll excuse my ap-indulgence.
prehensions; but when your merits come to Croak. An only father, sir, might expect
be put in the balance-
more obedience; besides, has not your sister
Leon. You view them with too much par- here, that never disobliged me in her life, as
tiality. However, by making this offer, I show good a right as you? He's a sad dog, Livy,
a seeming compliance with my father's com- my dear, and would take all from you.
mands; and perhaps, upon her refusal, I may Oli. Dear sir, I wish you'd be convinced
have his consent to choose for myself. that I can never be happy in any addition to
my fortune, which is taken from his.
Oli. And yet, my Leontine, I own I shall
envy her even your pretended addresses. I
Croak. Well, well, say no more; but come

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
473
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
with me, and we shall see something that will Miss R. Sir, I should be ungrateful not to
give us a great deal of pleasure, I promise be pleased with any thing that comes recom-
you; old Ruggins, the curry-comb maker, lying mended by you.
in state: I'm told he becomes his coffin pro- Croak. How, boy; could you desire a finer
digiously. He was an intimate friend of mine; opening? Why don't you begin, I say?
and these are friendly things we ought to do
for each other.
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-CROAKER'S House.
Enter Miss RICHLAND and GARNET.
Miss R. Olivia not his sister? Olivia not
Leontine's sister?
Gar. No more his sister than I am; I had
it all from his own servant; I can get any
thing from that quarter.
[To Leontine.
Leon. 'Tis true, madam, my father, madam,
has some intentions-hem- of explaining an
affair-which-himself- can best explain,
madam.
Croak. Yes, my dear, it comes entirely from
my son; it's all a request of his own, madam.
Leon. The whole affair is only this, ma-
dam; my father has a proposal to make, which
he insists none but himself shall deliver.
Croak. In short, madam, you see before
you one that loves you; one whose whole
Miss R. But how? Tell me again, Garnet. happiness is all in you.
Gar. Why, madam, as I told you before, Miss R. I never had any doubts of your
instead of going to Lyons to bring home his regard, sir; and I hope you can have none
sister, who has been there with her aunt these of my duty.
ten years, he never went further than Paris; Croak. That's not the thing, my little sweet-
there he saw and fell in love with this young ing; my love! No, no, there he stands, ma-
lady; by-the-by, of a prodigious family. dam; his very looks declare the force of his
Miss R. And brought her home to my guar-passion-Call up a look, you dog.-But then
dian as his daughter?
had you seen him, as I have, weeping, speak-
Gar. Yes, and daughter she will be. If he ing soliloquies and blank verse, sometimes
don't consent to their marriage, they talk of melancholy, and sometimes absent-
trying what a Scotch parson can do.
Miss R. I fear, sir, he's absent now; or such
Miss R. Well, I own they have deceived a declaration would have come most properly
And so demurely has Olivia carried it from himself.
too! Would you believe it, Garnet, I told
her all my secrets; and yet the sly cheat con-
cealed all this from me?
Gar. And, upon my word, madam, I don't
much blame her; she was loath to trust one
with her secrets, that was so very bad at
keeping her own. their dece
Miss R. But, to add to their deceit, the
young gentleman, it seems, pretends to make
me serious proposals; and you know I am to
lose half my fortune if I refuse him.
Croak. Himself, madam! he would die be-
fore he could make such a confession.
Miss R. I must grant, sir, that a silent ad-
dress is the genuine eloquence of sincerity.
Croak. Madam, he has forgot to speak any
other language; silence is become his mother
tongue.
Miss R. And it must be confessed, sir, it
speaks very powerfully in his favour. And
yet, I shall be thought too forward in making
such a confession; shan't I, Mr. Leontine?
Gar. Yet, what can you do? for being, as Leon. Confusion! my reserve will undo me
you are, in love with Mr. Honey wood, madam-But, if modesty attracts her, impudence may
Miss R. Well, no more of this! As to my disgust her. I'll try. [Aside] Don't imagine,
guardian, and his son, they shall find me pre- from my silence, madam, that I want a due
pared to receive them; I'm resolved to accept sense of the honour and happiness intended
their proposal with seeming pleasure, to mor- me. My father, madam, tells me, your humble
tify them by compliance, and throw the refusal servant is not totally indifferent to you; he
at last upon them.
admires you; I adore you: and when we come
Gar. Delicious! and that will secure your together, upon my soul, I believe we shall be
whole fortune to yourself. Well, who could the happiest couple in all St. James's.
have thought so innocent a face could cover
so much cuteness?
Miss R. Why, girl, I only oppose my pru-
dence to their cunning, and practise a lesson
they have taught me against themselves.
Gar. Then you're likely not long to want
employment; for here they come.
Enter CROAKER and LEONTINE.
Leon. Excuse me, sir, if I seem to hesitate
upon the point of putting the lady so impor-
tant a question.
Miss R. If I could flatter myself, you thought
as you speak, sir-
Leon. Doubt my sincerity, madam? By your
dear self I swear. Ask the brave if they de-
sire glory; ask cowards if they covet safety-
Croak. Well, well, no more questions
about it.
Leon. Ask the sick if they long for health;
ask misers if they love money; ask-
Croak. Ask a fool if he can talk nonsense!
What signifies asking, when there's not a soul
to give you an answer? If you would ask
Croak. Lord, good sir! moderate your fears; to the purpose, ask this lady's consent to make
I tell you we must have the half or the whole. you happy.
-
Come, let me see with what spirit you begin! Miss R. Why, indeed, sir, his uncommon
Well, why don't you? Eh! What? Well ardour almost compels me, forces me to com-
then I must, it seems-Miss Richland, my ply. And yet I'm afraid he'll despise a conquest
dear, I believe you guess at our business; an gain'd with too much ease; won't you, Mr.
affair which nearly concerns your happiness, Leontine?
as well as my son's.
Leon. Confusion! [Aside] O, by no means,
60

474
[ACT II.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
madam; by no means. And yet, madam, you pleases with those that do what they please?
talk of force: there is nothing I would avoid Isn't he an acquaintance that all your groaning
so much as compulsion in a thing of this and lamentations could never have got us?
kind. No, madam, I will still be generous, Croak. He is a man of importance, I grant
and leave you at liberty to refuse.
you. And yet, what amazes me is, that while
Croak. But I tell you, sir, the lady is not he is giving away places to all the world, he
at liberty. It's a match. You see she says can't get one for himself.
nothing: silence gives consent.
Mrs. C. That, perhaps, may be owing to
Leon. Consider, sir, the cruelty of con- his nicety. Great men are not easily satisfied.
straining her inclinations.
I'll not hear a word.
Enter a French Servant.
Croak. But I say there's no cruelty. Don't
you know, blockhead, that girls have always Sero. An expresse from monsieur Lofty.
a roundabout way of saying yes before com- He vil be vait upon your honour's instammant.
pany? So get you both gone together into He be only giving four five instruction, read
the next room; and hang him that interrupts two tree memorial, call upon von ambas-
the tender explanation. Get you gone, I say; sadeur. He vil be vid you in one tree minutes.
Mrs. C. You see now, my dear. What an
Leon. But, sir, I must beg leave to insist-extensive department! Well, friend, let your
Croak. Get off, you puppy, or I'll beg leave master know, that we are extremely honoured
to insist upon knocking you down. Stupid by this honour. [Exit French Servant] Was
whelp. But I don't wonder; the boy takes there any thing ever in a higher style of
entirely after his mother.
breeding? All messages among the great are
[Exeunt Miss Richland and Leontine. now done by express.
Enter MRS. CROAKER.
Croak. To be sure, no man does little
things with more solemnity, or claims more
respect than he; but he's in the right on't. In
our bad world, respect is given where respect
is claim'd.
Mrs. C. Mr. Croaker, I bring you something,
my dear, that I believe will make you smile.
Croak. I'll hold you a guinea of that, my dear.
Mrs. C. A letter; and, as I knew the hand, Mrs. C. Never mind the world, my dear;
I ventured to open it.
you were never in a pleasanter place in your
Croak. And how can you expect your life. Let us now think of receiving him with
breaking open my letters should give me proper respect; [A loud rapping at the Door]
pleasure?
and there he is, by the thundering rap.
Mrs. C. Pooh, it's from your sister at Lyons,
and contains good news: read it.
Croak. What a Frenchified cover is here!
Tkat sister of mine has some good qualities;
but I could, never teach her to fold a letter.
Mrs. C. Fold a fiddlestick. Read what it
contains. A
Croak. Ay, verily, there he is, as close
upon the heels of his own express, as an
indorsement upon the back of a bill. Well,
I'll leave you to receive him, whilst I go to
chide my little Olivia for intending to steal a
marriage without mine or her aunt's consent.
[Exit.
Croak. [Reads] Dear Nick-An English
gentleman, of large fortune, has for some
Enter LOFTY, speaking to his Servant.
time made private, though honourable pro- Lofty. And if the Venetian ambassador, or
posals to your daughter Olivia. They love that teasing creature, the marquis, should call,
each other tenderly; and I find she has I'm not at home. Dam'me, I'll be pack-horse
consented, without letting any of the family to none of them. My dear madam, I have
know, to crown his addresses. As such just snatched a moment-And if the expresses
good offers don't come every day, your to his grace be ready, let them be sent off;
own good sense, his large fortune, and they're of importance. Madam, I ask a thou-
family considerations, will induce you to sand pardons.
forgive her. Yours ever, RACHEL CROAKER.- Mrs. C. Sir, this honour-
My daughter Olivia privately contracted to a Lofty. And, Dubardieu, if the person calls
man of large fortune! This is good news in-about the commission, let him know that it is
deed: my heart never foretold me of this. made out. As for lord Cumbercourt's stale
And yet, how slily the little baggage has car- request, it can keep cold: you understand me.
ried it since she came home. Not a word on't Madam, I ask ten thousand pardons.
to the old ones for the world. Yet, I thought
I saw something she wanted to conceal.
Mrs. C. Sir, this honour-be
Lofty. And, Dubardieu, if the man comes
Mrs. C. Well, if they have concealed their from the Cornish borough, you must do him;
amour, they shan't conceal their wedding; that you must do him, I say. Madam, I ask you,
shall be public, I'm resolved.
ten thousand pardons --And if the Russian-
Croak. I tell thee, woman, the wedding is ambassador calls; but he will scarce call to-
the most foolish part of the ceremony.
day, I believe. And now, madam, I have just
Mrs. C. But come, tell me, my dear, don't got time to express my happiness, in having
you owe more to me than you care to con- the honour of being permitted to profess my-
fess? Would you have ever been known to self your most obedient humble servant.
Mr. Lofty, who has undertaken miss Rich- Mrs. C. Sir, the happiness and honour are
land's claim at the Treasury, but for me? all mine; and yet, I'm only robbing the public
Who was it first made him an acquaintance while I detain you.
at lady Shabbaroon's rout? Who got him to Lofty. Sink the public, madam, when the
promise us his interest? Is not he a back-fair are to be attended. Ah, could all my
stairs favourite; one that can do what he hours be so charmingly devoted! Thus it is

SCENE 1.]
475
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
eternally; solicited for places here; teased for
pensions there; and courted every where.
know you pity me.
Mrs. C. Excuse me, sir. "Toils of empires'
pleasures are," as Waller says-
Mrs. C. A prisoner in his own house! How!
II'm quite unhappy for him.
Lofty. Why, so am I. The man, to be
sure, was immensely good-natured; but then
I could never find that he had any thing
Lofty. Waller! Waller! is he of the house? in him.
Mrs. C. The modern poet of that name, sir. Mrs. C. His manner, to be sure, was ex-
Lofty. Oh, a modern! we men of business cessive harmless; some indeed thought it a
despise the moderns; and as for the ancients, little dull: for my part, I always concealed
we have no time to read them. Poetry is a my opinion.
pretty thing enough for our wives and daugh- Lofty. It can't be concealed, madam, the
ters; but not for us. Why now, here I stand, man was dull, dull as the last new comedy!
that know nothing of books. I say, madam, A poor impracticable creature! I tried once
I know nothing of books; and yet, I believe, or twice to know if he was fit for business;
upon a land-carriage fishery, a stamp act, or but he had scarce talents to be groomporter
a jaghire, I can talk my two hours without to an orange barrow.
feeling the want of them.
Mrs. C. The world is no stranger to Mr.
Lofty's eminence in every capacity.
Mrs. C. How differently does miss Richland
think of him! for, I believe, with all his faults,
she loves him.
Lofty. I'm nothing, nothing, nothing in the Lofty. Loves him! Does she? You should
world; a mere obscure gentleman. To be cure her of that by all means. Let me see:
sure, indeed, one or two of the present mi- what if she were sent to him this instant, in
nisters are pleased to represent me as a for- his present doleful situation? My life for it,
midable man. I know they are pleased to that works her cure. Distress is a perfect
bespatter me at all their little dirty levees; antidote to love. Suppose we join her in the
yet, upon my soul, I wonder what they see next room? Miss Richland is a fine girl, has
in me to treat me so! Measures, not men, a fine fortune, and must not be thrown away.
have always been my mark; and I vow, by all Upon my honour, madam, I have a regard for
that's honourable, my resentment has never miss Richland; and, rather than she should be
done the men, as mere men, any manner of thrown away, I should think it no indignity
harm-that is, as mere men.
to marry her myself.
[Exeunt.
Mrs. C. What importance! and yet, what
modesty.
Re-enter LEONTINE, with OLIVIA.
Lofty. Oh, if you talk of modesty, madam! Leon. And yet trust me, Olivia, I had every
there I own, I'm accessible to praise: modesty reason to expect miss Richland's refusal, as I
is my foible. It was so the duke of Brentford did every thing in my power to deserve it.
used to say of me: "I love Jack Lofty," he Her indelicacy surprises me!
used to say; "no man has a finer knowledge Oli. Sure, Leontine, there's nothing so in-
of things; quite a man of information; and delicate in being sensible of your merit. If
when he speaks upon his legs, by the Lord, so, I fear I shall be the most guilty thing alive.
he's prodigious; he scouts them; and yet all Leon. But you mistake, my dear. The same
men have their faults: too much modesty is attention I used to advance my merit with
his," says his grace.
you, I practised to lessen it with her.
Mrs. C. And yet, I dare say, you don't want Oli. We have both dissembled too long;
assurance when you come to solicit for your I have always been ashamed, I am now quite
friends.
weary of it.-Sure I could never have under-
Lofty. O, there indeed I'm in bronze. gone so much for any other but you.
A propos, I have just been mentioning miss Leon. And you shall find my gratitude equal
Richland's case to a certain personage; we to your kindest compliance.
must name no names. When I ask, I am not Oli. Then why should we defer our scheme
to be put off, madam. No, no, I take my of humble happiness, when it is now in our
friend by the button: a fine girl, sir; great power? I may be the favourite of your father,
justice in her case. A friend of mine. Borough it is true; but can it ever be thought that his
interest. Business must be done, Mr. Secre- present kindness to a supposed child will con-
tary. I say, Mr. Secretary, her business must tinue to a known deceiver?
be done, sir. That's my way, madam.
Mrs. C. Bless me, you said all this to the
secretary of state, did you?
Lofty. I did not say the secretary, did I?
Well, curse it, since you have found me out,
I will not deny it: it was to the secretary.
Mrs. C. This was going to the fountain
head at once; not applying to the understrap-
pers, as Mr. Honeywood would have had us.
Lofty. Honeywood! he, he! He was indeed
a fine solicitor. I suppose you have heard
what has just happened to him?
Mrs. C. Poor, dear man! no accident, I
hope.
Lofty. Undone, madam, that's all. His cre-
ditors have taken him into custody. A prisoner
in his own house."
Leon. As his attachments are but few, they
are lasting. His own marriage was a private
one, as ours may be. Besides, I have sounded
him already at a distance, and find all his
answers exactly to our wish. Nay, by an ex-
pression or two that dropped from him, I am
induced to think he knows of this affair.
Oli. Indeed! But that would be a happiness
too great to be expected.
Leon. However it be, I'm certain you have
power over him; and am persuaded, if you
informed him of our situation, that he would
be disposed to pardon it.
Oli. You had equal expectations, Leontine,
from your last scheme with miss Richland,
which you find has succeeded most wretchedly.
Leon. And that's the best reason for trying

476
[ACT III.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
another. As we could wish, he comes this put such generosity to a second trial. And
way. Now, my dearest Olivia, be resolute. as for the partner of my offence and folly,
I'll just retire within hearing, to come in at a from his native honour and the just sense he
proper time, either to share your danger or has of his duty, I can answer for him that-
confirm your victory.
[Exit.
Re-enter CROAKER.
Re-enter LEONTINE.
Leon. Permit him thus to answer for him-
Croak. Yes, I must forgive her; and yet self. [Kneels] Thus, sir, let me speak my
not too easily neither. It will be proper to gratitude for this unmerited forgiveness. Yes,
keep up
the decorums of resentment a little, sir, this even exceeds all your former ten-
if it be only to impress her with an idea of derness: I now can boast the most indulgent
my authority.
[Aside. of fathers. The life he gave, compared to
Oli. How I tremble to approach him! this, was but a trifling blessing.
[Aside] Might I presume, sir?-If I inter- Croak. And, good sir, who sent for you,
rupt you-
with that fine tragedy face and flourishing
Croak. No, child, where I have an affec-manner? I don't know what we have to do
tion, it is not a little thing can interrupt me. with your gratitude upon this occasion.
Oli. Sir, I'm sensible how ill I deserve this Leon. How, sir, is it possible to be silent
partiality; yet heaven knows there is nothing when so much obliged? Would you refuse
would not do to gain it.
me the pleasure of being grateful? of adding
Croak. And you have but too well suc- my thanks to my Olivia's? of sharing in the
ceeded, you little hussy you. With those transports that you have thus occasioned?
endearing ways of yours, on my conscience,
I could be brought to forgive any thing.
Oli. But when you know my guilt-yes,
you shall know it, though I feel the greatest in the benefit, is it not my duty to show my
pain in the confession.
Croak. Why then, if it be so very great a
pain, you may spare yourself the trouble, for
know every syllable of the matter before
you begin.
Oli. Indeed! Then I'm undone.
Croak. Ay, miss, you wanted to steal a
Croak. Lord, sir, we can be happy enough,
without your coming in to make up the party.
Leon. But, sir, I that have so large a part
joy? Is the happiness of marrying my Olivia
so small a blessing?
Croak. Marrying Olivia! marrying Olivia!
marrying his own sister! Sure the boy is
out of his senses. His own sister!
Leon. My sister!
Croak. What does the booby mean? or
match. I'm not worth being consulted, I sup- has he any meaning?
pose, when there's to be a marriage in my Leon. Mean, sir? Why, sir-only when
own family. No, I'm to have no hand in the my sister is to be married, that I have the
disposal of my own children; no, I'm no-pleasure of marrying her, sir; that is, of gi-
body. I'm to be a mere article of family ving her away, sir. I have made a point
lumber; a piece of cracked china, to be stuck of it.
up in a corner.
Croak. O, is that all? Give her away. You
Oli. Dear sir, nothing but the dread of have made a point of it. Then you had as
your authority could induce us to conceal it good make a point of first giving away your-
from you.
self, as I'm going to prepare the writings be-
Croak. No, no, my consequence is no more; tween you and miss Richland this very mi-
I'm as little minded as a dead Russian in nute. What a fuss is here about nothing!
winter, just stuck up, with a pipe in his mouth, Why, what's the matter now? I thought I
till there comes a thaw.
had made you at least as happy as you could
wish. 20
Oli. I was prepared, sir, for your anger,
and despaired of pardon, even while I pre-
sumed to ask it.
Croak. And yet you should not despair
neither, Livy.
Oli. And do you permit me to hope, sir?
Can I ever expect to be forgiven? But hope
has too long deceived me.
Croak, Why then, child, it shan't deceive
you now, for I forgive you this very moment.
I forgive you all; and now you are indeed
my daughter.
powers me.
Oli. O yes, sir, very happy.-How have I
been mistaken!
[Aside.
Croak. Do you foresee any thing, child?
You look as if you did. I think if any thing
was to be foreseen, I have as sharp a look-
out as another; and yet I foresee nothing.
Oli. What can it mean?
[Exit.
Leon. He knows something; and yet, for
my life, I can't tell what: but whatever it be,
I'm resolved to put it out of fortune's power
Oli. O transport! This kindness over- to repeat our mortification. I'll haste and
prepare for our journey to Scotland this very
Croak. I was always against severity to our evening. My friend Honeywood has promised
children. We have been young and giddy me his advice and assistance; and I know so
ourselves, and we can't expect boys and girls much of his honest heart, that if he can't re-
to be old before their time.
lieve our uneasiness, he will at least share
[Exeunt.
Oli. What generosity! But can you forget them.
the many falsehoods, the dissimulation-
Croak. You did indeed dissemble; but where's
the girl that won't dissemble for an husband?
My wife and I had never been married, if we
had not dissembled a little beforehand.
Oli. It shall be my future care never to
ACT III.
SCENE I-Young HONEYWOOD's House.
Enter HONEYWOOD, BAILIFF, and Follower.
Bail. Lookye, sir, I have arrested as good

SCENE 1.]
477
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
|
men as you in my time; no disparagement Bail. Sir, you're a gentleman: I see you
of you neither. Men that would go forty know what to do with your money. But to
guineas on a game of cribbage. I challenge business: we are to be with you here as your
the town to show a man in more genteeler friends, I suppose; but set in case company
practice than my self.
Honey. Without all question, Mr.--. I for-
get your name, sir.
Bail. How can you forget what you never
knew? He, he, he!
Dopo
Honey. May I beg leave to ask your name?
Bail. Yes, you may.
Honey. Then pray, sir, what is your name, sir?
Bail. That I didn't promise to tell you;
he, he, he! A joke breaks no bones, as we
say among us that practice the law.
Honey. You may have reason for keeping
it a secret perhaps?
comes.-Little Flanigan here, to be sure, has a
good face, a very good face; but then he is
a little seedy, as we say among us that prac-
tice the law. Not well in clothes. Smoke
the pocket-holes').
Honey. Well, that shall be remedied with-
out delay.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. That your honour gave away to the
Serv. Sir, miss Richland is below.
Honey. How unlucky. Detain her a moment.
We must improve, my good friend, little Mr.
Flanigan's appearance first. Here, let Mr.
Flanigan have a suit of my clothes-quick-
Bail. The law does nothing without reason. the brown and silver-Do you hear?
I'm asham'd to tell my name to no man, sir.
If you can show cause, as why, upon a spe- begging gentleman that makes verses, because
cial capus, that I should prove my name it was as good as new.
--But come, Timothy Twitch is my name. Honey. The white and gold then.
And now you know my name, what have Sero. That, your honour, I made bold to
you to say to that?
sell, because it was good for nothing.
Honey. Nothing in the world, good Mr. Honey. Well, the first that comes to hand
Twitch, but that I have a favour to ask, then: the blue and gold. I believe Mr. Fla-
that's all.
nigan will look best in blue.
Bail. Ay, favours are more easily asked
[Exeunt Servant and Follower.
than granted, as we say among us that prac- Bail. Rabbit me, but little Flanigan will
tice the law. I have taken an oath against look well in any thing. There's not a prettier
granting favours. Would you have me per- scout in the four counties after a shy-cock
jure myself?
than he: scents like a hound; sticks like a
Honey. But my request will come recom-weazle. He was master of the ceremonies to
mended in so strong a manner, as, I believe the black queen of Morocco when I took
you'll have no scruple. [Pulls out his Purse] him to follow me.
The thing is only this: I believe I shall be
able to discharge this trifle in two or three
Re-enter Follower.
days at furthest; but as I would not have Heh, ecod, I think he looks so well, that I
the affair known for the world, I have thoughts don't care if I have a suit from the same
of keeping you, and your good friend here, place for myself.
about me till the debt is discharged; for which Honey. Well, well, I hear the lady coming.
I shall be properly grateful.
Dear Mr. Twitch, I beg you'll give your
lady that I have something to say for myself
as well as another. One man has one way
of talking, and another man has another;
that's all the difference between them.
Bail. Oh! that's another maxum, and alto-friend directions not to speak. As for your-
gether within my oath. For certain, if an ho- self, I know you will say nothing without
nest man is to get any thing by a thing, being directed.
there's no reason why all things should not Bail. Never you fear me; I'll show the
be done in civility. Cor
Honey. Doubtless, all trades must live, Mr.
Twitch; and yours is a necessary one.
[Gives him Money.
Bail. Oh! your honour; I hope your ho-
nour takes nothing amiss as I does, as I'does no-
thing but my duty in so doing. I'm sure no man
can say I ever give a gentleman, that was a
gentleman, ill usage. If I saw that a gentle-
man was a gentleman, I have taken money
not to see him for ten weeks together.
Honey. Tenderness is a virtue, Mr. Twitch,
and humanity-
Enter MISS RICHLAND and Maid.
Miss R. You'll be surprised, sir, with this
visit; but you know I'm yet to thank you for
choosing my little library.
Honey. Thanks, madam, are unnecessary,
as it was I that was obliged by your com-
mands. Chairs here. Two of my very good
friends, Mr. Twitch and Mr. Flanigan, Pray,
Bail. Humanity, sir, is a jewel; it's better gentlemen, sit without ceremony.
than gold. I love humanity. People may say Miss R. Who can these odd-looking men
that we, in our way, have no humanity; but be? I fear it is as I was informed. It must
I'll show you my humanity this moment. be so.
[Aside
There's my follower here, little Flanigan, with Bail. [After a Pause] Pretty weather,
a wife and four children; a guinea or two very pretty weather for the time of the year,
would be more to him than twice as much madam.
country.
to another. Now, as I can't show him any Fol. Very good circuit weather in the
humanity myself, I must beg leave you'll do
it for me.
Honey. I assure you, Mr. Twitch, yours is
a most powerful recommendation.
[Gives Money to the Follower.
Honey. You officers are generally favourites
among the ladies. My friends, madam, have
been upon very disagreeable duty, I assure
1) Look at the pocket-holes of his coat,

478
[ACT III.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
you. The fair should, in some measure, re- Honey. Mr. Flanigan, if you spoke for
compense the toils of the brave.
ever, you could not improve the last obser-
Miss R. Our officers do indeed deserve vation. For my own part, I think it con-
every favour. The gentlemen are in the ma-clusive.
rine service, I presume, sir?
Bail. As for the matter of that, nayhap-
Honey. Why, madam, they do-occasionally Honey. Nay, sir, give me leave in this in-
serve in the Fleet, madam: a dangerous service. stance to be positive: for where is the neces-
Miss R. I'm told so; and I own, it has oft- sity of censuring works without genius, which
en surprised me, that, while we have had so must shortly sink of themselves? what is it
many instances of bravery there, we have had but aiming our unnecessary blow against a
so few of wit at home to praise it.
victim already under the hands of justice?
Bail. Justice! O, by the elevens, if you
talk about justice, I think I am at home there;
for, in a course of law-
Honey. I grant, madam, that our poets
have not written as our soldiers have fought;
but they have done all they could.
Miss R. I'm quite displeased when I see
fine subject spoiled by a dull writer.
a
Honey. My dear Mr. Twitch, I discern
what you'd be at perfectly; and I believe the
Honey. We should not be so severe against lady must be sensible of the art with which
dull writers, madam; it is ten to one but the it is introduced. I suppose you perceive the
dullest writer exceeds the most rigid French meaning, madam, of his course of law?
critic who presumes to despise him.
Fol. Damn the French, the parle vous, and
all that belongs to them.
Miss R. Sir!
Honey. Ha, ha, ha! honest Mr. Flanigan.
A true English officer, madam; he's not con-
tented with beating the French, but he will
scold them too.
Miss R. Yet, Mr. Honeywood, this does not
convince me but that severity in criticism is ne-
cessary: it was our first adopting the severity
of French taste, that has brought them in turn to
taste us.
Miss R. I protest, sir, I do not. I perceive
only that you answer one gentleman before
he has finished, and the other before he has
well begun.
Bail. Madam, this here question is about
severity, and justice, and pardon, and the
like of they. Now to explain the thing-
Honey. O! curse your explanations. [Aside.
Re-enter a Servant.
Serv. Mr. Leontine, sir, below, desires to
speak with you upon earnest business. [Exit.
Honey. That's lucky. [Aside] Dear madam,
Bail. Taste us! by the Lord, madam, they you'll excuse me, and my good friends here,
devour us. Give monseers but a taste, and for a few minutes. There are books, madam,
I'll be damn'd but they come in for a bellyful. to amuse you. Come, gentlemen, you know
Miss R. Very extraordinary this.
I make no ceremony with such friends. After
Fol. But very true. What makes the bread you, sir. Excuse me. Well, if I must; but
rising? the parle vous that devour us. What I know your natural politeness.
makes the mutton tenpence a pound? the
parle vous that eat it up. What makes the
beer threepence halfpenny a pot?-
Bail. Before and behind, you know.
Fol. Ay, ay, before and behind; before and
behind.
Honey. Ah, the vulgar rogues! all will be [Exeunt Honeywood, Bailiff, and Follower.
out. [Aside] Right, gentlemen; very right Miss R. What can all this mean, Garnet?
upon my word, and quite to the purpose. Gar. Mean, madam? why, what should it
They draw a parallel, madam, between the mean, but what Mr. Lofty sent you here to
mental taste and that of our senses. We are see? These people he calls officers, are of
injur'd as much by French severity in the ficers sure enough: sheriff's officers.
one, as by French rapacity in the other. That's Miss R. Ay, it is certainly so. Well, though
their meaning.
his perplexities are far from giving me pleasure;
Miss R. Though I don't see the force of yet, I own there's something very ridiculous
the parallel, yet I'll own that we should some- in them, and a just punishment for his dis-
times pardon books, as we do our friends, simulation.
that have now and then agreeable absurdities
to recommend them.
Bail. That's all my eye; the king only can
pardon, as the law says: for set in case-
Gar. And so they are. But I wonder, ma-
dam, that the lawyer you just employed to
pay his debts, and set him free, has not done
it by this time: he ought at least to have been
here before now.
Honey. I'm quite of your opinion, sir: I
see the whole drift of your argument. Yes,
certainly our presuming to pardon any work,
Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD.
is arrogating a power that belongs to another. Sir W. For Miss Richland to undertake
If all have power to condemn, what writer setting him free, I own, was quite unexpected;
can be free?
it has totally unhinged my schemes to reclaim
Bail. By his habus corpus. His habus cor- him. Yet, it gives me pleasure to find, that,
pus can set him free at any time: for set in case-among a number of worthless friendships, he
Honey. I'm obliged to you, sir, for the has made one acquisition of real value; for
hint. If, madam, as my friend observes, our there must be some softer passion on her side
laws are so careful of a gentleman's person, that prompts this generosity. Ha! here before
sure we ought to be equally careful of his me! I'll endeavour to sound her affections.
dearer part, his fame.
Fol. Ay, but if so be a man's nabb'd ¹),
you know
1) Caught.
[Aside] Madam, as I am the person that have
had some demands upon the gentleman of
this house, I hope you'll excuse me, if, be-
fore I enlarged him, I wanted to see yourself.

SCENE 1.]
479
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Miss R. The precaution was very unne-Richland here before me! Punctual, as usual,
cessary, sir. I suppose your wants were only to the calls of humanity. I'm very sorry, ma-
such as my agent had power to satisfy. dam, things of this kind should happen, espe-
Sir W. Partly, madam; but I was also cially to a man I have shown every where,
willing you should be fully apprised of the and carried amongst us as a particular ac-
character of the gentleman you intended to serve. quaintance.
Miss R. It must come, sir, with a very ill Miss R. I find, sir, you have the art of
grace from you. To censure it, after what making the misfortunes of others your own.
you have done, would look like malice; and Lofty. My dear madam, what can a pri-
to speak favourably of a character you have vate man like me do? one man can't do
oppressed, would be impeaching your own. every thing: and then, I do so much in this
And sure his tenderness, his humanity, his way every day. Let me see: something con-
universal friendship, may atone for many faults, siderable might be done for him by subscrip-
Sir W. That friendship, madam, which is tion: it could not fail if I carried the list.
exerted in too wide a sphere, becomes totally I'll undertake to set down a brace of dukes,
useless: our bounty, like a drop of water, two dozen lords, and half the lower house,
dissappears when diffused too widely. They at my own peril.
who pretend most to this universal benevo- Sir W. And after all, it's more than prob-
lence, are either deceivers, or dupes; men who able, sir, he might reject the offer of such power-
desire to cover their private ill nature, by a ful patronage.
pretended regard for all; or men who, reason- Lofty. Then, madam, what can we do?
ing themselves into false feelings, are more You know, I never make promises In truth,
earnest in pursuit of splendid, than of useful I once or twice tried to do something with
virtues.
Miss R. I am surprised, sir, to hear one
who has probably been a gainer by the folly
of others, so severe in his censure of it.
Sir W. Whatever I may have gained by
folly, madam, you see I am willing to pre-
vent your losing by it.
him in the way of business; but, as I often
told his uncle, sir William Honeywood, the
man was utterly impracticable.
Sir W. His uncle! Then that gentleman, I
suppose, is a particular friend of yours?
Lofty. Meaning me, sir?-Yes, madam, as
I often said, "My dear sir William, you are
Miss R. Your cares for me, sir, are unne-sensible I would do any thing, as far as my
cessary. I always suspect those services which poor interest goes, to serve your family;" but
are denied where they are wanted; and offer- what can be done? there's no procuring first-
ed, perhaps, in hopes of a refusal. No, sir, rate places for ninth-rate abilities.
my directions have been given, and I insist Miss R. I have heard of sir William Ho-
upon their being complied with. oneywood; he's abroad in employment; he
Sir W. Thou amiable woman! I can no confided in your judgment, I suppose.
longer contain the expressions of my grati- Lofty. Why, yes, madam; I believe sir
tude; my pleasure. You see before you one William had some reason to confide in my
who has been equally careful of his interest: judgment; one little reason, perhaps.
one who has for some time been a concealed Miss R. Pray, sir, what was it? Sh
spectator of his follies; and only punished, in Lofty. Why, madam- but let it go no
hopes to reclaim them-his uncle.
it was I procured him his place.
You
further
Sir W. Did you, sir?
Lofty. Either you or I, sir.
Miss R. Sir William Honeywood!
amaze me. How shall I conceal my confu-
sion? [Aside] I fear, sir, you'll think I have
been too forward in my services. I confess I-indeed.
solicitor there.
39
Miss R. That, Mr. Lofty, was very kind,
Sir W. Don't make any apologies, madam: Lofty. I did love him, to be sure; he had
I only find myself unable to repay the obli- some amusing qualities; no man was fitter to
gation. And yet, I have been trying my in- be toast-master to a club, or had a better head.
terest of late to serve you. Having learned, Miss R. A better head?
madam, that you had some demands upon Lofty. Ay, at a bottle. To be sure he was
government, I have, though unasked, been your as dull as a choice spirit; but, hang it, he
was grateful, very grateful; and gratitude
Miss R. Sir, I'm infinitely obliged to your hides a multitude of faults.
intentions; but my guardian has employed Sir W. He might have reason, perhaps.
another gentleman, who assures him of success. His place is pretty considerable, I'm told.
Sir W. Who? the important little man
that visits here? Trust me, madam, he's quite
contemptible among men in power, and utter-
ly unable to serve you. Mr. Lofty's promises Sir W. Dignity of person, do you mean,
are much better known to people of fashion sir? I'm told he's much about my size and
than his person, I assure you.
Miss R. How have we been deceived! As
sure as can be, here he comes.
Sir W. Does he? Remember I'm to con-
tinue unknown: my return to England has
not as yet been made public. With what
impudence he enters!
Enter LOFTY.
Lofty. Let the chariot-let my chariot
off; I'll visit to his grace's in a chair.
Lofty. A trifle, a mere trifle, among us
men of business. The truth is, he wanted
dignity to fill up a greater.
figure, sir.
Lofty. Ay, tall enough for a marching re-
giment; but then he wanted a something; a
consequence of form; a kind of a-I believe
the lady perceives my meaning.
Miss R. O perfectly; you courtiers can do
any thing, I see.
Lofty. My dear madam, all this is but a
drive mere exchange; we do greater things for one
Miss another every day. Why, as thus, now: let

480
[ACT IV.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
me suppose you the first lord of the Treasury, of the bailiffs, and now he's again engaging,
you have an employment in you that I want; tooth and nail, in assisting old Croaker's son
I have a place in me that you want; do me to patch up a clandestine match with the young
here, do you there: interest of both sides, few lady that passes in the house for his sister.
words, flat, done and done, and it's over.
Sir W. Ever busy to serve others.
Sir W. A thought strikes me. [Aside] Now Jar. Ay, any body but himself. The young
you mention sir William Honeywood, madam; couple, it seems, are just setting out for Scot-
and as he seems, sir, an acquaintance of yours; land, and he supplies them with money for
you'll be glad to hear he's arrived from Italy; the journey.pol how peab
I had it from a friend who knows him as Sir W. Money! how is he able to supply
well as he does me, and you may depend others, who has scarce any for himself?
on my information.
Jar. Why, there it is; he has no money,
Lofty. The devil he is!
[Aside. that's true; but then, as he never said no to
Sir W. He is certainly returned; and as any request in his life, he has given them a
this gentleman is a friend of yours, he can bill drawn by a friend of his upon a mer-
be of signal service to us, by introducing me chant in the city, which I am to get changed;
to him; there are some papers relative to your for you must know that I am to go with them
affairs, that require dispatch and his inspection. to Scotland myself.ante
Miss R. This gentleman, Mr. Lofty, is a
person employed in my affairs: I know you'll
serve us.
(૯
Lofty. My dear madam, I live but to serve
you. Sir William shall even wait upon him,
if you think proper to command it.
Sir W. That would be quite unnecessary.
Lofty. Well, we must introduce you then.
Call upon me-let me see-ay, in two days.
Sir W. Now, or the opportunity will be
lost for ever.
Lofty. Well, if it must be now, now let it
be. But, damn it, that's unfortunate; my
lord Grig's cursed Pensacola business comes
on this very hour, and I'm engaged to attend
-another time-
Sir W. A short letter to sir William will do.
Lofty. You shall have it; yet, in my opi-
nion, a letter is a very bad way of going to
work; face to face, that's my way.
Sir W. The letter, sir, will do quite as well.
Lofty. Zounds, sir, do you pretend to direct
me; direct me in the business of office? Do
you know me, sir! who am I?
Miss R. Dear Mr. Lofty, this request is not
so much his as mine; if my commands-but
you despise my power.
Sir W. How? so, ab 190lis 90
Jar. It seems the young gentleman is obli-
ged to take a different road from his mistress,
as he is to call upon an uncle of his that
lives out of the way, in order to prepare a place
for their reception when they return; so they
have borrowed me from my master, as the pro-
perest person to attend the young lady down.
Sir W. To the land of matrimony! A
pleasant journey, Jarvis.
//
Jar. Ay, but I'm only to have all the fa-
tigues on't.
Sir W. Well, it may be shorter, and less
fatiguing than you imagine. I know but too
much of the young lady's family and con-
nexions, whom I have seen abroad. I have
also discovered that miss Richland is not in-
different to my thoughtless nephew; and will
endeavour, though I fear in vain, to establish
that connexion. But, come, the letter I wait
for must be almost finish'd; I'll let you further
into my intentions in the next room. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I CROAKER'S House.
mg
Enter LOFTY.
Lofty. Sweet creature! your commands Lofty. Well, sure the devil's in me of late,
could even control a debate at midnight; to a for running my head into such defiles, as
power so constitutional, I am all obedience nothing but a genius like my own could draw
and tranquillity. He shall have a letter; where me from. I was formerly contented to hus-
is my secretary, Dubardieu? And yet, I pro- band out my places and pensions with some
test I don't like this way of doing business. I degree of frugality; but, curse it, of late I have
think if I spoke first to sir William-But you given away the whole Court Register in less
will have it so. [Exit with Miss Richland. time than they could print the title-page; yet,
Sir VV. Ha, ha, ha! This too is one of my hang it, why scruple a lie or two to come at
nephew's hopeful associates. O vanity, thou a fine girl, when I every day tell a thousand
constant deceiver, how do all thy efforts for nothing. Ha! Honeywood here before me.
to exalt, serve but to sink us. Thy false Gould miss Richland have set him at liberty?
colourings, like those employed to height-lift
en beauty, only seem to mend that bloom
Enter HONEYWOOD.
which they contribute to destroy. I'm not Mr. Honeywood, I'm glad to see you abroad
displeased at this interview; exposing this again. I find my concurrence was not neces-
fellow's impudence to the contempt it deserves, sary in your unfortunate affairs. I had put
may be of use to my design; at least, if he
can reflect, it will be of use to himself.
Enter JARVIS.
How now, Jarvis, where's your master, my
nephew?
Jar. At his wits end, I believe; he's scarce
gotten out of one scrape, but he's running
his head into another.
Sir V. How so?
things in a train to do your business; but it
is not for me to say what I intended doing.
Honey. It was unfortunate indeed, sir. But
what adds to my uneasiness is, that while
you
seem to be acquainted with my misfortune, I
myself continue still a stranger to my bene-
factor.
Lofty. How? not know the friend that ser-
ved you?
Jar. The house has but just been cleared Honey. Can't guess at the person.

SCENE 1.]
481
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Lofty. Inquire.
Lofty. Unfortunate indeed! And yet I can
Honey. I have, but all I can learn is, that endure it. Between ourselves, I think she
he chooses to remain concealed, and that all likes me. I'm not apt to boast, but I think she
inquiry must be fruitless.
Lofty. Must be fruitless?
Honey. Absolutely fruitless.
Lofty. Sure of that?
Honey. Very sure.
does.
Honey. Indeed! But do you know the per-
son you apply to?
Lofty. Yes, I know you are her friend and
mine: that's enough. To you, therefore, I
Lofty. Then I'll be damned if you shall ever commit the success of my passion. Let friend-
know it from me.
ship do the rest. I have only to add, that if
Honey. How, sir?
any time my little interest can be of service
Lofty. I suppose now, Mr. Honeywood, you-but, hang it, I'll make no premises-you
think my rent-roll very considerable, and that know my interest is yours at any time. No
I have vast sums of money to throw away; I apologies, my friend, I'll not be answered, it
know you do. The world to be sure says shall be so.
such things of me.
Honey. The world, by what I learn, is no
stranger to your generosity. But where does
this tend?
[Exit.
Honey. Open, generous, unsuspecting man!
He little thinks that I love her too; and with
such an ardent passion!-But then it was ever
but a vain and hopeless one; my torment, my
Lofty. To nothing; nothing in the world. persecution! What shall I do? Love, friend-
The town, to be sure, when it makes such a ship, a hopeless passion, a deserving friend!
thing as me the subject of conversation, has Love, that has been my tormenter; a friend,
asserted, that I never yet patronised a man of that has, perhaps, distress'd himself to serve
me. It shall be so. Yes, I will discard the
Honey. I have heard instances to the con- fondling hope from my bosom, and exert all
trary, even from yourself.
my influence in his favour. And yet to see
Lofty. Yes, Honeywood, and there are in- her in the possession of another! Insuppor-
stances to the contrary, that you shall never table. But then to betray a generous trusting
hear from myself.
friend!-Worse, worse. Yes, I'm resolved.
Honey Ha, dear sir, permit me to ask you Let me but be the instrument of their happi-
but one question.
merit.
Lofty. Sir, ask me no questions: I say, sir,
ask me no questions; I'll be damn'd if I an-
swer them.
ness, and then quit a country where I must
for ever despair of finding my own. [Exit.
Enter OLIVIA and GARNET, who carries a
Milliner's Box.
Honey. I will ask no further. My friend,
my benefactor, it is, it must be here, that I Oli. Dear me, I wish this journey were over.
am indebted for freedom, for honour. Yes, No news of Jarvis yet? I believe the old pee-
thou worthiest of men, from the beginning I vish creature delays purely to vex me.
suspected it, but was afraid to return thanks; Gar. Why, to be sure, madam, I did hear
which, if undeserved, might seem reproaches. him say, "a little snubbing before marriage
Lofty. Blood, sir, can't a man be permitted would teach you to bear it the better after-
to enjoy the luxury of his own feelings with- wards."
out all this parade?
Oli. To be gone a full hour, though he had
Honey. Nay, do not attempt to conceal an only to get a bill changed in the city! How
action that adds to your honour. Your looks, provoking!
your air, your manner, all confess it.
Gar. I'll lay my life, Mr. Leontine, that had
Lofty. Confess it, sir. Torture itself, sir, twice as much to do, is setting off by this
shall never bring me to confess it. Mr. Ho-time from his inn; and here you are left be-
neywood, make me happy, and let this be hind.
buried in oblivion. I hate ostentation; you Oli. Well, let us be prepared for his com-
know I do. I always loved to be a friend, ing, however. Are you sure you have omit-
and not a patron. I beg this may make no ted nothing, Garnet?
kind of distance between us.
Gar. Not a stick, madam-all's here. Yet
Honey. Heavens! Can I ever repay such I wish you could take the white aud silver to
friendship?
be married in. It's the worst luck in the
Lofty. A bagatelle, a mere bagatelle. But world, in any thing but white. I knew one
I see your heart is labouring to be grateful. Bett Stubbs, of our town, that was married
You shall be grateful. It would be cruel to in red; and, as sure as eggs is eggs, the bride-
disappoint you.
groom and she had a miff before morning.
Oli. No matter. I'm all impatience till we
are out of the house.
Honey. How? Teach me the manner. Is
there any way?
Lofty. From this moment you're mine. Yes,
my friend, you shall know it-I'm in love.
Honey. And can I assist you?
Lofty. Nobody so well.
Honey. In what manner? I'm all impatience.
Lofty. You shall make love for me.
Honey. And to whom?
Lofty. To a lady with whom you have great
interest. Miss Richland.
Honey, Miss Richland! Was ever any thing
more unfortunate?
Gar. Bless me, madam, I had almost forgot
the wedding-ring!-The sweet little thing!-I
don't think it would go on my little finger.
And what if I put in a gentleman's night-cap,
in case of necessity, madam? But here's Jarvis.
Enter JARVIS.
Oli. O Jarvis, are you come at last? We
have been ready this half hour. Now let's be
going. Let us fly!
61

482
[ACT IV.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Jar. Ay, to Jericho; for we shall have no ried myself. I'll tell you a story about that.
going to Scotland this bout, I fancy.
Oli. How? What's the matter?
Oli. A story! when I'm all impatience to
be away. Was there ever such a dilatory
Re-enter GARNET.
Jar. Money, money, is the matter, madam. creature!
We have got no money. What the plague do Jar. Well, madam, if we must march, why
you send me of your fool's errand for? My we will march, that's all. Though, odds bobs,
master's bill upon the city is not worth a rush. we have still forgot one thing we should ne-
Here it is; Mrs. Garnet may pin up her hair ver travel without-a case of good razors, and
with it.
a box of shaving-powder. But no matter, I
Oli. Undone! How could Honeywood serve believe we shall be pretty well shaved by the
us so? What shall we do? Can't we go with- way.
[Going.
out it?
Jar. Go to Scotland without money? To
Scotland without money! Lord, how some Gar. Undone, undone, madam. Ah, Mr.
people understand geography!
Jarvis, you said right enough. As sure as
Oli. What a base insincere man was your death, Mr. Honeywood's rogue of a drunken
master, to serve us in this manner. Is this butler dropped the letter before he went ten
his good nature?
yards from the door. There's old Croaker has
Jar. Nay, don't talk ill of my master, ma- just picked it up, and is this moment reading
dam. I won't bear to hear any body talk ill it to himself in the hall.
of him but myself.
Oli. Unfortunate! We shall be discovered.
Gar. Bless us! now I think on't, madam, Gar. No, madam, don't be uneasy; he can
you need not be under any uneasiness: I saw make neither head nor tail of it. To be sure
Mr. Leontine receive forty guineas from his he looks as if he was broke loose from Bed-
father just before he set out, and he can't yet lam about it, but he can't find what it means,
have left the inn. A short letter will reach for all that.-O lud, he is coming this way
him there.
all in the horrors!
Oli. I'll write immediately. How's this? Bless Oli. Then let us leave the house this instant,
me, my hand trembles so I can't write a word, for fear he should ask further questions. In
Do you write, Garnet; and, upon second the mean time, Garnet, do you write and send
thoughts, it will be better from you.
off just such another.
Gar. Truly, madam, I write and indite but
poorly. I never was cute at my larning. But
I'll do what I can to please you. Let me see.
All out of my own head, I suppose?
Oli. Whatever you please.
Gar. [Writes] Muster Croaker-Twenty
guineas, madam?
Enter CROAKER.
[Exeunt.
Croak. Death and destruction! Are all the
horrors of air, fire, and water to be levelled
only at me? Am I only to be singled out for
gunpowder-plots, combustibles, and conflagra-
Oli. Ay, twenty will do.
tion? Here it is-an incendiary letter dropped
Gar. At the bar of the Talbot till called at my door. [Reads] To muster Croaker,
for. Expedition-will be blown up-all of these with speed.-Ay, ay, plain enough the
a flame-quick, dispatch-Cupid, the little direction. All in the genuine incendiary spell-
god of love.-I conclude it, madam, with Cu-fing, and as cramp as the devil. With speed.
pid; I love to see a love-letter end like poetry.-O, confound your speed!-But let me read
Oli. Well, well, what you please-any thing. it once more.-Mustar Croakar, as some as
But how shall we send it? I can trust none yoew see this, leve twenty gunnes at the
of the servants of this family.
bar of the Talboot tell caled for, or yowe
Gar. Odso, madam, Mr. Honeywood's butler and yower experetion will be al blown up.
is in the next room: he's a dear, sweet man; -Ah, but too plain. Blood and gunpowder
he'll do any thing for me.
in every line of it. Blown up! murderous
Jar. He! the dog, he'll certainly commit dog! All blown up!- Heavens! what have I
some blunder: he's drunk and sober ten times and my poor family done, to be all blown up?
a day.
-Our pockets are low, and money we must
Oli. No matter. Fly, Garnet. Any body have.-Ay, there's the reason; they'll blow us
we can trust will do. [Exit Garnet] Well, up, because they have got low pockets.-It is
Jarvis, now we can have nothing more to in- but a short time you have to consider; for
terrupt us. You may take up the things and if this takes wind, the house will quickly
carry them on to the inn.-Have you no hands, be all of a flame.-Inhuman monsters! blow
Jarvis?
us up, and then burn us! The earthquake at
Jar. Soft and fair, young lady. You, that Lisbon was but a bonfire to it.-Make quick
are going to be married, think things can ne-dispatch. And so no more at present; but
ver be done too fast; but we that are old, may Cupid, the little god of love, go with
and know what we are about, must elope me- you wherever you go. The little god of love!
thodically, madam.
Cupid, the little god of love go with me! Go
Oli. Well, sure, if my indiscretions were you to the devil, you and your little Cupid
to be done over again-
together! I'm so frightened, I scarce know
Jar. My life for it, you would do them ten whether I sit, stand, or go. Perhaps this mo-
times over.
ment I'm treading on lighted matches, blazing
Oli. Why will you talk so? If you knew brimstone, and barrels of gunpowder. They
how unhappy they make me--
are preparing to blow me up into the clouds.
Jar. Very unhappy, no doubt: I was once-Murder! We shall be all burnt in our beds;
just as unhappy when I was going to be mar- we shall be all burnt in our beds!

SCENE 1.]
483
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Enter MISS RICHLAND.
Miss R. Lord, sir, what's the matter?
Croak. Murder's the matter. We shall be
all blown up in our beds before morning.
Miss R. I hope not, sir.
I fear your judgment has since corrected the
errors of a first impression. We generally
show to most advantage at first. Our sex are
like poor tradesmen, that put all their best
goods to be seen at the windows.
Croak. What signifies what you hope, ma- Honey. The first impression, madam, did
dam, when I have a certificate of it here in indeed deceive me. I expected to find a wo-
my hand? Will nothing alarm my family? man with all the faults of conscious, flattered
Sleeping and eating, sleeping and eating, is beauty; I expected to find her vain and in-
the only work from morning till night in my solent. But every day has since taught me
house. My insensible crew could sleep, though that it is possible to possess sense without
rocked by an earthquake, and fry beef-steaks pride, and beauty without affectation.
at a volcano.
Miss R. This, sir, is a style very unusual
Miss R. But, sir, you have alarmed them so with Mr. Honeywood; and I should be glad
often already, we have nothing but earth- to know why he thus attempts to increase
quakes, famines, plagues, and mad dogs, from that vanity which his own lessons had taught
year's end to year's end. You remember, sir, me to despise.
it is not above a month ago, you assured us Honey. I ask pardon, madam. Yet, from
of a conspiracy among the bakers to poison our long friendship, I presumed I might have
us in our bread; and so kept the whole fa-some right to offer, without offence, what you
mily a week upon potatoes.
may refuse without offending.
Croak. And potatoes were too good for Miss R. Sir! I beg you'd reflect, though I
them. But why do I stand talking here with fear I shall scarce have any power to refuse
a girl, when I should be facing the enemy a request of yours; yet you may be precipi-
without?-Here, John! Nicodemus! search the tate: consider, sir.
house. Look into the cellars, to see if there Honey. I own my rashness; but as I plead
be any combustibles below; and above, in the the cause of friendship, of one who loves-
apartments, that no matches be thrown in at don't be alarmed, madam- who loves you
the windows. Let all the fires be put out, with the most ardent passion, whose whole
and let the engine be drawn out in the yard, happiness is placed in you.
to play upon the house in case of necessity.
Miss R. I fear, sir, I shall never find whom
[Exit. you mean by this description of him.
Miss R. What can he mean by all this? Honey. Ah, madam, it but too plainly points
Yet why should I inquire, when he alarms us him out, though he should be too humble
in this manner almost every day? But Honey- himself to urge his pretensions, or you too
wood has desired an interview with me in modest to understand them.
private. What can he mean? or rather what Miss R. Well, it would be affectation any
means this palpitation at his approach? It is longer to pretend ignorance; and I will own,
the first time he ever showed any thing in his sir, I have long been prejudiced in his favour.
conduct that seemed particular. Sure he can-It was but natural to wish to make his heart
not mean to-But he's here.
mine, as he seemed himself ignorant of its
value.
Re-enter HONEYWOOD.
Honey. I see she always loved him. [Aside]
Honey. I presumed to solicit this interview, I find, madam, you're already sensible of his
madam, before I left town, to be permitted-worth, his passion. How happy is my friend,
Miss R. Indeed! Leaving town, sir? to be the favourite of one with such sense to
Honey. Yes, madam; perhaps the kingdom. distinguish merit, and such beauty to reward it.
I have presumed, I say, to desire the favour Miss R. Your friend, sir? What friend?
of this interview, in order to disclose some- Honey My best friend-my friend, Mr.
thing which our long friendship prompts. And Lofty, madam.
yet my fears-
Miss R. He, sir?
Miss R. Amazement! No more of this, I
Miss R. His fears! What are his fears to Honey. Yes, he, madam. He is indeed what
mine? [Aside] We have indeed been long your warmest wishes might have formed him;
acquainted, sir; very long. If I remember, and to his other qualities, he adds that of the
our first meeting was at the French ambassa- most passionate regard for you.
dor's. Do you recollect how you were pleased
to rally me upon my complexion there? beg you, sir.
Honey. Perfectly, madam. I presumed to
reprove you for painting; but your warmer
blushes soon convinced the company that the
colouring was all from nature.
Miss R. And yet you only meant it, in your
good-natured way, to make me pay a com-
pliment to myself. In the same manner you
danced that night with the most awkward
woman in company, because you saw nobody
else would take her out.
Honey. Yes, and was rewarded the next
night by dancing with the finest woman. in
company, whom every body wished to take
out.
Miss R. Well, sir, if you thought so then,
Honey. I see your confusion, madam, and
know how to interpret it. And since I so
plainly read the language of your heart, shall
I make my friend happy, by communicating
your sentiments?
Miss R. By no means.
Honey. Excuse me, I must; I know you
desire it.
Miss R. Mr. Honeywood, let me tell you,
that you wrong my sentiments and yourself.
When I first applied to your friendship, I ex-
pected advice and assistance; but now, sir, I
see that it is vain to expect happiness from
him, who has been so bad an economist of
his own; and that I must disclaim his friend-

484
[ACT V.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
ship, who ceases to be a friend to himself. hensions, and put it in the power of every
[Exit. low fellow, that can scrawl ten words of
Honey. How is this? She has confessed she wretched spelling, to torment us?
loved him, and yet she seemed to part in dis-
pleasure. Can I have done any thing to re-
proach myself with? No, I believe not: yet, to
after all, these things should not be done by
a third person.
Re-enter CROAKER, with a Letter in his
Hand, and MRS. CROAKER.
Mrs. C. Ha, ha, ha! And so, my dear, it's
your supreme wish that I should be quite
wretched upon this occasion? Ha, ha!
Honey. Without doubt, nothing more absurd.
Croak. How! would it not be more absurd
despise the rattle till we are bit by the
snake?
Honey. Without doubt, perfectly absurd.
Croak. Then you are of my opinion?
Honey. Entirely.
Mrs. C. And you reject mine?
Honey. Heavens forbid, madam. No, sure
no reasoning can be more just than yours.
Croak. A plague of plagues, we can't be
Croak. [Mimics] Ha, ha, ha! And so, my both right.
dear, it's your supreme pleasure to give me Honey. And why may not both be right,
no better consolation?
madam?-Mr. Croaker, in earnestly seeking
Mrs. C. Positively, my dear, what is this redress, and you in waiting the event with
incendiary stuff and trumpery to me? Our good humour? Pray let me see the letter again.
house may travel through the air, like the -I have it. This letter requires twenty gui-
house of Loretto, for aught I care, if I'm to neas to be left at the bar of the Talbot inn.
be miserable in it.
If it be indeed an incendiary letter, what if
Croak. Would to heaven it were convert- you and I, sir, go there; and when the writer
ed into an house of correction, for your be- comes to be paid his expected booty, seize him?
nefit. Have we not every thing to alarm us? Croak. My dear friend, it's the very thing,
Perhaps this very moment the tragedy is be-
ginning.
Mrs. C. Then let us reserve our distress till
the rising of the curtain, or give them the
oney they want, and have done with them.
Croak. Give them my money? - And pray
what right have they to my money?
Mrs. C. And pray what right then have you
to my good humour?
Croak. And so your good humour advises
me to part with my money? Why then, to
tell your good humour a piece of my mind,
I'd sooner part with my wife.-Here's Mr.
Honeywood, see what he'll say to it. My
My
dear Honeywood, look at this incendiary letter
dropped at my door. It will freeze you with
terror; and yet lovey here can read it-can
read it, and laugh.
Mrs. C. Yes, and so will Mr. Honeywood.
Croak. If he does, I'll suffer to be hanged
the next minute in the rogue's place, that's all.
Mrs. C. Speak, Mr. Honeywood, is there
any thing more foolish than my husband's
fright upon this occasion?
Honey. It would not become me to decide,
madam; but doubtless the greatness of his
terrors now will but invite them to renew
their villany another time.
Mrs. C. I told you he'd be of my opinion.
Croak. How, sir! do you maintain that I
should lie down under such an injury, and
show, neither by my tears or complaints, that
I have something of the spirit of a man in me?
Honey. Pardon me, sir; the surest way to
have redress is to be earnest in the pursuit
of it.
Croak. Ay, whose opinion is he of now?
Mrs. C. But don't you think that laughing
off our fears is the best way?
the very thing. While I walk by the door,
you shall plant yourself in ambush near the
bar, burst out upon the miscreant like a masked
battery, extort a confession at once, and so
hang him up by surprise.
Honey. Yes; but I would not choose to
excrcise too much severity. It is my maxim, sir,
that crimes generally punish themselves.
Croak. Well, but we may upbraid him a
little, I suppose?
[Ironically.
Honey. Ay, but not punish him too rigidly.
Croak. Well, well, leave that to my own
benevolence.
Honey. Well, I do; but remember that
universal benevolence is the first law of nature.
[Exeunt Honeywood and Mrs. Croaker.
Croak. Yes, and my universal benevolence
will hang the dog, if he had as many necks
as a hydra.
[Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-An Inn.
Enter OLIVIA and JARVIS.
Oli. Well, we have got safe to the inn,
however. Now, if the post-chaise were ready-
Jar. The horses are just finishing their oats;
and, as they are not going to be married,
they choose to take their own time. Besides,
you don't consider, we have got no answer
from our fellow traveller yet.
If we hear
nothing from Mr. Leontine, we have only one
way left us.
Öli. What way?
Jar. The way home again.
Oli. No; I have made a resolution to go,
and nothing shall induce me to break it.
Jar. Well, I'll go hasten things without;
and I'll call too at the bar, to see if any thing
Honey. What is the best, madam, few can should be left for us there. Don't be in such
say; but I'll maintain it to be a very wise way. a plaguy hurry, madam, and we shall go the
Croak. But we're talking of the best. Surely faster.
the best way is to face the enemy in the field,
and not wait till he plunders us in our very
bed-chamber.
Enter LEONTINE.
Exit.
Leon. My dear Olivia, my anxiety till you
Mrs. C. But can any thing be more absurd were out of danger, was too great to be re-
than to double our distresses by our appre-sisted. I could not help coming to see you

SCENE 1.]
485
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
set out, though it exposes us to a discovery. Jestly he entered into my griefs, you would
Oli. May every thing you do prove as for- love him as I do. [A cry without, Stop him]
tunate. Indeed, Leontine, we have been most Fire and fury! they have seized the incendiary:
cruelly disappointed. Mr. Honeywood's bill they have the villain, the incendiary in view.
upon the city has, it seems, been protested, Stop him, stop an incendiary, a murderer;
and we have been utterly at a loss how to stop him.
proceed.
[Exit.
Oli. Oh, my terrors! what can this new
Leon, How! an offer of his own too. Sure tumult mean?
he could not mean to deceive us.
Leon. Some new mark, I suppose, of Mr.
Oli. Depend upon his sincerity; he only Honeywood's sincerity; but we shall have sa-
mistook the desire for the power of serving tisfaction: he shall give me instant satisfaction.
us. But let us think no more of it. I wish Oli. It must not be, my Leontine; whatever
the post-chaise was ready.
be our fate, let us not add guilt to our mis-
fortunes: you must forgive him.
[They go up the Stage.
Leon. Forgive him! Has he not in every
Enter CROAKER, unperceived. instance betrayed us? Forced me to borrow
Croak. Well, while my friend Honeywood money from him, which appears a mere trick
is upon the post of danger at the bar, it must to delay us? promised to keep my father en-
be my business to have an eye about me here. gaged till we were out of danger, and here
I think I know an incendiary's look; for wher-brought him to the very scene of our escape?
ever the devil makes a purchase, he never fails Oli. Don't be precipitate; we may yet be
to set his mark.-Ha! who have we here? My mistaken.
son and daughter! What can they be doing
here?
[Aside. Enter Postboy, dragging in JARVIS, followed
Oli. Every moment we stay increases our
by HONEYWOOD.
danger, and adds more to my apprehensions. Post. Ay, master, we have him fast enough:
Leon. There's no danger, if Honeywood has here is the incendiary dog. I'm entitled to the
kept my father, as he promised, in employment. reward. I'll take my oath I saw him ask for
Oli. My fears are from your father's sus- the money at the bar, and then run for it.
picions.
Honey. Come, bring him along; let us see
Leon. But, believe me, Olivia, you have no him. [Discovers his Mistake] Death! what's
great reason to dread his resentment. His re- here? Jarvis, Leontine, Olivia! What can all
pining temper, as it does no manner of injury this mean?
to himself, so will it never do harm to others; Jar. Why, I'll tell you what it means: that
he only frets to keep himself employed, and I was an old fool, and that you are my ma-
scolds for his private amusement.
ster-that's all.
Oli. I don't know that; but I'm sure, on
some occasions, it makes him look most shock-
ingly.
Croak. [Discovers himself] How does he
look now? How does he look now?
Oli. Ah!
Leon. Undone,
Croak. How do I look now? Sir, I am your
Honey. Confusion.
Leon. Yes, sir, I find you have kept your
word with me. After such baseness, I wonder
how you can venture to see the man you
have injured.
Honey. My dear Leontine, by my life, my
honour-
Leon. Peace, peace, for shame; I know you,
very humble servant. Madam, I am yours. sir; I know you.
What, you are going off, are you? Then
Honey. Why, won't you hear me? By all
first, if you please, take a word or two from that's just, I knew not-
me with you before you go. Tell me first Leon. Hear you, sir! to what purpose? I
where you are going? and when you have now see through all your low arts; your ever
told me that, perhaps I shall know as little as complying with every opinion; your never
know as littl
I did before.
Leon. If that be so, our answer might but
increase your displeasure, without adding to
your information.
refusing any request; your friendship as com-
mon as a prostitute's favours, and as falla-
cious; all these, sir, have long been contempt-
ible to the world, and are now perfectly so
to me.
Croak. I want no information from you,
puppy: and you too, good madam, what an- Honey. Ha! contemptible to the world!
swer have you got, eh? [A cry without, Stop that reaches me.
[Aside.
him] I think I heard a noise. My friend, Leon. All the seeming sincerity of your
Honeywood, without-has he seized the incen- professions, I now find were only allurements
diary? Ah, no; for now I hear no more on't. to betray; and all your seeming regret for their
Leon. Honeywood, without! Then, sir, it consequences, only calculated to cover the
was Mr. Honeywood that directed you hither? cowardice of your heart. Draw, villain!
Croak. No, sir, it was Mr. Honeywood
conducted me hither,
Leon. Then, sir, he's a villain.
Re-enter CROAKER, out of Breath.
Croak. How, sirrah, a villain! because he Croak. Where is the villain? Where is the
takes most care of your father? Honeywood incendiary? [Seizes the Postboy] Hold him
is a friend to the family, and I'll have him fast, the dog; he has the gallows in his face.
Come, you dog, confess; confess all, and hang
treated as such.
Leon. I shall study to repay his friendship yourself.
as it deserves.
Post. Zounds, master, what do you throttle
Croak. Ah, rogue, if you knew how earn-me for?

486
[ACT V.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
Croak. [Beats him] Dog, do you resist?
do you resist?
Miss R. Married! to whom, sir?
Croak. To Olivia; my daugter, as I took
Post. Zounds, master, I'm not he; there's her to be; but who the devil she is, or whose
the man that we thought was the rogue, and daughter she is, I know no more than the
turns out to be one of the company.
man in the moon.
Croak. How?
Sir W. Then, sir, it will be enough at pre-
Honey. Mr. Croaker, we have all been un-sent to assure you, that, both in point of birth
der a strange mistake here; I find there is and fortune, the young lady is at least your
nobody guilty: it was all an error; entirely son's equal. Being left by her father, sir James
an error of our own.
Woodville-
Croak. What, you intend to bring 'em off,
I suppose; I'll hear nothing.
Honey. Madam, you seem at least calm
enough to hear reason.
Oli. Excuse me.
Honey. Good Jarvis, let me then explain
it to you.
Jar. What signifies explanations when the
thing is done?
Croak. Sir James Woodville! What, of
the west?
Sir W. Being left by him, I say, to the care
of a mercenary wretch, whose only aim was
to secure her fortune to himself, she was sent
into France, under pretence of education; and
there every art was tried to fix her for life in
a convent, contrary to her inclinations. Of this
I was informed upon my arrival at Paris; and,
Honey. Will nobody hear me? Was there as I had been once her father's friend, I did
ever such a set, so blinded by passion and all in my power to frustrate her guardian's
prejudice!-My good friend, I believe you'll base intentions. I had even meditated to re-
be surprised when I assure you-
scue her from his authority, when your son
To the Postboy.stept in with more pleasing violence, gave her
Post. Sure me nothing-I'm sure of nothing liberty, and you a daughter.
but a good beating.
Crouk. But I intend to have a daughter of
Croak. Come then, you, madam, if you ever my own choosing, sir. A young lady, sir,
hope for any favour or forgiveness, tell me whose fortune, by my interest with those that
sincerely all you know of this affair.
have interest, will be double what my son
has a right to expect. Do you know Mr.
Lofty, sir?
sir; and know that you are
Oli. Unhappily, sir, I'm but too much the
cause of your suspicions: you see before you,
sir, one that with false pretences has stept into
your family to betray it: not your daughter--
Croak. Not my daughter!
Oli. Not your daughter; but a mean decei-
ver-who-support me-I cannot-
Honey. Help-give her air.
Sir W. Yes,
deceived in him.
convince you.
But step this way, and I'll
[Croaker and Sir William
Honeywood talk apart.
Re-enter HONEYWOOD.
Croak. Ay, ay, take the young woman to Honey. Obstinate man, still to persist in
the air; I would not hurt a hair of her head, his outrage! Insulted by him, despised by all,
whose ever daughter she may be-not so bad I now begin to grow contemptible even to
as that neither. [Exeunt all but Croaker] myself. How have I sunk by too great an
Yes, yes, all's out; I now see the whole af- assiduity to please! How have I overtax'd all
fair: my son is either married, or going to my abilities, lest the approbation of a single
be so, to this lady, whom he imposed upon fool should escape me! But all is now over;
me as his sister. Ay, certainly so. And yet I have survived my reputation, my fortune,
I don't find it afflicts me so much as one my friendships, and nothing remains hence-
might think: there's the advantage of fretting forward for me but solitude and repentance.
away our misfortunes beforehand; we never
feel them when they come.
Enter MISS RICHLAND and SIR WILLIAM
HONEYWOOD.
Sir W. But how do you know, madam,
that my nephew intends setting off from this
place?
Miss R. Is it true, Mr. Honeywood, that
you are setting off, without taking leave of
your friends? The report is, that you are
quitting England. Can it be?
Honey. Yes, madam, I leave you to hap-
piness; to one who loves you, and deserves
your love; to one who has power to procure
you affluence, and generosity to improve your
enjoyment of it.
Miss R. And are you sure, sir, that the
gentleman you mean is what you describe him?
Honey. I have the best assurances of it.
Miss R. My maid assured me he was come
to this inn; and my own knowledge of his
intending to leave the kingdom, suggested the
rest. But what do I see? my guardian here
before us! Who, my dear sir, could have ex-As for me, weak and wavering as I have been,
pected meeting you here? to what accident do
we owe this pleasure?
Croak. To a fool, I believe.
Miss R. But to what
did
purpose you come?
Croak. To play the fool.
Miss R. But with whom?
Croak. With greater fools than myself.
Miss R. Explain.
obliged by all, and incapable of serving any,
what happiness can I find but in solitude?
what hope but in being forgotten?
Miss R. A thousand! to live among friends
that esteem you, whose happiness it will be
to be permitted to oblige you.
Honey. No, madam; my resolution is fixed.
Inferiority among strangers is easy; but among
Croak. Why, Mr. Honey wood brought me those that once were equals, insupportable.
here, to do nothing now I am here; and my Nay, to show you how far my resolution can
son is going to be married to I don't know go, I can now speak with calmness of my
who, that is here; so now you are as wise as I am. former follies. I will even confess, that, among

SCENE 1.]
487
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
the number of my other presumptions, I had Croak. No, for the soul of me; I think it
the insolence to think of loving you. Yes, was as confounded a bad answer as ever was
madam, while I was pleading the passion of sent from one private gentleman to another.
another, my heart was tortured with its own. Lofty. And so you can't find out the force
Miss R. You amaze me!
of the message? Why I was in the house at
Honey. But you'll forgive it, I know you that very time. Ha, ha! It was I that sent
will; since the confession should not have that very auswer to my own letter. Ha, ha!
come from me even now, but to convince
you Croak. Indeed! How? why?
of the sincerity of my intention of- never Lofty. In one word, things between sir
mentioning it more.
[Going. William and me must be behind the curtain.
A party has many eyes. He sides with lord
Buzzard, I side with sir Gilbert Goose. So
that unriddles the mystery.
Miss R. Stay, sir, one moment. Ha! he here!
Enter LOFTY.
Lofty. Is the coast clear? None but friends.
I have followed you here with a trifling piece
of intelligence: but it goes no further, things
are not yet ripe for a discovery. I have spirits
working at a certain board; your affair at the
Treasury will be done in less than a thou-
sand years. Mum!
Miss R. Sooner, sir, I should hope.
Lofty. Why, yes, I believe it may, if it
falls into proper hands, that know where to
push and where to parry; that know how the
land lies. Eh, Honeywood.
Croak. And so it does indeed, and all my
suspicions are over.
Lofty. Your suspicions! What then you
have been suspecting, you have been suspecting,
have you? Mr. Croaker, you and I were
friends, we are friends no longer.
Croak. As I hope for your favour, I did
not mean to of end. It escaped me. Don't
be discomposed.
Lofty. Zounds, sir, but I am discomposed,
and will be discomposed. To be treated thus!
Who am I? Was it for this I have been
Miss R. It is fallen into yours.
dreaded both by ins and outs? Have I been
Lofty. Well, to keep you no longer in libelled in the Gazetteer, and praised in the
suspense, your thing is done. It is done, I St. James's? Have I been chaired at Wild-
say; that's all. I have just had assurances man's, and a speaker at Merchant-tailors' Hall?
from lord Neverout, that the claim has been Have I had my hand to addresses, and my
examined, and found admissible. Quietus is head in the print-shops, and talk to me of
the word, madam..
suspect
Honey. But how? his lordship has been at
Newmarket these ten days.
Lofty. Indeed! Then sir Gilbert Goose must
have been most damnably mistaken. I had
it of him.
Miss R. He? Why, sir Gilbert and his fa-
mily have been in the country this month.
Croak. My dear sir, be pacified. What
can you have but asking pardon?
Lofty. Sir, I will not be pacificd! Suspect!
Who am I? To be used thus, have I paid
court to men in favour to serve my friends,
the lords of the Treasury, sir William Honey-
wood, and the rest of the gang, and talk to
Lofty. This month? It must certainly be so. me of suspect! Who am I, I say, who am I?
Sir Gilbert's letter did come to me from New- Sir W. Since, sir, you're so pressing for an
market, so that he must have met his lordship answer, I'll tell you who you are. A gentle-
there; and so it came about. I have his letter man, as well acquainted with politics, as with
about me, I'll read it to you. [Taking out a men in power; as well acquainted with per-
large Bundle] That's from Paoli of Corsica, sons of fashion, as with modesty; with lords
that from the marquis of Squilachi. Have of the Treasury, as with truth; and with all,
you a mind to see a letter from count Ponia-as you are with sir William Honeywood. I
towski, now king of Poland? Honest Pon-am sir William Honey wood.
[Searching] 0, sir, what are you here too?
I'll tell you what, honest friend, if you have
not absolutely delivered my letter to sir Wil-
liam Honeywood, you may return it. The
thing will do without him.
Sir WV. Sir, I have delivered it, and must
inform you, it was received with the most
mortifying contempt.
Croak. Contempt! Mr. Lofty, what can that
mean?
[Discovers his Ensigns of the Bath.
Croak. Sir William Honeywood!
Honey. Astonishment! my uncle! [Aside.
Lofty. So then my confounded genius has
been all this time only leading me up to the
garret, in order to fling me out of the window.
Croak. What, Mr. Importance, and are
these your works? Suspect you! You who
have been dreaded by the ins and outs: you
who have had your hand to addresses, and
your head stuck up in print-shops. If you
were served right, you should have
your head
stuck up in the pillory.
Lofty. Let him go on, let him go on, I say.
You'll find it come to something presently.
Sir VV. Yes, sir, I believe you'll be amazed,
if, after waiting some time in the anti-chamber, Lofty. Ay, stick it where you will, for, by
after being surveyed with insolent curiosity by the Lord, it cuts but a very poor figure where
the passing servants, I was at last assured, it sticks at present.
that sir William Honeywood knew no such Sir W. Well, Mr. Croaker, I hope you
person, and I must certainly have been im-
posed upon.
Lofty. Good; let me die, very good.
ha, ha!
Croak. Now, for my life, I can't find
half the goodness of it.
Lofty. You can't? Ha, ha!
now see how incapable this gentleman is of
serving you, and how little miss Richland has
Ha, to expect from his influence.
Croak. Ay, sir, too well I see it, and I can't
out but say I have had some boding of it these
ten days. So I'm resolved, since my son has
placed his affections on a lady of moderate

488
[ACT V.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.
fortune, to be satisfied with his choice, and which may give strength to the mind, and
not run the hazard of another Mr. Lofty, in marshal all its dissipated virtues. Yet, ere I
helping him to a better.
depart, permit me to solicit favour for this
Sir W. I approve your resolution; and here gentleman; who, notwithstanding what has
they come to receive a confirmation of your happened, has laid me under the most signal
pardon and consent.
obligations. Mr. Lofty-
Lofty. Mr. Honeywood, I'm resolved upon
Re-enter MRS. CROAKER, JARVIS, LEONTINE, a reformation, as well as you. I now begin
and OLIVIA.
to find, that the man who first invented the
Mrs. C. Where's my husband? Come, come, art of speaking truth was a much cunninger
lovey, you must forgive them. Jarvis here fellow than I thought him. And to prove that
has been to tell me the whole affair; and, II design to speak truth for the future, I must
say, you must forgive them. Our own was now assure you, that you owe your late en-
a stolen match, you know, my dear; and we largement to another; as, upon my soul, I
never had any reason to repent of it.
had no hand in the matter. So now, if any
Croak. I wish we could hoth say so: how-of the company has a mind for preferment,
ever, this gentleman, sir William Honey- he may take my place. I'm determined to
wood, has been beforehand with you in ob-resign.
[Exit.
taining their pardon. So, if the two poor fools Honey. How have I been deceived?
have a mind to marry, I think we can tack Sir W. No, sir, you have been obliged to
them together without crossing the Tweed for it. a kinder, fairer friend for that favour. To
[Joining their Hands. miss Richland. Would she complete our joy,
Leon. How blest, and unexpected! What, and make the man she has honoured by her
what can we say to such goodness? But our friendship happy in her love, I should then
future obedience shall be the best reply. And, forget all,, and be as blest as the welfare of
as for this gentleman, to whom we owe- my dearest kinsman can make me.
Sir W. Excuse me, sir, if I interrupt your Miss R. After what is past, it would be but
thanks, as I have here an interest that calls affectation to pretend to indifference. Yes, I
me. [Turning to Honeywood] Yes, sir, you will own an attachment, which I find was
are surprised to see me; and I own that a more than friendship. And if my entreaties
desire of correcting your follies led me hither. cannot alter his resolution to quit the country,
I saw, with indignation, the errors of a mind I will even try if my hand has not power to
that only sought applause from others; that detain him.
[Giving her Hand.
easiness of disposition, which, though inclined Honey. Heavens! how can I have deserved
to the right, had not courage to condemn the all this? How express my happiness, my gra-
wrong. I saw, with regret, those splendid titude? A moment like this overpays an age
errors, that still took name from some neigh- of apprehension.
bouring duty. Your charity, that was but in- Croak. Well, now I see content in every
justice; your benevolence, that was but weak-face; but heaven send we be all better this
ness; and your friendship but credulity. I saw, day three months.
with regret, great talents and extensive learning Sir W. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect
only employed to add sprightliness to error, yourself. He who seeks only for applause
and increase your perplexities. I saw your from without, has all his happiness in another's
mind with a thousand natural charms: but the keeping.
greatness of its beauty served only to heighten Honey. Yes, sir, I now too plainly perceive
my pity for its prostitution.
my errors. My vanity, in attempting to please
Honey. Cease to upbraid me, sir; I have all, by fearing to offend any. My meanness
for some time but too strongly felt the justice in approving folly, lest fools should disapprove.
of your reproaches. But there is one way Henceforth, therefore, it shall be my study to
still left me. Yes, sir, I have determined, this reserve my pity for real distress; my friend-
very hour, to quit for ever a place where I ship for true merit; and my love for her,
have made myself the voluntary slave of all; who first taught me what it is to be happy.
and to seek among strangers that fortitude
[Exeunt,
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER,
or, The Mistakes of a Night; Comedy by Oliver Goldsmith, acted at Covent-Garden 1773. When this piece was
originally brought forward, the taste of the nation had sickened with a preposterous love for what was termed senti-
mental comedy; that is, a dramatic composition, in which the ordinary business of life, which, in a free country, like
Great Britain, produces such a diversity of character, was to be superseded by an unnatural affectation of polished
dialogue, in which the usages and singularities of the multitude were to be nearly, if not altogether, rejected. This
false laste was borrowed from France; where it was the practice then, more than at the present day, to keep, what
they were pleased to term, the higher order of comedy, in a material sense unconnected with the unshackled ebullitions
of nature; and Kelly, and others, were enforcing this principle with ardour, when Oliver Goldsmith planted the standard
of Thalia on the boards of Covent-Garden Theatre, and banished, triumphantly, those mawkish monsters of fashion,
which were tending to make sentiment ridiculous, by dissolving its ties with common incidents, and thereby rendering
it somewhat independent of social virtue, by weakening its moral interest. The elder Colman, whose theatrical judg
ment was highly esteemed by the critical world, had suffered himself to be so inoculated with this sentimental in-
Quenza of the mind, that he rather tolerated this comedy from a respect to the author, than encouraged it from a hope
of its success; even the actors caught the contagion; and Woodward and Smith, who were designed to play Tony
Lumpkin and Young Marlow, resigned their parts. It was to this fanciful resignation that Quick and Lee Lewes owed

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
489
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
much of their early celebrity; for, contrary to the declarations of the knowing ones, John Bull welcomed this comed,
with cheers; and, by the aid of Goldsmith, Nature and Laughter resumed their honours on the British stage. We know
that this piece is, by some critics, considered as a farce; but still it must be ranked among the farces of a man of
genius. One of the most ludicrous circumstances it contains (that of the robbery) is borrowed from Albumazar. It met
with great success, and is still frequently acted.
SIR CHARLES MARLOW.
STINGO.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DIGGORY.
TOM TWIST.
HARDCASTLE.
YOUNG MARLOW.
HASTINGS.
TONY LUMPKIN.
ROGER.
RALPH.
GREGORY.
JACK SLANG.
TIM TICKLE.
JEREMY.
MAT MUGGINS.
SERVANT.
MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE.
MISS NEVILLE.
MAID.

ACT I.
humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must
SCENE I. A Chamber in an old-fashioned allow the boy a little humour.
House.
Hard. I'd sooner allow him an horsepond.
If burning the footman's shoes, frighting the
Enter HARDCASTLE and MRS. HARDCASTLE. maids, worrying the kittens, be humour, he
Mrs. H. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my
particular. Is there a creature in the whole wig to the back of my chair, and when I went
country, but ourselves, that does not take a to make a bow, I popp'd my bald head into
trip to town now and then to rub off the rust Mrs. Frizzle's face.
a little? There's the two miss Hoggs, and our Mrs. H. And am I to blame? The poor boy
neighbour, Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's was always too sickly to do any good. A
polishing every winter."
school would be his death. When he comes
Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affec-to be a little stronger, who knows what a
tation to last them the whole year. I wonder year or two's Latin may do for him?
why London cannot keep its own fools at Hard. Latin for him! a cat and a fiddle.
home. In my time, the follies of the town No, no, the alehouse and the stable are the
crept slowly among us, but now they travel only schools he'll ever go to.
faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come Mrs. H. Well, we must not snub the poor
down, not only as inside passengers, but in boy now; for I believe we shan't have him
the very basket.
long among us. Any body that looks in his
face may see he's consumptive.
Mrs. H. Ay, your times were fine times
indeed; you have been telling us of them for
many a long year. Here we live in an old
rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world
like an inn, but that we never see company.
Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the
curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame
dancingmaster; and all our entertainment your
old stories of prince Eugene and the duke
of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned
trumpery.
Hard. And I love it. I love every thing
that's old: old friends, old times, old manners,
old books, old wine; and I believe, Dorothy,
[Taking her Hand] you'll own I have been
pretty fond of an old wife.
Mrs. H. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for
ever at your Dorothy's, and your old wives.
You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I
promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make
me by more than one good year. Add twenty
to twenty, and make money of that.
Hard. Let me see; twenty added to twenty
makes just fifty and seven.
Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the
symptoms.
Mrs. H. He coughs sometimes.
Hard. Yes, when his liquor goes the
wrong way.
Mrs. H. I'm actually afraid of his lungs.
Hard. And truly so am I; for he some-
times whoops like a speaking-trumpet-[Tony
hallooing behind the Scenes]-O there he
goes-A very consumptive figure, truly.
Enter TONY, crossing the Stage.
Mrs. H. Tony, where are you going, my
charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little
of your company, lovee?
Tony. I'm in haste, mother, I can't stay.
Mrs. H. You shan't venture out this raw
evening, my dear; you look most shockingly.
Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three
Pigeons expect me down every moment. There's
some fun going forward.
Hard. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I
thought so.
Mrs. H. Its false, Mr. Hardcastle: I was but Mrs. H. A low, paltry set of fellows.
twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, Tony. Not so low, neither. There's Dick
that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband; Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse-
aud he's not come to years of discretion yet. doctor, little Aminidab that grinds the music
Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter
him. Ay, you have taught him finely.
platter.
Mrs. H. No matter; Tony Lumpkin has a Mrs. H. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for
good fortune. My son is not to live by his one night at least.
learning. I don't think a boy wants much
learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.
Hard. Learning, quotha! a mere composition
of tricks and mischief.
Mrs. H. Humour, my dear; nothing but
Tony. As for disappointing them, I should
not so much mind: but I can't abide to dis-
appoint myself.
Mrs. H. [Detaining him] You shan't go.
Tony. I will, I tell you.
62

490
[ACT I.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Mrs. H. I say you shan't.
to catch me, I promise you. However, if he
Tony. We'll see which is strongest, you be so young, so handsome, and so every thing,
or I.
[Exit, hauling her out. as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I
Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil think I'll have him.
each other. But is not the whole age in a Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle.
combination to drive sense and discretion out It's more than an even wager he may not
of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate; have you.
the fashions of the times have almost infected Miss H. My dear papa, why will you mor-
her too. By living a year or two in town, tify one so?-Well, if he refuses, instead of
she is as fond of gauze and French frippery, breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
as the best of them.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
break my glass for its flattery; set my cap to
some newer fashion, and look out for some
less difficult admirer.
Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Hard. Bravely resolved! In the mean time.
Dress'd out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! I'll go prepare the servants for his reception;
what a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou as we seldom see company, they want as much
got about thee, girl! I could never teach the training as a company of recruits the first
fools of this age, that the indigent world could day's muster.
[Exit.
be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain. Miss H. Lud, this news of papa's puts me
Miss H. You know our agreement, sir. You all in a flutter. Young, handsome; these he
allow me the morning to receive and pay puts last; but I put them foremost. Sensible,
visits, and to dress in my own manner; and good-natured; I like all that. But then re-
in the evening, I put on my housewife's dress served and sheepish; that's much against him.
to please you.
Yet can't he be cured of his timidity, by be-
ing taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and
can't I-But I vow I'm disposing of the hus-
band, before I have secured the lover.
Hard. Well, remember I insist on the terms
of our agreement: and, by-the-by, I believe I
shall have occasion to try your obedience
this very evening.
Miss H. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend
your meaning.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
Miss H. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my
Hard. Then to be plain with you, Kate, I dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this
expect the young gentleman I have chosen to evening? Is there any thing whimsical about
be your husband from town this very day. me? Is it one of my well looking days, child?
I have his father's letter, in which he informs am I in face to-day?
me his son is set out, and that he intends to Miss N. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look
follow himself shortly after.
again-bless me! sure no accident has hap-
Miss H. Indeed! I wish I had known some-pened among the canary birds or the gold
thing of this before. Bless me, how shall I fishes. Has your brother or the cat been
behave? It's a thousand to one I shan't like meddling? Or has the last novel been too
him; our meeting will be so formal, and so
like a thing of business, that I shall find no
room for friendship or esteem.
Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never con-
trol your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I
have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend,
sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard
me talk so often. The young gentleman has
been bred a scholar, and is designed for an
employment in the service of his country. I
am told he's a man of an excellent under-
standing.
Miss H. Is he?
Hard. Very generous.
Miss H. I believe I shall like him.
Hard. Young and brave.
Miss H. I'm sure I shall like him.
Hard. And very handsome.
moving?
Miss H. No; nothing of all this. I have
been threatened-I can scarce get it out-I
have been threatened with a lover.
Miss N. And his name-
Miss H. Is Marlow.
Miss N. Indeed!
Miss H. The son of sir Charles Marlow.
Miss N. As I live, the most intimate friend
of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never
asunder. I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.
Miss H. Never.
Miss N. He's a very singular character, I
assure you. Among women of reputation and
virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character
among creatures of another stamp: you under-
Miss H. My dear papa, say no more; [Kiss-stand me.
ing his Hand] he's mine, I'll have him.
Miss H. An odd character indeed. I shall
Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of never be able to manage him. What shall I
the most bashful and reserved young fellows do? Pshaw, think no more of him; but trust
in the world.
to occurrences for success. But how goes on
Miss H. Eh! you have frozen me to death your own affair, my dear? has my mother
again. That word reserved has undone all been courting you for my brother Tony, as
the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved usual?
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious
husband.
Hard. On the contrary, modesty seldom
resides in a breast that is not enriched with
nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.
Miss H. He must have more striking features
Miss N. I have just come from one of our
agreeable tête-a-têtes. She has been saying a
hundred tender things, and setting off her
pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.
Miss H. And her partiality is such, that she
actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours
is no small temptation. Besides, as she has

SCENE 2.]
491/
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
the sole management of it, I'm not surprised
to see her unwilling to let it go out of the
family.
Omnes. Bravo, bravo.
1 Fel. The squire has got spunk in him.
2 Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he
never gives us nothing that's low.
3 Fel. O, damn any thing that's low; I
can't bear it.
Miss N. A fortune like mine, which chiefly
consists in jewels, is no such mighty temp-
tation. But at any rate, if my dear Hastings
be but constant, I make no doubt to be too 4 Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing
hard for her at last. However, I let her sup- at any time, if so be that a gentleman bees
pose that I am in love with her son, and she in a concatenation accordingly.
never once dreams that my affections are fixed 3 Fel. I like the maxum of it, master Mug-
upon another.
dodgins. What though I am obligated to dance
Miss H. My good brother holds out stoutly. a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all
I could almost love him for hating you so. that. May this be my poison if my bear ever
Miss N. It is a good natur'd creature at dances but to the very genteelest of tunes.
bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me "Water parted," or the minuet in Ariadne.
married to any body but himself. But my 2 Fel. What a pity it is the squire is
aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk round not come to his own. It would be well
the improvements. Allons, courage is neces- for all the publicans within ten miles round
sary, as our affairs are critical.
of him.
Miss H. Would it were bed time and all Tony. Ecod, and so it would, master Slang.
were well.
[Exeunt. I'd then show what it was to keep choice of
SCENE II.-An Alehouse-room.
Several shabby Fellows, with Punch and
Tobacco. TONY at the Head of the Table,
a little higher than the Rest: a Mallet in
his Hand.
Omnes. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo.
1 Fel. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song.
The squire is going to knock himself down
for a song 1).
Omnes. Ay, a song, a song.
Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song
I made upon this alehouse, the Three Pigeons.
SONG.
Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Give genus a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:
Their quis, and their quæs, and their quods,
They're all but a parcel of pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When methodist preachers come down
A preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the
Toroddle, toroddle,
company.
2 Fel. Oh, he takes after his own father
for that. To be sure old squire Lumpkin was
the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on.
For winding the straight horn, or beating a
thicket for a hare, or a wench, he never had
his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that
he kept the best horses, dogs, and girls in the
whole county.
Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age I'll be
no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking
of Bet Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to
begin with. But come, my boys, drink about
and be merry, for you pay no reckoning.
Well, Stingo, what's the matter?
Enter Landlord.
Land. There be two gentlemen in a post-
chaise at the door. They have lost their way
upo' the forest, and they are talking some-
thing about Mr. Hardcastle.
Tony. As sure as can be, one of them
must be the gentleman that's coming down to
court my sister. Do they seem to be Lon-
doners? wyben nov
Land. I believe they may. They look wound-
ily like Frenchmen.
Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and
lord] Gentlemen, as they mayn't he good
I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Exit Land-
enough company for you, step down for a
pigeon.ing of a lemon. [Exeunt Mob] Father-in-law
moment, and I'll be with you in the squeez-
toroll. has been calling me whelp, and hound, this
half-year. Now if I pleased, I could be so
revenged upon the old grumbletonian. But
then I'm afraid of what! I shall soon be worth
fifteen hundred a year, and let him frighten
me out of that if he can.
Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever;
Our hearts and our liquours are stout;
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll,
Enter Landlord, conducting MARLOW and
HASTINGS.
Mar. What a tedious, uncomfortable day
have we had of it. We were told it was
1) It is the business of the President at a free and easy but forty miles across the country, and we
club, snch as this, to call to silence, proclaim a toast, have come above threescore.
call for a song, etc., by striking on the table with Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unac-
penalty of a fine of glasses round (a glass of whatever Countable reserve of yours, that would not
the company is drinking to every person present), or let us inquire more frequently on the way.
to drink a pint glass of salt and water, this, of course,
his hammer, which every one is bound to obey, under
means as long as the members are not quite intoxi-
cated.
lay myself under an obligation to every one
Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to

492
[Acr II.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
I meet; and often stand the chance of an un-
mannerly answer.
Hast. At present, however, we are not likely
to receive any answer.
Land. Alack, master, we have but one
spare bed in the whole house.
Tony. And, to my knowledge, that's taken
up by three lodgers already. [After a Pause,
Tony. No offence, gentlemen; but I'm told in which the rest seem disconcerted] I have
you
have been inquiring for one Mr. Hard- bit it; don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could
castle, in these parts. Do you know what accommodate the gentlemen by the fireside,
part of the country you are in?
with-three chairs and a bolster?
Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank
you for information.
Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside,
Mar. And I detest your three chairs and
a bolster.
Tony. You do, do you?-than let me see
Tony. Nor the way you came?
Hast. No, sir; but if you can inform us-
Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know nei--what-if you go on a mile further, to the
ther the road you are going, nor where you Buck's Head, the old Buck's Head on the hill,
are, nor the road you came, the first thing one of the best inns in the whole country?
I have to inform you is, that-you have lost
Hast. O ho! so we have escaped an ad-
your way,
venture for this night, however.
you?
Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. Land. [Apart to Tony] Sure you ben't
Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold sending them to your father's as an inn, be
as to ask the place from whence you came?
Mar. That's not necessary towards directing Tony. Mum, you fool you; let them find
us where we are to go.
that out. [To them] You have only to keep
Tony. No offence: but question for question on straight forward till you come to a large
is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not house by the road side: you'll see a pair of
this same Hardcastle a cross-grain'd, old-fa- large horns over the door: that's the sign.
shion'd, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.
daughter, and a pretty son?
Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The
Hast. We have not seen the gentleman, servants can't miss the way?
but he has the family you mention.
Tony, No, no: but I tell you, though, the
Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trol- landlord is rich, and going to leave off busi-
loping, talkative maypole-the son, a pretty, ness; so he wants to be thought a gentleman,
well-bred, agreeable youth, that every body saving your presence, he! he! he! He'll be
is fond of.
for giving you his company, and ecod if you
Mar. Our information differs in this: the mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother
daughter is said to be well-bred and beauti-was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of
ful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up peace.
and spoiled at his mother's apronstring.
Tony. He-he-hem-Then, gentlemen, all I
have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr.
Hardcastle's house this night, I believe.
Hast. Unfortunate!
Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure;
but a keeps as good wines and beds as any
in the whole country.
We
Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these,
we shall want no further connexion.
Tony. It's a damn'd long, dark, boggy, are to turn to the right, did you say?
dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentle- Tony. No, no, straight forward. I'll just
men the way to Mr. Hardcastle's; [Winking step myself, and show you a piece of the
upon the Landlord] Mr. Hardcastle's, of way. [To the Landlord] Mum.
Quagmire-marsh, you understand me.
Land. Master Hardcastle's! Lack-a-daisy,
my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong!
When you came to the bottom of the hill, you
should have cross'd down Squash-lane.
Mar. Cross down Squash-lane.
Land. Then you were to keep straight for-
ward till you came to four roads.
Mar. Come to where four roads meet? as
Tony, Ay, but you must be sure to take
only one of them.
h
Mar. O, sir, you're facetious.
Land. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet,
pleasant-damn'd, mischievous son of a whore.
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-An old fashioned House.
Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four
awkward Servants.
Hard. Well, I hope you're perfect in the
Hatable exercise I have been teaching you these
three days. You all know your posts and your
Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are placés, and can show that you have been used
to go sideways till you come upon Crack- to good company, without stirring from home.
skull common: there you must look sharp for Omnes, Ay, ay.
the track of the wheel, and go forward till
you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming
to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the
right, and then to the left, and then to the
right about again, till you find out the old
mill-
Mar. Zounds, man! we could as soon find
out the longitude!
Hast. What's to be done, Marlow?
Mar. This house promises but a poor re-
ception; though perhaps the landlord can ac-
commodate us.
to
Hard. When company comes, you are not
pop out and stare, and then run in again,
like frighted rabbits in a warren.
Omnes. No, no.
Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken
from the barn, are to make a show at the
side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have ad-
vanced from the plough, are to place your-
self behind my chair. But you're not to stand
so, with your hands in your pockets. Take
your hands from your pockets, Roger, and
from your head, you blockhead you. See how

SCENE 1.]
493
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Diggory carries his hands. They're a little Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion.
too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. Having first ruined the master by good house-
Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them: I learned keeping, it at last comes to levy contributions
to hold my hands this way when I was upon as an inn.
drill for the militia. And so being upon drill- Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be
Hard. You must not be so talkative, Dig-taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often
gory; you must be all attention to the guests: seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimney-
You must hear us talk, and not think of talk-piece, though not actually put in the bill, in-
ing; you must see us drink, and not think of flame the bill confoundedly.
drinking; you must see us eat, and not think Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all
of eating.
places; the only difference is, that in good
inns you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns
you are fleeced and starved.
Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's perfectly
unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating
going forwards, ecod he's always wishing for a
mouthful himself.
Hard. Blockhead! is not a bellyful in the
kitchen as good as a bellyful in the parlour?
Stay your stomach with that reflection.
Dig. Ecod I thank your worship, I'll make
a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of
cold beef in the pantry.
Hast. You have lived pretty much among
them. In truth, I have been often surprised
that you who have seen so much of the
world, with your natural good sense, and
your many opportunities, could never yet ac-
quire a requisite share of assurance.
Hast. Ay, among them you are impudent
enough of all conscience,
Mar. The Englishman's malady: but tell
me, George, where could I have learned that
Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then assurance you talk of? My life has been
if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a chiefly spent in a college or an inn, in se-
good story at table, you must not all burst clusion from that lovely part of the creation
out a laughing, as if you made part of the that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't
company.
know that I was ever familiarly acquainted
Dig. Then ecod your worship must not with a single woman-except my mother.-
tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun- But among females of another class, you
room: I can't help laughing at that-he! he! know-
he-for the soul of me. We have laughed
at that these twenty years-ha! ha! ha!
Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good Mar. They are of us, you know.
one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh Hast. But in the company of women of
at that-but still remember to be attentive. reputation I never saw such an ideot, such
Suppose one of the company should call for a trembler; you look for all the world as if
a glass of wine, how will you behave? A you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of
glass of wine, sir, if you please. [To Diggo- the room.
ry]-Eh, why don't you move?
Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want
Dig. Ecod, your worship, I never have to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often
courage till I see the eatables and drinkables formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle
brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld
as a lion.
Hard. What, will nobody move?
1 Sero. I'm not to leave this place.
2 Sero. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine.
3 Serv. Nor mine, for sartain.
Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be
mine.
away at any rate. But I don't know how, a
single glance from a pair of fine eyes has to-
tally overset my resolution. An impudent fel-
low may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged
if a modest man can ever counterfeit impu-
dence. E potratne
Hast. If you could but say half the fine
things to them that I have heard you lavish
upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a col-
lege bed-maker-
Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like
your betters, you are quarrelling for places,
the guests must be starv'd. O you dunces! I Mar. Why, George, I can't say fine things
find I must begin all over again.-But don't to them. They freeze, they petrify me. They
I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain,
posts, you blockheads. I'll go in the mean time or some such bagatelle; but to me a modest
and give my old friend's son a hearty wel-woman, drest out in all her finery, is the
come at the gate.
[Exit. most tremendous object of the whole creation.
gone Hast. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how
can you ever expect to marry?
Dig. By the elevens, my place is
quite out of my head.
Roger. I know that my place is to be
where, on no
1 Sero. Where the devil is mine?
every
Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and
princes, my bride were to be courted by
proxy. If indeed, like an eastern bridegroom,
2 Serv. My place is to be no where at all; one were to be introduced to a wife he never
and so l'ze go about my business.
[Exeunt Sercants, running about, as if
frighted, different Ways.
saw before, it might be endured. But to go.
through all the terrors of a formal courtship,
together with the episode of aunts, grand-
mothers, cousins, and at last to blurt out the
broad start-question, of madam, will you marry
me? No, no, that's a strain much above me,
Enter MARLOW and HASTINGS.
Hast. After the disapointments of the day,
welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts I assure you.
of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my
word, a very well-looking house; antique,
but creditable.
Hast. I pity you; but how do you intend
behaving to the lady you are come down to
visit at the request of your father?

494
[ACT II.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Mar. As I behave to all other ladies. Bow Enter Servant, with a Tankard.
very low. Answer yes, or no, to all her de- This is Liberty-hall, you know.
mands-But for the rest, I don't think I shall
venture to look in her face till I see my father's
again.
Hast. I'm surprised that one who is so
warm a friend can be so cool a lover.
Hard. Here's a cup, sir.
Mar. So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall,
will only let us have just what he pleases.
[Aside.
Hard. [Taking the Cup] I hope you'll
Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my find it to your mind. I have prepar'd it with
chief inducement down was to be instrumental my own hands, and I believe you'll own the
in forwarding your happiness, not my own. ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so
Miss Neville loves you; the family don't know good as to pledge 1) me, sir? Here, Mr. Mar-
you; as my friend you are sure of a recep-low, here is to our better acquaintance.
tion, and let honour do the rest.
Enter HARDCASTLE.
[Drinks, and gives the Cup to Marlow.
Mar. A very impudent fellow this! but
he's a character, and I'll humour him a little.
[4side] Sir, my service to you.
Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily
welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow? Sir, you're [Drinks, gives the Cup to Hastings.
heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, Hast. I see this fellow wants to give us
to receive my friends with my back to the his company, and forgets that he's an innkeep-
fire; I like to give them a hearty reception er, before he has learned to be a gentleman.
in the old style at my gate: I like to see
men [Aside.
their horses and trunks taken care of.
Mar. From the excellence of your cup, my
Mar. [Aside] He has got our names from old friend, I suppose you have a good deal
the servants already. [To Mar.] We approve of business in this part of the country. Warm
your caution and hospitality, sir. [To Hast.] work, now and then at elections, I suppose.
I have been thinking, George, of changing
our travelling dresses in the morning; I am
grown confoundedly ashamed of mine.
Hard. I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use no
ceremony in this house.
Hast. I fancy, George, you're right: the
first blow is half the battle.
[Gives the Tankard to Hardcastle.
Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work
over. Since our betters have hit upon the
expedient of electing each other, there's no
business for us that sell ale. er 203
[Gives the Tankard to Hastings.
Hast. So then you have no turn for poli-
Hard. Mr. Marlow-Mr. Hastings-gentle- tics, I find.
men-pray be under no restraint in this house. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time,
This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen; you may do indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of
just as you please here.
government, like other people; but finding
Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign myself every day grow more angry, and the
too fiercely at first, we may want ammuni- government growing no better, I left it to
tion before it is over. We must show our mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble
generalship, by securing, if necessary, a re- my head about who's in or who's out, than
I do about John Nokes or Tom Stiles. So my
treat.
Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Mar- service to you.
low, puts me in mind of the duke of Marl-
borough, when he went to besiege Denain.
He first summoned the garrison.
Hast. So that with eating above stairs and
drinking below, with receiving your friends
within and amusing them without, you lead
Mar. Ay, and we'll summon your garrison, a good, pleasant, bustling life of it.
old boy.
Hard. I do stir about a good deal, that's
Hard. He first summoned the garrison, certain. Half the differences of the parish are
which might consist of about five thousand adjusted in this very parlour.
men--
Hast. Marlow, what's a clock.
Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling
you, he summoned the garrison, which might
consist of about five thousand men.m
Mar. Five minutes to seven.
Mar. After drinking] And you have an
argument in your cup, old gentleman, better
than any in Westminster-hall.
Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a
little philosophy.
Mar. Well, this is the first time I ever
Hard. Which might consist of about five heard of an innkeeper's philosophy. [Aside
thousand men, well appointed with stores, Hast. So then, like an experienced general,
ammunition, and other implements of war. you attack them on every quarter. If you
Now, says the duke of Marlborough, to George find their reason manageable, you attack them
Brooks that stood next to him--You must have with your philosophy; if you find they have
heard of George Brooks-I'll pawn my duke- no reason, you attack them with this. Here's
dom, says he, but I take that garrison with- your health, my philosopher.
out spilling a drop of blood. So-
Hard. Good, very good, thank you; ha!
Mar. What, my good friend, if you give ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of
a glass of punch in the mean time, it prince Eugene when he fought the Turks at
would help us to carry on the siege with the battle of Belgrade. You shall hear.
vigour.
us
Hard. Punch, sir!--This is the most un-
accountable kind of modesty I ever met with.
[Aside.
Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm
punch, after our journey, will be comfortable.
[Drinks.
1) At the time of the conquest, the enmity between the
Saxons and Normans was so great, that a Norman did
not scruple to stab a Saxon, when drinking or other-
wise not on his guard; and to such a degree was this
arisen, that the Saxons used, when they wanted to drink
in company, to appeal to a countryman to pledge to
protect him whilst he was drinking. This custom has
since passed into a sort of toast (an excuse for drinking).

SCENE 1.1
495
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Mar. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have
think it's almost time to talk about supper. nothing you like; but if there be any thing
What has your philosophy got in the house you have a particular fancy to-
for supper?
Mar. Why really, sir, your bill of fare is
Hard. For supper, sir!-Was ever such so exquisite, that any one part of it is full as
a request to a man in his own house! [Aside. good as another. Send us what you please.
Mar. Yes, sir, supper, sir; I begin to feel So much for supper. And now to see that
an appetite. I shall make devilish work to- our beds are air'd, and properly taken care of.
night in the larder, I promise you.
Hard. I entreat you'll leave all that to me.
You shall not stir a step.
Hard. Such a brazen dog sure never my
eyes beheld. [Aside] Why really, sir, as for
supper, I can't well tell. My Dorothy and
the cookmaid settle these things between them.
I leave these kind of things entirely to them.
Mar. You do, do you?
Hard. Entirely. By-the-by, I believe they
are in actual consultation upon what's for
supper this moment in the kitchen.
Mar. Leave that to you! I protest, sir, you
must excuse me, I always look to these things.
myself.
324
Hard. I must insist, sir, you'll make your-
self easy on that head.
Mar. You see I'm resolved on it.-A very
troublesome fellow, as ever I met with. [Aside.
Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolv'd at least to
attend you. This may be modern modesty,
but I never saw any thing look so like old-
fashioned impudence.
Mar. Then I beg they'll admit me as one
of their privy council. It's a way I have got
When I travel I always choose to regulate
my own supper. Let the cook be called. No [Exeunt Marlow and Hardcastle.
offence, I hope, sir.
Hast. So I find this fellow's civilities begin
Hard. O no, sir, none in the least; yet I to grow troublesome. But who can be angry
don't know how, our Bridget, the cookmaid, with those assiduities which are meant to
is not very communicative upon these occa- please him? Ha! what do I see? Miss Ne-
sions. Should we send for her, she might ville, by all that's happy!
scold us all out of the house.
Hast. Let's see the list of the larder then.
I ask it as a favour. I always match my ap-
petite to my bill of fare.
Mar. [To Hardcastle, who looks at them
with Surprise] Sir, he's very right, and it's
my way too.
Enter Miss NEVILLE.
Miss N. My dear Hastings! To what unex-
pected good fortune, to what accident, am 1
to ascribe this happy meeting?
Hast. Rather let me ask the same question,
as I could never have hoped to meet my
dearest Constance at an inn.
Hard. Sir, you have a right to command
here. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare, Miss N. An inn! sure you mistake! my
for to-night's supper. I believe it's drawn out. aunt, my guardian, lives here. What could
Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me in mind induce you to think this house an inn?
of my uncle, colonel Wallop. It was a say- Hast. My friend, Mr. Marlow, with whom
ing of his, that no man was sure of his sup- I came down, and I, have been sent here as
per till he had eaten it.
to an inn, I assure you. A young fellow,
Servant brings on the Bill of Fare, and exit. whom we accidentally met at a house hard
Hast. All upon the high ropes! His uncle by, directed us hither.
a colonel! we shall soon hear of his mother Miss N. Certainly it must be one of my
being a justice of peace. But let's hear the hopeful cousin's tricks, of whom you have
[Aside. heard me talk so often; ha! ha! ha! ha!
Mar. [Perusing] What's here? For the Hast. He whom your aunt intends for you?
first course; for the second course; for He of whom I have such just apprehensions?
the dessert. The devil, sir, do you think we Miss N. You have nothing to fear from him,
have brought down the whole joiners' com- I assure you. You'd adore him if you knew
pany, or the corporation of Bedford, to eat how heartily he despises me. My aunt knows
up such a supper? two or three little things, it too, and has undertaken to court me for
clean and comfortable, will do.
bill of fare.
Hast. But let's hear it.
Mar. [Reading] For the first course; at
the top, a pig and prune sauce.
Hast. Damn your pig, I say.
him, and actually begins to think she has
made a conquest.
Hast. Thou dear dissembler! You must
know, my Constance, I have just seized this
happy opportunity of my friend's visit here
Mar. And damn your prune sauce, say I. to get admittance into the family. The horses
Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are that carried us down are now fatigued with
hungry, pig, with prune sauce, is very good the journey, but they'll soon be refreshed; and
eating. Their impudence confounds me. then, if my dearest girl will trust in her
[Aside] Gentlemen, you are my guests, make faithful Hastings, we shall soon be landed in
what alterations you please. Is there any France, where even among slaves the laws of
thing else you wish to retrench or alter, marriage are respected.
gentlemen?
Miss N. I have often told you, that, though
Mar. Item. A pork pie, a boilet rabbit ready to obey you, I yet should leave my
and sausages, a florentine, a shaking pudd- little fortune behind with reluctance. The
ing, and a dish of tiff-taff-taffety cream! greatest part of it was left me by uncle,
Hast. Confound your made dishes! I shall the India Director, and chiefly consists in
he as much at a loss in this house, as at a jewels. I have been for some time persuading
green and yellow dinner at the French am- my aunt to let me wear them. I fancy I'm
bassador's table. I'm for plain eating. very near succeeding. The instant they are

496
[ACT II.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
put into my possession, you shall find me concerted] I'm glad of your safe arrival, sir
ready to make them and myself yours. -I'm told you had some accidents by the
Hast. Perish the baubles! Your person is way.
all I desire. In the mean time, my friend Mar. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had
Marlow must not be let into his mistake. I some. Yes, madam, a good many accidents,
know the strange reserve of his temper is but should be sorry, madam-or, rather glad
such, that, if abruptly informed of it, he would of any accidents-that are so agreeably con-
instantly quit the house before our plan was cluded. Hem!
ripe for execution.
Hast. [To Mar] You never spoke better
Miss N. But how shall we keep him in the in your whole life. Keep it up, and I'll in-
deception? Miss Hardcastle is just returned sure you the victory.
from walking; what if we persuade him Miss H. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You
she is come to this house as to an inn? that have seen so much of the finest company,
-come this way.
[They confer. can find little entertainment in an obscure
Enter MARLOW.
corner of the country.
Mar. The assiduities of these good people Mar. [Gathering courage] I have lived,
tease me beyond bearing. My host seems to indeed, in the world, madam; but I have kept
think it ill manners to leave me alone, and so very little company. I have been but an ob-
he claps not only himself, but his old-fashion'd server upon life, madam, while others were
wife on my back. They talk of coming to enjoying it.
sup with us too; and then, I suppose, we Miss H. An observer, like you, upon life,
are to run the gauntlet through all the rest were I fear disagreeably employed, since you
of the family-What have we got here?- must have had much more to censure than
Hast. My dear Charles, let me congratu-to approve.
late you-The most fortunate accident!-Who Mar. Pardon me, madam; I was always
do you think has just alighted?
willing to be amused. The folly of most people
is rather an object of my mirth than uneas-
Mar. Cannot guess.
Hast. Our mistresses, boy; miss Hardcastle iness.
and miss Neville. Give me leave to introduce Hast. [To Mar.] Bravo, bravo. Never
miss Co stance Neville to your acquaintance. spoke so well in your whole life. Well!
Happening to dine in the neighbourhood, they miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr. Mar-
called on their return to take fresh horses low are going to be very good company. I
here. Miss Hardcastle has just stept into the believe our being here will but embarrass the
next room, and will be back in an instant. interview.
Wasn't it lucky? eh!
Mar. Not in the least, Mr. Hastings. We
Mar. I have just been mortified enough of like your company of all things. [To Hast.]
all conscience, and here comes something to Zounds! George, sure you won't go! How
complete my embarrassment.
[Aside. can you leave us?
Hast. Well! but wasn't it the most for- Hast. Our presence will but spoil conver-
tunate thing in the world?
sation, so we'll retire to the next room. [To
Mar. Oh! yes. Very fortunate a most Mar.] You don't consider, man, that we are
joyful encounter-But our dresses, George, to manage a little tête-a-tête of our own.
you know, are in disorder-What if we should
- -
[Exeunt.
postpone the happiness till to-morrow?-To- Miss H. [After a Pause] But you have
morrow at her own house-it will be every not been wholly an observer, I presume, sir?
bit as convenient-and rather more respect- The ladies, I should hope, have employed
ful-To-morrow let it be. [Offering to go. some part
[Offering to go. some part of your addresses.
Miss N. By no means, sir. Your ceremony Mar. [Relapsing into Timidity] Pardon
will displease her. The disorder of your dress me, madam, I-I-I-as yet have studied-
will show the ardour of your impatience. only-to-deserve them.
Besides, she knows you are in the house,
and will permit you to see her.
Miss H. And that, some say, is the very
worst way to obtain them.
Mar. O! the devil! how shall I support it? Mar. Perhaps so, madam; but I love to
Hem! hem! Hastings, you must not go. You converse only with the more grave and sen-
are to assist me, you know, I shall be con- sible part of the sex-But I'm afraid I grow
foundedly ridiculous. Yet, hang it! I'll take tiresome.
courage. Hem!
Miss H. Not at all, sir; there is nothing I
Hast. Pshaw, man! 'tis but the first plunge, like so much as grave conversation myself; I
and all's over. She's but a woman, you know. could hear it for ever. Indeed I have often
Mar. And of all women she that I dread been surprised how a man of sentiment could
ever admire those light airy pleasures, where
nothing reaches the heart.
most to encounter!
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE as returning from
walking, a Bonnet, etc.
Mar. It's a disease-of the mind, madam.
In the variety of tastes there must be some
who, wanting a relish-for-um-a-um.
Hast. [Introducing them] Miss Hardcastle,
Mr. Marlow. I'm proud of bringing two per- Miss H. I understand you, sir. There must
sons together, who only want to know, to be some who, wanting a relish for refined
esteem each other.
pleasures, pretend to despise what they are
Miss H. [Aside] Now, for meeting my incapable of tasting.
modest gentleman with a demure face, and Mar. My meaning, madam; but infinitely
quite in his own manner. [After a Pause, better expressed. And I can't help observing,
in which he appears very uneasy and dis- that in this age of hypocrisy-a-

SCENE 1.]
497
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Miss H. Who could ever suppose this fel- manner that has never seen the Pantheon, the
low impudent upon some occasions! [Aside] Grotto Gardens, the Borough, and such places
You were going to observe, sir-
where the nobility chiefly resort; all I can do,
Mar. I was observing, madam-I protest, is to enjoy London at second-hand. I take
madam, I forget what I was going to observe. care to know every tête-a-tête from the Scan-
Miss H. I vow, and so do I. [Aside] You dalous Magazine, and have all the fashions as
were observing, sir, that in this age of hypo- they come out, in a letter from the two Miss
crisy, something about hypocrisy, sir.
Rickets of Crooked-lane. Pray how do you
like this head, Mr. Hastings?
Mar. Yes, madam; in this age of hypocrisy
there are few who upon strict inquiry do
not-a-a-
Miss H. I understand you perfectly, sir.
Mar. 'Egad! and that's more than I do my-
self.
Hast. Extremely elegant and degagée, upon
my word, madam. Your friseur is a French-
man, I suppose.
Mrs. H. 1 protest I dressed it myself from
[Aside. a print in the Ladies' Memorandum-book for
Miss H. You mean that in this hypocritical the last year.
age there are few that do not condemn in Hast. Indeed! Such a head in a side-box
public what they practise in private, and think at the playhouse, would draw as many gazers
they pay every debt to virtue when they as my lady mayoress at a city ball.
praise it.
Mar. True, madam; those who have most
virtue in their mouths, have least of it in their
bosoms. But I see miss Neville expecting us
in the next room. I would not intrude for
the world.
Miss H. I protest, sir, I never was more
agreeably entertained in all my life. Pray go on.
Mar. Yes, madam. I was--But she beckons
us to join her. Madam, shall I do myself the
honcur to attend you.
for me.
Mrs. H. One must dress a little particular,
or one may escape in the crowd.
Hast. But that can never be your case, ma-
dam, in any dress.
[Bowing.
Mrs. H. Yet what signifies my dressing
when I have such a piece of antiquity by my
side as Mr. Hardcastle? all I can say will not
argue down a single button from his clothes.
I have often wanted him to throw off his
great
flaxen wig, and where he was bald to plaster
it over, like my lord Pately, with powder.
Hast. You are right, madam; for, as among
the ladies there are none ugly, so among the
men there are none old.
Miss H. Well then, I'll follow.
Mar. This pretty smooth dialogue has done
[Aside. Exit.
Miss H. Ha! ha! ha! Was there ever such Mrs. H. But what do you think his answer
a sober, sentimental interview? I'm certain he was? Why, with his usual gothic vivacity, he
scarce look'd me in my face the whole time. said I only wanted him to throw off his wig
Yet the fellow, but for his unaccountable bash- to convert it into a tête for my own wearing.
fulness, is pretty well too. He has good sense, Hast. Intolerable! at your age you may
but then so buried in his fears, that it fa- wear what you please, and it must become
tigues one more than ignorance. If I could you.
teach him a little confidence, it would be do- Mrs. H. Pray, Mr. Hastings, what do you
ing somebody that I know of a piece of ser- take to be the most fashionable age about
vice. But who is that somebody?-that, faith, town!
is a question I can scarce answer.
Mrs. H. Seriously.
Then I shall be too
[Exit. Hast. Some time ago, forty was all the mode;
but I'm told the ladies intend to bring up fifty
Enter TONY and MISS NEVILLE, followed by for the ensuing winter.
MRS. HARDCASTLE and HASTINGS.
Tony. What do you follow me for, cousin young for the fashion.
Con? I wonder you're not asham'd to be so
very engaging.
Miss N. I hope, cousin, one may speak to
one's own relations, and not be to blame.
Tony. Ay, but I know what sort of a rela-
tion you want to make me though; but it
won't do. I tell you, cousin Con, it won't
do; so I beg you'll keep your distance; I
want no nearer relationship.
Hast. No lady begins now to put on jewels
till she's past forty. For instance, miss there,
in a polite circle, would be considered as a
child, a mere maker of samplers.
Mrs. H. And yet Mrs. Niece thinks herself
as much a woman, and is as fond of jewels,
as the oldest of us all.
Hast. Your niece, is she? And that young
gentleman, a brother of yours, I should pre-
[She follows, coquetting him to the back sume?
Scene.
Mrs. H. My son, sir. They are contracted
Mrs. H. Well! I vow, Mr. Hastings, you to each other. Observe their little sports. They
are very entertaining. There's nothing in the fall in and out ten times a day, as if they
world I love to talk of so much as London, were man and wife already. [To them] Well,
and the fashions, though I was never there Tony, child, what soft things are you saying
myself.
to your cousin Constance this evening?
Hast. Never there! you amaze me! from Tony. I have been saying no soft things;
your air and manner, I conclude you had but that it's very hard to be followed about
been bred all your life either at Ranelagh, St. so. Ecod! I've not a place in the house now
James', or Tower-wharf.
that's left to myself but the stable.
Mrs H. O! sir, you're only pleased to say Mrs. H. Never mind him, Con, my dear.
so. We country persons can have no man- He's in another story behind your back.
ner at all. I'm in love with the town, and Miss N. There's something generous in my
that serves to raise me above some of our cousin's manner. He falls out before faces to
neighbouring rustics; but who can have a be forgiven in private.
63

498
[ACT III.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Tony. That's a damned confounded-crack. Tony. Ay, before company. But when she's
Mrs. H. Ah! he's a sly one. Don't you with her playmates she's as loud as a hog in
think they're like each other about the mouth, a gate.
Mr. Hastings? The Blenkinsop mouth to a T. Hast. But there is a meek modesty about
They're of a size too. Back to back, my pret-her that charms me.
ties, that Mr. Hastings may see you. Come,
Tony.
Tony. You had as good not make me, I
tell you.
[Measuring.
Miss N. O lud! he has almost cracked my
head.
Mrs. H. O the monster! for shame, Tony.
You a man, and behave so!
Tony. If I'm a man, let me have my fortin.
Ecod! I'll not be made a fool of any longer.
Mrs. H. Is this, ungrateful boy, all that I'm
to get for the pains I have taken in your edu-
cation? I, that have rock'd you in your cradle,
and fed that pretty mouth with a spoon! Did
not I work that waistcoat to make you genteel?
Tony. But, ecod! I tell you, I'll not be made
a fool of no longer.
Mrs. H. Wasn't it all for your good, viper?
Wasn't it all for your good?
Tony. I wish you'd let me and my good
alone then. Snubbing this way when I'm in
spirits. If I'm to have any good, let it come
of itself; not to keep dinging it, dinging it
into one so.
Tony. Yes, but curb her never so little she
kicks up, and you're flung in the ditch.
Hast. Well but you must allow her a little
beauty-Yes, you must allow her some beauty.
Tony. Bandbox! She's all a made up thing,
mun. Ah! could you but see Bet Bouncer of
these parts, you might then talk of beauty.
Ecod, she has two eyes as black as sloes, and
cheeks as broad and red as a pulpit cushion.
She'd make two of she.
Hast. Well, what say you to a friend that
would take this bitter bargain off your hands?
Tony. Anon.
Hast. Would you thank him that would
take Miss Neville, and leave you to happiness
and your dear Betsy?
Tony. Ay; but where is there such a friend,
for who would take her?
Hast. I am he. If you but assist me, I'll
engage to whip her off to France, and you
shall never hear more of her.
Tony. Assist you! Ecod, I will, to the last
drop of my blood. I'll clap a pair of horses
to your chaise, that shall trundle you off in a
Mrs. H. That's false; I never see you when twinkling, and may be get you a part of her
you're in spirits. No, Tony, you then go to fortin, beside, in jewels, that you little dream of.
the alehouse or kennel. I'm never to be de- Hast. My dear squire, this looks like a lad
lighted with your agreeable wild notes, un- of spirit.
feeling monster!
Tony. Ecod! mamma, your own notes are
the wildest of the two.
Mrs. H. Was ever the like? But I see he
wants to break my heart, I see he does.
Hast. Dear madam, permit me to lecture
the young gentleman a little. I'm certain I
can persuade him to his duty.
Mrs. H. Well, I must retire.
stance, my love. You see, Mr. Hastings, the
wretchedness of my situation: was ever poor
woman so plagued with a dear, sweet, pretty,
provoking, undutiful boy.
Come, Con-
[Exeunt Mrs. Hardcastle and Miss Neville.
Tony. [Singing]
There was a young man riding by,
And fain would have his will.
Rang do dillo dee.
Tony. Come along then, and you shall see
more of my spirit before you have done with
[Singing
me.
We are the boys
That fears no noise
Where thundering cannons roar.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter HARDCASTLE.
[Exeunt.
Hard. What could my old friend, sir Char-
les, mean by recommending his son as the
modestest young man in town? To me he
appears the most impudent piece of brass that
ever spoke with a tongue. He has taken pos-
session of the easy chair by the fireside alrea-
dy. He took off his boots in the parlour,
Don't mind her. Let her cry. It's the com- and desired me to see them taken care of.
fort of her heart. I have seen her and sister I'm desirous to know how his impudence af-
cry over a book for an hour together, and fects my daughter-She will certainly be
they said they liked the book the better, the shocked at it.
more it made them cry.
Hast. Then you're no friend to the ladies,
I find, my pretty young gentleman?
Tony. That's as I find 'um.
Hast. Not to her of your mother's choosing,
I dare answer? And yet she appears to me a
pretty well-tempered girl.
Tony. That's because you don't know her
as well as I. Ecod! I know every inch about
her; and there's not a more bitter cantankerous
toad in all Christendom.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE, plainly dressed.
Well, my Kate, I see you have changed
your dress as I bid you; and yet, I believe,
there was no great occasion.
Miss H. I find such a pleasure, sir, in obey-
ing your commands, that I take care to ob-
serve them without ever debating their pro-
priety.
Hard. And yet, Kate, I sometimes give you
some cause, particularly when I recommended
my modest gentleman to you as a lover to-day.
Miss H. You taught me to expect some-
thing extraordinary, and I find the original ex-
ceeds the description.
Hast. Pretty encouragement this for a lover.
[Aside.
Tony. I have seen her since the height of
that. She has as many tricks as a bare in a
thicket, or a colt the first day's breaking. Hurd. I was never so surprised in my
Hast. To me she appears sensible and silent! He has quite confounded all my faculties.
life!

SCENE 1.]
499
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Miss H. I never saw any thing like it; and are. My cousin Con's necklaces, bobs and all.
a man of the world too!
Hard. Ay, he learned it all abroad.
Miss H. It seems, all natural to him.
Hard. A good deal assisted by bad com-
pany, and a French dancing-master.
My mother shan't cheat the poor souls out of
their fortune, neither. O! my genius, is that
you?
Enter HASTINGS.
Miss H. Sure you mistake, papa! a French Hast. My dear friend, how have you ma-
dancing-master could never have taught him naged with your mother? I hope you have
that timid look-that awkward address-that amused her with pretending love for your
bashful manner ---
cousin, and that you are willing to be recon-
ciled at last: Our horses will be refreshed in
a short time, and we shall soon be ready to
set off.
Hard. Whose look? whose manner, child?
Miss H. Mr. Marlow's? his mauvaise honte,
his timidity struck me at the first sight.
Tony. And here's something to bear your
Hard. Then your first sight deceived you;
for I think him one of the most brazen first charges by the way. Giving the Casket]
sights that ever astonished my senses. Your sweetheart's jewels. Keep them, and
hang those, I say, that would rob you of one
of them.
Miss H. Sure, sir, you rally! I never saw
any one so modest.
Hard. And can you be serious? I never saw
such a bouncing, swaggering puppy since I
was born. Bully Dawson was but a fool to
him.
Miss H. Surprising! he met me with a re-
spectful bow, a stammering voice, and a look
fixed on the ground.
a
Hard. He met me with a loud voice,
lordly air, and a familiarity that made my
blood freeze again.
Hast. But how have you procured them
from your mother?
Tony. Ask me no questions, and I'll tell
you no fibs. I procured them by the rule of
thumb. If I had not a key to every drawer
in mother's bureau, how could I go to the
alehouse so often as I do? An honest man
may rob himself of his own at any time.
Hast. Thousands do it every day. But to
be plain with you, Miss Neville is endeavour-
Miss H. He treated me with diffidence and ing to procure them from her aunt this very
respect; censured the manners of the age; ad- instant. If she succeeds, it will be the most
mired the prudence of girls that never laugh- delicate way at least of obtaining them.
ed; tired me with apologies for being tiresome: Tony. Well, keep them, till you know how
then left the room with a bow, and, madam, it will be. But I know how it will be well
I would not for the world detain you. enough; she'd as soon part with the only
Hard. He spoke to me as if he knew me sound tooth in her head.
all his life before. Asked twenty questions, Hast. But I dread the effects of her resent-
and never waited for an answer. Interrupted ment, when she finds she has lost them.
my best remarks with some silly pun; and Tony. Never you mind her resentment,
when I was in my best story of the duke of leave me to manage that. I don't value her
Marlborough and prince Eugene, he ask'd if resentment the bounce of a cracker. Zounds!
I had not a good hand at making punch. Yes, here they are. Morrice. Prance.
Kate, he asked your father if he was a maker
of punch.
Miss H. One of us must certainly be mis-
taken.
Hard. If he be what he has shown himself,
I'm determined be shall never have my consent.
Miss H. And if he be the sullen thing I take
him, he shall never have mine.
Hard. In one thing then we are agreed-
to reject him.
[Exit Hastings.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MISS NEVILLE.
Mrs. H. Indeed, Constance, you amaze me.
Such a girl as you want jewels! It will be
time enough for jewels, my dear, twenty years
hence, when your beauty begins to want re-
pairs.
Miss N. But what will repair beauty at forty,
will certainly improve it at twenty, madam.
Miss H. Yes, but upon conditions. For if Mrs. H. Yours, my dear, can admit of none.
you should find him less impudent, and I more That natural blush is beyond a thousand or-
presuming; if you find him more respectful, naments. Besides, child, jewels are quite out
and I more importunate-I don't know-the at present. Don't you see half the ladies of
fellow is well enough for a man- Certainly our acquaintance, my lady Kill-daylight, and
we don't meet many such at a horse race in Mr. Crump, and the rest of them, carry their
the country.
jewels to town, and bring nothing but paste
and marcasites back.
Hard. If we should find him so-But that's
impossible. The first appearance has done my
business. I'm seldom deceived in that.
Miss N. But who knows, madam, but some-
body that shall be nameless would like me
Miss H. And yet there may be many good best with all my finery about me?
qualities under that first appearance. But as Mrs. H. Consult your glass, my dear, and
one of us must be mistaken, what if we go then see if, with such a pair of eyes, you
to make further discoveries?
Hard. Agreed. But depend on't I'm in the
right.
Miss H. And depend on't I'm not much in
the wrong.
[Exeunt.
Enter TONY, running in with a Casket.
Tony. Ecod! I have got them.
Here they
want any better sparklers. What do you
think, Tony, my dear, does your cousin Con
want any jewels, in your eyes, to set off her
beauty?
Tony. That's as hereafter may be.
Miss N. My dear aunt, if you knew how it
would oblige me.
Mrs. H. A parcel of old-fashioned rose and

500
[ACT III.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
table-cut things. They would make you look|ter, mamma? I hope nothing has happened to
like the court of king Solomon at a puppet- any of the good family.
show. Besides, I believe I can't readily come Mrs. H. We are robbed. My bureau has
at them. They may be missing, for aught I been broke open, the jewels taken out, and
know to the contrary.
I'm undone.
Tony. [Apart to Mrs. Hardcastle] Then Tony. Oh! is that all? Ha! ha! ha! By the
why don't you tell her so at once, as she's so laws, I never saw it better acted in my life.
longing for them. Tell her they're lost. It's Ecod, I thought you was ruin'd in earnest,
the only way to quiet her. Say they're lost, ha! ha! ha!
and call me to bear witness.
Mrs. H. Why, boy, I am ruined in earnest.
Mrs. H. [Apart to Tony] You know, my My bureau has been broke open, and all ta-
dear, I'm only keeping them for you. So if ken away.
I say they're gone, you'll bear me witness,
will you? He, he, he!
Tony. Never fear me. Ecod! I'll say I
saw them taken out with my own eyes.
Tony. Stick to that! ha! ha! ha! stick to
that; call me to bear witness.
Mrs. H. I tell you, Tony, by all that's pre-
cious, the jewels are gone, and I shall be
ruin'd for ever.
Tony. Sure I know they're gone, and I am
to say so.
Miss N. I desire them but for a day, ma-
dam. Just to be permitted to show them as
relics, and then they may be lock'd up again.
Mrs. H. To be plain with you, my dear
Constance, if I could find them, you should
have them. They're missing, I assure you. Tony. By the laws, mamma, you make me
Lost, for aught I know; but we must have for to laugh, ha! ha! I know who took them.
patience wherever they are.
well enough, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. H. My dearest Tony, but hear me.
They're gone, I say.
Miss N. I'll not believe it; this is but a Mrs. H. Was there ever such a blockhead,
shallow pretence to deny me. I know they're that can't tell the difference between jest and
too valuable to be so slightly kept, and as you earnest. I tell you I'm not in jest, booby.
are to answer for the loss.
Tony. That's right, that's right: you must
Mrs. H. Don't be alarm'd, Constance. If be in a bitter passion, and then nobody will
they be lost, I must restore an equivalent. suspect either of us. I'll bear witness that
But my son knows they are missing, and not they are gone.
to be found.
Tony. That I can bear witness to. They are
missing, and not to be found, I'll take my
oath on't.
Mrs. H. Can you bear witness that you're
no better than a fool? Was ever poor wo-
man so beset with fools on one hand, and
thieves on the other.
Tony. I can bear witness to that.
Mrs. H. Bear witness again, you blockhead
Mrs. H. You must learn resignation, my
dear; for though we lose our fortune, yet we
should not lose our patience. See me, how you, and I'll turn you out of the room directly.
calm I am.
My poor niece, what will become of her! Do
you laugh, you unfeeling brute, as if
joy'd my distress?
Miss N. Ay, people are generally calm at
the misfortunes of others.
Mrs. H. Now I wonder a girl of your good
sense should waste a thought upon such trum-
pery We shall soon find them; and, in the
mean time, you shall make use of my garnets
till your jewels be found.
Miss N. I detest garnets.
you en-
Tony. I can bear witness to that.
Mrs. H. Do you insult me, monster? I'll
teach you to vex your mother, I will.
Tony. I can bear witness to that.
[Runs off; Mrs. Hardcastle follows him.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE and Maid.
Miss H. What an unaccountable creature is
Mrs. H. The most becoming things in the
world, to set off a clear complexion. You have
often seen how well they look upon me. You that brother of mine, to send them to the house
shall have them.
[Exit. as an inn, ha! ha! I don't wonder at his im-
Miss N. I dislike them of all things. You pudence.
shan't stir-Was ever any thing so provoking,
to mislay my own jewels, and force me to
wear trumpery.
Maid. But what is more, madam, the young
gentleman, as you passed by in your present
dress, ask'd me if you were the bar-maid? He
Tony. Don't be a fool. If she gives you mistook you for the bar-maid, madam.
the garnets, take what you can get. The jew- Miss H. Did he? Then as I live I'm resolv'd
els are your own already. I have stolen to keep up the delusion. Tell me how you
them out of her bureau, and she does not do like my present dress.
know it. Fly to your spark, he'll tell you look something like Cherry in the Beaux'
more of the matter. Leave me to manage her. Stratagem?
Miss N. My dear cousin.
Tony. Vanish. She's here, and has missed
them already. Zounds! how she fidgets and
spits about like a Catharine wheel. ¹)
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
Mrs. H. Confusion! thieves! robbers! We
are cheated, plundered, broke open, undone.
Tony. What's the matter, what's the mat-
1) A sort of Firework.
Don't you think I
Maid. It's the dress, madam, that every lady
wears in the country, but when she visits or
receives company.
Miss H. And are you sure he does not re-
member my face or person?
Maid. Certain of it.
Miss H. I vow I thought so; for though we
spoke for some time together, yet his fears
were such, that he never once looked up dur-
ing the interview. Indeed if he had, my bon-
net would have kept him from seeiug me.

SCENE 1.]
501
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Maid. But what do you hope from keeping Miss H. Then it's odd I should not know
him in his mistake?
it. We brew all sorts of wines in this house,
Miss H. In the first place, I shall be seen; and I have lived here these eighteen years.
and that is no small advantage to a girl who Mar. Eighteen years! Why one would
brings her face to market. Then I shall per- think, child, you kept the bar before you were
haps make an acquaintance; and that's no born. How old are you?
small victory gained over one who never ad- Miss H. O! sir; I must not tell my age.
dressed any but the wildest of her sex. But They say women and music should never be
my chief aim is to take my gentleman off his dated.
guard, and like an invisible champion of ro- Mar. To guess at this distance, you can't
mance, examine the giant's force before I of- be much above forty. [Approaching] Yet near-
fer to combat.
er I don't think so much. [Approaching] By
Maid. But are you sure you can act your coming close to some women they look younger
part, and disguise your voice, so that he may still; but when we come very close indeed-
mistake that, as he has already mistaken your
[Attempting to kiss her.
person.
Miss H. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One
would think you wanted to know one's age
as they do horses, by mark of mouth.
Miss H. Never fear me. I think I have got
the true bar cant-Did your honour call?
Attend the Lion there-Pipes and tobacco for
the Angel-The Lamb has been outrageous
this half hour.
Maid. It will do, madam, but he's here.
ill.
Mar. I protest, child, you use me extremely
If you keep me at this distance, how is
it possible you and I can ever be acquainted?
Miss H. And who wants to be acquainted
[Exit. with you? I want no such acquaintance, not I.
I'm sure you did not treat miss Hardcastle
that was here awhile ago in this obstropolous
Mar. What a bawling in every part of the manner. I'll warrant me, before her you
house! I have scarce a moment's repose. If look'd dash'd, and kept bowing to the ground,
I go to the best room, there I find my host and talk'd, for all the world, as if you was
and his story. If I fly to the gallery, there before a justice of the peace.
Enter MARLOW.
we have my hostess with her courtesy down Mar. 'Egad! she has hit it, sure enough.
to the ground. I have at last got a moment [Aside] In awe of her, child? Ha! ha! ha!
to myself, and now for recollection.
A mere awkward, squinting thing. No, no.
[Walks and muses. I find you don't know me. I laugh'd, and
Miss H. Did you call, sir? did your honour rallied her a little; but I was unwilling to be
call?
too severe. No, I could not be too severe,
curse me!
Mar. [Musing] As for miss Hardcastle,
she's too grave and sentimental for me.
Miss H. Did your honour call?
[She still places herself before him,
he turning away.
Miss H. O! then, sir, you are a favourite,
I find, among the ladies?
Mar. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And
yet, hang me, I don't see what they find in
Mar. No, child. [Musing] Besides, from me to follow. At the ladies' club in town,
the glimpse I had of her, I think she squints. I'm called their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child,
Miss H. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring. is not my real name, but one I'm known by.
Mar. No, no. [Musing] I have pleased my My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my
father, however, by coming down, and I'll to- dear, at your service. [Offering to salute her.
morrow please myself by returning.
Miss H. Hold, sir, you were introducing me
to your club, not to yourself. And you're so
great a favourite there, you say?
sir.
[Taking out his Tablets, and perusing.
Miss H. Perhaps the other gentleman called,
Mar. I tell you, no.
Mar. Yes, my dear. There's Mrs. Mantrap,
lady Betty Blackleg, the countess of Sligo,
Miss H. I should be glad to know, sir. We Mrs. Longhorns, old miss Biddy Buckskin,
have such a parcel of servants.
and your humble servant, keep up the spirit
Miss H. Then it's a very merry place, I
Mar. No, no, I tell you. [Looks full in of the place.
her Face] Yes, child, I think I did call. I
wanted-I wanted-I vow, child, you are suppose?
vastly handsome.
Miss H. O la, sir, you'll make one asham'd.
Mar. Never saw a more sprightly, malicious
eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I did call. Have you
got any of your-a-what d'ye call it, in the
house?
Miss H. No, sir, we have been out of that
these ten days.
Mar. One may call in this house, I find, to
very little purpose. Suppose I should call for
a taste, just by way of trial, of the nectar of
your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in
that too.
Miss H. Nectar! nectar! that's a liquor
there's no call for in these parts. French, I sup-
pose. We keep no French wines here, sir.
Mar. Of true English growth, I assure you.
Mar. Yes, as merry as cards, supper, wine,
and old women can make us.
ha!
Miss H. And their agreeable Rattle, ha! ha!
Mar. 'Egad! I don't quite like this chit.
She looks knowing, methinks. [Aside] You
laugh, child!
Miss H. I can't but laugh to think what
time they all have for minding their work or
their family.
Mar. All's well, she don't laugh at me.
[Aside] Do you ever work, child?
Miss H. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or
a quilt in the whole house but what can bear
witness to that.
Mar. Odso! Then you must show me your
embroidery. I embroider and draw patterns

502
[ACT IV.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Enter HASTINGS.
myself a little. If you want a judge of your What an unaccountable set of beings have
work, you must apply to me.
we got amongst! This little bar-maid though
[Seizing her Hand. runs in my head most strangely, and drives
Miss H. Ay, but the colours don't look well out the absurdities of all the rest of the fa-
by candle-light. You shall see all in the mily. She's mine, she must be mine, or I'm
morning.
[Struggling. greatly mistaken.
Mar. And why not now, my angel? Such
beauty fires beyond the power of resistance.
--Pshaw! the father here! My old luck! I Hast. Bless me! I quite forgot to tell her
never nick'd seven that I did not throw ames that I intended to prepare at the bottom of
ace three times following. 1)
[Exit. the garden. Marlow here, and in spirits too!
Mar. Give me joy, George! Crown me,
shadow me with laurels! Well, George, after
all, we modest fellows don't want for success
among the women.
Enter HARDCASTLE, who stands in Surprise.
Hard. So, madam! So I find this is your
modest lover. This is your humble admirer,
that kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and Hast. Some women, you mean. But what
only ador'd at humble distance. Kate, Kate, success has your honour's modesty been crowned
art thou not asham'd to deceive your father
so?
Miss H. Never trust me, my dear papa, but
he's still the modest man I first took him for;
you'll be convinced of it as well as I.
Hard. By the hand of my body I believe
his impudence is infectious! Didn't I see him
seize your hand? Didn't I see him haul you
about like a milkmaid? and now you talk of
his respect and his modesty, forsooth!
with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
Mar. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk,
lovely, little thing that runs about the house
with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
Hast. Well! and what then?
Such
Mar. She's mine, you rogue you.
fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips-but,
egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
Hast. But are you so sure, so very sure
of her?
Miss H. But if I shortly convince you of Mar. Why, man, she talk'd of showing me
his modesty, that he has only the faults that her work above stairs, and I'm to improve
will pass off with time, and the virtues that the pattern.
will improve with age, I hope you'll forgive Hast. But how can you, Charles, go about
him.
to rob a woman of her honour?
Hard. The girl would actually make one Mar. Pshaw! pshaw! We all know the
run mad; I tell you I'll not be convinced. I honour of the bar-maid of an inn. I don't
am convinced. He has scarcely been three intend to rob her, take my word for it; there's
hours in the house, and he has already en- nothing in this house I shan't honestly pay for.
croached on all my prerogatives. You may Hast. I believe the girl has virtue.
like his impudence, and call it modesty. But Mar. And if she has, I should be the last
son-in-law, madam, must have very dif- man in the world that would attempt to cor-
ferent qualifications.
rupt it.
my
Miss H. Sir, I ask but this night to
vince you.
con-
Hard. You shall not have half the time;
for I have thoughts of turning him out this
very hour.
Miss H. Give me that hour then, and I hope
to satisfy you.
Hard. Well, an hour let it be then. But
I'll have no trifling with your father. All fair
open, do you mind me.
and
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
Hast. You have taken care, I hope, of the
casket I sent you to lock up? It's in safety?
Mar. Yes, yes. It's safe enough. I have
taken care of it. But how could you think
the seat of a post-coach at an inn-door a place
of safety? Ah, numbskull! I have taken better
precautions for you than you did for yourself
I have-
Hast. What!
Mar. I have sent it to the landiady to keep
for you.
Hast. To the landlady!
Mar. The landlady.
Hast. You did?
Mar. I did. She's to be answerable for its
forthcoming, you know.
Hast. Yes, she'll bring it forth, with a witness.
Mar. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow
SCENE I.-An old-fashioned House.
Enter MARLOW, followed by a Servant.
Mar. I wonder what Hastings could mean
by sending me so valuable a thing as a casket
to keep for him, when he knows the only
place I have is the seat of a postcoach at an that I acted prudently upon this occasion.
inn door. Have you deposited the casket with
the landlady, as I ordered you? Have you
put it into her own hands?
Serv, Yes, your honour.
Hast. He must not see my uneasiness.
[Aside.
Mar. You seem a little disconcerted though,
methinks. Sure nothing has happened?
Mar. She said she'd keep it safe, did she? Hast. No, nothing. Never was in better
Serv. Yes, she said she'd keep it safe enough; spirits in all my life. And so you left it with
she asked me how I came by it? and she said the landlady, who, no doubt, very readily un-
she had a great mind to make me give an dertook the charge?
account of myself.
Mar. Ha! ha! ha! They're safe,
[Exit. Mar. Rather too readily. For she not only
however. kept the casket, but, through her great pre-
caution, was going to keep the messenger too.
Ha! ha! ha!
1) At dice I never (by chance threw) nicked seven that
I did not throw ames (ambes, double) ace three times
following.
Hast. He! he! he! They're safe, however.

SCENE 1.]
503
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Mar. As a guinea in a miser's purse.
Hard.. I tell you, sir, you don't please me;
Hast. So now all hopes of fortune are at so I desire you'll leave my house.
an end, and we must set off without it [Aside] Mar. Sure you cannot be serious. At this
Well, Charles, I'll leave you to your medita- time o'night, and such a night? You only
tions on the pretty bar-maid, and, he! he! he! mean to banter me.
Enter HARDCASTLE.
may you be as successful for yourself as you Hard. I tell you, sir, I'm serious; and now
have been for me.
[Exit. that my passions are roused, I say this house
Mar. Thank ye, George; I ask no more. is mine, sir; this house is mine, and I com-
Ha! ha! ha!
mand you to leave it directly.
Mar. Ha! ha! ha! A puddle in a storm. I
shan't stir a step, I assure you. [In a serious
Hard. I no longer know my own house. Tone] This your house, fellow! It's my house.
It's turned all topsy-turvy. His servants have This is my house. Mine, while I choose to
got drunk already. I'll bear it no longer; and stay. What right have you to bid me leave
yet, from my respect for his father, I'll be this house, sir? I never met with such impu-
calm. [Aside] Mr. Marlow, your servant. I'm dence, curse me, never in my whole life before.
your very humble servant.
[Bowing low. Hard. Nor I, confound me if ever I did.
Mar. Sir, your humble servant.- What's To come to my house, to call for what he
to be the wonder now?
[Aside. likes, to turn me out of my own chair, to in-
Hard. I believe, sir, you must be sensible, sult the family, to order his servants to get
sir, that no man alive ought to be more wel- drunk, and then to tell me, this house is mine,
come than your father's son, sir. I hope you sir. By all that's impudent it makes me laugh.
think so.
Ha! ha! ha! Pray, sir, [Bantering] as you
take the house, what think you of taking the
rest of the furniture? There's a pair of silver
candlesticks, and there's a firescreen, and a
pair of bellows, perhaps you may take a fancy
Mar. I do from my soul, sir. I don't want
much entreaty. I generally make my father's
son welcome wherever he goes.
Hard. I believe you do, from my soul, sir.
But though I say nothing to your own conduct, to them?
that of your servants is insufferable. Their Mar. Bring me your bill, sir, bring me your
manner of drinking is setting a very bad ex-bill, and let's make no more words about it.
ample in this house, I assure you.
Hard. There are a set of prints too. What
think you of the Rake's Progress for your
own apartment?
Mar. I protest, my very good sir, that's no
fault of mine. If they don't drink as they
ought, they are to blame: I ordered them not Mar. Bring me your bill, I say; and I'll
to spare the cellar; I did, I assure you. [To leave you and your infernal house directly.
the side Scene] Here, let one of my servants Hard. Then there's a bright, brazen warm-
come up. [To Hard]. My positive directions ing-pan, that you may see your own brazen
were, that as I did not drink myself, they face in.
should make up for my deficiencies below.
Hard. Then they had your orders for what
they do! I'm satisfied.
Mar. They had, I assure you: you shall
hear from one of themselves.
Enter Servant, drunk.
Mar. My bill, I s y.
Hard. I had forgot the great chair, for your
own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal.
Mar. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say, and
let's hear no more on't.
Hard. Young man, young man, from your
father's letter to me, I was taught to expect a
well-bred, modest man, as a visitor here, but
now I find him no better than a coxcomb and
a bully; but he will be down here presently,
and shall hear more of it.
[Exit.
You, Jeremy! Come forward, sirrah! What
were my orders? Were you not told to drink
freely, and call for what you thought fit, for
the good of the house?
Hard, I begin to lose my patience. [Aside. Mar. How's this? sure I have not mistaken
Jer. Please your honour, liberty and Fleet- the house! Every thing looks like an inn. The
street for ever, though I'm but a servant, I'm servants cry, coming! The attendance is awk-
as good as another man; I'll drink for no man ward; the bar-maid too to attend us. But
before supper, sir, damme! Good liquor will she's here, and will further inform me. Whi-
sit upon a good supper, but a good supper ther so fast, child? a word with you.
will not sit upon-hiccup-upon my con-
science, sir.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
Mar. You see, my old friend, the fellow is Miss H. Let it be short then; I'm in a hurry.
as drunk as he can possibly be. I don't know-I believe he begins to find out his mistake,
what you'd have more, unless you'd have the but it's too soon quite to undeceive him.
poor devil soused in a beer-barrel.
Hard. Zounds! He'll drive me distracted if
I contain myself any longer. [Aside] Mr.
Marlow, sir, I have submitted to your inso-
lence for more than four hours, and I see no
likelihood of its coming to an end. I'm now
resolved to be master here, sir, and I desire
that you and your drunken pack may leave
my house directly.
Mar. Leave your house!-Sure you jest,
my good friend? What, when I'm doing what
I can to please you?
[Aside.
Mar. Pray, child, answer me one question.
What are you, and what may your business
in this house be?
to
Miss H. A relation of the family, sir.
Mar. What, a poor relation?
Miss H. Yes, sir. A poor relation appointed
keep the keys, and to see that the guests
want nothing in my power to give them.
Mar. That is, you act as the bar-maid of
this inn.
Miss H. Inn! O law-What brought that

504
[ACT IV.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
in your head? One of the best families in the be locked up, or sent to my aunt Pedigree's,
county to keep an inn. Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. which is ten times worse.
Hardcastle's house an inn!
Tony. To be sure, aunts of all kinds are
Mar. Mr. Hardcastle's house! Is this house damn'd bad things. But what can I do? I
Mr. Hardcastle's house, child?
have got you a pair of horses that will fly like
Miss H. Ay, sir, whose else should it be? Whistlejacket, and I'm sure you can't say but
Mar. So then all's out, and I have been I have courted you nicely before her face.
damnably imposed on. O, confound my stupid Here she comes; we must court a bit or two
head, I shall be laughed at over the whole more, for fear she should suspect us.
[They retire, and seem to fondle.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura in all
the print-shops. The Dullissimo Maccaroni.
To mistake this house of all others for an inn,
and my father's old friend for an innkeeper. Mrs. H. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to
What a swaggering puppy must he take me be sure. But my son tells me it was all a
for. What a silly puppy do I find myself. mistake of the servants. I shan't be easy,
There again, may I be hang'd, my dear, but however, till they are fairly married, and then
I mistook you for the bar-maid.
let her keep her own fortune. But what do
Miss H. Dear me! dear me! I'm sure there's I see? Fondling together, as I am alive. I
nothing in my behaviour te put me upon a never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ah! have
level with one of that stamp.
I caught you, my pretty doves! What, bill-
Mar. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I ing, exchanging stolen glances, and broken
was in for a list of blunders, and could not murmurs? Ah!
help making you a subscriber. My stupidity Tony. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble
saw every thing the wrong way. I mistook a little now and then, to be sure. But there's
your assiduity for assurance, and your sim- no love lost between us.
plicity for allurement. But it's over This
house I no more show my face in.
Miss H. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to
disoblige you. I'm sure I should be sorry to
affront any gentleman who has been so polite,
and said so many civil things to me. I'm sure
I should be sorry, [Pretending to cry] if he
left the family upon my account. I'm sure I
should be sorry people said any thing amiss,
since I have no fortune but my character.
Mar. By heaven, she weeps. This is the
first mark of tenderness I ever had from a
modest woman, and it touches me. [Aside.
Miss H. I'm sure my family is as good as
miss Hardcastle's, and though I'm poor, that's
no great misfortune to a contented mind, and
until this moment I never thought that it was
bad to want fortune.
Mrs. H. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the
flame, only to make it burn brighter.
Miss N. Cousin Tony promises to give us
more of his company at home. Indeed he
shan't leave us any more. It won't leave us,
cousin Tony, will it?
Tony. O! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd
sooner leave my horse in a pound, than leave
you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh
makes you so becoming.
Miss N. Agreeable cousin! who can help
admiring that natural humour, that pleasant,
broad, red, thoughtless-[Patting his Cheek]
Ah! it's a bold face.
Mrs. H. Pretty innocence!
Tony. I'm sure I always lov'd cousin Con's
hazel eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that
she twists this way and that over the harpsi-
cholls, like a parcel of bobbins.
Mar. And why now, my pretty simplicity?
Miss H. Because it puts me at a distance! Mrs. H. Ah, he would charm the bird from
from one, that if I had a thousand pounds I the tree. I was never so happy before. My
would give it all to.
boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin,
Mar. This simplicity bewitches me, so that exactly. The jewels, my dear Con, shall be
if I stay I'm undone. I must make one bold yours incontinently. You shall have them.
effort, and leave her. [Aside] Excuse me, my Isn't he a sweet boy, my dear? You shall be
lovely girl, you are the only part of the family married to-morrow, and we'll put off the rest
I leave with reluctance. But to be plain with of his education, like Dr. Drowsy's sermons,
you, the difference of our birth, fortune, and to a fitter opportunity.
education, make an honourable connexion im-
possible; and I can never harbour a thought
of bringing ruin upon one, whose only fault
was being too lovely.
[Exit.
Miss H. I never knew half his merit till
now. He shall not go, if I have power or
art to detain him. I'll still preserve the cha-
racter in which I stoop'd to conquer, but will
undeceive my papa, who perhaps may laugh
him out of his resolution.
[Exit.
Enter DIGGORY.
Digg. Where's the squire? I have got a
letter for your worship.
Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads
all my letters first.
Digg. I had orders to deliver it into your
own hands.
Tony. Who does it come from?
Digg. Your whorship mun ask that o'the
letter itself.
Tony. I could wish to know, though.
Enter TONY and MISS NEVILLE.
Tony. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the [Turning the Letter, and gazing on it.
next time; I have done my duty. She has got Miss N. [Aside] Undone, undone. A letter
the jewels again, that's a sure thing; but she to him from Hastings. I know the hand. If
believes it was all a mistake of the servants. my aunt sees it, we are ruined for ever.
I'll
Miss N. But, my dear cousin, sure you won't keep her employed a little if I can. [To Mrs.
forsake us in this distress. If she in the least Hardcastle] But I have not told you, madam,
suspects that I am going off, I shall certainly of my cousin's smart answer just now to Mr.

SCENE 1.]
505
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
hear us.
Marlow. We so laugh'd-You must know, with scarce sense enough to keep your mouth
madam- this way a little, for he must not shut, were you too joined against me? But
[They confer. I'll defeat all your plots in a moment. As for
Tony. [Still gazing] A damn'd cramp piece you, madam, since you have got a pair of
of penmanship as ever I saw in my life. I fresh horses ready, it would be cruel to dis-
can read your print-hand very well. But here appoint them. So, if you please, instead of
there are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, running away with your spark, prepare, this
that one can scarce tell the head from the very moment, to run off with me. Your old
tail. To Anthony Lumpkin, Esq. It's very aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I'll war-
odd, can read the outside of my letters, rant me. You too, sir, may mount your horse,
where my own name is, well enough. But and guard us upon the way. Here, Thomas,
when I come to open it, it is all-buz. That's Roger, Diggory; I'll show you, that I wish
hard, very hard: for the inside of the letter is you better than you do yourselves.
always the cream of the correspondence. Miss N. So now I'm completely ruined.
Mrs. H. Ha! ha! ha! Very well, very well. Tony. Ay, that's a sure thing.
And so my son was too hard for the philo- Miss N. What better could be expected
sopher.
from being connected with such a stupid fool,
Miss N. Yes, madam; but you must hear and after all the nods and signs I made him?
the rest, madam. A little more this way, or Tony. By the laws, miss, it was your own
he may hear us. You'll hear how he puzzled cleverness, and not my stupidity, that did
him again.
business. You were so nice and so busy with
Mrs. H. He seems strangely puzzled now your Shake-bags and Goose-greens, that I
himself, methinks.
thought you could never be making believe.
Enter HASTINGS.
[Exit.
your
Tony. [Still gazing] A damn'd up and
down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor.
[Reading] Dear sir. Ay, that's that. Then Hast. So, sir, I find by my servant, that
there's an M, and a T, and an S, but whether you have shown my letter, and betray'd us.
the next be an izzard 1) or an R, confound Was this well done, young gentleman?
me, I cannot tell.
Tony. Here's another. Ask miss there who
Mrs. H. What's that, my dear? Can I give betray'd you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine.
you any assistance?
Enter MARLOW.
Miss N. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody
reads a cramp hand better than I. [Twitching Mar. So, I have been finely used here among
the Letter from her] Do you know who it you. Rendered contemptible, driven into ill-
is from?
manners, despised, insulted, laugh'd at.
Tony. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger,
the feeder.
Miss N. Ay, so it is. [Pretending to read]
Dear squire, hoping that you're in health, as
I am at this present. The gentlemen of the
Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of the
Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds
-um-old battle-um-long fighting-um-
here, here, it's all about cocks, and fighting;
it's of no consequence, here, put it up, put it up.
[Thrusting the crumpled Letter upon him.
Tony. But I tell you, miss, it's of all the
consequence in the world. I would not lose
the rest of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do
you make it out. Of no consequence.
Tony. Here's another. We shall have old
Bedlam broke loose presently.
Miss N. And there, sir, is the gentleman to
whom we all owe every obligation.
Mar. What can I say to him, a mere booby,
an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a
protection.
Hast. A poor contemptible booby, that would
but disgrace correction.
Miss N. Yet with cunning and malice enough
to make himself merry with our embarrassments.
Hast. An insensible cub.
Mar. Replete with tricks and mischief.
Tony. Baw! damme, but I'll fight you both,
one after the other-with baskets.
[Giving Mrs. Hardcastle the Letter. Mar. As for him, he's below resentment.
Mrs. H. How's this?
[Reads. But your conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an
Dear Squire,-I'm now waiting for Miss explanation. You knew of my mistakes, yet
Neville, with a post chaise and pair, at the would not undeceive me.
bottom of the garden; but I find my horses Hast. Tortured as I am with my own dis-
yet unable to perform the journey. I expect appointments, is this a time for explanations?
you'll assist us with a pair of fresh horses, It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow.
as you promised. Dispatch is necessary, Mar. But, sir-
as the hag (ay, the bag), your mother, will Miss N. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on
otherwise suspect us. Yours, HASTINGS. your mistake, till it was too late to undeceive
Grant me patience. I shall run distracted. you. Be pacified.
My rage chokes me.
Enter Servant.
Miss N. I hope, madam, you'll suspend your
resentment for a few moments, and not im- Serv. My mistress desires you'll get ready
pute to me any impertinence, or sinister design immediately, madam. The horses are putting
that belongs to another.
to. Your hat and things are in the next room.
We are to go thirty miles before morning.
[Exit.
Mrs. H. [Courteseying very low] Fine spoken,
madam, you are most miraculously polite and
engaging, and quite the very pink of courtesy Miss N. I come. O, Mr. Marlow! if you
and circumspection, madam. [Changing her knew what a scene of constraint and ill nature
Tone] And you, you great ill-fashioned oaf, lies before me, I'm sure it would convert your
resentment into pity.
1) An surd, Z.
64

506
[ACT V.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Mrs. H. [Within] Miss Neville. Constance; don't think, sir, that my impudence has been
why, Constance, I say.000
Miss N. I'm coming. Well, constancy. Re-
member, constancy is the word.
passed upon all the rest of the family.
Hard. Impudence. No, I don't say that-
[Exit. Not quite impudence.-Girls like to be played
Hast. My heart, how can I support this? with, and rumpled too sometimes. But she
To be so near happiness, and such happiness! has told no tales, I assure you.
Mar. [To Tony] You see now, young gen-
tleman, the effects of your folly. What might
be amusement to you, is here disappointment,
and even distress.
Mar. May I die, sir, if I ever-
Hard. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and
as I'm sure you like her.-
Mar. Dear sir, I protest, sir-
Tony. [From a Reverie] Ecod, I have hit Hard. I see no reason why you should not
it. It's here. Your hands. Yours and yours, be joined as fast as the parson can tie you.
my poor Sulky. Meet me two hours hence Mar. But why won't you hear me? By all
at the bottom of the garden; and if you don't that's just and true, I never gave miss Hard-
find Tony Lumpkin a more good natur'd fel- castle the slightest mark of my attachment,
low than you thought for, I'll give you leave or even the most distant hint to suspect me
to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into of affection. We had but one interview, and
the bargain. Come along.
[Exeunt. that was formal, modest, and uninteresting.
Hard. This fellow's formal, modest im-
pudence is beyond bearing.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-An old-fashioned House.
[Aside.
Sir C. And you never grasp'd her hand, or
made any protestations?
Enter SIR CHARLES MARLOW and HARDCASTLE.
Mar. As heaven is my witness, I came down
Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The peremptory tone in obedience to your commands. I saw the
in which he sent forth his sublime commands. lady without emotion, and parted without re-
Sir C. And the reserve with which I sup-luctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs
pose he treated all your advances.
of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a
Hard. And yet he might have seen some-house in which I suffer so many mortifications.
thing in me above a common innkeeper, too.
Sir C. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for
an uncommon innkeeper, ha! ha! ha!
[Exit.
Sir C. I'm astonish'd at the air of sincerity
with which he parted.
Hard. And I'm astonish'd at the deliberate
intrepidity of his assurance.
Hard. Well, I'm in too good spirits to
think of any thing but joy. Yes, my dear
friend, this union of our families will make our
personal friendships hereditary; and thoughjupon his truth.
my daughter's fortune is but small-
Sir C. I dare pledge my life and honour
Hard. Here comes my daughter, and I would
Sir C. Why, Dick, will you talk of fortune stake my happiness upon her veracity.
to me? My son is possessed of more than a
competence already, and can want nothing
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
but a good and virtuous girl to share his hap- Kate, come hither, child. Answer me sincerely,
piness, aud increase it. If they like each other, and without reserve; has Mr. Marlow made
as you say they do-
you any professions of love and affection?
Hard. If, man. I tell you they do like each Miss H. The question is very abrupt, sir:
other. My daughter as good as told me so. but since you require unreserved sincerity,
Sir C. But girls are apt to flatter them-I
selves, you know.
Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the
warmest manner myself; and here he comes
to put you out of your ifs, I warrant him.
Enter MARLOW.
Mar. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon
for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect
on my insolence without confusion.
Hard. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too
gravely. An hour or two's laughing with my
daughter will set all to rights again.- She'll
never like you the worse for it.
Mar. Sir, I shall be always proud of her
approbation.
think he has.
Hard. [To Sir C.] You see.
Sir C. And pray, madam, have you and my
son had more than one interview?
Miss H. Yes, sir, several.
Hard. [To Sir C.] You see.
Sir C. But did he profess any attachment?
Miss H. A lasting one.
Sir C. Did he talk of love?
Miss H. Much, sir.
Sir C. Amazing! and all this formally?
Miss H. Formally.
Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are
satisfied.
Sir C. And how did he behave, madam?
Miss H. As most professed admirers do.
Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Said some civil things of my face, talked much
Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have some- of his want of merit, and the greatness of
thing more than approbation thereabouts. You mine: mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy
take me.
speech, and ended with pretended rapture.
Mar. Really, sir, I have not that happiness. Sir C. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed.
Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and I know his conversation among women to be
know what's what, as well as you that are modest and submissive. This forward, canting,
younger. I know what has passed between ranting manner by no means describes him,
you; but mum.
and I'm confident he never sat for the picture.
Mar. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between Miss H. Then what, sir, if I should con-
us but the most profound respect on my side, vince you to your face of my sincerity? If
and the most distant reserve on her's. You you and my papa, in about half an hour, will

SCENE 2.]
507
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
place yourselves behind that screen, you shall I say. After we take a knock in this part of
hear him declare his passion to me in person. the country, we shake hands and be friends.
Sir C. Agreed. And if I find him what you But if you had run me through the guts, then
describe, all my happiness in him must have I should be dead, and you might go shake
[Exit. hands with the hangman.
an end.
Miss H. And if you don't find him what I Hast. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten
describe-I fear my happiness must never have to relieve miss Neville! if you keep the old
a beginning.
[Exeunt. lady employed, I promise to take care of the
SCENE II.-The Back of the Garden.
Enter HASTINGS.
Hast. What an idiot am I, to wait here
for a fellow, who probably takes delight in
mortifying me. He never intended to be punc-
tual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see?
It is he, and perhaps with news of my Con-
stance.
young one.
[Exit.
Tony. Never fear me. Here she comes.
Vanish! She's got into the pond, and is draggled
up to the waist like a mermaid.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
Mrs. H. Oh, Tony, I'm kill'd! Shook! Bat-
tered to death! I shall never survive it. That
last jolt that laid us against the quickset-hedge
has done my business.nob
Tony. Alack, mamma, it was all your own
Enter TONY, booted and spattered.
My honest squire! I now find you a man of fault. You would be for running away by
your word. This looks like friendship. night, without knowing one inch of the way.
Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best Mrs. H. I wish we were at home again.
friend you have in the world, if you knew I never met so many accidents in so short a
but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is journey. Drench'd in the mud, overturn'd in
cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse a ditch, stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly,
than the basket of a stage coach.
and at last to lose our way. Whereabouts
Hast. But how? Where did you leave your do you think we are, Tony?
te
fellow travellers? Are they in safety? Are Tony. By my guess we should be upon
they housed? hotely
Crackskull-common, about forty miles from
Tony. Five and twenty miles in two hours
and a half, is no such bad driving. The poor
beasts have smoked for it. Rabbit me, but I'd
rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten
with such varment 1).
Hast. Well, but where have you left the
ladies? I die with impatience.
Tony. Left them! Why, where should
leave them, but where I found them?
Hast. This is a riddle.
I
Tony. Riddle me this, then. What's that
goes round the house, and round the house,
and never touches the house?
Hast. I'm still astray.
Tony. Why, that's it, mon. I have led
home.
Mrs. H. O lud! O lud! the most notorious
spot in all the country. We only want a
robbery to make a complete night on't.
Tony. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be
afraid. Two of the five that kept here are
hanged, and the other three may not find us.
Don't be afraid. Is that a man that's galloping
behind us? No; its only
No; its only a tree. Don't be
afraid.
Mrs. H. The fright will certainly kill me.
Tony. Do you see any thing like a black
hat moving behind the thicket?
Mrs. H. O death!
Tony. No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid,
them astray. By jingo, there's not a pond or mamma! don't be afraid.
can tell the taste of.
slough within five miles of the place, but they, Mrs. H. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man
oshua coming towards us. Ah! I'm sure on't. If he
Hast. Ha! ha! ha! I understand; you took perceives us, we are undone.
them in a round, while they supposed them- Tony. Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky,
selves going forward. And so you have at come to take one of his night walks. [Aside]
last brought them home again.
Ah, its a highwayman with pistols as long as
Tony. You shall hear. I first took them my arm. A damn'd ill-looking fellow.
down Feather-bed-lane, where we stuck fast Mrs. H. Good heaven defend us! he ap-
in the mud. I then rattled them crack over proaches.eziona
the stones of Up-and-down-hill-I then intro- Tony. Do you hide yourself in that thicket,
duced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree-heath, and leave me to manage him. If there be any
--and from that, with a circumbendibus, I danger I'll cough and cry hem. When I
fairly lodg'd them in the horsepond at the cough be sure to keep close.
bottom of the garden.
Hast. But no accident, I hope.
Tony. No, no. Only mother is confound-
edly frightened. She thinks herself forty miles
off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle
can scarce crawl. So if your own horses be
ready, you may whip off with cousin, and I'll
[Mrs. H. hides behind a Tree
in the back Scene.
Enter HARDCASTLE.
Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of
people in want of help. O, Tony, is that you.
I did not expect you so soon back. Are your
safety?
be bound that no soul here can budge a foot mother and her charge in my aunt Pedi-
to follow you.
Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?
Tony. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble squire.
Just now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me
through the guts. 'Damn your way of fighting,
1) Vermin.
Tony. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedi-
gree's. Hem.
Mrs. H. [From behind] Ah, death! I find
there's danger.
Hard. Forty miles in three hours; sure,
that's too much, my youngster.

508
[ACT V.
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Tony. Stout horses and willing minds make come once more to take leave; nor did I, till
short journeys, as they say. Hem.
this moment, know the pain I feel in the
separation.
Mrs. H. [rom behind] Sure, he'll do the
dear boy no harm.
Miss H. [In her own natural Manner]
Hard. But I heard a voice here; I should I believe these sufferings cannot be very great,
be glad to know from whence it came? sir, which you can so easily remove. A day
Tony. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. or two longer, perhaps, might lessen your
I was saying that forty miles in three hours uneasiness, by showing the little value of what
was very good going. Hem. As to be sure you now think proper to regret.
it was. Hem. I have got a sort of cold by Mar. This girl every moment improves upon
being out in the air. We'll go in, if you me. [Aside] It must not be, madam. I have
please. Hem.evo
already trifled too long with my heart, and
nothing can restore me to myself, but this
painful effort of resolution.
any mercy.
Hard. But if you talked to yourself, you
did not answer yourself. I am certain I heard
two voices, and am resolved [Raising his Miss H. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing
Voice] to find the other out.
more to detain you. Though my family be
Mrs. H. [Running forward from behind] as good as her's you came down to visit, and
O lud, he'll murder my poor boy, my darling. my education I hope not inferior, what are
Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon these advantages without equal affluence? I
me. Take my money, my life, but spare that must remain contented with the slight appro-
young gentleman, spare my child, if you have bation of imputed merit; I must have only
the mockery of your addresses, while all your
Hard. My wife! as I am a Christian. From serious aims are fix'd on fortune,
whence can she come, or what does she mean!
Mrs. H. [Kneeling] Take compassion on Enter HARDCASTLE and SIR CHARLES MARLOW
us, good Mr. Highwayman. Take our money,
our watches, all we have, but spare our lives. Mar. By heavens, madam, fortune was ever
We will never bring you to justice, indeed my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first
we won't, good Mr. Highwayman.
caught my eye; for who could see that with-
Hard. I believe the woman's out of her out emotion. But every moment that I con-
senses. What, Dorothy, don't you know me? verse with you, steals in some new grace,
Mrs. H. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive! My heightens the picture, and gives it stronger
fears blinded me. But who, my dear, could expression. What at first seemed rustic plain-
have expected to meet you here, in this fright-ness, now appears refined simplicity. What
ful place, so far from home? - What has seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as
brought you to follow us?
the result of courageous innocence, and con-
from behind.
Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost scious virtue. I am now determined to stay,
your wits. So far from home, when you are madam, and I have too good an opinion of
withis forty yards of your own door. [To my father's discernment, when he sees you,
Tony] This is one of your old tricks, you to doubt his approbation.
graceless rogue you. [To Mrs. H.] Don't Miss H. Sir, I must entreat you'd desist.
you know the gate and the mulberry-tree; As our acquaintance began, so let it end, in
and don't you remember the horsepond, my indifference. I might have given an hour or
dear?
two to levity, but seriously, Mr. Marlow, do
Mrs. H. Yes, I shall remember the horse- you think I could ever submit to a connexion
pond as long as I live; I have caught my death where I must appear mercenary, and you
in it. [To Tony] And is it to you, you grace- imprudent? Do you think I could ever catch
less varlet, I owe all this. I'll teach you to at the confident addresses of a secure admirer?
abuse your mother, I will. each
Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you curity? Does this look like confidence? No,
have spoiled me, and so you may take the madam, every moment that shows me your
merit, only serves to increase my diffidence
and confusion. Here let me continue-
fruits on't.
Mrs. H. I'll spoil you, I will.
[Beats him off the Stage.
Hard. Ha! ha! ha!
Mar. [Kneeling] Does this look like se-
Sir C. I can hold it no longer. [Coming
[Exit. forward] Charles, Charles, how hast thou
be deceived me. Is this your indifference, your
uninteresting conversation?!
SCENE III-A Parlour.1
Enter SIR CHARLES MARLOW and MISS HARD-
CASTLE.
Hard. Your cold contempt; your formal
interview? What have you to say now?
Mar. That I'm all amazement! What can
it mean?
Sir C. What a situation am I in! If what
you say appears, I shall then find a guilty son,
If what he says be true, I shall then lose one Hard. It means that you can say and unsay
that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter. things at pleasure. That you can address a
Miss H. I am proud of your approbation, lady in private, and deny it in public; that
and to show I merit it, if you place your-you have one story for us, and another for
selves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit my daughter.
declaration. But he comes.
Sir C. I'll to your father, and keep him to
the appointment.
Enter MARLOW.
[Exit.
Mar. Daughter!-this lady your daughter?
Hurd. Yes, sir, my only daughter, my Kate.
Whose else should she be?
Mar. Oh, the devil.
Miss H. Yes, sir, that very identical, tall,
Mar. Though prepared for setting out, I squinting lady you were pleased to take me

SCENE 3.]
509
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
for. [Courtesying] She that you addressed give up my fortune to secure my choice.
as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gra- But I'm now recovered from the delusion,
vity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle aud hope from your tenderness what is de-
of the ladies' club, ha! ha! ha!
nied me from a nearer connexion.
Mar. Zounds! there's no bearing this. Hard. Be it what it will. I'm glad they are
Miss H. In which of your characters, sir, come back to reclaim their due. Come hither,
will you give us leave to address you? As Tony, boy. Do you refuse this lady's
the faltering gentleman, with looks on the hand whom I now offer you?
ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates Tony. What signifies my refusing? You
hypocrisy; or the loud, confident creature, know I can't refuse her till I'm of age, father.
that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap, and old Hard, While I thought concealing your
Mrs. Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning, age, boy, was likely to conduce to your im-
provement, I concurred with your mother's
Mar. O, curse on my noisy head! I never desire to keep it secret. But since I find she
attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not
taken down. I must be gone,
ha! ha! ha!
turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare
you have been of age these three months.
Tony. Of age! Am I of age,
father?
Hard. Above three months.
Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll
Hard. By the hand of my body, but you
shall not. I see it was all a mistake, and I
am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I
tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't make of my liberty. [Taking Miss Neville's
you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you.
Take courage, man.
წი,
[They retire, she tormenting him,
to the back Scene.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and TONY.
Mrs. H. So, so, they're gone off. Let them
I care not.
Hard. Who's gone?
Mrs. H. My dutiful niece and her gentle-
man, Mr. Hastings, from town; he who came
down with our modest visitor here.
Sir C. Who, my honest George Hastings.
As worthy a fellow as lives, and the girl could
not have made a more prudent choice.
Hard. Then by the hand of my body, I'm
proud of the connexion.
Enter HASTINGS and MISS NEVILLE.
Hand] Witness all men by these presents,
that I, Anthony Lumpkin, esquire, of Blank-
place, refuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster,
of no place at all, for my true and lawful
wife. So Constantia Neville may marry whom
she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own
man again.
Sir C. O brave squire!
Hast. My worthy friend!
Mrs. H. My undutiful offspring!
Mar. Joy, my dear George, I give you
joy sincerely. And could I prevail upon my
little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, I should
be the happiest man alive, if you would re-
turn me the favour.
Hast. [To Miss Hardcastle] Come, ma-
dam, you are now driven to the very last
scene of all your contrivances. I know you
like him, I'm sure he loves you, and you must
Mrs. H. What, returned so soon, I begin and shall have him.
not to like it.
[Aside. Hard. [Joining their Hands] And I say
Hast. [To Hardcastle] For my late at- so too. And Mr. Marlow, if she makes as
tempt to fly off with your niece, let my pre- good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't
sent confusion be my punishment. We are believe you'll ever repent your bargain. So
now come back, to appeal from your justice now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather
to your humanity. By her father's consent I all the poor of the parish about us, and the
first paid her my addresses, and our passions mistakes of the night shall be crowned with
were first founded in duty.
a merry morning; so, boy, take her: and as
Miss N. Since his death, I have been obliged you have been mistaken in the mistress, my
to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. wish is, that you may never be mistaken in
In an hour of levity, I was ready even to the wife.
HOT
BENJAMIN JONSON,
one of the most considerable dramatic poets of the seventeenth century, whether we consider the number or the merit
of his productions, was born at Westminster June 11, 1574, and was educated at the public school there, under the
great Camden. He was descended from a Scots family; and his father, who lost his estate under Queen Mary, dying
before our poet was born, and his mother marrying a bricklayer for her second husband, Ben was taken from school
to work at his father-in-laws trade. Not being captivated with this employment, he went into the Low Countries,
and distinguished himself in a military capacity. On his return to England he entered himself at St. John's College,
Cambridge; but how long he continued there we are not informed. On his quitting the university he applied to the
stage for a maintenance, and became a member of an obscure company, which performed at the Curtain in Shoreditch.
At the same time he turned his thoughts to composition; but is generally supposed to have been unsuccessful in his
first attempts. His performances as an actor met with little more applause; and, to complete his misery, he had the
misfortune in a duel to kill his opponent, for which he was committed to prison; but how long he remained there, or
by what methods he obtained his liberty, we have no account. It was, however, while in custody for this offence that
he was made a convert to the church of Rome, in whose communion he steadily persisted for twelve years. It is sup-
posed, that about this time he became acquainted with Shakspeare; who, according to tradition, assisted him in some
of his dramatic attempts, and considerably promoted his interest, though he could not by means of it secure himself
from the virulence of our author's pen. For many years from this period Ben produced some piece annually, for the

510
[ACT I.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
most part with applause, and established his reputation with the public as one of the supports of the English stage. In
1613 he was in France; but the occasion of his going, and the stay he made, are alike uncertain. In 1619 he went to
Oxford, resided some time at Christchurch College, and in July 1619 was created M. A. in a full house of convocation,
On the death of Samuel Daniel, in October, the same year, he succeeded to the vacant laurel; the salary of which was
then one hundred marks per annum; but on our author's application in 1630, it was augmented to the annual sum of
one hundred pounds and a tierce of Spanish wine. As we do not find Jonson's economical virtues any where recorded,
it is the less to be wondered at, that quickly after we learn that he was very poor and sick, lodged in an obscure alley;
on which occasion it was, that king Charles, being prevailed on in his favour, sent him ten guineas; which Ben receiving,
said, "His Majesty has sent me ten guineas, because I am poor, and live in an alley; go and tell him that his soul lives
in an alley." In justice, however, to the memory of Charles, it should be observed, that this story was probably formed
from the cynicallness of Ben Jonson's temper, rather than from any real fact; as it is certain that the king once be-
stowed a bounty of one hundred pounds on him, which is acknowledged in an epigram written on the occasion. He died
of the palsy Aug. 16, 1637, aged 65 years, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. We shall here add a character of
Ben Jonson as sketched by Dryden: "If we look upon him while he was himself (for his last plays were but his
dotages), I think him the most learned and judicious writer which any theatre ever had. He was a most severe judge
of himself as well as others. One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. In his works you
find little to retrench or alter. Wit and language, and humour also in some measure, we had before him; but some-
thing of art was wanting to the drama, till he came. He managed his strength to more advantage than any who pre-
ceded him, You seldom find him making love in any of his scenes, or endeavouring to move the passions; his genius
was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully, especially when he knew he came after those who had performed both
to such a height. Humour was his proper sphere, and in that he delighted nost to represent mechanic people. He
was deeply conversant in the ancients, both Greek and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them: there is scarce a
poet or historian among the Roman authors of those times, whom he has not translated in Sejanus and Catiline. But
he has donc his robberies so openly, that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like
a monarch, and what would be theft in other pocts, is only victory in him. With the spoils of these writers he so
represents old Rome to us in its rites, ceremonies, and customs, that if one of their poets had written either of his tra-
gedies, we had seen less of it than in him. If there was any fault in his Language, it was, that he weaved it too close-
ly and laboriously, in his comedies especially: perhaps too, he did a little too much Romanize our tongue, leaving the
words which he translated almost as much Latin as he found them; wherein, though he learnedly followed their lan-
guage, he did not enough comply with the idiom of ours. If I would compare him with Shakspeare, I must acknow-
ledge him the more correct poel, but Shakspeare the greater wit. Shakspeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic
poets; Jonson was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakspeare, To conclude of
him, as he has given us the most correct plays, so in the precepts which he has laid down in his Discoveries, we have
as many and profitable rules for perfecting the stage, as any wherewith the French can furnish us.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR,
Comedy by Ben Jonson. Acted by the Lord Chamberlain's Servants 1598. This comedy is, perhaps, in point of the
redundance of characters and power of language, not inferior to any of our author's works. From the character of
Kitely it is pretty evident that Dr. Hoadly took the idea of his Strictland in The Suspicious Husband in which, how-
ever, he has fallen far short of the original. This play had lain dormant and unemployed for many years, from its
revival after the Restoration, until the year 1725; when it was again restored to the stage, with alterations, at Lin-
coln's Inn Fields. From this time it was no more heard of, until Mr. Garrick, in the year 1751, brought it once more
on the stage, with some few alterations, and an additional scene of his own in the fourth act; ever since which time it
has continued to be a stock-play, and to be performed very frequently every season. Yet it may be doubted if in any
future period this piece will ever appear to the advantage it did at that time; since, exclusive of Mr. Garrick's own
abilities in Kitely, and those of Messrs. Woodward and Shuter, in the respective parts of Captain Bobadil and Master
Stephen, there was scarcely any one character throughout the whole, that could be conceived by an audience in the
strong light, that they were represented by each several performer: such is the prodigious advantage, with respect to an
audience, of the conduct of a theatre being lodged in the hands of a man, who, being himself a perfect master in the
profession, is able to distinguish the peculiar abilities of each individual under him, and to adapt them to those cha-
racters in which they are, either by nature or acquirement, the best qualified to make a figure. Mr. Whalley observes,
that, in this play, as originally written, "the scene was at Florence, the persons represented were Italians, and the
manners in great measure conformable to the genius of the place; but in this very play, the humours of the under
characters are local, expressing not the manners of a Florentine, but the gulls and bullies of the times and country in
which the poet lived. And as it was thus represented on the stage, it was published in the same manner in 1601.
When it was printed again in the collection of his works, it had a more becoming and consistent aspect. The scene
was transferred to London; the names of the persons were changed to English ones, and the dialogue, incidents, and
manners, were suited to the place of action. And thus we now have it in the folio edition of 1616, and in the several
editions that have been printed since,
DRAMATIS
PERSONAE.
KITELY.
BRAINWORM.
CAPTAIN BOBADIL. MASTER STEPHEN.
JUSTICE CLEMENT.
FORMAL.
COB.
KNO'WELL.
YOUNG KNO'WELL.
DOWNRIGHT.
WELLBRED.
SCENE.
-
MASTER MATTHEW.
CASH.
London.
DAME KITELY.
BRIDGET.
TIB.
ACT I.
Could I, by any practice, wean the boy
From one vain course of study he affects.
SCENE I.-A Court-yard before KNO'WELL'S He is a scholar, if a man may trust
House.
Enter KNO'WELL and BRAINWORM.
Kno. A goodly day toward, and a fresh
morning. Brainworm,
Call up young master. Bid him rise, sir.
Tell him I have some business to employ him.
Brain. I will, sir, presently.
Kno. But hear you, sirrah,
If he be at his book, disturb him not.
Brain. Well, sir.
[Exit.
Kno. How happy, yet, should I esteem
myself,
The liberal voice of fame in her report,
Of good account in both our universities;
Either of which have favour'd him with
graces;
But their indulgence must not spring in me
A fond opinion, that he cannot err.
Enter MASTER STEPHEN.
Cousin Stephen,
What news with you, that you are here so
early?
Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how
you do, uncle.

SCENE 1.]
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
511
Kno. That's kindly done; you are wel-
come, coz.
Step. Ay, I know that, sir, I would not ha'
come else. How doth my cousin Edward,
uncle? dang
Kno. Oh, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt
he be scarce stirring yet.
Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would
talk with you, and that presently.
Serv. Good master Stephen, so you may,
sir, at your pleasure.
Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy
companion, an' you were out o'my uncle's
ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand
upon my gentility neither in't.
Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me
an' he have e'er a book of the sciences of Kno. Cousin! cousin! will this ne'er be left?
hawking and hunting? I would fain bor- Step. Whoreson, base fellow! A mecha-
ibnical servingman! By this cudgel, and 'twere
row it.
Kno. Why, I hope you will not a haw-not for shame, I would-
king now, will you?
Kno. What would you do, you peremp-
Step. No wosse, but I'll practise against the
tory gull?
next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing You see the honest man demeans himself
but a book to keep it by.
Modestly towards you, giving no reply
Kno. Oh, most ridiculous!
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion:
Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,
uncle. Why, you know, an' a man have not As void of wit as of humanity.
skill in the hawking and hunting languages Go get you in; 'fore heaven, I am asham'd
now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him. Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.
They are more studied than the Greek or the
Latin. What, do you talk on it? Because I
dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with
none but citizens! A fine jest, i'faith! 'Slid,
a gentleman mun show himself like a gentle-
man. Uncle, I pray you be not angry. I
know what I have to do, I trow, I am no
[Exit Stephen.
Sero. I pray you, sir, is this master Kno'-
well's house?
novice.
Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb!
go to!
Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak.
Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you.
Ha' you not yet found means enow, to waste
That which your friends have left you, but
you mustersex
Go cast away your money on a kite,
And know not how to keep it, when you've
done?
So, now you're told on it, you look another way.
Step. What would you ha' me do?
Kno. What would I have you do? I'll tell
you, kinsman;
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have thee do; and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
Who comes here?
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Save you, gentlemen.
Kno. Yes, marry, is't, sir.
Step. I should inquire for a gentleman here,
one master Edward Kno'well. Do you know
any such, sir, I pray you?
Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.
Serv. Are you the gentleman? Cry you
mercy, sir, I was required by a gentleman
i'the city, as I rode out at this end of the
town, to deliver you this letter, sir.
Kno. To me, sir? [Reads] To his most
selected friend, Master Edward Kno'well.
What might the gentleman's name be, sir,
that sent it?
Serv. One master Wellbred, sir.
Kno. Master Wellbred! A young gentle-
man, is he not?
Sero. The same, sir; master Kitely married
his sister: the rich merchant i'the Old-jewry.
Kno. You say very true. Brainworm!
Re-enter BTAIN WORM.
Brain. Sir.
Kno. Make this honest friend drink here.
Pray you go in.
[Exeunt Brainworm and Servant.
This letter is directed to my son:
Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may,
Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our With the safe conscience of good manners, use
gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and The fellow's error to my satisfaction.
I assure you, mine uncle here is a man of a Well, I will break it ope, old men are curious.
thousand a year, Middlesex land: he has but What's this?
[Reads.
one son in all the world; I am his next heir Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou for-
at the common law, master Stephen, as simple sworn all thy friends in the Old-jewry? or
as I stand here; if my cousin die, as there's dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit
hope he will. I have a pretty living o'my there? Leave thy vigilant father alone, to
own too, beside, hard by here.
Serv. In good time, sir.
Step. In good time, sir! Why? And in
very good time, sir. You do not flout, friend,
do you?
number over his green apricots, evening
and morning, o'the north-west wall: an' 1
had been his son, I had saved him the la-
bour long since; if, taking in all the young
wenches that pass by, at the back door,
Serv. Not I, sir.
and coddling every kernel of the fruit for
Step. Not you, sir! You were not best, 'em would ha' served. But, pr'ythee, come
sir; an' you should, here be them can per- over to me quickly this morning: I have
ceive it, and that quickly too. Go to. And such a present for thee. One is a rhymer,
they can give it again soundly too, an' need be. sir, o'your own batch, your own leaven;
Sero. Why, sir, let this satisfy you: good but doth think himself poet-major o'the town;
faith, I had no such intent.
willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen.

512
[ACT I.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
The other-I will not venture his descrip- Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is
tion with you till you come, hecause I would gone, master Stephen.
Step. He is rid hence. He took horse at
the street door.
ha' you make hither with an appetite. If Step. Gone! which way? When went he?
the worst of 'em be not worth your jour-How long since?
ney, draw your bill of charges as uncon-
scionable as any Guildhall verdict will give
it you, and you shall be allow'd your via-
ticum.
From the Windmill.
From the Burdello, it might come as well!
The Spital! Is this the man,
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth?
I know not what he may be in the arts,
Nor what in schools; but surely, for his manners,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch.
Brainworm!
Re-enter BRAINWORM.
Brain. Sir.
Kno. Is the fellow gone that brought this
letter?
Brain. Yes, sir, a pretty while since.
Kno. And where's your young master?
Brain. In his chamber, sir.
Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he?
Brain. No, sir, he saw him not.
Step. And I staid i'the fields! Whoreson,
Scanderheg rogue! O that I had but a horse
to fetch him back again.
Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's
gelding to save your longing, sir.
Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite
on't.
Brain. Why, a fine whisp of hay, roll'd
hard, master Stephen.
Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him
now, let him e'en go and hang. Pr'ythee,
help to truss me a little. He does so vex me-
Brain. You'll be worse vex'd when you
are trussed, master Stephen; best keep un-
brac'd, and walk yourself till you be cold,
your choler may founder you else.
Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou
tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg,
Brainworm?
Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen;
but the woollen stocking does not commend
Kno. Take you this letter, seal it, and de-
liver it my son; But with no notice that I it so well.
have open'd it, on your life.
Brain. O Lord, sir, that were a jest indeed!
Kno. I am resolv'd I will not stop his
journey;
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,
Restrain'd, grows more impatient.
There is a way of winning more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free;
He, that's compell'd to goodness, may be good;
But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn
By softness and example, get a habit,
Then if they stray, but warn 'em; and, the same
They would for virtue do, they'll do for shame.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Young KNO'WELL's Study.
Enter Young KNO'WELL and BRAINWORm.
Young K. Did he open it, say'st thou?
Brain. Yes, o'my word, sir, and read the
contents.
Young K. That's bad. What countenance,
pray thee, made he i'the reading of it? Was
he angry or pleas'd?
Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it,
nor open it, I assure your worship.
Young K. No! how know'st thou, then, that
he did either?
Brain. Marry, sir, because he charg'd me,
on my life, to tell nobody that he open'd it:
which, unless he had done, he would never
fear to have it revealed.
Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough,
now summer is coming on, for the dust: I'll
have a pair of silk against the winter, that I
go to dwell i'the town. I think my leg would
show in a silk hose.
Brain. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely
well.
Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have
a reasonable good leg.
Brain. You have an excellent good leg,
master Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise
it longer now; I am very sorry for't. [Exit.
Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm.
Gramercy, for this.
Re-enter Young KNO'WELL.
Young K. Ha, ha, ha!
Step. 'Slid! I hope be laughs not at me;
an' he do-
[Aside.
Young K. Here was a letter, indeed, to be
intercepted by a man's father! He cannot
but think most virtuously both of me and the
sender, sure, that make the careful coster-
monger of him in our familiar epistles. I
wish I knew the end of it, which now is
doubtful, and threatens-What! my wise cou-
sin? Nay, then I'll furnish our feast with one
gull more toward the mess. He writes to
me of a brace, and here's one, that's three;
O for a fourth! Fortune, if ever thou'lt use
thine eyes, I entreat thee-
[Aside.
Step. O, now I see who he laughs at. He
laughs at somebody in. that letter. By this
good light, an' he had laugh'd at me- [Aside.
Young K. How now, cousin Stephen, me-
[Exit. lancholy?
Young K. That's true; well, I thank thee,
Brainworm.
Enter MASTER STEPHEN.
Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a
fellow here in a what-sha'-call him doublet?
He brought mine uncle a letter, e'en now.
Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him?
Step. O! I ha' such a mind to beat him-
where is he? canst thou tell?
Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laugh'd
at me, cousin.
Young K. Why, what an' I had, coz, what
would you ha' done?
Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine
uncle.
Young K. Nay, if you would ha' told your
uncle, I did laugh at you, coz.

SCENE 3. 4.]
513
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Step. Did you, indeed?
Young K. Yes, indeed.
Step. Why, then-
Young K. What then?
he lodge in such a base, obscure place as thy
house! Tut, I know his disposition so well,
he would not lie in thy bed, if thou'dst gi
it him.
Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient.
Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir.
Young K. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I Mass, I thought somewhat was in't, we could
pray you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. not get him to bed all night! Well, sir, though
am sent for this morning, by a friend i'the he lie not o'my bed, he lies o'my bench. An't
Old-jewry, to come to him; it's but crossing please you to go up, sir, you shall find him
over the fields to Moorgate: will you bear with two cushions under his head, and his
me company? I protest it is not to draw you cloak wrapped about him, as though he had
into bond, or any plot against the state, coz. neither won nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he
Step. Sir, that's all one, an 'twere; you ne'er cast better in his life, than he has done
shall command me twice so far as Moorgate to-night.
to do you good in such a matter. Do you
think I would leave you? I protest-
Mat. Why, was he drunk?
Gob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so.
Young K. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Perhaps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some
Step. By my fackins, but I will, by your such device, sir; I have nothing to do withal.
leave; I'll protest more to my friend than I'll I deal with water, and not with wine. Gi'
speak of at this time.
me my bucket there, hoa. God b'wi'you, sir,
it's six o'clock; I should ha' carried two turns
Enter TIB.
[Aside.
Young K. Your speak very well, coz.
Step. Nay, not so, neither; you shall par- by this. What, hoa! my stopple! come.
don me: but I speak to serve my turn.
Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! A
Young K You turn, coz! Do you know gentleman of his havings! well, I'll tell him
what you say? A gentleman of your sort, my mind.
parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk o'your
turn i'this company, and to me alone, like a
water-bearer at a conduit! Come, come, wrong Cob. What, Tib, show this gentleman up
not the quality of your desert with looking to the captain. [Tib shows Master Matthew
downward, coz; but hold up your head so; into the House] You should ha' some now,
and let the idea of what you are be pourtray'd would take this Mr. Matthew to be a gentle-
i'your face, that men may read i'your physiog- man at the least. His father is an honest
nomy, here, within this place, is to be seen, man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth;
the true and accomplished monster, or miracle and now does he creep, and wriggle into ac-
of nature, which is all one. What think you quaintance with all the brave gallants about
of this, coz?
the town, such as my guest is. O, my guest
Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be is a fine man! he does swear the legiblest of
more proud, and melancholy, and gentleman- any man christened: by saint George-the foot
like, than I have been, I'll assure you. of Pharaoh-the body of me-as I am a gentle-
Young K. Why, that's resolute, master man and a soldier-such dainty oaths! And
Stephen! Now, if I can but hold him up to withal, he does take this same filthy roguish
his height, as it is happily begun, it will do tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do
well for a suburb humour: we may hap have a man good to see the fume come forth out
a match with the city, and play him for forty at's tonnels! Well, he owes me forty shil-
pounds. [Aside] Come, coz. plings, my wife lent him out of her purse by
Step. I'll follow you.
sixpence a time, besides his lodging; I would
go before. I had it. I shall ha' it, he says, the next ac-
Pray you, tion. Helter-skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill
[Exeunt. a cat, uptails all, and a louse for the hang-
Young K. Follow me! you must
Step. Nay, an' I must, I will.
show me, good cousin.
SCENE III.-The Street before COB's House.
Enter MASTER MATTHEW.
Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa!
Enter COB, from the House.
Cob. Who's there? O, master Matthew!
gi' your worship good morrow.
Mat. What, Cob! How dost thou, good
Cob? Dost thou inhabit here, Cob.
Cob. Ay, sir; I and my lineage ha' kept a
poor house here in our days.dmen
Mat. Cob, canst thou show me of a gentle-
man, one captain Bobadil, where his lod-
ging is?
Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean!
Mat. Thy guest! alas! ha, ha!
Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not
mean captain Bobadil?
Mat. Cob, pray thee, advice thyself well;
do not wrong the gentleman and thyself too.
I dare be sworn he scorns thy house. He!
man.
[Exit.
SCENE IV. A Room in COB's House.
CAPTAIN BOBADIL discovered upon a Bench.
Enter TIB.
Capt. B. Hostess, hostess!
Tib. What say you, sir?
Capt. B. A cup o'thy small beer, sweet
hostess.
Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would
speak with you.
Capt. B. A gentleman! 'Ods so. I am not
within.
Tib. My husband told him you were, sir.
Capt. B. What a plague-what meant he?
Mat. [Within] Captain Bobadil!
Capt. B. Who's there? Take away the
bason, good hostess. Come up, sir.
Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir.
You come into a cleanly house here. [Exit.
Enter MASTER MATTHEW.
Mat. Save you, sir; save you, captain.
65

514
[ACT II.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
(
Capt. B Gentle master Matthew! Is it you, absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is
sir? Please you sit down.
holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentle-
Mat. Thank you, good captain; you may man and a soldier, I ne'er chang'd words
see I am somewhat audacious.
with his like. By his discourse, he should
Capt. B. Not so, sir. I was requested to eat nothing but hay. He was born for the
supper last night, by a sort of gallants, where manger, pannier, or pack-saddle! He has not
you were wish'd for, and drank to, I assure so much as a good phrase in his belly, but
all old iron and rusty proverbs; a good com-
modity for some smith to make hob-nails of.
you. und zail
Mat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain.
Capt. B. Marry, by young Wellbred, and
others. Why, hostess! a stool here for this
gentleman.
Mat. No haste, sir; 'tis very well.
Capt. B. Body of me! it was so late ere
we parted last night, I can scarce open my
eyes yet; I was but new risen as you came.
How passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.
Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now,
trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging
here, very neat and private.
Capt. B. Ay, sir; sit down. I pray you,
master Matthew, in any case, possess no gentle-
men of our acquaintance with notice of my
lodging.
RAMINE
Mat. Who? I, sir? No?
Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away
with his manhood still; where he comes, he
brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear.
Capt. B. How? He the bastinado? How
came he by that word, trow?
Mat. Nay, indeed, he said, cudgel me; I
term'd it so, for my more grace.
Capt. B. That may be; for I was sure it
was none of his word. But when? when said
he so?
Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say; a young
gallant, a friend of mine, told me so.
Capt. B. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' twere
my case now, I should send him a challenge
presently. The bastinado! a most proper and
sufficient dependence, warranted by the great
Capt. B. Not that I need to care who know Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge
it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard him. I'll show you a trick or two, you shall
I would not be too popular and generally vi- kill him with at pleasure; the first stoccata, if
sited, as some are.
you will, by this air.
Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge
i'the mystery, I have heard, sir.
Mat. True, captain; I conceive you.
Capt. B. For, do you see, sir, by the heart
of valour in me, except it be to some pecu- Capt. B. Of whom? Of whom ha' you
liar and choice spirits, to whom I am extra- heard it, I beseech you? i don
ordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so, I could ✓ Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by
not extend thus far.
divers, that you have very rare and un-in-
one-breath-utterable skill, sir.
Mat. O Lord, sir, I resolve so.
[Pulls
[Pulls out a Paper, and reads.
Capt. B. I confess, I love cleanly and quiet i'the earth; some small rudiments i'the science,
Capt. B. By heaven, no, not I; no skill
privacy, above all the tumult and roar of as to know my time, distance, or so. I have
fortune. What new piece ha' you there? profess'd it more for noblemen and gentle-
Read it.
Jeho men's use than mine own practice, I assure
Mat. [Reads] To thee, the purest object you. I'll give you a lesson. Look you, sir;
of my sense, exalt not your point above this state, at any
hand; so, sir, come on! Oh, twine your body
more about, that you may fall to a more
sweet, comely, gentleman-like guard. So, in-
different. Hollow your body more, sir, thus.
Now, stand fast o'your left leg; note your
The most refined essence heaven covers.
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of turtle-billing lovers,
Capt. B. Tis good; proceed, proceed.
What's this?
Mat. This, sir? a toy o'mine own, in my distance; keep your due proportion of time-
nonage; the infancy of my muses. But, when Oh, you disorder your point most irregularly!
will you come and see my study? Good faith, Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to
I can show you some very good things I some private place, where you are acquaint-
have done of late.-That boot becomes your ed, some tavern or so and have a bit-
leg passing well, captain, methinks.
What money ha' you about you, Mr. Matthew?
Mat. Faith, I ha' not past a two shillings,
Capt. B. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen
now use.
or so.
Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak Capt. B. 'Tis somewhat with the least, but
o'the fashion, master Wellbred's elder brother come, we will have a bunch of radishes, and
and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco,
day 1 happen'd to enter into some discourse to close the orifice of the stomach; and then
of a hanger, which I assure you, both for we'll call upon young Wellbred. Perhaps we
fashion and workmanship, was most peremp- shall meet the Corydon, his brother, there,
tory beautiful and gentleman-like; yet he con- and put him to the question. Come along.
demn'd, and cry'd it down, for the most pied Mr. Matthew.
[Exeunt.
and ridiculous that ever he saw.
Capt. B. Squire Downright, the half-brother,
was't not?
Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright.
Capt. B. Hang him, rook! He! Why he
has no more judgement than a malt-horse.
ACT II
SCENE II.-A Warehouse belonging to KITELY.
Enter KITELY, CASH, and DOWNRIGHT.
Kite. Thomas, come hither.
By St. George, I wonder you'd lose a thought There lies a note within, upon my desk;
npon such an animal! The most peremptory Here, take my key-It is no matter, neither.

SCENE 1.]
515
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Where is the boy?
Cash. Within, sir, i'the warehouse.
Kite. Let him tell over straight that Spa-
nish gold,
And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you
See the delivery of those silver stuffs
To Mr. Lucar. Tell him, if he will,
He shall ha' the grograns at the rate I told him;
And I will meet him on the Exchange anon.
Cash. Good, sir.
[Exit.
to him, and tell him how he disquiets your
house?
Kite. Oh, there are divers reasons to dis-
suade, brother;
But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it,
Though but with plain and easy circumstance,
It would both come much better to his sense,
And savour less of stomach or of passion.
You are his elder brother, and that title
Both gives and warrants you authority:
Kite. Do you see that fellow, brother Whereas, if I should intimate the least,
Downright?
Down. I, what of him?
Kite. He is a jewel, brother-
I took him of a child, up, at my door,
And christened him; gave him my own name,
Thomas;
Since bred him at the hospital; where proving
A toward imp, I call'd him home, and taught
him to pay all
So much, as I have made him my cashier;
And find him, in his faith, so full of faith,
That I durst trust my life into his hands.
Down. So would not I, in any bastard's
brother,
As it is like he is, although I knew
Myself his father. But you said you'd somewhat
To tell me, gentle brother. What is't?
What is't?l
Kite. Faith, I am very loath to utter it,
As fearing it may hurt your patience;
But that I know your judgment is of strength
Against the nearness of affection-
Down. What need this circumstance? Pray
you be direct. Come to the matter, the matter.
Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus:
My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how,
Of late is much declin'd in what he was,
And greatly alter'd in his disposition.
When he came first to lodge here in my house,
Ne'er trust me, if I were not proud of him:
But now his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and depriv'd of grace;
He makes my house here common as a mart,
A theatre, a public receptacle
For giddy humour, and diseased riot;
And here, as in a tavern or a stew,
He and his wild associates spend their hours
In repetition of lascivious jests;
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by
night;
It would but add contempt to his neglect:
Nay, more than this, brother, if I should speak,
He would be ready, from his heat of humour,
And overflowing of the vapour in him,
To blow the ears of his familiars
With the false breath of telling what disgraces
And low disparagements I had put on him:
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,
Make their loose comments upon ev'ry word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all o'er;
And out of their impetuous rioting phant'sies,
Beget some slander that shall dwell with me
And what would that be, think you? Marry,
this:
They would give out, because my wife is fair,
Myself but newly married, and my sister
Here sojourning a virgin in my house,
That I were jealous; nay, as sure as death,
That they would say. And how that I had
quarrell'd
My brother purposely, thereby to find
An apt pretext to banish them my house.
Down. Mass, perhaps so: they're like enough
to do it.
Kite. Brother, they would believe it: so
should I
Try experiments upon myself:
Lend scorn and envy opportunity
To stab my reputation and good name.
Enter MASTER MATTHEW and CAPTAIN
BOBADIL.
Mat. I will speak to him--
Capt. B. Speak to him! Away! by the foot
of Pharaoh, you shall not; you shall not do
him that grace.
Kite. What's the matter, sirs?
Capt. B. The time of day to you, gentle-
man o'the house. Is Mr. Wellbred stirring?
Down. How then? what should he do?
Capt. B. Gentleman of the house, it is you:
he within, sir?
Kite. He came not to his lodging to-night,
sir, I assure you.
Control my servants; and indeed what not.
Down. Sdains, I know not what I should is
say to him i'the whole world! He values me
at a crack'd three-farthings, for aught I see.
It will never out o'the flesh that's bred i'the
Down. Why, do you hear? you!
bone! I have told him enough, one would Capt. B. The gentleman-citizen bath satis
think, if that would serve. Well! he knows fied me, I'll talk to no scavenger.
what to trust to, fore George'). Let him spend
and spend, and domineer, till his heart-ache;
an' he think to be relieved by me, when he
is got into one o'your city pounds, the counters,
he has the wrong sow by the ear, i'faith, and
claps his dish at a wrong man's door. I'll lay
my hand on my halfpenny, ere I part with't
to fetch him out, I'll assure him.
you thus.
[Exit with Matthew.
Down. How, scavenger? Stay, sir, stay!
Kite. Nay, brother Downright.
Down. 'ileart! stand you away, an' you
love me.
Kite. You shall not follow him now, I
pray you, brother; good faith, you shall not!
I will overrule you.
Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble Down. Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say
little; but by this good day (God forgive me
could eat I should swear), if I put it up so, say I am
But, why the rankest coward ever lived. 'Sdains, an'
you speak I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in
the sight of Fleet-street again, while I live
Down. 'Sdeath, he made me-I
my very spur-leathers for anger!
are you so tame? Why do not
1) By St. George.

516
[ACT II.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
I'll sit in a barn with Madge Howlet¹), and
catch mice first. Scavenger!
Kite. Oh, do not fret yourself thus, never
think on't.
Dame K. I pray thee, good sweetheart,
come in; the air will do you harm, in troth.
Kite. I'll come to you presently; 'twill
away, I hope.
Dame K. Pray heav'n it do.
Down. These are my brother's comforts,
[Exit.
these! these are his comrades, his walking Kite. A new disease! I know not, new or old,
mates! he's a gallant, a cavaliero too; right, But it may well be call'd poor mortals' plague;
hangman, cut! Let me not live, an' I could For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
not find in my heart to swinge the whole The houses of the brain. Well, I will once
gang of 'em, one after another, and begin
more strive,
with him first. I am grieved it should be In spite of this black cloud, myself to be,
said be is my brother, and take these courses. And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me.
Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, fore
George again. Yet he shall hear on't, and
that tightly too, an' I live, i'faith.
Kite. But, brother, let your reprehension
then
Run in an easy current, not o'er-high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way,
More winning than enforcing the consent.
Down. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I
warrant you.
Kite. How now? Oh, the bell rings to
breakfast.
SCENE II.-Moorfields.
[Exit.
Enter BRAINWORM, disguised as a Soldier.
Brain. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to
see myself translated thus. Now must I create
an intolerable sort of lies, or my present pro-
fession loses the grace; and yet the lie to a
man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit as the
[Bell rings. fico, O, sir, it holds for good polity ever to
have that outwardly in vilest estimation that
inwardly is most dear to us. So much for
Brother, I pray you, go in, and bear my wife my borrowed shape. Well, the truth is, my
Company till I come; I'll but give order old master intends to follow my young, dry
For some dispatch of business to my servant. foot, over Moorfields to London this morn-
Down. I will-Scavenger! scavenger! [Exit. ing: now I, know ing of this hunting match,
Kite. Well, though my troubled spirit's or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with
somewhat eas'd,
It's not repos'd in that security
As I could wish; but I must be content
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world!
Would I had lost this finger, at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne'er lodg'd within my house.
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long.
Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time
Had answer'd their affections, all the world
Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold!
Marry, I hope they ha' not got that start;
For opportunity hath balk'd 'em yet.
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.
Enter DAME KITELY.
Dame K. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch
down the rose-water above in the closet,
Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?
Kite. An' she overheard me now!
Dame K. I pray thee, good Muss, we stay
for you.
my young master, for so must we that are
blue waiters, and men of hope and service
do, have got me afore in this disguise, deter-
mining here to lie in ambuscade, and inter-
cept him in the midway. If I can but get
his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay any thing
to cut him off, that is to stay his journey-
Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with captain Cae-
sar; I am made for ever, i'faith. Well, now
must I practise to get the true garb of one
of those lance-knights, my arm here, and my
-young master, and his cousin, Mr. Stephen,
as I am a true counterfeit man of war, and
no soldier!
[Retires.
Enter Young KNO'WELL and MASTER
STEPHEN.
Young K. So, sir, and how then, coz?
Step. 'Sfoot, I have lost my purse, I think.
Young K. How? lost your purse! Where?
when had you it?
Step. I cannot tell: stay.
Kite. By heav'n, I would not for a thou-me,
sand angels.
Dame K. What ails you, sweetheart? are
you not well? Speak, good Muss.
Kite. Troth, my head aches extremely, on
a sudden.
Dume K. Oh, the lord!
Kite. How now? what?
Dame K. Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep
you warm; good truth, it is this new disease!
there's a number are troubled withal! For loves
sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.
Kite. How simple, and how subtle are her
answers!
And new disease, and many troubled with it!
Why, truel she heard me, all the world to
nothing.
1) Shakspeare calls a hen, Dame Partlet, and Ben Jonson
here calls an ow, Madge Howle!,
Brain. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know
would I could get by them! [Aside.
Young K. What! ha' you it?
Step. No, I think I was bewitched, I-
Young K. Nay, do not weep the loss; hang
it, let it go.
Step. Oh, it's here-No, an' it had been
lost, I had not car'd, but for a jet ring mis-
tress Mary sent me.
Young K. A jet ring! Oh,
Poesy!
the poesy, the
Step. Fine, i'faith!-"Though fancy sleep,
my love is deep"-meaning that though I did
not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.
Young K. Most excellent!
Step. And then I sent her another, and my
poesy was, "The deeper the sweeter, I'll be
judg'd by St. Peter."
Young K. How by St. Peter? I do not
conceive that.

SCENE 2.]
517
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Enter KNO'WELL.
Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the
metre.
Kno. I cannot lose the thought yet of this
letter
Young K. Well, there the saint was your
good patron; he help'd you at your need: Sent to my son; nor leave to admire the change
thank him, thank him.
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth,
Brain. I cannot take leave of 'em so; I Within the kingdom, since myself was one.
will venture, come what will. [Aside. Comes When I was young, he liv'd not in the stews,
forward] Gentlemen, please you change a Durst have conceiv'd a scorn, and utter'd it,
few crowns, for a very excellent good blade, On a grey head; and a man had then
here! I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, that A certain rev'rence paid unto his years
in the better state of my fortunes, scorn'd so That had none due unto his life.
Re-enter BRAINWORM.
Brain. My master! Nay, faith, have at
mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of But now we are fall'n; youth from their fear,
necessity to have it so. You seem to be, And age from that which bred it, good example.
gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else
I should rather die with silence than live
with shame; however, vouchsafe to remember,
it is my want speaks, not myself, This con- you; I am flesh'd now, I have sped so well;
dition agrees not with my spirit.
though I must attack you in a different way.
Young K. Where hast thou served? [Aside] Worshipful sir, I beseech you re-
Brain. May it please you, sir, in all the spect the state of a poor soldier! I am
late wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, sham'd of this base course of life (God's my
Poland; where not, sir? I have been a poor comfort), but extremity provokes me to't-
servitor by sea and land, any time this four- what remedy?
teen years, and followed the fortunes of the Kno. I have not for you now.
a-
best commanders in Christendom. I was twice Brain. By the faith I bear unto truth, gen-
shot at the taking of Aleppo; once at the re-tleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but
lief of Vienna. I have been at Marseilles, only to preserve manhood. I protest to you,
Naples, and the Adriatic gulf; a gentleman a man I have been, a man I may be, by
slave in the galleys thrice, where I was most your sweet bounty.
dangerously shot in the head, through both Kno. Pr'ythee, good friend, be satisfied.
thighs, and yet, being thus maimed, I am void Brain. Good sir, by that hand, you may
of maintenance; nothing left me but my scars, do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending
the noted marks of my resolution.
a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer,
Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend? a matter of small value; the king of heaven
Brain. Generous sir, I refer it to your shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful: sweet
own judgment; you are a gentleman, give me worship-
what you please.
Step, True, I am a gentleman, I know that,
friend-but what though, I pray you say,
what would you ask?
Kno. Nay, an' you be so importunate-
Brain. Oh, tender sir, need will have its
course: I was not made to this vile use.
Well, the edge of the enemy could not have
Brain. I assure you the blade may become abated me so much. [Weeps] I'ts hard, when
the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe. a man has served in his prince's cause, and
Young K. Ay, with a velvet scabbard. be thus-Honourable worship, let me derive
Step. Nay, and't be mine, it shall have a a small piece of silver from you; it shall not
velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I'd not wear be given in the course of time. By this good
it as 'tis, an' you would give me an angel.
Brain. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay,
'tis a most pure Toledo.
Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard: but
tell me what I shall give you for it? An' it
had a silver hilt-
ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last
night for a poor supper; I had suck'd the
hilts long before, I am a pagan else, sweet
honour.
Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some
vel Crostajerck 10
wonder,
Young K. Come, come, you shall not buy To think a fellow of thy outward presence,
it. Hold, there's a shilling, fellow, take thy Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind,
rapier.
Be so degenerate and sordid base!
Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because Art thou a man, and sham'st thou not to beg?
you say so; and there's another shilling, fellow; To practise such a servile kind of life?
I scorn to be outbidden. What, shall I walk Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,
with a cudgel, like a higginbottom, and may Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
have a rapier for money?
Young K. You may buy one in the city.
Step. Tut, I'll buy this 'the field, so I will;
I have a mind to't! because 'tis a field rapier.
Tell me your lowest price.
Young K. You shall not buy it, I say.
Step. By this money but I will, though I
give more than 'tis worth.
Offer themselves to thy election;
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour.
10
Brain. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some
other course, if so-
Kno. An, you'd gladly find it, but you will
not seek it.
Young K. Come away; you are a fool. [Exit. Brain. Alas! sir, where should a man seek?
Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted; In the wars there's no ascent by desert in
but I'll have it for that word's sake. Follow these days, but-and for service, would it
me for your money. He says I am a fool. [Exit. were as soon purchased as wish'd for (the
Brain. The gentleman seems to know you, air's my comfort). I know what I would say.
sir. I follow.
[Exit. Kno. What's thy name?

518
[ACT III.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Brain. Please you, Fitz-sword, sir.
Kno. Fitz-sword, sir.
shall love Apollo, and the mad Thespian girls,
the better while I live for this, my dear fury.
Say that a man should entertain thee now, Now I see there's some love in thee!-Sirrah,
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and these be the two I writ to you of. Nay, what
sma drowsy humour is this now? Why dost
true?
alon
Brain. Sir, by the place and honour of a thou not speak?
soldier-
Kno. Nay, nay, I like not those affected
oaths!
Speak plainly, man: what think'st thou of my
words?
Young K. Oh, you are a fine gallant; you
sent me a rare letter.
Well. Why, was't not rare?
Young K. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was never
guilty of reading the like. But I marvel what
camel it was that had the carriage of it; for
doubtless he was no ordinary beast that
or of
Brain. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes
were as happy, as my service should be honest.
Kno. Well, follow me; I'll prove thee, if brought it,
thy deeds will carry a proportion to thy words. Well. Why?
[Exit. Young K. VVhy, sayest thou? Why, dost
Brain. Yes, sir, straight: I'll but garter my thou think that any reasonable creature, espe-
hose. Oh, that my belly were hoop'd now, cially in the morning, the sober time of the
for I am ready to burst with laughing! Never day too, could have mistaken my father for
was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid! was there me?
ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus? Well. 'Slid, you jest, I hope.
Now I shall he possess'd of all his counsels! Young K. Indeed, the best use we can turn
and by that conduct my young master. Well, it to, is to make a jest on't now; but I'll as-
he is resolved to prove my honesty: faith, and sure you my father had the full view o'your
I am resolved to prove his patience. Oh, I flourishing style, before I saw it.
shall abuse him intolerably! I'ts no matter, let Well. What a dull slave was this! But,
the world think me a bad counterfeit, if 1 sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith?
cannot give him the slip at an instant.
Why, this is better than to have staid his
journey.--
Well, I'll follow him. Oh, how I long to be
employed!to
With change of voice, these scars, and many
an oath,
I'll follow son and sire, and serve 'em both.
ACT III.
SCENE I-Stocks-market.
Enter MASTER MATTHEW, WELLBRED,
CAPTAIN BOBADIL
Young K. Nay, I know not what he said;
but I have a shrewd guess what he thought.
Well. What, what?
Young K. Marry, that thou art some strange,
dissolute, young fellow, and I not a grain or
two better, for keeping thee company.
Well. Tut, that thought is like the moon in
her last quarter, 'twill change shortly. But,
[Exit. sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my
two hang-by's here; thou wilt take exceeding
pleasure in 'em, if thou hearest 'em once go:
my wind-instruments.
I'll wind 'em up.-
But what strange piece of silence is this? The
sign of the dumb man.
Mat. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your
ging to seek you too.
and
lod-
Young K. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one
that may make your music the fuller, an' he
please; he has his humour, sir.
Well. Oh, what is't, what is't?
-
Well. Oh, I came not there to-night.
Capt. B. Your brother delivered us as much. Young K. Nay, I'll neither do your judg-
Well, Who? My brother Downright? ment nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare
Capt. B. He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not your apprehensions. I'll leave him to the
in what kind you hold me, but let me say to mercy o'your search, if you can take him so.
you this as sure as honour, I esteem it so Well. Well, captain Bobadil, Mr. Matthew,
much out of the sunshine of reputation to I pray you know this gentleman here: he is
throw the least beam of regard upon such a-a friend of mine, and one that will deserve
Well. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my your affection.-I know not your name, sir,
brother.
but shall be glad of any occasion to render
Capt. B. I protest to you, as I have a thing me more familiar to you. [To Master Stephen.
to be saved about me, I never saw any gen- Step. My name is Mr. Stephen, sir; I am
tleman-like part-
Well. Good captain, [Faces about] to some
other discourse..
this gentleman's own cousin, sir: his father is
mine uncle, sir. I am somewhat melancholy,
but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever
Capt. B. With your leave, sir, an' there is incident to a gentleman.
were no more men living upon the face of Capt. B. I must tell you this, I am no ge-
the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George. neral man; but for Mr. Wellbred's sake (you
Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, may embrace it at what height of favour you
I know not how; he doth not carry himself please), I do communicate with you, and con-
like a gentleman of fashion.
ceive you to be a gentleman of some parts.
love few words.
Well. Oh, Mr. Matthew, that's a grace pe-
culiar but to few.
Enter Young KNO'WELL and MASTER
STEPHEN.
Young K. And I fewer, sir. I have scarce
enow to thank you.
it?
Mat. But are you indeed, sir, so given to
[To Master Stephen.
Ned Kno'well! by my soul, welcome! How Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to
dost thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid, I melancholy.

SCENE 1.]
519
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Mat. Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir;
your true melancholy breeds you perfect fine
wit, sir. I am melancholy myself divers times,
sir; and then do I no more but take a pen
and paper presently, and overflow you half a
score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.
Step. Cousin, it is well; am I melancholy
enough? [Apart To Young Kno'well.
Young K. Oh, ay, excellent!
Well. Captain Bobadil, why muse you so?
Young K. He is melancholy too.
Capt. B. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most
honourable piece of service was perform'd to-
morrow, being St. Mark's day, shall be some
ten years now.
Young K. In what place, captain?
Capt. B. This a Toledo? Pish!
mand
[Bends the Blade double.
Step. Why do you pish, captain?
Capt. B. A Fleming, by heaven! I'll buy
them for a guilder a piece, an' I would have
a thousand of them. OTHER
Young K. How say you, cousin? I told you
thus much.
Well. Where bought you it, Mr. Stephen?
Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier; he swore
it was a Toledo. Bun
all
Capt. B. A poor provant rapier, no better.
Mat. Mass, I think it be indeed, now I look
on't better.dat ont sze
Young K. Nay, the longer you look on't
the worse. Put it up, put it up.
Step. I could eat the very hilts for anger.
Young K. A sign of good digestion; you
have an ostrich stomach, cousin.
Capt. B. Why, at the beleag'ring of Stri- Step. Well, I will put it up; but by—I ha'
gonium, where, in less than two hours, seven forgot the captain's oath I thought to have
hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in sworn by it-[Aside] an' e'er I meet him--
Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I'll Well. O, 'tis past help now, sir; you must
tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the ha' patience.
best leagure, that I ever beheld with these
eyes, except the taking of-what do you call
it? last year, by the Genoese; but that (of all
others) was the most fatal and dangerous ex-
ploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first
bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I
am a gentleman and a soldier. y te shall we go?
Step. So I had as lief as an angel, I could
swear as well as that gentleman. [Aside.
Aside.s
Step. A stomach! I would I had him here,
you should see an' I had a stomach.
Well. It's better as 'tis. Come, gentlemen,
Enter BRAINWORM.
Young K. Then you were a servitor at both, Young K. A miracle, cousin! look here!
it seems; at Strigonium, and what do you look here!
call it?
Cupt. B. Oh Lord, sir! by St. George, I
was the first man that enter'd the breach: had
I not effected it with resolution, I had been
slain, if I had had a million of lives.
Young K. 'Twas pity you had not ten; a
cat's and your own, i'faith. But was it pos-
sible?
Capt. B. I assure you, upon my reputation,
'tis true, and yourself shall confess.
Ti
Step. O, god'slid, by your leave, do you
know me, sir?
Brain. Ay, sir, I know you by sight.
Step. You sold me a rapier, did you not?
Brain. Yes, marry, did I, sir.
Step. You said it was a Toledo, ha?
Brain. True, I did so.
Step. But it is none.
Brain. No, sir, I confess it is none.
Step. Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear
witness he has confess'd it. By God's will,
an' you had not confess'd it-
Young K. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.
Step. Nay, I have done, cousin.
Well. Why, you have done like a gentle-
man; he has confess'd it; what would you
more?oot bat bec
Young K. You must bring me to the rack
first.
for one in
Capt. B. Observe me judicially, sweet sir:
they had planted me three demi-culverins, just
in the mouth of the breach: now, sir, as we
were to give on, their master gunner (a man
of no mean skill and mark, you must think)
confronts me with his linstock, ready to give
fire: 1, spying his intendment, discharg'd my his favour, do you see.
petrionel in his bosom, and with these single
Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal under
Young K. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under
arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the favour.-Pretty piece of civility!-Sirrah, how
Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put dost thou like him? [Apart to Wellbred.
them all pell-mell to the sword.
Well. Oh, it's a most precious fool; make
Well. To the sword? to the rapier, captain! much on him. I can compare him to nothing
Young K. Oh, it was a good figure observed, more happily than a drum; for every one may
sir.-But did you all this, captain, without play upon him. ass slz [Apart.
hurting your blade?
Young K. No, no, a child's whistle were far
the fitter.
[Apart.
Brain. Sir, shall I entreat a word with you?
bon secky u [To Young Kno'well.
Young K. With me, sir? You have not
another Toledo to sell, ha' you?
Capt. B. Without any impeach o'the earth.
You shall perceive, sir. It is the most fortu-
nate weapon that ever rid on poor gentleman's
thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of
Morglay, Excalibur, Durindina, or so? Tut, I
lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em; I know
the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare
the bolder maintain it.
Step. I marvel whether it be a Toledo or no?
Capt. B. A most perfect Toledo, I assure
you, sir.
Step. I have a countryman of his here.
Mat. Pray you let's see, sir.-Yes, faith, it is.
is
Brain. You are conceited, sir. Your name
Mr. Kno'well, as I take it?
Yonng K. You are i'the right. You mean
not to proceed in the catechism, do you?
Brain. No, sir, I am none of that coat.
Young K. Of as bare coat though. Well,
say, sir.
Brain. Faith, sir, I am but a servant to the

520
[ACT III.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
|
drum extraordinary; and indeed, this smoky Cash. Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be
varnish being washed off, and three or four there with the bonds.
patches removed, I appear your worship's in Kite. That's true. Fool on me! I had clean
reversion, after the decease of your good fa- forgot it. I must go. What's o'clock?
ther-Brainworm.
Cash. Exchange time, sir.
Young K. Brainworm! 'Slight, what breath
of a conjurer hath blown thee hither in this
shape?
Brain. The breath o'your letter, sir,
morning: the same that blew you to
Wind-mill, and your father after you.
Young K. My father?
0
Brain. Nay, never start; 'tis true: he
followed you over the fields by the foot,
you would do a hare i'the snow.
Kite. 'Heart, then will Wellbred presently
be here too,
With one or other of his loose consorts.
this I am a knave if I know what to say,
the What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass,
Wherein my imagination runs, like sands,
has Filling up time; but then are turn'd and turn'd;
as So that I know not what to stay upon,
And less to put in act. It shall be so.
Nay, I dare build upon
his secresy.
He knows not to deceive me. [Aside] Thomas!
Cash. Sir.
Young K. Sirrah, Wellbred, what shall we
do, sirrah? My father is come over after me.
Well. Thy father! Where is he?
Brain. At justice Clement's house here, in
Colemanstreet, where he but stays my return,
and then-
Well. Who's this? Brainworm?
Brain. The same, sir.
Well. Why how, i'the name of wit, comest
thou transmuted thus?
Kite. Yet now I have bethought me, I will
[Aside.
not.
Thomas, is Cob within?
Cash. I think he be, sir.
Kite. But he'll prate too; there's no speech
of him.
No, there were no man o'the earth to Thomas,
Brain. Faith, a device! a device! Nay, for If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt.
the love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding But should he have a chink in him, I were gone,
the danger, stand not here: withdraw, and I'll Lost i'my fame for ever; talk for th' Exchange.
tell you all.
The manner he hath stood with, till this present,
[Exeunt. Doth promise no such change. What should
Pod to I fear then?
Young K. Come, cousin.
SCENE II.-The Warehouse.
Enter KITELY and CASH.
Kite. What says he, Thomas?
speak with him?
Cash. He will expect you, sir, within this
half hour.
Did you
Kite. Has he the money ready, can you tell?
Cash. Yes, sir, the money was brought in
last night.
once.
Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune
[Aside.
Thomas-you may deceive me, but I hope-
Your love to me is more-
Cash. Sir, if a servant's
Duty, with faith, may be call'd love, you are
More than in hope, you are possess'd of it.
Kite. I thank you heartily, Thomas: gi' me
your hand.
With all my heart, good Thomas. I have,
Thomas,
A secret to impart to you-but
When once you have it, I must seal your
lips up.
So far I tell you, Thomas.
Cash Sir, for that-
Kite. Nay, hear me out.
Think I esteem
Kite. Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak,
my cloak.
and off zahlres
Stay, let me see: an hour to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least; and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch him,
Or very near: well, I will say two hours.
Two hours! Ha! things, never dreamt of yet,
May be contriv'd, ay, and effected too, imam you, Thomas,
In two hours absence. Well, I will not go.
Two hours! no, fleering opportunity,
I will not give your subtlety that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
And shows the felon where his treasure lies?
Again, what earthly spirit but will attempt
To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree, om
When leaden sleep seats up the dragon's eyes?
I will not go. Business, go by for once.
No, beauty, no; you are too, too precious
To be left so, without a guard, or open.
You then must be kept up close, and well
watch'd! Z
When I will let you in thus to my private.
It is a thing sits nearer to my crest
Than thou'rt aware of, Thomas. If thou shouldst
Reveal it, but-
For, give you opportunity, no quicksand
Devours or swallows swifter! He that lends
His wife, if she be fair, or time, or place,
Compels her to be false. I will not go.
The dangers are too many. I am resolv'd for
that.
Carry in my cloak again.-Yet stay-yet do,
too.
I will defer going on all occasions.
I
Cash. How! I reveal it?
Kite. Nay,
do not think thou wouldst; but if thou
shouldst,
'Twere a great weakness.
Cash. A great treachery.
Give it no other name.
Kite. Thou wilt not do't then?
Cash. Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me ever.
Kite. He will not swear; he has some re-
servation,
Some conceal'd purpose, and close meaning,
osure, e
Else, being urg'd so much, how should he
choose
But lend an oath to all this protestation?
He's no fanatic; I have heard him swear.
What should I think of it? Urge him again,
And by some other way? I will do so. [Aside.

SCENE 2.]
521
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to dis- Enter WELLBRED, Young KNO'WELL, BRAIN-
close;
Yes, you did swear.
Cash. Not yet, sir, but I will,
Please you
Kile. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word;
But if thou wilt swear, do, as thou think'st good:
I am resolv'd without it, at thy pleasure.
Cash. By my soul's safety then, sir, I protest
My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a
word,
Deliver'd me in nature of your trust.
Kite. It's too much; these ceremonies need
not;
I know thy faith to be as firm as rock.
Thomas, come hither, near; we cannot be
Too private in this business.-So it is.
Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture:
I have of late, by divers observations-
But whether his oath can bind him, there it is.
I will bethink me ere I do proceed. [Aside.
Thomas, it will be now too long to stay,
I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.
Cash. Sir, at your pleasure.
I
Kite. I will think. Give me my cloak. And,
Thomas,
pray you search the books 'gainst my return,
For the receipts 'twixt me and Traps.
Cash. I will, sir.
WORM, CAPTAIN BOBADIL, and STEPHEN.
Well. Beshrew me, but it was an absolute
good jest, and exceedingly well carried.
Young K. Ay, and our ignorance maintained
it as well, did it not?
Well. Yes, faith! But was't possible thou
shouldst not know him? I forgive Mr. Stephen,
for he is stupidity itself. Why, Brainworm,
who would have thought thou hadst been such
an artificer?
Young K. An artificer! an architect! Except
a man had studied begging all his life time,
and been a weaver of language from his in-
fancy, for the clothing of it, I never saw his
rival.
Well. Where got'st thou this coat, I marvel?
Brain. Of a Houndsditch man, sir, one of
the devil's near kinsmen, a broker.
Re-enter CASH.
Cash. Francis! Martin! Ne'er a one to be
found now? What a spite's this?
Well. How now, Thomas, is my brother
Kitely within?
Cash. No, sir; my master went forth e'en
now: but master Downright is within. Cob!
What, Cob? Is he gone too?
Well. Whither went your master, Thomas;
Kite. And, hear you, if your mistress' bro- canst thou tell?
ther, Wellbred,
Chance to bring hither any gentlemen
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me
word-
Cash. Very well, sir.
Kite. To the Exchange; do you hear?
Or here in Coleman-street, to justice Clement's;
Forget it not, nor be out of the way.
Cash. I will not, sir.
Kite. I pray you have a care on't.
Or whether he come or no, if any other
Stranger, or else, fail not to send me word.
Cash. I shall not, sir.
Kite. Be't your special business
Now to remember it.
Cash. Sir, I warrant you.
Cash. I know not; to justice Clement's, I
think, sir. Cob!
[Exit.
Young K. Justice Clement's! What's he?
Well. Why, dost thou not know him? He
is a city magistrate, a justice here; an excel-
lent good lawyer, and a great scholar: but the
only mad and merry old fellow in Europe!
I showed you him the other day.
Young K. Oh, is that he? I remember him
now. Good faith! and he has a very strange
presence, methinks; it shows as if he stood
out of the rank from other men. I have heard
many of his jests i'the university. They say,
he will commit a man for taking the wall of
his horse.
Well. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one
Kite. But, Thomas, this is not the secret, shoulder, or serving of God. Any thing in-
Thomas, I told you of.
Cash. No, sir, I do suppose it.
Kite. Believe me, it is not."
Cash. Sir, I do believe you.
Kite. By heaven, it is not! That's enough.
But, Thomas.
I would not you should utter it, do you see,
To any creature living; yet I care not.
Well, I must hence. Thomas, conceive thus
much;
It was a trial of you, when I meant
So deep a secret to you: I meant not this,
But that I have to tell you. This is nothing,
this.
But, Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge
you.
Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here,
No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [Exit.
Cash. Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried
here.
deed, if it come in the way of his humour.
Re-enter CASH.
Cash. Gasper, Martin, Cob! 'Heart! where
should they be, trow?
Capt. B. Master Kitely's man, pr'ythee
vouchsafe us the lighting of this match.
Cash. Fire on your match! no time but
now to vouchsafe? Francis! Cob!
[Exit.
Capt. B. Body of me! Here's the remainder
of seven pounds since yesterday was seven-
night. 'Tis your right Trinidado! Did you
never take any, master Stephen?
Step. No, truly, sir! but I'll learn to take it
now, since you recommend it so.
Capt. B. Sir, believe me, upon my relation,
for what I tell you the world shall not re-
prove. I have been in the Indies, where this
herb grows, where neither myself, nor a dozex
gentlemen more, of my knowledge, have re-
ceived the taste of any other nutriment in the
world for the space of one-and-twenty weeks,
humour, but the fume of this simple only. Therefore
it cannot be but 'tis most divine, especially
[Exit. your Trinidado. Your Nicotian is good too,
Whence should this flood of passion, trow,
take head? ha!
Best dream no longer of this running
For fear I sink! But soft,
Here is company; now must I-
66

322
[ACT IV.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Cob. Ay, there's some five or six of them
I do hold it, and will affirm it before any
prince in Europe, to be the most sovereign at the most.
and precious weed that ever the earth tendered
to the use of man.
Young K. This speech would have done
decently in a tobacco-trader's mouth.
Re-enter CASH, with Coв.
Cash. At justice Clement's he is, in the
middle of Coleman-street.
Cob. O, ho!
Kite. A swarm, a swarm!
Spite of the devil, how they sting my head
With forked stings, thus wide and large! But,
Cob,
How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
Cob. A little while, sir.
Kite. Didst thou come running?
Cob. No, sir.
Kite. Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste!
Capt. B. Where's the match I gave thee, Bane to my fortunes. What meant I to marry?
master Kitely's man?
Cash. Here it is, sir.
Cob. By God's-me! I marvel what pleasure
or felicity they have in taking this roguish to-
bacco! It's good for nothing but to choke a
man, and fill him full of smoke and embers.
[Captain Bobadil beats Cob with a
Cudgel; Matthew runs away.
All. Oh, good captain! hold, hold!
Capt. B. You base scullion, you.
Cash. Come, thou must need be talking
too; thou'rt well enough serv'd.
Cob. Well, it shall be a dear beating, an'
I live! I will have justice for this.
Capt. B. Do you prate? Do you murmur?
[Beats Cob off.
Young K. Nay, good captain, will you re-
gard the humour of a fool?
I, that before was rank'd in such content;
My mind at rest too in so soft a peace,
Being free master of my own free thoughts,
And now become a slave? What, never sigh!
Be of good cheer, man, for thou art a cuckold.
"Tis done! 'tis done! Nay, when such flowing
store,
Plenty itself falls into my wife's lap,
The cornucopia will be mine, I know. But,
Cob,
What entertainment had they? I am sure
My sister and my wife would bid them wel-
come! Ha!
Cob. Like enough, sir; yet I heard not a
word of it.
Kite. No; their lips were seal'd with kisses,
and the voice,
Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival,
Capt. B. A whoreson, filthy slave, a dung-Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.
worm, an excrement! Body o'Caesar, but that Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my
I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I'd have
stabb'd him to the earth.
Well. Marry, the law forbid, sir.
Capt. B. By Pharaoh's foot, I would have
done it.
[Exit.
Step. Oh, he swears admirably! By Phara-
oh's foot, body of Caesar; I shall never do it,
sure; upon mine honour, and by St. George;
no I ban't the right grace.
Well. But soft, where's Mr. Matthew; gone?
Brain. No, sir; they went in here.
Well. O, let's follow them: master Matthew
is gone to salute his mistress in verse. We
shall have the happiness to hear some of his
poetry now. He never comes unfurnish'd.
Brainworm?
Step. Brainworm! Where? Is this Brain-
worm?
Young K. Ay, cousin, no words of it, upon
your gentility.
Step. Not I, body of me! by this air, St.
George, and the foot of Pharaoh!
Well. Rare! your cousin's discourse is
simply drawn out with oaths.
Young K. 'Tis larded with 'em.
French dressing, if you love it.
love it.
in; come, cousin.
wife?
My sister, I should say; my wife, alas!
I fear not her. Ha! Who was it, say'st thou?
Cob. By my troth, sir, will you have the
truth of it?
Kite. Ay, good Cob, I pray thee heartily.
Cob. Then I am a vagabond, and fitter for
Bridewell than your worship's company, if I
saw any body to be kiss'd, unless they would
have kiss'd the post in the middle of the ware-
house; for there I left them all at their to-
bacco, with a plague.
Kite. How! were they not gone in then,
ere thou cam'st?
[then?
Cob. O no, sir.
Kite. Spite o'the devil! What do I stay here
Cob, follow me.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A Room in KITELY'S House.
Enter DowNRIGHT and DAME KITELY.
Down. Well, sister, I tell you true; and
you'll find it so in the end.
A kind of Dame K. Alas, brother, what would you
Come, let's have me to do? I cannot help it. You see
[Exeunt. my brother brings 'em in here; they are his
friends.
SCENE III.A Hall in JUSTICE CLEMENT'S
House.
Enter KITELY and Coв.
Kite. Ha! How many are there, say'st thou?
Cob. Marry, sir, your brother, master Well-
bred-
Kite. Tut, beside him: what strangers are
there, man?
Cob. Strangers! let me see; one, two-Mass,
I know not well, there are so many.
Kite. How, so many?
Down. His friends! his friends! 'Slud, they
do nothing but haunt him up and down, like
a sort of unlucky spirits, and tempt him to
all manner of villany that can be thought of.
Well, by this light, a little thing would make
me play the devil with some of 'em. And
'twere not more for your husband's sake, than
any thing else, I'd make the house too hot for
the best on 'em. They should say, and swear,
hell were broken loose ere they went hence.
But, by God's will, 'tis nobody's fault but
yours; for an' you had done as you might

SCENE 1.]
523
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
have done, they should have been parboil'd somewhere else, and not here, I wuss. This
and bak'd too, every mother's son, ere they is no tavern, nor drinking-school, to vent
should ha' come in, e'er a one of 'em. your exploits in.
Dame K. God's my life! did you ever hear Well. How now? Whose cow has calv'd?
the like? What a strange man is this! Could Down. Marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, boy,
I keep out all them, think you? I should put never look askance at me for the matter; I'll
myself against half a dozen men, should I? tell you of it; ay, sir, you and your compa-
Good faith, you'd mad the patientest body in nions! mend yourselves, when I ha' done!
the world to hear you talk so, without any Well. My companions?
sense or reason.
Down. Yes, sir, your companions; so I say.
I am not afraid of you nor them neither, your
Enter BRIDGET, MASTER MATTHEW, WELL- hangbys here. You must have your poets and
BRED, STEPHEN, Young KNO'WELL, CAPTAIN your potlings, your soldados and foolados, to
BOBADIL, and CASH.
Brid. Servant, in troth, you are too prodigal
Of your wit's treasure, thus to pour it forth
Upon so mean a subject as my worth.
Mat. You say well, mistress; and I mean
as well.
Down. Hey-day, here is stuff!
follow you up and down the city; and here
they must come to domineer and swagger.
Sirrah, you ballad-singer, and slops, your fel-
low there, get you out; get you home; or, by
this steel, I'll cut off your ears, and that pre-
sently.
Well. 'Slight, stay, and let's see what he
Well. O, now stand close. Pray heaven dare do. Cut off his ears! cut a whetstone.
she can get him to read; he should do it of You are an ass, do you see; touch any man
his own natural impudence.
here, and by this hand, I'll run my rapier to
Brid. Servant, what is this same, I pray the hills in y his hand,
you?
Mat. Marry, an elegy! an elegy! an odd
toy-I'll read it, if you please.
Brid. Pray you do, servant.
Down. O, here's no foppery! Death! I can
endure the stocks better.
Young K. What ails thy brother? Can he
not bear the reading of a ballad?
[To Wellbred.
Well. O no; a rhyme to him is worse than
cheese, or a bagpipe. But mark, you lose the
protestation.
Capt. B. Master Matthew, you abuse the
expectation of your dear mistress and her
fair sister. Fie; while you live, avoid this
prolixity.
Mat. I shall, sir.
Rare creature, let me speak without offence;
Would heav'n my rude words had the influence
Down. Yea, that would I fain see, boy.
[They all draw, and they of the
House part them.
Dame K. Oh, Jesu! Murder! Thomas;
Gasper!
Brid. Help, help! Thomas!
Young K. Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you.
Capt. B. Well, sirrah! you Holofernes! By
my hand, I will pink your flesh full of holes
with my rapier, for this; I will, by this good
heav'n. Nay, let him come, gentlemen, by
the body of St. George, I'll not kill him.
[They offer to fight again, and are parted.
Cash. Hold, hold, good gentlemen.
Down. You whoreson, bragging coistril.
Enter KITELY.
Kite. Why, how now; what's the matter?
What's the stir here?
To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine; Put up your weapons, and put off this rage.
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine. My wife and sister, they're the cause of this.
[Master Stephen shakes his Head. What, Thomas; where is the knave?
Young K. 'Slight, he shakes his head like a
bottle, to feel an' there be any brain in it!
Well. Sister, what ha' you here? verses?
Pray you, let's see. Who made these verses?
They are excellent good.huh
Cash. Here, sir.
Well. Come, let's go; this is one of my
brother's ancient humours, this.
[Exit.
Step. I am glad nobody was hurt by his
ancient humour.re
[Exit.
Kite. Why, how now, brother; who en-
forc'd this brawl?ion bloods
Mat. O, master Wellbred, 'tis your dispo-
sition to say so, sir. They were good i'the
morning; I made 'em extempore this morning. Down. A sort of lewd rake. And they
Well. How, extempore?
must come here to read ballads, and roguery,
Mat. I would I might be hang'd else; ask and trash! I'll mar the knot of 'em ere I sleep,
captain Bobadil; he saw me write them at perhaps; especially Bob there, he that's all
the-the Star yonder.
manner of shapes; and songs and sonnets, his
Step. Cousin, how do you like this gentle-fellow. But I'll follow 'em.
man's verses?
Young K. O, admirable! the best that ever
I heard, coz.
Step. Body o'Caesar! they are admirable!
The best that ever I heard, as I am a soldier.
Down. I am vex'd; I can hold ne'er a bone
of me still! 'Heart, I think they mean to build
and breed here.
[Exit.
Brid. Brother, indeed you are too violent,
Too sudden in your humour.
There was one, a civil gentleman,
And very worthily demean'd himself.
Kite. Oh, that was some love of yours,
sister.
[Exit.
Brid. A love of mine? I would it were no
[Aside. worse, brother! You'd pay my portion sooner
Well. Sister Kitely, I marvel you get you than you think for.
not a servant that can rhyme and do tricks Dame K. Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentle-
man of exceeding fair disposition, and of very
excellent parts. What a coil and stir is here!
too.
Down. O, monster! Impudence itself! Tricks!
Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks
[Exit.

524
[ACT IV.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Kite. Her love, by heav'n! my wife's minion!
Death, these phrases are intolerable!
Well, well, well, well, well, well!
It is too plain, too clear. Thomas, come hither.
What, are they gone?
Cash. Ay, sir, they went in.tool
My mistress, and your sister-
Kite. Are any of the gallants within?
Cash. No, sir, they are all gone.
Kite. Art thou sure of it?
Cash. I can assure you, sir.
Kite. What gentleman was it that they
prais'd so, Thomas?
Cash. One, they call him master Kno'well,
a handsome young gentleman, sir.
Kite. Ay, I thought so.
My mind gave me
as much.
I'll die, but they have hid him in the house
Somewhere; I'll go and search. Go with me,
Thomas;
Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a ma-
ster.
SCENE II.-Moorfields.
[Exeunt.
Brain. Marry, peace be my comfort, where
I thought I should have had little comfort of
your worship's service.
Know. How so?
Brain. Oh, sir! your coming to the city,
your entertainment of me, and your sending
me to watch - indeed, all the circumstances
either of your charge, or my employment, are
as open to your son as to yourself.
Kno. How should that be, unless that villain,
Brainworm,
Have told him of the letter, and discovered
All that I strictly charg'd him to conceal?
'Tis so!
Brain. I am partly o'that faith; 'tis so,
indeed.
Kno. But how should he know you to be
my man?
Brain. Nay, sir, I cannot tell; unless it be
by the black art! Is not your son a scholar, sir?
Kno. Yes! but I hope his soul is not allied
Unto such hellish practice; if it were,
I had just cause to weep my part in him,
And curse the time of his creation.
Enter Young KNO'WELL, WELLBRED, and But where didst thou find them, Fitz-sword?
BRAINWORM.
Young K. Well, Brainworm, perform this
business happily, and thou makest a purchase
of my love for ever.
Well. I'faith, now let thy spirits use their
best faculties; but at my hand, remember the
message to my brother; for there's no other
means to start him out of his house.
Bruin. You should rather ask where they
found me, sir; for I'll be sworn, I was going
along in the street, thinking nothing, when,
of a sudden, a voice calls, Mr. Kno'well's man;
another cries, soldier; and thus, half a dozen
of 'em, 'till they had called me within a house,
where I no sooner came, but out flew all their
rapiers at my bosom, with some three or
Brain. I warrant you, sir; fear nothing. fourscore oaths to accompany 'em; and all to
I have a nimble soul has waked all forces of tell me, I was a dead man if I did not con-
my phant'sy by this time, and put 'em in true fess where you were, and how I was em-
motion. What you have possessed me withal, ployed, and about what; which, when they
I'll discharge it amply, sir; make it no question. could not get out of me, as I protest they
[Exit. must have dissected me, and made an ana-
Well. Forth, and prosper, Brainworm. Faith, tomy of me first, and so I told 'em, they locked
Ned, how dost thou approve of my abilities me up into a room i'the top of a high house;
in this device?
whence, by great miracle, having a light heart,
Young K. Troth, well, howsoever; but it I slid down by a bottom of packthread into
will come excellent if it take.
the street, and so 'scaped. But, sir, thus much
Well. Take, man! Why it cannot choose I can assure you, for I heard it while I was
but take, if the circumstances miscarry not. lock'd up, there were a great many rich
But tell me ingenuously, dost thou affect my merchants' and brave citizens' wives with 'em
sister Bridget, as thou pretend'st?
at a feast; and your son, Mr. Edward, with-
Young K. Friend, am I worthy of belief? drew with one of 'em, and has 'pointed to
Well. Come, do not protest. In faith, she meet her anon, at one Cob's house, a water-
is a maid of good ornament, and much mo-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now, there
desty; and, except I conceiv'd very worthily your worship shall be sure to take him, for
of her, thou shouldst not have her.
there he preys, and fail he will not.
Kno. Nor will I fail to break his match, I
doubt not.
Young K. Nay, that I'm afraid will be a
question yet, whether I shall have her or no.
Well. 'Slid, thou shalt have her; by this
light thou shalt.
Young K. I am satisfied; and do believe
thou wilt omit no offered occasion to make
my desires complete.
Well. Thou shalt see and know I will not.
[Exeunt.
Enter FORMAL and KNO'WELL.
For. Was your man a soldier, sir?
Kno. Ay, a knave; I took him begging o'the
way, this morning, as I came over Moorfields.
Re-enter BRAINWORM.
Oh, here he is!- You have made fair speed,
believe me; Where i'the name of sloth could
you be thus-
Go thou along with justice Clement's man,
And stay there for me. At one Cob's house,
say'st thou?
Brain. Ay, sir, there you shall have him.
[Exit Kno'well] Yes! Invisible! Much wench,
or much son! 'Slight, when he has staid there
three or four hours, travailing with the ex-
pectation of wonders, and at length be deli-
vered of air! O, the sport that I should then
take to look on him, if I durst! But now I
mean to appear no more before him in this
shape. I have another trick to act yet. [Aside]
Sir, I make you stay somewhat long.
For. Not a whit, sir.
You have been lately in the wars, sir, it seems?
Brain. Marry have I, sir, to my loss, and
espense of all, almost-

SCENE 2.]
525
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
For. Troth, sir, I would be glad to bestow half, nay, three parts of his yearly charge in
a bottle o'you, if it please you to accept it- holding war, and against what enemy soever.
Brain. O, sir-
And how would I do it, think you?
Young K. Nay, I know not; nor can I
conceive.
For. But to hear the manner of your ser-
vices and your devices in the wars; they say
they be very strange, and not like those a Capt. B. Why, thus, sir: I would select
man reads in the Roman histories, or sees at nineteen more to myself, throughout the land;
Mile-end.
gentlemen they should be; of a good spirit,
Brain. No, I assure you, sir; why, at any and able constitution; I would choose them
time when it please you, I shall be ready to by an instinct, a character that I have; and I
discourse with you all I know-and more too, would teach these nineteen the special rules,
somewhat.
[Aside. as your punto, your reverso, your stoccata,
For. No better time than now, sir. We'll imbroccata, your passada, your montanto; till
go to the Windmill; there we shall have a they could all play very near, or altogether
cup of neat grist, as we call it. I pray you, as well as myself. This done, say the enemy
sir, let me request you to the Windmill. were forty thousand strong, we twenty would
Brain. I'll follow you, sir; and make grist come into the field the tenth of March, or
o'you, if I have good luck.
[Exeunt. thereabouts, and we would challenge twenty
of the enemy; they could not in their honour
Re-enter Young KNO'WELL, with MASTER refuse us.-Well, we would kill them; chal-
MATTHEW, CAPTAIN BOBADIL, and STEPHEN. lenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more,
Mat. Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like kill them too; and thus would we kill every
clown of him, where we were to-day, Mr. man his twenty a day, that's twenty score;
Wellbred's half brother? I think the whole twenty score, that's two hundred; two hundred
earth cannot show his parellel, by this day-light. a day, five days a thousand; forty thousand;
Young K. We are now speaking of him. forty times five, five times forty, two hundred
Captain Bobadil tells me he is fallen foul days kills them all by computation. And this
o'you too.
Mat. O, ay, sir! he threaten'd me with the
bastinado.
Capt. B. Ay, but I think I taught you pre-
vention this morning for that-You shall kill
him, beyond question, if you be so generously
minded.
Mat. Indeed, it is a most excellent trick!
Capt. B. O, you do not give spirit enough
to your motion; you are too tardy, too heavy!
O, it must be done like lightning; hey! Tut,
'tis nothing, an't be not done in a punto.
I will venture my poor gentleman-like carcass
to perform, provided there be no treason prac-
tised upon us, by fair and discreet manhood,
that is, civilly by the sword.
Young K. Why, are you so sure of your
hand, captain, at all times?
Capt. B. Tut, never miss thrust, upon my
reputation with you.
Young K. I would not stand in Downright's
state then, an' you meet him, for the wealth
of any one street in London.
Capt. B. Why, sir, you mistake. If he were
Young K. Captain, did you ever prove your- here now, by this welkin, I would not draw
self upon any of our masters of defence here? my weapon on him! Let this gentleman do
Mal. O, good sir! yes, I hope he has! his mind; but I will bastinado him, by the
Capt. B. I will tell you, sir. They have bright sun, wherever I meet him.
assaulted me some three, four, five, six of them Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at
together, as I have walked alone in divers skirts my distance.
o'the town, where I have driven them before
Young K. God's so! Lookye where he is;
yonder he goes.
me the whole length of a street, in the open Enter DOWNRIGHT, walking over the Stage.
view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them,
believe me. Yet all this lenity will not over-
come their spleen; they will be doing with
the pismire, raising a hill a man may spurn
abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself
By myself
I could have slain them all; but I delight not
in murder. I am loath to bear any other than
this bastinado for 'em; yet I hold it good
policy not to go disarmed; for, though I be
skilful, I may be oppressed with multitudes.
Young K. Ay, believe me, may you, sir;
and, in my conceit, our whole nation should
sustain the loss by it, if it were so.
Capt. B. Alas, no! What's a peculiar man
to a nation? Not seen.
Young K. O, but your skill, sir!
Down. What peevish luck have I; I can-
not meet with these bragging rascals!
Capt. B. It's not he, is it?
Young K. Yes, faith, it is he.
Mat. I'll be hang'd then if that were he.
Young K. I assure you that was he.
Step. Upon my reputation, it was he.
Capt. B. Had I thought it had been he, he
must not have gone so; but I can hardly be
induced to believe it was he yet.
Young K. That I think, sir.-But see, he is
come again!
Re-enter DoWNRIGHT.
Capt. B. Indeed, that might be some loss; Down. Oh, Pharaoh's foot! have I found
but who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by you? Come, draw; to your tools. Draw,
the way of private, and under seal, I am a gipsy, or I'll thrash you.
gentleman, and live here obscure, and to my- Capt. B. Gentleman of valour, I do believe
self; but were I known to his majesty and in thee, hear me—
the lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon Down. Draw your weapon then.
this poor head and life, for the public benefit Capt. B. Tall man, I never thought on't till
of the state, not only to spare the entire lives now, body of me! I had a warrant of the
of his subjects in general, but to save the one peace served on me even now, as I came

526
[ACT IV.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
along, by a water-bearer; this gentleman saw composed. These starts of passion have some
it, Mr. Matthew.
cause, I fear, that touches you more nearly.
Kite. Sorely, sorely, Thomas. It cleaves too
close to me oh me! [Sighs] Lend me thy
arm-so, good Cash.
[Downright beats Captain Bobadil;
Matthew runs away.
Down. 'Sdeath, you will not draw then?
Capt. B. Hold, hold, under thy favour, forbear.
Down. Prate again, as you like this, you
whoreson foist you. You'll control the point,
you? Your consort is gone; had he staid, he
had shared with you, sir.
-
Cash. You tremble and look pale! Let me
call assistance.
Kite. Not for ten thousand worlds!--Alas!
alas! 'tis not in medicine to give me ease
[Exit. here, here it lies.
Young K. Twenty, and kill 'em; twenty
more, kill them too-ha, ha!
I
Cash. What, sir?
-
Kite. Why-nothing, nothing. I am not
Capt. B. Well, gentlemen, bear witness; sick, yet more than dead; I have a burning
was bound to the peace, by this good day. fever in my mind, and long for that, which
Young K. No, faith, it's an ill day, captain, having, would destroy me.
never reckon it other; but say you were bound Cash. Believe me 'tis your fancy's imposition.
to the peace, the law allows you to defend Shut up your generous mind from such in-
yourself; that will prove but a poor excuse. truders. I'll hazard all my growing favour
Capt. B. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good with you; I'll stake my present, my future
construction, in fair sort. I never sustained welfare, that some base whispering knave-
the like disgrace, by heaven. Sure I was nay, pardon me, sir-hath, in the best and
struck with a planet.
richest soil, sown seeds of rank and evil na-
Step. No, captain, you was struck with a stick. ture!-Oh, my master, should they take root-
Young K. Ay, like enough; I have heard of
[Laughing within.
many that have been beaten under a planet. Kite. Hark! hark! Dost thou not hear?-
Go, get you to a surgeon. 'Slid, and these What think'st thou now? Are they not laughing
be your tricks, your passados and your mon- at me? They are, they are. They have de-
tantos, I'll none of them.
ceived the wittol, and thus they triumph in
Capt. B. I was planet-struck certainly. [Exit. their infamy. This aggravation is not to be
Young K. O, manners! that this age should borne. [Laughing again] Hark, again!-Cash,
bring forth such creatures! that nature should do thou unseen steal in upon 'em, and listen
be at leisure to make 'em! Come, coz.
to their wanton conference.
Step. Mass, I'll have this cloak.
Young K. God's will, 'tis Downright's.
Step. Nay, it's mine now; another might
have ta'en it up as well as I. I'll wear it,
so I will.
Young K. How, an' he see it?
lenge it, assure yourself.
Step. Ay, but he shall not ha't;
Cash. I shall obey you, though against my
will.
[Exit.
Kile. Against his will! Ha! it may be so.
He's young, and may be bribed for them:
they've various means to draw the unwary in.
He'll chal-If it be so, I'm lost, deceived, betrayed, and
my bosom, my full-fraught bosom, is unlocked
I and opened to mockery and laughter! Heaven
forbid! He cannot be that viper; sting the
hand that raised and cherish'd him? Was this
stroke added, I should be cursed.-But it can-
not be-no, it cannot be.
I'll say
bought it.
Young K. Take heed you buy it not too
dear, coz.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III-A Chamber in KITELY'S House.
Enter KITELY and CASH.
Kile. Art thou sure, Thomas, we have pry'd
into all and every part throughout the house?
Is there no by-place, or dark corner, has
caped our searches?
Re-enter CASH.
Cash. You are musing, sir.
Kite. I ask your pardon, Cash. Ask me not
es-why-I have wronged you, and am sorry.-
Tis gone.
Cash. If you suspect my faith-
Cash. Indeed, sir, none; there's not a hole
or nook unsearched by us, from the upper
loft unto the cellar.
Kite. I do not-say no more-and for my
sake let it die and be forgotten. - Have you
Kite. They have convey'd him then away, seen your mistress, and heard whence was
or hid him in some privacy of their own. that noise?
n the other s
Whilst we were searching of the dark closet Cash. Your brother, master Wellbred, is
by my sister's chamber, didst thou not think with 'em, and I found 'em throwing out their
thou heard'st a rustling on the other side, and mirth on a very truly ridiculous subject: it
a soft tread of feet?
is one Formal, as he styles himself, and he
Cash. Upon my truth, I did not, sir; or if appertains, so he phrases it, to justice Clement,
you did, it might be only the vermin in the and would speak with you.
wainscot; the house is old, and over-run
with 'em.
Kite. With me? Art thou sure it is the
justice's clerk? Where is he?
Enter BRAINWORM, as FORMAL.
Kite. It is indeed, Thomas. We should
bane these rats. Dost thou understand me?
We will they shall not harbour here; I'll Who are you, friend?
cleanse my house from 'em, if fire or poison
can effect it-I will not be tormented thus.-garly called his clerk.
They gnaw my brain, and burrow in my heart
-I cannot bear it.
Cash. I do not understand you, sir. Good
now, what is't disturbs you thus? Pray be
Brain. An appendix to justice Clement, vul-
Kite. What are your wants with me?
Brain. None.
Kite. Do you not want to speak with me?
Brain. No, but my master does.

SCENE 3.]
527
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Kite. What are the justice's commands? I could content me with less gain and vantage,
Brain. He doth not command, but entreats To have thee more at home, indeed I could.
unto him.
master Kitely to be with him directly, having Dame K. Your doubts, as well as love, may
matters of some moment to communicate breed these thoughts.
Kite. That jar untunes me. [Aside.
Kite. What can it be? Say I be with What dost thou say? Doubt thee?
him instantly; and if your legs, friend, go not I should as soon suspect myself-No, no,
faster than your tongue, I shall be there be- My confidence is rooted in thy merit,
fore you.
So fix'd and settled, that, wert thou inclin'd
Brain. I will.
[Exit. To masks, to sports, and balls, where lusty
Vale.
youth
pulse
Kite. 'Tis a precious fool indeed!-I must
go forth. But first come hither, Thomas-I Leads up the wanton dance, and the rais'd
have admitted thee into the close recesses of
my heart, and showed thee all my frailties, Beats quicker measures, yet I could with joy,
passions, every thing.
With heart's ease and security-not but
Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch. I had rather thou shouldst prefer thy home
Wilt thou be truc, my Thomas?
Cash. As truth's self, sir.
But be assur'd you're heaping care and trouble
Upon a sandy base; ill-plac'd suspicion
Recoils upon yourself. - She's chaste as comely!
Believe't she is. Let her not note your humour;
Disperse the gloom upon your brow, and be
As clear as her unsullied honour.
Kite. I will then, Cash-thon comfort'st me
I'll drive these
Fiend-like fancies from me, and be myself again.
Think'st thou she has perceiv'd my folly? Twere
Happy, if she had not-she has not-
They who know no evil will suspect none.
Cash. True, sir; nor has your mind a
blemish now.
This change has gladden'd me. Here's my
mistress,
And the rest; settle your reason to accost 'em.
Kite. I will, Cash, I will.
And me, to toys and such like vanities.
Dame K. But sure, my dear,
A wife may moderately use these pleasures,
Which numbers and the time give sanction to,
Without the smallest blemish on her name.
Kite. And so she may-And I'll
And I'll go with
thee, child,
I will indeed-I'll lead thee there myself,
And be the foremost reveller.-I'll silence
The sneers of envy, stop the tongue of slander;
Nor will I more be pointed at, as one
Disturb'd with jealousy-
Dame K. Why, were you ever so?
Kite. What?-Ha! never-ha, ha, ha!
She stabs me home. [Aside] Jealous of thee!
No, do not believe it-Speak low, my love,
Thy brother will overhear us-No, no, my dear,
It could not be, it could not be-for-for-
What is the time now?-I shall be too late-
No, no, thou may'st be satisfied
There's not the smallest spark remaining-
Remaining! What do I say? There never was,
Nor can, nor ever shall be-so be satisfied.
Is Cob within there? Give me a kiss,
and bear My dear; there, there, now we are reconcil'd-
pensive brow? I'll be back immediately-Good by, good by.
[Laughs. Ha, ha! jealous, I shall burst my sides with
laughing.
Enter WELLBRED, DAME KITELY, and BRIDGET.
Well. What are you a plotting, brother
Kitely,
That thus of late you muse alone,
Such weighty care upon your
Kite. My care is all for you, good sneering
brother,
And well I wish you'd take some wholesome
counsel,
And curb your headstrong humours; trust me,
brother,
You were to blame to raise commotions here,
And hurt the peace and order of my house.
Well. No harm done, brother, I warrant you.
Since there is no harm done, anger costs
A man nothing, and a brave man is never
His own man till he be angry.-To keep
His valour in obscurity, is to keep himself,
As it were, in a cloak-bag. What's a brave
Musician, unless he play?
What's a brave man, unless he fight?
Dame K. Ay, but what harm might have
come of it, brother?
Well. What, school'd on both sides! Pr'y-
thee, Bridget, save me from the rod and lecture.
Ha, ha! Cob, where are you, Cob? Ha, ha!
[Exit. Wellbred and Bridget come forward.
Well. What have you done to make your
husband part so merry from you? He has of
late been little given to laughter.
Dame K. He laughed indeed, but seemingly
without mirth. His behaviour is new and
strange. He is much agitated, and has some
whimsy in his head, that puzzles mine to read it.
Well. "Tis jealousy, good sister, and writ
so largely, that the blind may read it; have
you not perceived it yet?
Dame K. If I have, 'tis not always prudent
that my tongue should betray my eyes, so far
my wisdom tends, good brother, and little
more I boast-But what makes him ever calling
for Cob so? I wonder how he can employ him.
Well. Indeed, sister, to ask how he em-
ploys Cob, is a necessary question for you
[Bridget and Wellbred retire. that are his wife, and a thing not very easy
Kite. With what a decent modesty she for you to be satisfied in-But this I'll assure
rates him!
My heart's at ease, and she shall see it is.
How art thou, wife? Thou look'st both gay
and comely;
In troth thou dost.-I'm sent for out, my dear,
But I shall soon return-Indeed, my life,
Business that forces me abroad grows irksome.
you, Cob's wife is an excellent procuress, sister,
and oftentimes your husband haunts her house:
marry to what end, I cannot altogether accuse
him-imagine you what you think convenient
but I have known fair hides have foul hearts,
ere now, sister.
Dame K. Never said you truer than that

528
[ACT V.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
brother; so much I can tell you for your a false message! This was some plot. I was
learning. O, ho! is this the fruits of 's jea- not sent for. Bridget, where's your sister?
lousy? I thought some game was in the wind,
he acted so much tenderness but now; but I'll
be quit with him.-Thomas!
Re-enter CASH.
Brid. I think she be gone forth, sir.
Kite. How? is my wife gone forth? Whi-
ther, for heaven's sake.
Brid. She's gone abroad with Thomas.
Kite. Abroad with Thomas! Oh, that villain
cheats me!
Fetch your hat, Thomas, and go with me.
[Exit Cash] I would to fortune I could take
him there, I'd return him his own, I warrant He hath discover'd all unto my wife;
him! I'd fit him for his jealousy! [Exit. Beast that I was to trust him. [Aside] Whi-
ther, I pray
Well. Ha, ha! so e'en let 'em go; this may
make sport anon-What, Brainworm!
Brain. I saw the merchant turn the corner,
and come back to tell you all goes well; wind
and tide, my master.
Well. But how got'st thou this apparel of
the justice's man?
You, went she?
Brid. I know not, sir.
Well. I'll tell you, brother, whither I suspect
she's gone.
Kite. Whither, good brother?
Well. To Cob's house, I believe; but keep
my counsel.
Kite. I will, I will.-To Cob's house! Does
she haunt there?
Brain. Marry, sir, my proper fine penman
would needs bestow the grist o'me at the
Windmill, to hear some marshal discourse,
where I so marshalled him, that I made him She's gone on purpose now to cuckold me,
drunk with admiration; and because too much With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour,
heat was the cause of his distemper, I stripp'd Hath told her all-Why would you let her go?
him stark naked as he lay along asleep, and Well. Because she's not my wife; if she
borrowed his suit to deliver this counterfeit were, I'd keep her to her tether.
message in, leaving a rusty armour, and an Kite. So, so; now 'tis plain. I shall go mad
old brown bill, to watch him till my return; With my misfortunes, now they pour in torrents.
which shall be, when I have pawned his ap- I'm bruted by my wife, betray'd by my servant,
parel, and spent the better part of the money, Mock'd at by my relations, pointed at by my
perhaps.
neighbours,
ACT V.
SCENE L-Stocks-market.
Enter MASTER MATTHEW and CAPTAIN
BOBADIL.
Well. Well, thou art a successful, merry Despis'd by myself-There is nothing left now
knave, Brainworm; his absence will be sub- But to revenge myself first, next hang myself;
ject for more mirth. I pray thee, return to And then-all my cares will be over. [Exeunt.
thy young master, and will him to meet me
and my sister Bridget at the Tower instantly;
for here, tell him, the house is so stored with
jealousy, there is no room for love to stand
upright in. We must get our fortunes com-
mitted to some large prison, say: and then
the Tower, I know no better air, nor where
the liberty of the house may do us more pre-of my going away! ha?
sent service. Away. [Exit Brainworm. Capt. B. Why, what should they say? but
Brid. What, is this the engine that you as of a discreet gentleman; quick, wary, respect-
told me of? What further meaning have you ful of nature's fair lineaments, and that's all.
in the plot?
Mat. Why so? but what can they say of
your beating?
Well. That you may know, fair sister-in-
law, how happy a thing it is to be fair and
beautiful.
Mat. I wonder, captain, what they will say
Capt. B. A rude part, a touch with soft
wood, a kind of gross battery used, lain on
Brid. That touches not me, brother. strongly, borne most patiently, and that's all.
Well. Well, there's a dear and well-respect-But wherefore do I wake their remembrance?
ed friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly I was fascinated, by Jupiter! fascinated; but
and worthily affected towards you, and hath I will be unwitched, and revenged by law.
vowed to inflame whole bonfires of zeal at his Mat. Do you hear? Is't not best to get a
heart, in honour of your perfections. I have warrant, and have him arrested, and brought
already engaged my promise to bring you before justice Clement?
where you shall hear him confirm much more.
Ned Kno'well is the man, sister. There's no
exception against the party. What say you,
sister? On my soul he loves you; will you
give him this meeting?
Brid. 'Faith, I had very little confidence in
my own constancy, brother, if I durst not
meet a man; but this motion of yours savours
of an old knight adventurer's servant, a little
too much, methinks.
Well. What's that, sister?
Brid. Marry, of the go-between.
Well. No matter if it did; I would be such
a one for my friend. But see, who is returned
to hinder us.
Capt. B. It were not amiss; would we had it!
Mat. Why, here comes his man, let's speak
to him.
Capt. B. Agreed. Do you speak.
Enter BRAINWORM, as FORMAL.
Mat. Save you, sir.
Brain. With all my heart, sir.
Mat. Sir, there is one Downright hath abu-
sed this gentleman and myself, and we deter-
mine to make ourselves amends by law; now
if you would do us the favour to procure a
warrant to bring him before your master, you
shall be well considered of, I assure you, sir,
Brain. Sir, you know my service is my
Re-enter KITELY.
living; such favours as these, gotten of my
Kite. What villany is this? Called out on master, is his only preferment, and therefore

SCENE 2.]
529
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
you must consider me, as I may make benefit
of my place.
Mat. How is that, sir?
Brain. Faith, sir, the thing is extraordinary,
and the gentleman may be of great account.
Yet, be what he will, if you will lay me down
a brace of angels in my hand, you shall have
it, otherwise not.
Mat. How shall we do, captain? He asks a
brace of angels. You have no money.
[Apart to Capt. B.
Capt. B. Not a cross, by fortune. [Apart.
Mat. Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two-
pence left of my two shillings in the morning
for wine and raddish. Let's find him some
pawn.
Capt. B. Pawn! We have none to the value
of his demand.
Mat. O yes, I can pawn my
[Aside.
Enter CASH and DAME KITELY.
Kno. O, this is the female copesmate of my son.
Now shall I meet him straight.
Dame K. Knock, Thomas, hard.
Cash. Hoa, good wife!
Tib. Why, what's the matter with you?
Dame K. Why, woman, grieves it you to
ope the door?
Belike you get something to keep it shut.
Tib. What mean these questions, pray you?
Dame K. So strange you make it! Is not
my husband here?
Kno. Her husband!
[Aside.
Dame K. My tried and faithful husband,
master Kitely.
Apart. Tib. I hope he needs not be tried here.
Dame K. Come hither, Cash. I see my
[Apart. turtle coming to his haunts.-Let us retire.
ring here.
[They retire.
Apart.
Kno. This must be some device to mock
me withal.
Capt. B. And, harkye, he shall have my trusty
Toledo too; I believe I shall have no service Soft-who is this?-Oh! 'tis my son disguis'd.
for it to-day.
[Apart. I'll watch him and surprise him.
Enter KITELY, muffled in a Cloak.
Kite. 'Tis truth, I see: there she skulks.
Mat. Do you hear, sir? We have no store
of money at this time, but you shall have
good pawns. Look you, sir, I will pledge this
ring, and that gentleman his Toledo, because But I will fetch her from her hold-I will-
we would have it dispatch'd.
I tremble so I scarce have power to do the
justice
Brain. I am content, sir; I will get you
the warrant presently. What's his name, say Her infamy demands.
you? Downright?
Mat. Ay, ay, George Downright.
Brain. Well, gentlemen, I'll procure you
the warrant presently. But who will you have
to serve it?
Mat. That's true, captain; that must be
considered.
[As Kitely goes forward, Dame Kitely
and Kno'well lay hold of him.
Kno. Have I trapped you, youth? You can-
not 'scape me now.
Dame K. O, sir! have I forestall'd
honest market?
your
Found your close walks? You stand amaz'd
Capt B. Body o'me, I know not! 'Tis ser- Now, do you? Ah, hide, hide your face for
vice of danger!
shame!
Brain. Why, you were best get one of l'faith, I am glad I've found you out at last.
the varlets o'the city, a sergeant; I'll appoint Kno. What mean you, woman? Let go
you one, if you please.
your hold.
Mat. Will you, sir? Why, we can wish
no better.
Capt. B. We'll leave it to you, sir.
I
see the counterfeit. I am his father,
And claim him as my own.
Kite. [Discovers himself] I am your cuck-
old, and claim my vengeance,
Dame K. What, do you wrong me, and
insult me too?
[Exeunt Captain Bobadil and Matthew.
Brain. This is rare! Now will I go pawn
this cloak of the justice's man's, at the broker's
for a varlet's suit, and be the varlet myself, Thou faithless man!
and so get money on all sides.
[Exit. Kite. Out on thy more than strumpet's im-
pudence!
SCENE II. The street before COB's House.
Enter KNO'WELL.
Steal'st thou thus to thy haunts? And have
I taken
Thy bawd and thee, and thy companion,
Kno. O, here it is; I have found it now. This hoary-headed letcher, this old goat,
Hoa, who is within here?
Close at your villany, and wouldst thou 'scuse it
[Tib appears at the Window. With this stale harlot's jest, accusing me?
Tib. I am within, sir. What's your pleasure? O, old incontinent, dost thou not shame
Kno. To know who is within besides yourself. To have a mind so hot, and to entice,
Tib. Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope? And feed the enticement of a lustful woman?
Kno. O, fear you the constable? Then I Dame K. Out! I defy thee, thou dissembling
doubt not you have some guests within de-
wretch!
serve that fear. I'll fetch him straight.
Tib. For heaven's sake, sir-
Kno. Go to! Come, tell me, is not young
Kno'well here?
Tib. Young Kno'well! I know none such,
sir, o'my honesty.
Kno. Your honesty, dame? It flies too lightly
from you. There is no way but fetch the
constable.
Kite. Defy me, strumpet! Ask thy pander
here;
Can he deny it, or that wicked elder?
Kno. Why, hear you, sir-
Cash. Master, 'tis in vain to reason while
these passions blind you. I'm griev'd to see
you thus.
Kite. Tut, tut, never speak; I see through
every
Tib. The constable! the man is mad, I think. Veil you cast upon your treachery; but I have
67

530
[ACT V.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Enter DOWNRIGHT.
Done with you, and root you from my heart,
for ever.
Down. Why, how now, seignior Gull?
For you, sir, thus I demand my honour's due; Are you turned filcher of late? Come, deliver
Resolv'd to cool your lust, or end my shame. my cloak.
[Draws. Step. Your cloak, sir! I bought it even now
Kno. What lunacy is this? Put up your in open market.
sword, and undeceive yourself. No arm that Brain. Master Downright, I have a war-
e'er pois'd weapon can affright me; but I pity rant I must serve upon you, procured by these
folly, nor cope with madness.
two gentlemen.
Kite. I will have proofs - I will so you,
good wifebawd, Cob's wife; and you, that
make your husband such a monster; and you,
young pander, an old cuckoldmaker; I'll ha'
you every one before the justice. - Nay, you
shall answer it; I charge you go. Come forth,
thou bawd.
[Goes into the House, and brings out Tib.
Kno. Marry, with all my heart, sir; I go
willingly.
Though I do taste this as a trick put on me,
To punish my impertinent search, and justly;
And half forgive my son for the device.
Kite. Come, will you go?
Dame K. Go, to thy shame believe it.
Kite. Though shame and sorrow both my
heart betide,
Come on-I must and will be satisfied. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Stocks-market.
Enter BRAIN WORM.otes
Brain. Well, of all my disguises yet, now
am I most like myself, being in this sergeant's
gown. A man of my present profession never
counterfeits till he lays hold upon a debtor,
and says he' rests him; for then he brings him
to all manner of unrest. A kind of little kings
we are, bearing the diminutive of a mace,
made like a young artichoke, that always car-
ries pepper and salt in itself. Well, I know
not what danger I undergo by this exploit;
pray heaven I come well off!
Enter CAPTAIN BOBADIL and MASTER
MATTHEW.
Mat. See, I think, yonder is the varlet, by
his gown. 'Save you, friend; are not you
here by appointment of justice Clement's man?
Brain. Yes, an' please you, sir, he told me
two gentlemen had willed him to procure a
warrant from his master, which I have about
me, to be served on one Downright.
Mat. It is honestly done of you both; and
see where the party comes you must arrest.
Serve it upon him quickly, before he be aware.
Enter MASTER STEPHEN in DOWNRIGHT'S
Cloak.
Capt. B. Bear back, master Matthew.
Brain. Master Downright, I arrest you i'the
queen's name, and must carry you before a
justice, by virtue of this warrant.
Step. Me, friend, I am no Downright, I.
I am master Stephen; you do not well to ar-
rest me, I tell you truly. I am in nobody's
bonds or books, I would you should know
it. A plague on you heartily, for making me
thus afraid before my time.
Brain. Why, now you are deceived, gen-
tlemen!
Capt. B. He wears such a cloak, and that
deceived us. But see, here he comes indeed!
This is he, officer.
Down. These gentlemen! These rascals!
Brain. Keep the peace,
Brain. Keep the peace, I charge you in
her majesty's name.
Down. I obey thee. What must I do, officer?
Brain. Go before master justice Clement,
to answer what they can object against you,
sir. I will use you kindly, sir.
Mat. Come, let's before, and make the justice,
captain-
[Exit.
Capt. B. The varlet's a tall man, before
heaven!
[Exit.
Down. Gull, you'll gi' me my cloak?
Step. Sir, I bought it, and I'll keep it.
Down. You will?
Step. Ay, that I will.
Down. Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him.
Brain. Master Stephen, I must arrest you.
Step. Arrest me, I scorn it; there, take your
cloak, I'll none on't.
Down. Nay, that shall not serve your turn
now, sir. Officer, I'll go with thee to the
justice's. Bring him along.
Step. Why, is not here your cloak; what
would you have?
Down. I'll ha' you answer it, sir.
Brain. Sir, I'll take your word, and this
gentleman's too, for his appearance.
Down. I'll ha' no words taken. Bring him
along.
Brain. So, so, I have made a fair mash on't.
Step. Must I go?
Brain. I know no remedy, master Stephen.
Down. Come along before me here. I do
not love your hanging look behind.
Step. Why, sir, I hope you cannot hang
me for it. Can he, fellow?
Brain. I think not, sir. It is but a whip-
ping matter, sure!
Step. Why, then let him do his worst, I
am resolute.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.A Hall in JUSTICE CLEMENT'S
House.
Enter JUSTICE CLEMENT, KNO'WELL, KITELY,
DAME KITELY, TIB, CASH, COB, and Servants.
Just. C. Nay, but stay, stay, give me leave.
My chair, sirrah. You, master Kno'well, say
you went thither to meet your son?
Kno. Ay, sir.
Just. C. But who directed
you thither?
Kno. That did mine own man, sir.
Just. C. Where is he? 107
Kno. Nay, I know not now; I left him with
your clerk; and appointed him to stay for me.
Just. G. My clerk! About what time was this?
Kno. Marry, between one and two, as I take it.
Just. C. And what time came my man with
the false message to you, master Kitely?
Kite. After two, sir.
Just. C. Very good; but, Mrs. Kitely, how
chanced it that you were at Cob's? Ha!
Dame K. An' please you, sir, I'll tell you.

SCENE 4,]
531
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
My brother Wellbred told me, that Cob's
house was a suspected place-
Just. C. So it appears, methinks: but on.
Dame K. And that my husband used thither
daily.
Just. C. No matter, so he us'd himself well,
mistress.
Dame K. True, sir; but you know what
grows by such haunts, oftentimes.
Just. C. I see rank fruits of a jealous brain,
mistress Kitely. But did you find your hus-
band there, in that case, as you suspected?
Kite. I found her there, sir.
Just. C. Did you so? That alters the case.
Who
Mat. An't please your worship, he was
bound to the peace.
Just. C. Why, an' he were, sir, his hands
were not bound, were they?
Serv. There's one of the varlets of the city,
sir, has brought two gentlemen here; one
upon your worship's warrant.
Just. C. My warrant?
Serv. Yes, sir, the officer says, procured by
these two.
Just. C. Bid him come in. Set by this
picture. What, Mr. Downright, are you
brought at Mr. Freshwater's suit here?
gave you knowledge of your wife's Enter DOWNRIGHT, MASTER STEPHEN, and
being there?
Kite. Marry, that did my brother Wellbred.
Just. C. How! Wellbred first tell her, then
tell you after! Where is Wellbred?
Kite. Gone with my sister, sir, I know not
whither.
Just. C. Why, this is a mere trick, a de-
vice; you are gulled in this most grossly, all!
Alas, poor wench! wert thou suspected for this?
Tib. Yes, an't please you.
BRAINWORM.
Down. I'faith, sir. And here's another,
brought at my suit.
Just. C. What are you, sir?
Step. A gentleman, sir! Oh, uncle!
Just. C. Uncle! Who, Master Kno'well?
Kno. Ay, sir, this is a wise kinsman of mine.
Step. Uncle, I am wrong'd here monstrously;
he charges me with stealing of his cloak; and
would I might never stir, if I did not find it
Just. C. I smell mischief here; plot and con- in the street by chance.
trivance, master Kitely. However, if you will Down. Oh, did you find it, now? You said.
step into the next room with your wife, and you bought it ere-while.
think coolly of matters, you'll find some trick
has been played you-I fear there have been
jealousies on both parts, and the wags have
been merry with you.
Kite. I begin to feel it-I'll take your coun-
sel-Will you go in, dame?
Dame K. I will have justice, Mr. Kitely.
[Exeunt Kitely and Dame Kitely.
Just. C. You will be a woman, Mrs. Kitely,
that I see-How now, what's the matter?
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Sir, there's a gentleman i'the court
without desires to speak with your worship.
Just. C. A gentleman! What's he?
Serv. A soldier, sir, he says.
Step. And you said I stole it. Nay, now
my uncle is here, I'll do well enough with you.
Just. C. Well, let this breathe awhile. You
that have cause to complain there, stand forth.
Had you my warrant for this gentleman's ap-
prehension?
Capt. B. Ay, an't please your worship.
Just. C. Nay, do not speak in passion so.
Where had you it?
Capt. B. Of your clerk, sir.
Just. C. That's well, an' my clerk can make
warrants, and my hand not at 'em! Where
is the warrant? Officer, have you it?
[Captain Bobadil and Matthew steal off.
Brain. No, sir, your worship's man, master
Formal, bid me do it for these gentlemen,
Ajand he would be my discharge.
end
Just. C. A soldier! My sword, quickly.
soldier speak with me! Stand by; I will
your matters anon-Let' the soldier enter.
Now, sir, what ha' you to say to me?
Enter CAPTAIN BOBADIL and MASTER
MATTHEW.
Capt. B. By your worship's favour-
Just. C. Nay, keep out, sir, I know not your
pretence; you send me word, sir, you are a
soldier? Why, sir, you shall be answered
here; here be them have been among soldiers.
Sir, your pleasure?
Just. C. Why, master Downright, are you
such a novice to be served, and never see the
warrant?
Down. Sir, he did not serve it on me.
Just. C. No; how then?
Down. Marry, sir, he came to me, and said
he must serve it, and he would use me kindly,
and so-
Just. C. O, God's pity, was it so, sir? He
must serve it? Give me a warrant; I must
serve one too. You knave, you slave, you
rogue; do you say you must, sirrah? Away
with him to gaol. I'll teach you a trick for
your must, sir.
Brain. Good sir, I beseech you be good
to me.
Just. C. Tell him he shall to the gaol; away
with him, I say.
Capt. B. Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman
and myself have been most uncivilly wronged
and beaten by oue Downright, a coarse fellow
about the town here; and, for my own part,
I protest, being a man ia no sort given to
this filthy humour of quarrelling, he hath as-
saulted me in the way of my peace; despoiled Brain. Ay, sir, if you will commit me, it
me of mine honour; disarmed me of my wea- shall be for committing more than this. I
pons; and rudely laid me along in the open will not lose by my travel any grain of my
streets, when I not so much as once offered fame certain. [Throws off his Disguise.
to resist him.
Just. C. Oh, God's precious! is this the sol-
dier? Lie there, my sword, 'twill make him
swoon, I fear; he is not fit to look on't, that
will put up a blow.
Just. C. How is this?
Kno. My man, Brainworm!
Step. O yes, uncle, Brainworm has been
with my cousin Edward and I all this day.
Just. C. I told you all there was some device.

532
[ACT V.
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.
Brain. Nay, excellent justice, since I have ving drank off, this is my sentence, pledge me.
laid myself thus open to you, now stand strong Thou hast done, or assisted to nothing, in my
for me, both with your sword and your balance. judgment, but deserves to be pardoned for the
Just. C. Body o'me, a merry knave! Give wit o'the offence. Go into the next room;
me a bowl of sack. [4 Servant brings it let master Kitely into this whimsical business;
him] If he belongs to you, master Kno'well, and if he does not forgive thee, he has less
I bespeak your patience.
mirth in him than an honest man ought to
have. [Exit Brainworni] Call master Kitely
and his wife there.
Brain. That is it I have most need of. Sir,
if you'll pardon me only, I'll glory in all the
rest of my exploits.
Kno. Sir, you know I love not to have my
favours come hard from me. You have your
pardon; though I suspect you shrewdly for
being of counsel with my son against me.
Re-enter KITELY and DAME KITELY.
Did not I tell you there was a plot
plot against
you? Did I not smell it out, as a wise ma-
gistrate ought? Have not you traced, have not
Brain. Yes, faith, I have, sir; though you you found it, eh, master Kitely?
retained me doubly this morning for your- Kite. I have-I confess my folly, and own
self; first, as Brainworm; after, as Fitz-sword. I have deserved what I have suffer'd for it.
I was your reformed soldier. 'Twas I sent The trial has been severe, but it is past. All
you to Cob's upon the errand without end. I have to ask now, is, that as my folly is
Kno. Is it possible? Or that thou shouldst cured, and my persecutors forgiven, my shame
disguise thyself so as I should not know thee? may be forgotten.
Brain. O, sir! this has been the day of my Just. C. That will depend upon yourself,
metamorphoses; it is not that shape alone that master Kitely; do not you yourself create the
I have run through to-day. I brought master food for mischief, and the mischievous will not
Kitely a message too, in the form of master prey upon you. But come, let a general e-
justice's man here, to draw him out o'the way, conciliation go round, and let all discontents
as well as your worship; while master Well-be laid aside. You, Mr. Downright, put off
bred might make a conveyance of mistress your anger; you, master Kno'well, your cares;
Bridget to my young master.
and do you, master Kitely, and your wife,
Just. C. But, I pray thee, what hast thou put off your jealousies.
done with my man, Formal?
Kite. Sir, thus they go from me: kiss me,
my wife;
Brain. Faith, sir, after some ceremony past,
as making him drunk, first with story, and See what a drove of horns fly in the air,
then with wine, but all in kindness, and strip- Wing'd with my cleansed and my credulous
ping him to his shirt, I left him in that cool
breath;
suspicious eyes, watch where
they fall;
heads that think they've none at
all.
vein, departed, sold your worship's warrant Watch 'em,
to these two, pawned his livery for that var-
let's gown to serve it in; and thus have brought See, see, on
myself, by my activity, to your worship's con-
sideration.
O, what a plenteous world of this will come;
Just. C. And I will consider thee in a cup When air rains horns, all may be sure of some.
of sack. Here's to thee; [Drinks] which ha-
[Exeunt.
SOPHIA LEE
is eldest daughter of Mr. John Lee. The author of The Children of Thespis relates of this Mr. Lee, that when he
was manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, he was determined to improve upon stage thunder; and having procured a
parcel of nine-pound shot, they were put into a wheelbarrow, to which he affixed a nine-pound wheel; this done,
ridges were placed at the back of the stage, and one of the carpenters was ordered to trundle this wheelbarrow, so
filled, backwards and forwards over those ridges; the play was Lear, and in the two first efforts the thunder had &
good effect: at length, as the King was braving the pelting of the pitiless storm, the thunderer's foot slipped, and
down he came, wheelbarrow and ali, the stage being on a declivity the balls made their way towards the orchestra,
and meeting with but a feeble resistance from the scene, laid it flat. This storm was more difficult for Lear to en-
counter than the tempest of which he had so loudly complained; the balls taking every direction, he was obliged to
skip about like the man who dances the egg hornpipe: the fiddlers, alarmed for their catgut, hurried out of the orchestra,
and, to crown this scene of glorious confusion, the sprawling thunderer lay prostrate in sight of the audience, like ano-
ther Salmoneus. We were sorry to observe, from the spirit which discovered itself in the preface to her first dramatic
performance that she seemed to possess much of her father's petulance and irascibility. Justice, however, calls upon us
to declare, that the play exhibited a degree of merit which promised much future entertainment to the public. It was
entitled, The Chapter of Accidents; and has been followed by Almeida, The Assignation. Besides the dramas that we
have mentioned, Miss Lee is author ef an elegant novel, called The Recess, This lady, with her sister Harriet, before
noticed, opened a school, called Belvidere House, at Bath, soon after the death of her father, which they have con-
ducted with great ability and credit.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS,
Comedy by Miss Lee. Acted at the Haymarket 1750. This play, which is built on Diderot's Pere de Famille,
without being a servile copy, possesses considerable merit, and was acted with much applause. It has kept possession
of the stage now thirty years. Improving upon the model of Kelly, and the sentimental trash of his day, it mixed the
pathos of comedy with the broadest farce, and, all together, proved one of the most successful pieces of this hetero-

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
533
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
geneous kind that had ever appeared. The characters of Jacob Gawkey and Bridget have been materials upon which
many popular dramatists have worked, but without approaching to the originals; and the more serious parts of the
piece have been a source of pillage and imitation with as little success. The author published it, with an occasional
preface, wherein she complains of the conduct of Mr. Harris respecting this piece, which, she insinuates, he had too
long kept in his possession; and delayed bringing out. Prefaces of this kind seldom do any good; they generally re-
sult from a hasty and partial view of things, and oftener discredit the writers than the objects of them.
LORD GLENMORE.
GOVERNOR HARCOURT.
WOODVILLE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
CAPTAIN HARCOURT, JACOB.
GREY.
CECILIA.
MISS MORTIMER.
VANE.
MRS. WARNER.
BRIDGET.
SCENE. London. -TIME. - Twenty-four Hours.
ACT I.
-
SCENE I.A Hall.
Enter VANE, in a Riding-dress, followed
by a Footman.
says I, "her father unluckily died just before
the duke his brother, and so could not leave
her one shilling of all that fine fortune; and
Woodville," says I.-"He does," cries he;
so my lord intends to marry her to Mr.
"heaven be praised I'm come in time to mar
Vane. Run, and tell Mrs. Warner, my lord that dainty project, however. You may go,
is at hand; and bid the butler send me a bottle woman, and tell miss I don't want any thing
of hock. ¹) [Throws himself along the hall more to-nigit." So up goes 1 to miss Mor-
Chairs, wiping his Forehead] Phew! the timer, and tells her all this. Lord! how glad
months have jumbled out of their places, and she was, to find he intended to break the
we have July in September.
Enter MRS. VVARNER.
Mrs. W. Servant, Mr. Vane.
Vane. Ah! my dear creature! how have
you done these fifty ages?
Mrs. W. Why, methinks you are grown
mighty grand, or you would have come to
the still-room to ask; will you choose any
chocolate?
match, though she can't guess what he means.
Vane. Upon my soul, I think it is full as
hard to guess what she means. What the
devil, will not my lord's title, fortune, and
only son, be a great catch for a girl without
a friend or a shilling?
Mrs. W. Ay; but I could tell you a little
story would explain all. You must know-
[Sits down. A loud knocking.
Vane. [Starts up] Zounds, here's my lord!
[Exeunt confusedly.
SCENE II. An Anti-chamber.
1
Vane. Why don't you see I am dead?
absolutely dead; and, if you was to touch me,
I should shake to mere dust, like an Egyptian
mummy. Because it was not provoking enough
to lounge away a whole summer in the coun- Enter LORD GLENMORE and GOVERNOR HAR-
try, here am I driven up to town, as if the COURT meeting; the latter hobbling.
devil was at my heels, in the shape of our Lord G. You are welcome to England,
hopeful heir; who has neither suffered my brother! I am sorry your native air pays you
lord nor me to rest one moment, through so ill a compliment after sixteen years ab-
his confounded impatience to see his uncle.
sence.
Mrs. W. Umph-he'll have enough of the Gov. H. Faith, my lord, and so am I too,
old gentleman presently. He is the very mo- I promise you: I put up with these things
ral of my poor dear lady, his sister, who never tolerably well in the Indies; I did not go
was at peace herself, nor suffered any one there to be happy; bat after all my labours,
else to be so. Such a house as we have had to find I have just got the money when it is
ever since he came! Why, he is more full out of my power to enjoy it, is a cursed
of importance and airs than a bailiff in pos- stroke: like a fine ship of war, I am only
session; and hectors¹) over miss Mortimer, come home to be dismasted and converted
till she almost keeps her chamber to avoid into an hospital. However, I am glad you
hold it better; I don't think you looked as
Vane. Hates miss Mortimer! Why, here'll well when we parted. My sister, poor Susan!
be the devil to pay about her, I suppose! she is gone too: well, we can never live a
Mrs. W. Hate her? ay, that he does. He day the longer for thinking on't. Where's
looked as if he could have killed her, the mo- Frank? Is he still the image of his mother?
ment she came down to see him; and got Lord G. Just as you left him; but that the
into his chamber presently after, where he innocence of the boy is dignified by the know-
sends for me. "Who is this young woman, ledge of the man.
him.
Mrs. What's-your-name?" says he.-"Why, Gov. H. He will hardly remember his old
sir," says I, "she is the orphan of a colonel uncle! I did love the rogue, that's the truth
Mortimer, whose intimacy with my lord," says on't; and never looked at my money-bags
1.-"Pho, pho," says he, "all that I know, but I thought of him. However you have
woman; what does she do in this house?" provided him a wife.
says he, his face wrinkling all over like Lord G. I have; you saw her on your ar-
cream, when it's skimming. "Why, sir," rival, I suppose, for I left her in town to attend
1) Hochheimer.
2) To hector, means to command: this with the words
tantalize and to pander, easily shows its derivation,
a sick aunt. Poor Mortimer! he died one
month before the duke his brother, and missed
a fine title and estate. You know how I loved

534
[ACT I.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
the honest fellow, and cannot wonder I took
home his orphan daughter as a match for
Woodville.
And
Lord G. Indeed! is that possible?
Gov. H. How do you think I contrived to
make them obey my instructions? I saw they
Gov. H. Brother, brother, you are too ge- suspected I was some rich humourist, and
nerous; it is your foible, and artful people was afraid they would after all make a little.
know how to convert it to their own advantage. bit of a gentlewoman of her, for which reason,
Lord G. It is, if a foible, the noblest inci- except the first year in advance, they never
dent to humanity. Sophia has birth, merit, had a single shilling of my money.
accomplishments; and wants nothing but mo- Lord G. This is almost incredible!
ney to qualify her for any rank.
so you left your only child to the charity of
Gov. H. Can she have a worse want on strangers?
earth? Birth, merit, accomplishments, are the Gov. H. No, no, not so bad as that neither.
very things that render money more essential. You remember my honest servant Hardy?
Lord G. You are too captious, brother! After the poor fellow's leg was shot off in my
Gov. H. And you too placid brother! If, tent, I promised him a maintenance; so in-
like me, you had been toiling a third of your trusting him with the secret, I ordered him
days to compass a favourite design, and found to live in the neighbourhood, have an eye on
it disappointed at the moment you thought it the girl, and claim her if ill used: fine ac-
complete, what would even your serene lord- counts I had from him, faith! The old par-
ship say and do? Here have I promised my-son and his wife having no children, and not
self a son in yours, an heir in yours; instead finding any one own her, gave out she was
of which-
theirs, and doated on her; in short, she is
Lord G. His marriage with miss Mortimer the little wonder of the country; tall as the palm-
will not make him unworthy either title. tree! with cheeks, that might shame the draw-
Gov. H. Never mention her name to me, I ing-room; and eyes, will dim the diamonds 1
beg, my lord! the wife I would have given have brought over to adorn them. This con-
him, has beauty without knowing it, in-founded gout has kept me in continual alarm,
nocence without knowing it, because she or else she should have spoke for herself.
knows nothing else, and, to surprise you Lord G. Why then does not Hardy bring
further, forty thousand pounds without know- her up to you?
ing it; nay, to bring all your surprises to-
gether, is my daughter without knowing it.
Gov. H. Why, for two very sufficient rea-
sons. In the first place, that identical parson
Lord G. Your daughter? Why, have you paid him the last compliment, that is, buried
married since my sister's death? Your daughter him a twelvemonth ago; and in the second,
by her you lost before you went abroad. they would hardly entrust her to any man
Gov. H. Yes, but I shall find her again, I but him who delivered her to them. Here
believe. I know you will call this one of my was a girl, my lord, to support your title, of
odd whims as usual, but we have all some; which I dare swear you are as fond as ever.
witness this dainty project of yours; and so Lord G. I thank your intention, hrother;
I will tell you the truth in spite of that pro- but am far from wishing the chief accom-
ject. From the very birth of this girl, I saw plishments of Woodville's lady should be the
her mother would spoil her had she lived, making cream cheeses, goats whey, and elder
and proposed kidnapping miss in her infancy. wine.
Lord G. Kidnap your own daughter! Why, Gov. H. Let me tell your lordship, women
brother, I need only prove this to obtain a were never better than when those were the
commission of lunacy, and shut you up for life. chief accomplishments. But I may be ridi-
Goo. H. Why, though my wife was your culous my own way without being singular.
lordship's sister, I will venture to tell you Harcourt shall have my girl, and my money
she was plaguy fantastical, and contrived to too. Cream cheeses, quotha! no, no, making
torment me as much with her virtues, as cream faces is an accomplishment which the
others by their vices. Such a fuss about her de- belles of these days oftener excel in.
licacy, her sensibility, and her refinement, that Lord G. I would not advise you to publish
I could neither look, move, nor speak, with- this opinion, governor; for though you should
out offending one or the other; and exe- call no anger into the cheeks of the ladies, i
crated the inventor of the jargon every hour doubt you would into their hearts.
in the four and twenty: a jargon, I resolved
my girl should never learn; and heaven no
sooner took her mother (heaven be praised
for all things!) than I dispatched her draggle-
tailed French governess; made a bonfire of
every book on education; whipped miss into
a post-chaise, under a pretence of placing her proach; this is not his hour for visiting miss
in a nunnery; instead of which, I journeyed Mortimer.
Gov. H. But where is this son of yours?
sure he has not totally forgot his old uncle?
Lord G. He will be here immediately.
Gov. H. Nay, I must e'en take an old man's
fate, and follow his mistress without complaint.
Lord G. You have no reason for the re-
into Wales, and left her in the care of a Gov. H. Miss Mortimer! ha, ha, ha! why,
poor curate's wife, whose name was up as do you think I took her for his mistress?
the best housewife in the whole country; then What, I warrant I can tell you news of your
returned with a solemn history of her death
in the small-pox
Lord G. Well, this is indeed astonishing!
an admirable tutoress truly for my niece!
Gov. H. Yes, but there's a better jest than
that.
own family, though I have hardly been three
days in it. Woodville keeps a girl, and in
great splendour! nay, they tell me, that the
unconscionable young rogue encroaches so
far on the privileges of threescore, as to in
tend marrying the slut.

SCENE 3.]
535
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Lord G. You jest, surely!
Woodville till you are ready; and, as I doubt
Gov. H. There's no jest like a true one. not that his next visit will be to this creature,
Ha, ha, ha! how foolish you look! this is by following him you will find out where
your innocent elegance; and this is the bless- she lives. Prepare then as quick as possible,
ed effect of letting him live out of your own and send me word when you are ready, for
house!
till then I will not suffer him to depart. [Exit.
Lord G. Pr'ythee reserve your raillery, sir, Vane. A pretty errand this his formal lord-
for some less interesting occasion. To have ship has honoured me with. Um, if I betray
my views thus in a moment overturned! him, shall I not get more by it? Ay, but our
Where does she live?
heir is such a sentimental spark, that when
Gov. H. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, the difference of his turn was served, be might betray me.
those little syllables me and thee! now you Were he one of our harum-skarum, good-
can guess what made me so peevish, I sup-natured, good-for-nothing fellows, it would
pose? As to where miss lives, I have not go against my conscience to do him an ill
heard; but somewhere near his lodgings. A turn. I believe I stand well in my lord's
devilish fine girl she is by-the-by. Ah, I told will, if counsellor Puzzle may be trusted (and
you twenty years ago, you would spoil this when he can get nothing by a lie perhaps he
boy; entirely spoil him.
may tell truth), so, like all thriving men, I
Lord G. Zounds, governor, you have a will be honest because it best serves my in-
temper Socrates himself could not have sup- terest.
ported. Is this a time for old sayings of
twenty years ago? Finish dressing; by that
time your nephew will be here, and I shall
have reflected on this matter.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-A confined Garden.
WOODVILLE discovered walking about.
Wood. How tedious is this uncle! how
Gov. H. With all my heart. 'Tis but a
boyish frolic, and so good morning to you. tedious every body! Was it not enough to
Here; where's my triumvirate? Pompey! An- spend two detestable months from my love,
thony! Cæsar!1)
[Exit. merely to preserve the secret, but I must be
Lord G. A boyish frolic truly! many a tantalized with seeing, without arriving at her?
foolish fellow's life has been marked by such Yet how, when I do see her, shall I appease
a boyish frolic. But her residence is the first that affecting pride of a noble heart, conscious
object of my inquiry. Vane!
Enter VANE.
Is not my son come?
Vane. This moment, my lord; and walks
till the governor is ready.
too late of its own inestimable value? Why
was I not uniformly just? I had then spared
myself the bitterest of regrets.
Enter CAPTAIN HARCOURT.
Capt. H. Woodville! how do'st? Don't
Lord H. Vane! I have deserved you should you, in happy retirement, pity me my Ealing
be attached to me, and I hope you are? and Acton marches and countermarches, as
Vane. My lord!-What the devil is he at? Foote has it? But, methinks thy face is
[Aside. thinner and longer than a forsaken nymph's,
Lord G. This strange old governor has who is going through the whole ceremony of
alarmed me a good deal; you are more "kely nine month's repentance. What, thou'st fallen
to know, whether with reason, than I can be. in love? rustically too! Nay, pr'ythee don't
Have you heard any thing important of my look so very lamentable.
son lately?
Vane. Never, my lord.
Lord G. Not that he keeps a mistress?
What does the fool smile at?
[Aside.
Vane. I did not think that any thing im-
portant, my lord.
ed and ind
Wood. Ridiculous! How can we have an
eye or ear for pleasure, when our fate hangs
over us undecided?
undecided?bliote
Capt. H. I guess what you mean; but why
make mountains of mole-hills? Is the rosy-
fisted damsel so obstinately virtuous?
Lord G. I do, sir; and am told a more Wood. Imagine a fair favourite of Phoebus
important thing; that he even thinks of marry- in all respects; since, while her face caught
ing her. Now, though I cannot credit this, I his beams, her heart felt his genius! Imagine
would choose to know what kind of creature all the graces hid under a straw hat and
she is. Could not you assume a clownish dis- russet gown; imagine-
guise, and, scraping an acquaintance with Capt. H. You have imagined enough of
her people, learn something of her character conscience; and now for a few plain facts if
and designs?
you please.
Vane. Doubtless, to oblige your lordship, Wood. To such a lovely country maid I
I could do such a thing. But if Mr. Wood- lost my heart last summer; and soon began
ville's sharp eyes (and love will render them to think romances the only true histories,
still sharper) should discover me, I might and happiness not merely possible in a cot-
chance to get a good drubbing in the cha- tage, but only possible there.
racter of a spy.
Capt. H. Well, all the philosophers (an-
Lord G. Oh, it is very improbable he should cient and modern) would never be able to
suspect you: at the worst, name your em- convince me a coach was not a mighty pretty
ployer, and your bones are safe. The office vehicle, and the lasses as good-natured in
perhaps is not very agreeable, but I impose town as country. But pray let us know why
few such on you: execute it well, and you you laid aside the pastoral project of eating
shall remember it with pleasure. I will detain fat bacon and exercising a crook all day, that
1) The names of the old Governor's black-servants. thou mightest conclude the evening with the

536
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
[ACT II.
superlative indulgence of a peat-fire and a
bed stuffed with straw?
Wood. Why, faith, by persuading the dear
girl to share mine.
Jars with Flowers, and talks as she
places them.
Brid. Lord help us, how fantastical some
folks not an hundred miles off are! If I can
Capt. H. Oh, now you talk the language imagine what's come to my lady: here has
of the world; and does that occasion thee she been sighing and groaning these two
such a melancholy face?
months, because her lover was in the country;
Wood. How ignorant are you both of me and now, truly, she's sighing and groaning
and her! Every moment since I prevailed because he is come to town. Such maggots ¹)
has only served to convince me I can sooner indeed! I might as well have staid in our
live without every thing else than her; and parish all the days of my life, as to live mewed
this fatal leisure (caused by my absence with up with her in this dear sweet town; I could
my father), she has employed in adding every but have done that with a vairtuous lady, al-
grace of art to those of nature; till, thoroughly though I know she never was at Fox-hall 2)
shocked at her situation, her letters are as in all her jaunts, and we two should cut such
full of grief as love, and I dread to hear a figure there! Bless me, what's come to the
every hour I have lost her.
glass? [Setting her Dress] Why, sure it is
Capt. H. I dread much more to hear you dulled with her eternal sighing, and makes
have lost yourself. Ah, my dear Woodville, me look as frightful as herself! O, here she
the most dangerous charm of love is, every comes, with a face as long and dismal as if
man conceits no other ever found out his he was going to be married, and to somebody
method of loving; but, take my word for it, else too.
your Dolly may be brought back to a milk-
maid. Leave her to herself awhile, and she'll Enter CECILIA, and throws herself on the
drop the celestials, I dare swear.
Sofa, leaning on her Hand.
Wood. She is too noble; and nothing but Cecil. What can detain Woodville such an
the duty I owe to so indulgent a father, pre-age? It is an hour at least since he rode by.
vents me from offering her all the reparation Run, Bridget, and look if you can see him
in my power.
Modeling through the drawing-room window.
Capt. H. A fine scheme truly! Why, Wood- Brid. Yes, madam.
ville, art frantic? To predestinate yourself [Exit, eyeing her with Contempt.
among the horned cattle of Doctor's Com- Cecil. How wearisome is every hour to the
mons, and take a wife for the very reason wretched! They catch at each future one,
which makes so many spend thousands to get merely to while away the present; for, were
rid of one.
Woodville here, could he relieve me from
Wood. To withdraw an amiable creature the torment of reflection; or the strong, though
from her duty, without being able to make silent, acknowledgment my own heart perpe-
her happy, is to me a very serious reflection: tually gives of my error?
nay, I sinned, I may say, from virtue; and Brid. [Without] Here he comes, ma'am ;
had I been a less grateful son, might have here he comes!
called myself a faultless lover. Sua Ment
Capt. H. Well, well, man, you are young
enough to trust to time, and he does wonders.
Above all, shake off this mental lethargy.
Cecil. Does he? Ran down then. [Fluttered.
Brid. [Without] Dear me, no, 'tis not,
neither;
-Re-enter BRIDGET.
Wood. I will endeavour to take your ad-
vice. Should she fly, I were undone for ever. 'Tis only the French ambassador's new cook,
But you are no judge of my Cecilia's sin- with his huge bag and long ruffles.
cerity. How should you know those qualities Cecil. Blind animal! Sure nothing is so
which rise with every following hour? Can tormenting as expectation.
you think so meanly of me, as that I could Brid. La, ma'am, any thing will torment.
be duped by a vulgar wretch; a selfish wan-one when one has a mind to be tormented,
ton? Oh no, she possesses every virtue but which must be your case for sartin.
What
the one I have robbed her of.
[Exit. signifies sitting mope, mope, mope, from morn-
Capt. H. Poor Frank! did I love your wel-ing to night? You'd find yourself a deal better
fare less, I could soon ease your heart, by if you went out only two or three times a
acquainting you of my marriage with miss day. For a walk, we are next door to the
Mortimer; but now the immediate conséquence Park, as I may say; and for a ride, such a
would be, this ridiculous match. How, if I dear sweet vis-a-vis and pretty horses might
apprise either my lord or the governor? both tempt any one. Then, as to company, you'll
obstinate in different ways: I might betray on-say, "A fig for your starched ladies, who owe
ly to ruin him. A thought occurs: my per- their virtue to their ugliness!" Mine is very
son is unknown to her; choosing an hour much at your service.
[Courtesies.
when he is absent, I'll pay her a visit, offer Cecil. How could I endure this girl, did I
her an advantageous settlement, and learn not know that her ignorance exceeds even
from her behaviour her real character and in- her impertinence. [Aside] I have no pleasure
[Exit. in going abroad.
tentions.
АСТ II.
Brid. Oh la, ma'am, how should you know
till you try? Sure every body must wish to
SCENE I.-An elegant Dressing-room, with see and be seen. Then there's such a delightful
a Toilette, richly ornamented. A Harp-
1) A person is said to have a maggot in his head when
sichord, and a Frame, with Embroidery. he is whimsical, changeable.
BRIDGET discovered fetching various small) Vauxhall.

SCENE 1.]
537
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
hurricane, all the world are busy, though Woodville, I am an altered being! Why have
most are doing nothing; to splash the mob, you reduced me to shrink thus in your pre-
and drive against the people of quality. Oh, sence? Oh, why have you made me unworthy
give me a coach, and London for ever and of yourself? del powe
ever! You could but lock yourself up, were
you as old and ugly as gay lady Grizzle at
next door.
[Leans against his Shoulder, weeping.
Wood. Cruel girl! is this my welcome?
When did I appear to think you so?
Cecil. Tell me when any one else will think
Cecil. Had I been so, I had continued happy.
Brid. La, ma'am, don't ye talk so purpha- me otherwise.
nely!1) Happy to be old and ugly? Or, I'll Wood. Will you never be above so narrow
tell you what: as you don't much seem to a prejudice? Are we not the whole world to
fancy going out, suppose you were to come each other? Nay, dry your tears: allow me to
down now and then (you know we have a dry them. [Kisses her] What is there in the
pure large hall), and take a game of romps reach of love or wealth I have not sought to
with us. If you were once to see our Jacob make you happy?
hunt the slipper, you would die with laugh- Cecil. That which is the essence of all en-
ing! Madam Frisk, my last mistress, used, as joyments, innocence! Oh, Woodville, you
soon as ever master was gone (and indeed he knew not the value of the heart whose peace
did not trouble her much with his company), you have destroyed. My sensibility first ruined
to run down, draw up her brocaded niggle- my virtue, and then my repose. But though
de-gee, 2) and fall to play at some good fun for you I consented to abandon an humble
or other! Dear heart, we were as merry then happy home, to embitter the age of my vener-
as the day was long! I am sure I have never able father, and bear the contempt of the
been half so happy since.
world, I can never support my own. My
Cecil. I cannot possibly imitate the model heart revolts against my situation, and hourly
you propose; but though I don't choose to go bids me renounce a splendour, which only
abroad, you may.
renders guilt more despicable. [Rises] I meant
Brid. I don't love to go much among the to explain this hereafter; but the agitation of
mobility, 3) neither. If indeed, madam, next my mind obliged me to lighten it immediately.
winter you'd give me some of your tickets, I Wood. Is your affection then already ex-
would fain go to a masquerade (it vexes me tinct? For sure it must, when you can resolve
to see um stick in the thing-um-bobs 4) for to torture me thus!
months together); and Mrs. Trim promises Cecil. Were my love
Cecil. Were my love extinct, I might sink
me the lent of a Wenus's dress, which, she into a mean content! Oh, no! 'Tis to that
says, I shall cut a figure in. Now, ma'am, if alone I owe my resolution.
I had but some diamonds (for beggars wear
diamonds there, they say), who knows but I
might make my fortune, like you?
Cecil. Mar it, much rather, like me. That
is no place for girls of your station, which
exposes you to so much insult.
Wood. Can you then plunge me into des-
pair? So young, so lovely too! Oh! where
could you find so safe an asylum as my heart?
Whither could you fly?
Cecil. I am obliged to you, sir, for the
question; but who is it has made me thus
Brid. Ah, let me alone, madam, for taking destitute? I may retain your protection indeed,
care of number one. I ware never afeard but but at what price?
once in my whole life, and that ware of Wood. Give me but a little time, my love!
grandfar's 5) ghost; for he always hated I, and I am equally perplexed between my father and
used to walk (poor soul!) in our barken, for my uncle; each of whom offers me a wife I can
all the world like an ass with a tie-wig on. never love. Suffer them to defeat each other's
[4 knocking, schemes! Let me if possible be happy without
Cecil. Hark! that sure is Woodville's knock! a crime; for I must think it one to grieve a
Fly, and see! [Exit Bridget. Cecilia walks parent hitherto so indulgent. I will not put
eagerly to the Door, and returns as eagerly] any thing in competition with your peace;
Alas, is this my repentance? Dare I sin against and long for the hour when the errors of the
my judgment?
lover will be absorbed in the merits of the
husband.
Enter WoODVILLE.
Cecil. No, Woodville! That was, when in-
Wood. My Cecilia! my soul! have I at last nocent, as far above my hopes, as it is now
the happiness of beholding you? You know beyond my wishes. I love you too sincerely
me too well to imagine I would punish my-to reap any advantage from so generous an
self by a moment's voluntary delay.
error; yet you at once flatter and wound my
Cecil. Oh no, it is not that.
heart, in allowing me worthy such a distinc-
[They sit down on the Sofa. tion; but love cannot subsist without esteem,
Wood. Say you are glad to see me; afford and how should I possess yours when I have
me one kind word to atone for your cold lost even my own?
looks. Are you not well?
Cecil. Rather say I am not happy. My dear
1) Prophanely. 2) Négligé.
3) The nobility are the titled of the land, and the
mobility the lowest class; but she means the first
class, here.
4) When one does not know the name of a thing one
generally calls it Thingumbob, Thingummerre etc.
5) Grandfather's.
Wood. It is impossible you should ever
lose either, while so deserving of both. I am
obliged to return directly, but will hasten to
you the very first moment. When we meet
again it must be with a smile, remember!
Cecil. It will when we meet again. Oh,
how those words oppress me! [Aside] But
do not regulate your conduct by mine, nor
make me an argument with yourself for dis-
68

538
[ACT II.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
obeying my lord; for here I solemnly swear made I cuome and live at the hall; and as
never to accept you without the joint consent my head run all on tuown, when aw comed
of both our fathers; and that I consider as an up to London, aw brought I wi'un: zo I thought
eternal abjuration! But may the favoured wo- to get rid that way of the bullocking of Nan.
man you are to make happy, have all my Vane. But, Jacob, how didst get into thic¹)
love without my weakness! [Exit in Tears. foine house?
Wood. Disinterested, exalted girl! Why Jacob. Dang it, doan't I zeay, I'll tell the
add such a needless bar? For is it possible to present! Zoa, as I ware zaying, one holiday
gain my father's consent? And yet without her I went to zee thic there church, wi' the
life would be insupportable! The censures of like a huge punch-bowl turned auver; and,
the world! What is that world to me? Were dang it! who should arrive in the very nick,
I weak enough to sacrifice her to the erro- but madam Nan. Well, huome comes I as
neous judgment of the malicious and unfeel- merry as a cricket; zquire caals for I in a
ing, what does it offer to reward me? Com-muortal hurry; when who zhould I zee, but
mendations I can never deserve, and riches I madam Nan on her marrowbones a croying
can never enjoy.
[Exit. for dear loife! dang it, I thought at first I
should ha' zwounded; zo a made a long zar-
SCENE II-A Street before CECILIA'S House.
mant about 'ducing a poor girl, and zaid I
JACOB opens the Door and lets out WOOD- should zartainly go to the divil forit, and then
VILLE, who passes over the Stage; JACOB turned I off. But the best fun is to come,
remains with his Hands in his Pockets, mun; rabbit me! if aw did not teake Nan into
whistling. Enter VANE, disguised, with keeping himself; and zhe do flaunt it about,
a Basket of Game in his Hand.
Vane. So, there he goes at last.
Vane. A mighty religious moral gentleman,
open the attack without fear of a discovery, truly! [Aside] Well, how came you to this
since our hopeful heir will hardly return di- pleace?
I may
as foine as a duchess.
rectly. This intelligence of my landlord's at Jacob. Why, Meay-day, walking in Com-
the Blue Posts has made the matter much mon-garden 2) to smell the pozeys, who zhould
easier. Um, a good subject! Sure I ought to I zee but our Bridget! I was muortal glad to
know that bumkin's face! As I live, my play-zee her, you must needs think, and zhe got I
fellow at the parish-school, Jacob Gawky! this here pleace.
Now for a touch of the old dialect. D'ye hire, Fane. Wounds! dost live wi' a lord in this
young mon! Pray, do ye knaw where one foine house?
Bett Dowson do live?
Jacob. Noa, not I.
Vane. Hay! Why, zure¹) as two-pence,
thou beest Jacob Gawky!
Jacob. Odsbodlikins! zo I be indeed!
But,
who beest thee?
Vane. What, doost not knaw thy
ould
zkhoolvellow, Wull, mun?
Jacob. Hay! What? Wull? Od rabbit
it,
Jacob. Noa; a leady, you fool! but zuch a
leady, zuch a dear, easy, good-natured crea-
ture! zhe do never say noa, let we do what
we wull.
Vane. Now to the point. [Aside] Is your
lady married?
Jacob. Noa: but zhe's as good; and what'st
think mun? to a lord's zon! though if a ware
a king, aw would not be too good for zhe.
if I ben't desprate glad to zee thee; where A muortal fine comely mon too, who do love
doost live now, mun?
Vane. Down at home, in our parish.
be coemed up with Zur Izaac Promise to
meade excoisemun.
her, as aw do the eyes in his head. Couzin
I Bridget do tell I, zhe zeeded 3) a letter where
be aw do zay aw wull ha' her any day of the
week, whatever do come o'th' next. Why, I
Jacob. Thee'st good luck, faith! wish, no warrant they have 'pointed wedding-day!
odds too thee, my fortin ware as good! but Vane. The devil they have? My lord will
theed'st always a muortal good notion of go mad at this news.
[Aside.
wroiting and cyphers, while I don't knaw my Jacob. Lauk a deazy! how merry we will
own neame when I do zee it. What didst be on that day! Wo't come and junket wi'
leave zea for?
us?
Vane. Why, I ware afraid I should be Vane. Yes, yes, I shall certainly make one
killed before I comed to be a great mon: but among you, either then or before. [Aside]
what brought thee into this foine house? But now I must goa and give this geame to
Jacob. Fortin, Wull! Fortin. Didst thee zquire-zquire-what the dickens be his name!
knaw Nan o'th' mill?
Vane. Noa, not I.
I do always forget it, there zhould be a ticket
somewhere: zoa, rabbit me! if some of your
Jacob. Od rabbit it! I thought every muortal London faulk ha' no' cut it off, out o'fun!
zoul had knawd zhe. Well, Nan and I ware Jacob. Ha, ha, ha! 'ecod, nothing more li-
such near neighbors, there ware only a barn kelier. [Both laugh foolishly] The rum
between us; zhe ware a desperate zmart lass, people be zo zharp as needles. But there's no
that's the truth on't: and I had half a moind pleace like it for all that; I be set upon living
to teake to feyther's business, and marry zhe: and dying in it.
but, ecod, the zimpletony grow'd so fond, that Vane. Now to secure my return if neces-
some how or other, I ware tired first! when sary. [Aside] I'll tell thee what, Jacob! seeing
behold you, zquire takes a fancy to me, and as how I ha' lost thic there direction, do thee
teake the basket: 'tis only a present of geame
1) This dialect is much the same as the Yorkshire, only from the parson o' our parish; and, if zo be
that the is changed into, and the hard letters into 1 can't find the gentleman, why 'tis honestly
soft ones at the beginning of a syllable; for instance,
ture for sure, zkhoolpellow, schoolfellow, etc.
1) That. 2) Covent-garden.
3) Saw.

SCENE 3.]
539
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
mine. Meay be I'll come, and teake a bit o' a lovely girl, indeed! I can scarce blame Frank,
for she awes me.
supper wi' ye.
Enter CECILIA, followed officiously by
BRIDGET.
Cecil. I was informed, sir, you had parti-
Jacob. Wull ye indeed? dang it! that's
clever; and then you'll see our Bridget. She's
a muortal zmart lass, I promise ye! and, meay
be, may'st get a peap at my leady, who's de-
sperate handsome! Good bye t'ye. Bridget's cular business with me.
zo comical! od rabbit it, we'll be main merry.
[Exit.
Vane. Thus far I have succeeded to admi-
ration! our young heir has really a mind to
play the fool and marry his mistress! though,
faith, marrying his own does not seem very
inexcusable, when so many of his equals mo-
destly content themselves with the cast-offs of
half their acquaintance.
[Exit.
SCENE III.-An Apartment in CECILIA'S
Capt. H. I took the liberty, madam-I say,
madam, I-
House.
Enter BRIDGET.
Cecil. As I have neither friends or relations
in London, [Sighs] I am at a loss to guess-
Capt. H. What I would communicate, ma-
dam, requires secresy.
Cecil. Bridget, go where I ordered you just .
now.
Brid. Yes, madam.-But if I an't even with
[Aside, and exit.
you for this-
Cecil. I complied with your request, sir,
without inquiring the motive; because you, I
think, can have only one. My father, if I may
Brid. So, just the old story again! crying, trust my heart, has made you his messenger
crying for ever! Lord, if I was a man, I should to an unwilling offender.
hate such a whimpering what would she Capt. H. Pardon me, madam, but I refer
have I wonder? to refuse such a handsome, you to this..
knocks?
Enter JACOB.
genteel, good-natured man! and, I'll be sworn, Cecil. [Reads] Madam,-Being certainly
he offered to marry her; for I listened with informed Mr. Woodville is on the point of
all my ears! Oh, that he would have me now! marrying a lady chosen by his friends,
I should become my own coach prodigiously, when it is presumed you will be disengaged,
that's a sure thing. [4 knocking] Hay, who a nobleman of rank and estate above what
he can ever possess, is thus early in laying
his heart and fortune at your feet, lest
some more lucky rival should anticipate
him. The bearer is authorised to disclose
all particulars, and offer you a settlement
ano-worthy your acceptance. - Deign, madam,
to listen to him on the subject, and you
will find the unknown lover as generous,
and not less constant, than Woodville.-
Good heavens! to what an insult have I ex-
posed myself!
Jacob. A young mon do want my leady.
Brid. A man? what sort of a man?
Jacob. Why a mon-like-just such
ther as I.
Brid. No, no, no; that's not so easy to
find. What can any man want with her?
show him in here, Jacob.
casso
Jacob. [Returning in a kind of glee]
When shall we have the wedding, Bridget?
Brid. We shall have a burying first, I
believe.
[Bursts into Tears, and sinks into a
Chair, without minding Harcourt,
who watches her with Irresolution.
Capt. H. What can I think? There is an
[Exit. air of injured delicacy in her which teaches
Brid. Now, if he mistakes me for my lady, me to reproach myself for a well-meant de-
Jacob. Od rabbit it! we won't be their se-
conds there, faith!
I shall find out what he wants.
Re-enter JACOB, with CAPTAIN HARCOURT,
disguised.
Capt. H. Is that your lady? [Surveying her.
Jacob. He, he, he! lauk, zur, don't you
know that's our Bridget?
ceit. [Aside] If, madam-
Cecil. I had forgot this wretch. [Rises]
Return, sir, to your vile employer; tell him,
whoever he is, I am too sensible of the insult,
though not entitled to resent it; tell him I
have a heart above my situation, and that he
has only had the barbarous satisfaction of add-
Brid. So, deuce on him, there's my whole ing another misery to those which almost
scheme spoiled! [Aside] My lady, sir, is en- overwhelined me before.
gaged; but, if you tell me your business, it
will do just as well.
Capt. H. For yourself it may, child!
[Chucks her under the Chin.
Brid. What, you belong to Mr. Gargle the
apothecary? or come from the jeweller on
Ludgate-hill? or have a letter from-d
Capt. H. The very person; you have hit it.
And now, do me the favour to tell your lady,
a stranger wishes to speak to her on particu-
lar business.
me.
Capt. H. Hear me, madam, I conjure you!
Cecil. Never! a word would contaminate
[Struggles to go off.
Capt. H. Nay, you shall. You do not know
half the good consequences of this letter. I
am the friend, the relation of Woodville-my
name, Harcourt!
Cecil. Is it possible he should be so cruel,
so unjust?
Capt. H. He is neither cruel nor unjust, but
only unfortunate.-Hear. He designs to marry
Brid. Very well, sir. Was ever handsome you; this I learned from himself only this
man so crabbed!
[Aside. Exit. morning. As a proof of my sincerity, I will
Capt. H. 'Egad, if the mistress has half as own I doubted your right to that mark of his
much tongue as the maid, Woodville may esteem, and made this trial in consequence.
catch me in the midst of my first speech. Pleased to find you worthy of his rank, I feel
Now for my credentials! and here she comes! shocked at reminding you, you ought not to

540
[ACT II.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
share it. But, madam, if you truly love him, doing without them.-I can never master my
you cannot wish that to be just to you he feelings enough to speak properly to Wood-
should be unjust to those who have a prior ville on the subject, therefore must fix on some
right over him.-This shall positively be my other method. [Pauses] That's a sure one,
last effort.
[Aside. and falls heavy on the artful, aspiring creature
Cecil. A motive like yours, sir, will excuse only!-Vane!
any thing. How little my happiness, honour,
Re-enter VANE.
Vane. To be sure, my lord, I can order a
chaise at any inn, if you choose it.
or interest, ever weighed against his need not Could not you procure me a travelling-chaise
be repeated; far be it from me now to dis- and four stout fellows immediately?
grace him. He is apprised of my invincible
objections to a match which will never take
place. May he form a happier! while I, by Lord G. Pho, pho! Do what I have ordered,
a voluntary poverty, expiate my offence. and wait near the Horse-guards in about an
Har. Ma-ma-What the devil chokes me hour; when I shall seize this insolent baggage,
so? [Aside] I am struck with your sentiments, and convey her out of my son's reach. If we
and must find you a proper asylum. The can contrive to frighten her into taking you
moment I saw you, I had hopes such man- as a husband, it will end all my fears, and
ners could not veil an immoral heart. I have shall be the making of your fortune.
proved your sincerity, and owe a reparation Vane. 'Gad, I like the project well.-A
to your delicacy. The proposed bride of handsome wife is the best bait when we fish
Woodville is every way worthy that distinc-for preferment; and this gives me a double
tion; nor am I without hopes even she will claim both on father and son. [Aside] No-
be prevailed on to protect you. But I must thing but the profound respect I have for your
not leave a doubt of my sincerity: do you lordship could induce me to think of this;
know miss Mortimer?
though born without rank and fortune, I have
But dare a soul, my lord-
Cecil. I have seen the lady, sir.
-
I credit my senses? has heaven formed two Lord G. Come, come, my good lad, I guess
such hearts, and for me?
what you would say; but we have no time
Har. With her your story will be buried for speeches. I have set my heart on the
for ever: and I think, the sooner you disap- success of this project; and you shall find
pear, the more easily will you prevent Wood-your interest in indulging me."
ville's disobedience. I will open the affair to
miss Mortimer directly, and if she acquiesces,
desire her to call for you in person, to pre-
vent the possibility of any artifice.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE V.-MISS MORTIMER'S Apartmen!.
Enter CAPTAIN HARCOURT, meeting Miss
MORTIMER.
Cecil. He who inspired such sentiments,
alone can reward them! Oh, sir, you have Har. If I were to judge of your temper by
raised a poor desponding heart; but it shall your looks, my dear, I should say it was un-
be the business of my future life to deserve commonly sweet, this morning.
those favours I can never half repay.g
Miss M. A truce with compliment; I must
Har. I find, by punishing me with acknow-in reason renounce dear flattery after marriage.
ledgments, you are resolved to be obliged to Har. To flattery you never paid court; but
me. The time is too precious to be wasted the language of the heart and the world will
on such trifles. At seven, you shall have cer- sometimes resemble. I ought, however, to
tain intelligence of my success; employ the praise your temper, for I am come to try it,
interim to the best advantage, and hope every and give you a noble opportunity of exerting
thing from daring to deserve well. [Exit. its benevolence.
Cecil. Astonishing interposition of heaven! Miss M. A benevolence you certainly doubt
-Hope! What have I to hope?-But let the by this studied eulogium.
consciousness of acting rightly support me in
the sad moment of renouncing Woodville,
and in him all that rendered life desirable.
SCENE IV.-LORD GLENMORE'S House.
Enter LORD GLENMORE and VANE.
Lord G. And are you sure of all this?
Vane. Absolutely, my lord. I have known
the bumpkin, her footman, from the height of
his own club.
Har. I might, did I not know it well.-In
short, my love, I have taken the strangest step
this morning-
Miss M. What step, for heaven's sake?
Har. In regard to a lady.
Miss M. Not another wife, I hope?
Har. No, only a mistress.
Miss M. Oh, a trifle, a trifle!
Capt. H. You may laugh, madam, but I am
serious. In plain English, Woodville has a
mistress he dotes on so madly, as even to
intend marrying her. Imagining her, like most
Lord G. What a cursed infatuation! I know
not what to resolve on.
Vane. If I may be permitted to advise, my of her stamp, only an artful interested crea-
lord-
ture, I paid her a visit as a stranger, with
Lord G. And who asked your advice, sir? an offer which must have unveiled her heart
Vane. You have, my lord, formerly.
had it been base; but I found her, on the
Lord G. Take care you stay till I do.- contrary, a truly noble-minded girl, and far
Leave me, sir.
above her present situation, which she earn-
Vane. If you don't like my advice, I shall estly wishes to quit. In short, my dear, I
give you my opinion very shortly. A crusty thought it prudent to part them; and, in your
[Exit, muttering. name, offered her an asylum.
Lord G. This is the certain consequence of Miss M. In my name! you amaze me, Mr.
entrusting low people; and yet there is no Harcourt! Would
you associate
associate your wife
crab!

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
541
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
with a kept mistress? bring such an acquisi-ship has not employed two of us on one er-
tion into the house of lord Glenmore, and de- rand!-An old man has been hovering about
prive Woodville of, perhaps, his only reason madam's house, and has followed me here,
for not interfering with us?-Do you think I without my knowing what to make of him.
credit this sudden acquaintance?
However, ears befriend me! [Retires, listening.
Capt. H. I deceived myself, I find; I thought
you above such low suspicion-that you could Enter GOVERNOR HARCOURT, followed by
make distinctions.
He alw
his black Servants soon after.
Miss M. Yes, yes, I can make distinctions Gov. H. Here, Antony, Pompey, Caesar!
more clearly than you wished. You must ex-you dogs! be ready to attend my lord and
cuse my interference in this affair, sir; and me on a little expedition.--No, no flambeaus,
let me hint to you, that your own will de as boobies! the chaste miss Diana will surely
little credit to your heart as to your under-take a spiteful pleasure in lighting us to catch
standing.
Capt. H. Mighty well, madam! go on. Settle
this with respect to yourself, but do not be
concerned about me; for in one word, if you
cannot resolve on protecting this poor unfor-
tunate, I will.
another kind of miss.-And, do ye hear? not
one syllable of the when, where, or how, ex-
cept you intend to dangle on one string, like
a bunch of black grapes. [Talks to them apart.
and Enter GREY.
-
Miss M. That must not be; yet his warmth. Grey. It is here, I am at length informed,
alarms me. [Aside] Nay but, my dear, think the father of this abandoned seducer resides.
deliberately!-Supposing her all you say, the -Yet, what redress can poverty hope from
world judges by actions, not thoughts, and pride?-Surely, however, for his own sake,
will bury her merit in her situation.
he will assist me in regaining the poor girl,
Capt. H. It is that cruel argument perpe- and afterwards prevent the wretch from pur-
tuates error in so many of your frail sex.-suing her!-There, I suppose, he is. My lord!
Be the first to rise above it. That you are in Goo. H. Well, old Sturdy! what do you
lord Glenmore's house, will be your justifica- want with my lord? [Turns short upon him.
tion, both to the world and himself; for what Grey. Merciful heaven! the father of Ceci-
but a generous motive can actuate you? In lia!
my eyes, my dear Sophia, virtue never looks Vane. Hey! indeed!
so lovely as when she stretches out her hand
to the fallen!
he led
Aside.
Aside.
Grey. Oh! how my heart misgives me!
Perhaps this base Woodville, her very bro-
Miss M. Oh, Harcourt! I am ashamed of ther-
my suspicion; I ought to have known all the
candour and generosity of your heart, and
received in a moment the unhappy woman it
patronised; yet, at this crisis in our own af-
[Aside.
Gov. H. What, is the old man ill? Sure I
know this honest--it is not-yet it is-Grey?
Grey. The same indeed, my lord.
Gov. H. No my lord to me, man; my name
fairs, to run the chance of further exaspera- is Harcourt.us Mul: A me, man; my name
ting my benefactor-
Grey. Blessed be heaven for that, however!
Capt. H. I am not to learn that friendship Gov. H. Be not righteous overmuch; for
and love have been mere masks to fraud and that my name is Harcourt I do not reckon
folly in the great world. No one would blame among the first favours of heaven. - But, ha,
me, were I to suffer Woodville to ruin him-ha, ha! perhaps you thought I had no name
self, as the shortest way of fixing my own at all by this time?-Faith, I put a pretty
fortune, and obtaining my lord's approbation trick upon-Well, well, well!-You may re-
of your choice. But I know not how it hap-tire till my lord is ready. [To the Blacks,
pened, that when a mere boy, I took it into who go off] I am a riddle, honest Grey!
my head, truth was as much to the purpose but now I am come to expound myself, and
as lying; and as I never got into more scrapes make thy fortune into the bargain. It is many
than others, why I still pursue my system, a long day since I saw old England. But at
and prefer honour to art. Then, if we fail, last I am come home with a light heart and
we have something better to console us than a heavy purse, design to fetch up my Cicely,
a pond or pistol; and if we succeed, what is give her and my money to the honestest fellow
there wanting to our happiness?
I can find, and grow old amid a rosy race
of Britons, springing from a stem reared after
my own fashion. There's news for you, my
Capt. H. That, my dearest, is the difficulty. honest friend!
I found she had seen you, and therefore was Grey. Alas! how little will he think I de-
obliged to satisfy her of my honour, by as-serve his favour when he hears my account
suring her you would call for her in person. of her! And how can I shock a parent, with
Miss M. Very well; we must carefully watch what too severely shocks even myself? [Aside.
our opportunity. You dine here. The word Goo. H. What, silent, man! ha, ha, ha!-I
of command you are accustomed to obey, but can't but laugh to think how foolish you looked
you must now become obedient to the look; at the second year's end, when no allowance
for you know I have my difficulties, however came: but that was my own contrivance; all
strong my desire of obliging you. [Exeunt. done on purpose, my good old soul! and now
Miss M. And how do you mean to manage
her escape?
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The Hall.
Enter VANE, looking about.
it will come in a lump; there's the whole dif-
ference. Well, and so my dame made her a
pattern of housewifery, hey?-'Od! I don't
intend to touch another pickle or preserve
Vane. Hey-day! sure his old-fashioned lord- that is not of my little Cicely's own doing;

542
[ACT III.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
and I'll build her a dairy, with every bowl Reflect! When age is frail, what can we ex-
and churn of silver!--Zounds, it shall be a pect in youth?--Shall man desert humanity?
finer sight than the Tower of London! and Gov. H. So, so, so! Now I am to be tor-
we'll set up dame Deborah's statue before it, tured with your preaching.-I renounce the
like queen Anne's in St. Paul's Church-yard. unworthy little slut. I have no friend-no daugh-
-But why doesn't enjoy this discovery, man? ter-no any thing.-'Od! I would sooner build
Art afraid I shall take her from thee? Oh, an hospital for idiots, like Swift, and endow it
never think of that; for thou shalt bless every with all my fortune, than bestow it on one
pie she makes; ay, and taste it afterwards, who thus perverts reason.-Harkye, sir: forget
old Pudding-sleeves!
how the way to this house-forget you ever saw
[Sighs. my face!-Would I had never seen yours!
Gov. H. Hey! Zounds! what dost mean? -For if you dare to send her whining to me,
Sure my Cicely isn't dead?
Grey. Ah, sir!
Grey. No, not dead, sir.
Gov. H. She's very near it then,
Grey. No, sir.
I'll torment you with every plague power,
wealth, law, or even lawyers, can set in mo-
I suppose? tion. By heaven, I abjure the audacious little
wretch for ever! and will sooner return to
Gov. H. No, sir? Then what the devil do India, and bury my gold with those from
you mean, by alarming me thus with your whom it was taken, than bestow a single shil-
"No, sirs," after all?
ling on her, when she loses her coach and
her house.
Grey. Alas! is there no greater evil?
Gov. H. None that I know of; but your Grey. [Contemptuously] And I will sooner
whole fraternity are not more like ravens in want a shilling, than suffer her to waste her
colour than note.-Come, let us know what youth in a state which will render her age
this mighty evil is.
an insupportable burden. Fear not, sir, ever
Grey. For years did she increase in good-seeing her or me again; for the bosom which
ness as in beauty; the charm of every young reared, will joyfully receive her, nor further
heart, and the sole comfort of those old ones, embitter her remaining days with the know-
to whom heaven and men seemed to have ledge she was born the equal of her undoer,
consigned her for ever.
and deprived herself of all those blessings hea-
Goo. H. Well, well, I had a little bird told ven only hid, never denied her. [Exit.
me all this.
Gov. H. Who would have a daughter?
Grey. About a twelvemonth ago, during a Zounds! I am as hot as if I was in the black
little absence of mine, a young man of fashion hole at Calcutta! If miss had only married a
introduced himself into my house; and my lout, from ignorance of her birth, I could have
wife being void of suspicion, and the dear forgiven it; but her puppy being of fashion,
girl uninstructed in the ways of this bad the papers will get hold of it, and I shall be
world-
paragraphed into purgatory. Fools can turn
Gov. H. The dog betrayed her!-And is this wits on these occasions; and, "A certain go-
your care, you old-and that ignoramus, your vernor and his daughter," will set the grinners
wife?-Zounds! I am in such a fury! I want to in motion from Piccadilly to Aldgate. This
more of her infamous conduct.-insolent old fellow too! I need not wonder
'Od! I am strangely tempted to have you where she got her courage: not but I like his
strangled this moment, as a just reward for spirit. 'Od, I like it much; it proves his in-
your negligence; and so bury the secret with nocence. What the devil did I drive him
away for? Here, dogs, run after that old man
Grey. It is as effectually buried already, sir. in black, and order him to return to me this
I love the dear unhappy girl too well ever to moment.
tell her heaven gave her to such a father.
you.
aging
Jon on T
Enter LORD GLENMORE.
Lord G. And now, brother, I am ready for
sem
Gov. H. Yes, yes, you are better suited to
the-I hope she pays for this severely! - You
make her stand in a white sheet, to be point-you.
ed at by the whole village every Sunday,
to be sure? 1)
Gov. H. Yes; and now, brother, I have some-
thing else to mind; and my servants more-
Grey. Alas, sir! she put it out of my power over-
[Exit.
even to forgive her.
Lord G. What new whim can this trouble-
Gov. H. Forgive her! forgive her, truly! some mortal have taken into his head? [4
Grey. By flying immediately from her only rapping at the Door] I am not at home, re-
friend.-Infirm and poor, I struggled with the member. I have disposed of Woodville for
joint evils till now; when, having collected a few hours upon pretence of business in the
enough to support me, I walked up in search city, which will give me time to prosecute my
of her. It was only yesterday I discovered scheme upon his lady.
her in a splendid coach, which I traced to
her house.
Enter Miss MORTIMER, with CECILLA, in
Mourning.
Miss M. Nay, as to that circumstance-Bless
Gov. H. A house? I shall run mad entirely!
-A coach? Why, dare the little brazen-face
pretend to elegance, when I took such pains me, here's my lord!
to quench every spark of gentility in her?
Cecil. My lord! Good heavens, I shall sink
[Apart.
[Apart.
[Apart.
Grey In the neighbourhood I discovered into the earth!
the name of her seducer; and in seeking him, Miss M. He can never guess at you: recover,
met with you.-Moderate your passion, sir.- my dear creature!
Lord G. Is the lady indisposed, miss Mor-
1) The punishment for young women who have given!
decided proofs of having made oe free with the men, timer?

SEENE 2.1
543
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Miss M. Yes, my lord; that is, no-I don't Lord G. What now can have changed you?
know what I am saying. She has been ill But you are more inconstant than our cli-
lately, and riding has a little overcome her, mate. Did you ever know one minute what
that's all.-Struggle to keep up, for heaven's you should think the next? However, to sa-
sake and your own. [Apart to Cecilia. tisfy your scruples, I intend to dispatch her
to a nunnery; and if that don't please you,
e'en take charge of her yourself.
Cecil. Impossible!
[Exeunt together.
[Lord Glenmore draws a Hall Chair,
in which she faints.
Lord G. Warner! drops and water, in a Vans [Comes forward] Ha, ha, ha! why
moment. How beautiful she is! her features this would make a comedy! And so, of all birds
are exquisitely fine.
in the air, his dignified lordship has pitched on
Miss M. They are thought so, my lord.me for the husband of the governor's daughter
Lord G. Her pulse returns; she revives. and his own niece! Well, if I can but go
Cecil. I beg your pardon, madam! My lord through with this, it will be admirable? Thank-
too! I am shocked to have occasioned so ed by one for making my fortune, and safe
much trouble.
from the anger of all.
Enter a Servant.
[Exit.
Miss M. Absurd to apologise for the infir-
mity of nature: my lord, I do assure you,
was quite anxious-
Serv. Mr. Woodville, sir, is just gone into
Lord G. The man must surely have lost the house you bade me watch.
every sense who can see this lady, even when Vane. The devil he is! why then I must
deprived of hers, without emotion: but to me consign my intended to him for one night
the languor of illness had ever something pe- more, and persuade my lord to delay our
culiarly interesting. I wonder who this ele- seizure till morning; for, to meet with him,
gant creature is! her hand seems to tremble would certainly produce an agreement of
strangely.
[Aside. all parties, and a marriage which would ne-
Cecil. Oh, madam!-
ver enrol my name in the family pedigree,
Miss M. Silence and recollection alone can or governor's will.
[Exit.
secure you from suspicion; I confess I relied
on his absence.
[Apart to Cecilia. SCENE II.-CECILIA'S Dressing-room. Cand-
les burning, and her Clothes scattered.
Enter WOODVILLE.
Re-enter GOVERNOR HARCOURT.
Gov. H. He won't return, hey? 'Od, I like
the old Cambrian the better for it. I have
fired his Welsh blood finely. Why, what a Wood. Thanks to that dear lawyer's lucky
blockhead was I, not to go after him myself! absence, I have a few happy hours, my love,
Methinks I should like to know miss when I to spend with thee. [Looks at her Clothes]
meet her in her coach too. Um! did he not tell Already retired? sure I have not left my key
me something of tracing the seducer into this in the garden gate: no, here it is. [Rings
house? [Stands in amazement a Moment, the Bell, and takes off his Sword; then
then Whistles Woodville's mistress, by every throws himself into a Chair] Nobody ans-
thing contrary! 'Od, I shall seize the gipsy wer! I don't understand this. Perhaps I shall
with redoubled satisfaction! But I must keep disturb her: I'll steal into her chamber. [Goes
my own counsel, or my old beau of a bro- off, and presently returns disordered] Not
ther will roast me to death on my system of there! her clothes too, the same she had on
education. Hey! who has he got there? [Ce- last! Oh, my heart misgives me! But where
cilia rises] A pretty lass, faith! Ah, there is are all the servants? [Rings very violently]
the very thing I admire! there is gentility, Bridget! Robert! Jacob!
without the fantastical flourishes of fashion!
just the very air I hoped my minx would Re-enter BRIDGET, with her Hat on.
have had. [Lord Glenmore, having led off Bridget, what's become of your lady?
Cecilia, returns. Brid. Really, sir, I can't say; don't you
Lord G. I don't know how, but my incli-know?
nation to this business is over. I think I'll
let the matter alone at present.
Gov. H. The devil you will! why, by to-
morrow, Woodville may have married her.
Lord G. D'ye think so? well then, let's go.
Gov. H. And what d'ye intend to do with
her, pray?
Wood. If I did I shouldn't have asked you.
Brid. [After a little Pause] Why sure,
sir, my lady has not run away; and yet some-
thing runs in my head as if she had. I thought
that spark came for no good to-day.
Wood. What spark, girl?
Brid. Why, just after you went away
Lord G. I won't trust this weathercock till comes a young man, a monstrous genteel one,
all is safe. [Aside] I care not what becomes and very handsome too, I must needs say;
of her, so she is out of my way! send her to with fine dark eyes, and a fresh colour.
Bridewell perhaps.
Wood. Damn his colour! tell me his bu-
Gov. H. To Bridewell, truly? No, that you siness.
shan't, neither. Bridewell, quotha! why, who Brid. So he axed ¹) for my lady, and would
knows but the fault may be all that young not tell me what he wanted: I came with her
Rakehell, your son's?
however; but she no sooner set eyes on him
Lord G. My son's, sir! let me tell you, I than she sent me out; which argufied no
have not bred him in such a manner. good, you'll say; and before I could possibly
Gov. H. Oh, if breeding were any security come back, though I ran as fast as ever my
--Zounds, I shall betray all by another word! legs could carry me, he was gone, and she
[Aside. 1) Asked.

544
[ACT IV.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
writing, and crying for dear life; but that
was no news, so I did not mind it: and when
she gave me leave to go to the play, thought
no more harm than the child unborn. dzi
Wood. It must be a scheme beyond all
doubt, and I am the dupe of a dissembling,
ungrateful-Oh, Cecilia !
Jacob. Dang it then my feace do lye hugely.
Wood. Tell me the whole truth, villain! or
I'll stab you to the heart this instant.
Choral and rug[Draws his Sword.
Jacob. [Kneels] I wull, zur, indeed I wull;
doan't ye terrify me zoa! I do forget every
thing in the whole world.
Wood. Be sincere, and depend upon my
rewarding you.
[Throws himself in a Chair.
Brid. [Softening her Voice, and setting
her Dress] If I was as you, sir, I would not Jacob. Why, I wish I meay die this mau-
fret about her; there is not a lady in the ment, if conj'rer did not zey I should lose
land would slight a gentleman so handsome my pleace! nay, aw do verily think aw zaid
and sweet tempered: 1 scorns to flatter, for zomething o'my being put in fear o'my loife.
my part. Inferials 2) mustn't direct their bet- Loard knaws, I little thought how zoon his
ters; but had I been in my lady's place, a words would come to pass.
king upon this throne would not have tempted Wood. Will you dally?
me. Handsome him that handsome does, say Jacob. Zoa, as I zaid, zur, when I com'd
I; and I am sure you did handsome by her; huome again, I found all the duors aupen,
for if she could have eat gold, she might have and not a zoul to be zeed.
Ting
had it. He might take some notice truly. Wood. This fellow can never mean to im-
[Aside. pose on me, and I must think it a planned
Wood. Where was she writing? [Starting up. affair. [Aside] While I was in the country,
Brid. In the little drawing-room, sir. [Exit Jacob, did your mistress see much company?
Woodville] This ridiculous love turns people's Jacob. Cuompany; noa, not to speak an-
brains, I think. I am sure I said enough to not gentlewomen.
open his eyes, but may be I don't look so
handsome, because I am not so fine. Hey! a
thought strikes me: my lady is gone, that's
plain; back she will not come is as plain,
Gathers together Cecilia's elegant Clothes]
I'll put on these, and he'll think she gave 'em
to me: then he may find out I am as pretty
as she; if not-he and I are of very different
opinions.
[Exit.
Wood. Gentlewomen, blockhead! why had
she any male visitors?
Jacob. Anan!
Wood. I must brain thee at last, booby!
Did any men come to see her then?
Jacob. Oh yes, zur, yes-two gentlemen
com'd almost every deay.
Wood. How? two gentlemen! I shall run
distracted! Young and handsome?
Jacob. Not auver young, zur, nor auver
handsome; but drest muortal foine.
Re-enter WOODVILLE, more disordered.
Wood. Cruel, ungrateful, barbarous girl! Woop. So they came almost ev'ry day?
to forsake me in the very moment I was re- Very pretty indeed, miss Cecilia! Was you
solving to sacrifice every thing to her! But never called up while they staid? Did they
'tis just first dupes to the arts of man, the come together, or alone?
pupil soon knows how to foil him at his own Jacob. Aloane.
weapons. Perhaps the discovery is fortunate. Wood. I thought as much; yes, I thought
In a short time I must have borne the whole as much. But were you never called up,
disgrace of her ill conduct, and my father's Jacob?
resentment had the bitterest aggravation. But Jacob. Yes, zur, when one aw um ware
is she indeed gone? and will continual to- here one deay, I ware caal'd up for zomething
morrows come, without one hope to render or other.
them welcome?
Enter JACOB.
Villain! where's your lady?
Jacob. 'Las a deazy, how can I tell, zur?
Wood. Where are all your fellows?
Jacob. Abroad, making haliday.
Wood. When did you go out? who gave
you leave?
Wood. Well! why don't you go on? I am
on the rack!
Jacob. Don't ye look so muortal angry,
then!
Wood. Well, well, I won't, my good fel-
low! There's money for thy honesty.
Jacob. Well; there. aw ware-
Wood. Speak out freely, you can tell me
nothing worse than I imagine; you won't
shock me in the least; not at all.
Jacob. Well; theare aw ware pleaying on
that theare music-thing like a coffin¹), and
madam ware a zinging to un like any black-
Jacob. My lady, her own zelf; and I'll tell
you how 'tware. Arter dinner I geed her a
noate; and when zhe had red un, she axed
me if zo be as how I had ever zeed the lions?
Zoa I told her noa; nor no mour I never bird.
did. Zoa zhe geed me half a crown, and bid
me goa and make myself happy. I thought
it ware desperate koind of her; zoa I went
and zeed the huge creturs; and arter, only
stopp'd a bit to peap at the moniment, and
hay my fortin tuold by conj'rer in the Old
Bailey; and aw zaid-
Wood. What the devil does it signify to
me what he said? Harkye, sir, I see in your
face you know more of your mistress,
2) Inferior.
Wood. A music master! Is that all, booby?
[Pushes him down.
Jacob. Yes; but t'other, zur.
Wood. Ay, I had forgot; what of him,
good Jacob? what of him?
Jacob. I ware never caalled up while aw
steay'd; zoa (I can't but zeay I had a cu-
riosity to knaw what brought he here) one
deay I peaped through the keayhoole, and
zeed un-[Titters]-I shull ne'er forgeat.
1) The pianoforte,

SCENE 2]
545
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Wood. Tell me this instant, or I shall burst she is, I yet would recover her! Give her
with rage and suspense.
back then to a father you first taught her to
Jacob. Screaping on a leetle viddle, no fear, and an habitation too humble for any
bigger than my hond; while madam ware a but the good to be happy in.
huolding out her quoats, and danzing all Wood. Alas, sir! can you trifle with my
round the room, zoa.
misery? Do you give her back to the wretch
[Mimicks a Minuet awkwardly. who cannot survive her loss! Let me owe
Wood. Why, I believe the impudent bump- her hand to your bounty, though her heart
kin dares to jest with my misery! and yet I to her own! Did you know what this elope-
have no other avenue; for the rest I fear are ment of hers has cost me-
knaves, and he seems only a fool. [Aside]
And are these all that came, Jacob?
Jacob. Noa, thare ware one moare, zur; a
leetle mon in a black quoat; but aw only
cuom'd now and tan.
Wood. A disguise, no doubt! Yes, yes,
they were artful enough!
Grey. Oh! most accomplished villain! but
think not to dupe me too!
Wood, Who but you can have robbed me
of her since morning?
Grey. Shallow artifice!
Wood. Hear me, sir! and even believe me,
[Aside. when I solemnly swear I have deeply repent-
Jacob, And zoa, arter he'd done wi' my ed my crime, and offered her all the repa-
leady, aw did zhut hiz zelf up wi' Bridget; ration in my power; but since then-
and zoa I ax'd her all about un, and zhe zaid
az how aw coom'd to teeach madam to turn
themmin great round balls, all bleue, and red,
and yaller ¹), that do stond by the books, and
larned zhe to wroite.
Grey. What since then?
Vood. Either by your means or some
other, she has fled!
Grey. Impossible!
Wood. 'Tis too true, by heaven!
Wood. Yes, yes, Mrs. Bridget was in all Grey. Perhaps while you are thus inge-
her secrets, I don't doubt. If that fellow in niously deluding me, she indeed flies. Study
black comes here again, keep him, if you va- some other deception, while I examine the
lue your life, and send for me. I know not whole house, for nothing else can convince
what to do or think, and must renew my me.
[Exit.
search, though hopeless of success.
[Exit. Wood. Surely this injured venerable man
Jacob. Dang it! but he's in a desperate was sent by heaven to complete my misfor-
teaking! Rabbit me, but I ware muortally tunes! My passions subside, but only into
afeard aw un too, for aw flurish'd hiz zword a vague horror and despondency, even more
az yeazy az I could a cudgel! I do think dreadful! If with rash hand she has short-
conjurer moight as well ha' tould me madam ened her days, what remain of mine will be,
would ha' run away, while aw ware abeout indeed, all her father predicts! [Walks by
it, and then I moight ha' run'd away first. the Toilette] Ha, a letter!
Enter GREY.
[Exit.
Re-enter GREY.
Grey. A total loneliness in the house!
Wood. Now, sir, be convinced. I have just
found a letter from her.
Grey. At length I have gained entrance
into this house of shame, which now, alas!
contains my darling Cecilia; plunged in vice, Grey. This cannot be the invention of a
and lost to every sentiment, I spent so many moment. [Aside] Let me read it; it is indeed
anxious years in implanting. This does not
seen to be the abode of pleasure, nor have I
met a single being.
Enter WOODVILLE behind, sees GREY, and
drawing his Sword, flies at and seizes him.
Wood. Ha! a man! and in black as Jacob
said. Villain, this moment is your last.
her hand. [Opens and reads it] Receive
this as my last farewell. Providence has
unexpectedly sent me a friend, whose pro-
tection I dare accept; and time may per-
haps subdue a passion which seems inter-
woven with my being. Forget me, I en-
treat; and seek that happiness with another,
I can never hope to bestow or partake.
Grey. [Turning suddenly upon him] Yes, Consoled only by reflecting, that the grief
young seducer, add to the daughter's ruin my error occasions, is inferior to that I
the father's murder! Stab my heart, as you
already have my happiness!
should have felt, had I, by an ungenerous
use of my power, made you, in turn, my
Wood. Alas! was this her visitor? I dare victim. Once more, adieu! All search will
not speak to him!
certainly be fruitless.-P. S. In the cabi-
Grey. Embosomed by affluence, exalted by net you will find your valuable presents;
title, peace still shall be far from thy heart; and the key is in a dressing-box. [Wood-
for thou, with the worst kind of avarice, hast, ville snatches the Letter, and bursts into
by specious pretences, wrested from poverty Tears] Cecilia! I may say, with tears of joy,
its last dear possession-virtue.
thou art indeed my daughter! more dear, if
Wood. Pierced to the soul as I am by your possible, than ever! A daughter monarchs
reproaches, I dare appeal to Cecilia herself might contend for, though thy weak father
for a testimony of my contrition! How shall abjures thee! May the friend you have found
I convince you?
have a heart but like your own! For you,
Grey. Hardly by a life of repentance. But young man! but I leave you to your anguish;
I debase myself to exchange a word with the loss of such a woman is a sufficient pu-
you. Give me back my Cecilia! Ruined as nishment.
1) Blue, red, and yellow balls, meaning the globes; a
teacher of geography, and writing.
Wood. Stay, sir! [Rises] by your holy
profession, I conjure you, stay! Plunge me
69

546
[ACT IV.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
not into total despair! Though without a clue Gov. H. Zounds! I have a great mind to
to her asylum, I would fain believe my heart make her know me! 'Od! I shall never be
will lead me to it; and let me then hope you able to contain!
[Apart
will bestow her on me.
Lord G. I was afraid, madam, I should
Grey. There is a something in your man- prove an unwelcome guest--but beauty like
ner, young gentleman, that affects me. I have yours-
been young, wild, and extravagant myself; Brid. Does your lordship think I so very
and what is more strange, have not forgot I handsome then? Lord, how lucky was my
was so: my own experience proves reforma- dressing myself!
tion possible; act up to her, and atone your Lord G. Affected idiot! [Aside] I was
afraid, madam, too of meeting Woodville here.
Wood. I will endeavour it, sir! and oh, I know not what to say to her. Aside.
could those who yet but waver, know what Brid. He has not been here this morning;
has passed in my heart during the last hour, but, if, he had, he knows better than to ax
who would dare to deviate? [Exeunt. arter my company, I do assure you, my-
lordship.
error.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-CECILIA'S House.
BRIDGET discovered, dressed in CECILIA'S
[Aside.
Lord G. I have been told he intends marry-
ing you; what a pity to monopolize such
merit!
Brid. If he has any such kind intention,
Clothes, mixed with every thing vulgar 'tis more than I knows of, I assure you.
and tawdry.
Lord G. His keeping that wise resolution
Brid. So-I am ready against our gentle- from you, is some little comfort however.
man comes. Deuce on him to run away last
[Aside.
night, the moment I was dressed, and with Brid. But I promise ye, I shall make a
an inferial fellow too! Lard, how can people rare person of quality; for I loves cards,
of quality demean themselves by keeping com- coaches, dancing, and dress, to my very heart
pany with inferials? However, one thing I-nothing in the world better-but blindman's-
am sure of, he's too much on the fidgets to buff. I had some thoughts of taking a trip to
stay long away from our house; and in the Sadler's Wells or Fox Hall, but they don't
mean while I can entertain myself extremely begin till five o'clock.
well.
[Sits down to the Toilette. Gov. H. Ha, ha! though she can hardly
Jacob. [Without] I tell ye, my leady's not spell out the ten commandments, she could
at huome.
break every one with as much ease and
impudence as if she had been bred in the
circle of St. James's.
[Aside.
Gov. H. [Without] I tell you, I won't take
your word for it; so come, my lord, and see.
Brid. Hey-day, my lord! What's the news
now, I wonder?
Enter LORD GLENMORE and GOVERNOR HAR-
COURT; both stop short.
Gov. H. Oh, I thought madam had learned
enough of the ton to lie by proxy!
Brid. Dear heart! I am all of a twitter-
ation!
Lord G. But, madam-
Brid. My lord!
willing to marry you, it is not in his power
Lord G. You know, allowing Woodville
while his father lives, without forfeiting his
fortune; the value of which you doubtless
understand?
Brid. Oh, yes, yes, for sartain, my lord.
Lord G. Who knows too how far an in-
Lord G. The vulgarity of the wench is as-censed parent my carry his resentment? He
tonishing!
[Apart. might find means to entrap and punish you.
Gov. H. Um, why, a little gawky or so, Brid. Ha, ha, ha! he entrap me! that would
there's no denying it. Here's a pretty dis-be a good jest! No, no, I have more of the
covery, now, after all my projects! Thank lady of quality than to be so easily catched.
fortune, the secret is yet my own, though. Gov. H. [Mimicking] He, he, he! that is
[Aside. the only particular in which you have nothing
ought to at all of the lady of quality.
Lord G. [Advancing to her] I
beg your excuse, madam, for so abrupt an Lord G. With me you may share a higher
intrusion; but the opportunity, and so fair a rank and larger fortune without those fears.
temptation, will, I flatter myself, be a suffi-I am of an age-
cient apology.
Brid. Yes, one may see that without being
Brid. He takes me for my lady, that's a a conjurer. [Aside] Why, will you marry
sure thing! oh, this is charming! [Aside] me, my lord?
You need not make no 'pologys, my lord;
Lord G. Convince me that you don't love
inferials never knows how to suspect people this Woodville, and I know not how far my
of quality; but I understands good breeding passion may carry me.
better.
Brid. Love him! Do you think I knows
Lord G. Why, what a barn-door, mawkin no more of high life than that comes to? To
it is! [Aside] Your politeness, madam, can only be sure, he is a sweet pretty man, and all
be equalled by your beauty!
that--but as to love, I loves nobody half so
well as myself!
Brid. Dear heart, my lord, you flatter me!
Won't you please to sit?
Lord G. Upon my soul I believe you, and
[Waits affectedly till they consent to seat wish he had the whole benefit of the decla-
themselves. ration. Her ingratitude is as shocking as her
Lord G. Surely by using my title, she ignorance, and Bridewell too gentle a punish-
knows me!
[Apart. ment.
[Apart to Gov, H.

SCENE 2.1
547
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Gov. H. Then build a Bridewell large enough here? Zoa, what's my leady theare?
to contain the whole sex; for the only differ- Lord G. See there now! Oh, the artful
ence between her and the rest is-this country Jezebel!
mawkin tells what the town-bred misses con-
ceal.
Brid. Oh, Jacob! why, don't ye see I am
[Apart. Bridget?-Pray satisfy my lord here.
Jacob. Why, be ye Bridget?-Never trust
me else!
Lord G. Why, governor, you are as testy
as if you had the care of her education.
[Apart. Gov. H. Here's a fool of t'other sex now
Gov. H. 1 the care? Zounds, what I say can hardly take a hint though so plainly given
is merely from friendship to your lordship. him!-Thanks to the natural difference; for
I hate to see you deceive yourself. [Apart] art is nature in woman.
Surely be can never suspect!
[Aside. Bridget is employed in cramming
Trinkets from the Dressing-table into
her Pockets.
Brid. Now I am ready to go, my lord.
Gov. H. [Roughly snatching her other
Hand] To where you little dream of, you
vain, affected, presuming, ignorant baggage.
Brid. Hey-day! my lord!
Lord G. Appeal not to me, base woman!
Know I am the father of that poor dupe,
Woodville.
Brid. Dear heart! be ye indeed? what will
become of me then?
Lord G. And as a moderate punishment for
your hypocrisy, ambition, and ingratitude,
sentence you to be shut up for life in a mon-
astery.
Brid. O Lord! among monsters!
Goo. H. No, ignoramus! No, among nuns;
though they are but monsters in human na-
ture either.
Brid. What, where they'll cut off my hair,
and make me wear sackcloth next my skin?
Gov. H. Yes, if they leave you any skin
at all.
Brid. Oh dear, dear, dear! [Sobs and
groans] Upon my bended knees, I do beg
you won't send me there! Why, I shall go
mallancholy; I shall make away with myself
for sartain, and my ghost will appear to you
all in white.
Gov. H. All in black, I rather think; for the
devil a speck of white is there in your whole
composition.
Lord G. Your conduct, wretch, justifies a
severer sentence. To seduce him from his
duty was crime enough.
Brid. Who, I seduce him? I did not, my
lord; indeed I did not.
Lord G. Have you not owned-
Brid. No, indeed, no; that I wished to take
my lady's place, I believe I did own.
Goo. H. Ha, ha, ha! Your lady! Ha, ha, ha!
Lord G. Shallow subterfuge!
Enter VANE, with Slaves.
[Lord Glenmore draws him aside.
Jacob. Auh, Bridget, Bridget! where didst
thee get theesum foin claws? Noa, noa, as
theest brew'd, thee meay'st beake.
Brid. Oh, do you take pity on me! Why,
they be going to carry me to some outland-
ish place, and make a nunnery of me!
Jacob. A nunnery? what's that? any thing
Christin?1) Well, if I do spake to um, will
ye ha'e me?
Brid. O, yes, yes, yes!
Lord G. Brother, I shall leave you to the
completion of this affair; I am sick to the
soul of the gawky.
[Exit.
Goo. H. Yes, yes, I don't doubt it, I don't
doubt it.-Will you take her or no? [To
Vane] I shall never be able to stifle my agi-
tation, and burst with rage if I show it.
Jacob. Why, zure, zure, ye won't carr'
away our Bridget?
Vane. Ha, ha, ha!
Goo. M. Oh, she has beat her meaning into
thy thick scull at last!-Pr'ythee keep thy
blockhead out of my way, if thou mean'st to
keep it on thy own shoulders.
Jacob. Why, be ye in arnest then? Dear
heart alive! why, this is cousin Bridget!
Brid. Only send for Mr. Woodville.
Gov. H. Prettily devised again! Ha, ha, ha!
-Dost think, my little dear, we have lived
three times as long as your ladyship to learn
a quarter as much? -Send for Mr. Wood-
ville, hey?-No, no, you won't find us quite
so simple.
Jacob. Oh, doan't ye doan't ye carr' off zhe;
or if ye wull, do pray take 1.
Vane. Yes, you would be a choice piece
of lumber, truly.
Goo. H. Drag her away this moment.
Brid. Oh dear, oh dear! to be hanged at
last for another's crime is all that vexes me.
[They carry her off; Governor Harcourt
follows.
SCENE II.-MISS MORTIMER'S Apartment.
Enter CECILIA, and sits down to Embroidery.
Cecil How fond, how weak, how ungrate-
Vane, is all ready?-Seize this woman, and ful are our hearts! Mine still will presump-
observe my orders.
tuously fancy this house its home, and ally
Brid. Ah, dear heart! I shall die away, if itself to every one to whom Woodville is dear.
the blacks do but touch me.-Indeed you do
mistake; I be no lady; I be only Bridget.
Enter LORD GLENMORE.
Gov. H. I would give ten thousand pounds O heavens, my lord!-How unlucky!-If I go,
that you were only Bridget, you artful puss! he may find the captain with miss Mortimer.
Take her away, however; and let us try how
miss likes riding out in her own coach.
[Aside.
Lord G. You see, madam, you have only
[Vane and the Slaves seize her; she to retire, to engage us to pursue you even to
screams out and catches Lord Glen- rudeness. But tell me, can it be your own
more's Coat, falling on her Knees. choice to punish us so far as to prefer soli-
tude to our society?
Enter JACOB.
Jacob. Why, what a dickens be
ye
all at
- -
1) Christian.

548
[ACT IV.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Cecil. I know myself too well, my lord, to mine the creature of his pleasures; a wretch,
receive distinctions of which I am unworthy; only distinguished by his folly and her own
yet think not, therefore, I fail in respect, infamy-But can you, who so powerfully plead
Lord G. But is that charming bosom sus- the cause of another, be deaf to the sighs of
ceptible of nothing beyond respect? Why is a man who adores you, who offers you a rank-
it capable of inspiring a passion it cannot
participate?
Cecil. Be satisfied, my lord, with knowing
I have all that esteem your merit claims, which
influences me beyond every casual advantage.
Lord G. But, madam-
Cecil. Your goodness, my lord-my profound
veneration will always attend you. But the
inore generously you are inclined to forget Cecil. Alas, my lord! [Bursts into Tears]
what is due to yourself, the more strongly it Be silent, if possible, both pride and virtue.
is impressed on my memory.
I have deserved, and will submit to it; yet
Lord G. Were what you say true, the surely the bitterness of this moment expiates
bounties of nature atone amply to you for the all past offences.
[Exit.
parsimony of fortune; nor would your want Lord G. Amiable creature! what an amazing
of every other advantage lessen your merit, elegance of mind and person! Tears were her
or my sense of it.
only answers to my questions, and blushes to
Cecil. Had he thought thus a few months my looks; yet these only heighten a curiosity
since, how happy had I now been! [Aside] they have softened into love.
[Exit.
Your approbation at once flatters and serves
me, by justifying miss Mortimer's protection
of me.
SCENE III.-WOODVILLE'S Apartment.
Enter WOODVILLE.
Lord G. Her partiality for you does her Wood. No intelligence of my Cecilia yet!
more honour than it can ever do you advan- Were I only assured of her safety, it would
tage. But you must tell me how she gained be some consolation.
first the happiness of knowing you.
Cecil. My-my lord, by a misfortune so
touching-
Enter JACOB.
Jacob. Zur, zur! I do meake so bowld as
Wood. Jacob, my honest fellow, the very
sight of thee revives my hopes, and sets my
heart in motion!-Well, what's the news?
Jacob. Zurprising news indeed, zur!-Loord!
Lord G. Nay, I would not distress you to ax to spake to you.
neither; yet I own, madam, I wish to make
a proposal worth a serious answer; but ought
first to know why you affect a mystery? Tell
me then, my dear, every incident of your life,
and I will raise you to a title, I may without I thought I should never meat wi' ye; I com'd
vanity say, many have aspired to!
to your lodgings twice, and ye warn't up.
Cecil. You oppress my very soul, my lord! Wood. Up! 'Sdeath, you ignorant booby!
-But, alas! unconquerable obstacles deprive why didn't you order them to rouse me that
me for ever of that title. Neither would I moment?
obtain it by alienating such a son from such
a father.
Jacob, Loord, zur! why your gentlemen
(as they do caal un) ware so terrable foine,
Lord G. Put him entirely out of the ques-I ware afeard of affronting un.
tion; the meanness of his conduct acquits me
Wood. Plague on the stupidity of both, say
to myself. Do you know, madam, he has I-But what's all this to the purpose? The
resolved to marry a reature of low birth, il- news! the news!
literate, vulgar, and impudent? And, to com-
plete her perfections, she has been his mistress
at least.
Jacob. Las-a-deazy! muortal bad news
indeed!
Wood. You tedious blockhead! is your lady
returned?
Jacob. Noa, zur.
Cecil. Surely he knows, and purposely shocks
me thus.
[Aside.
Lord G. But your integrity doesn't render [Shakes his Head very mournfully.
you less amiable in my eyes; it greatly en- Wood. The horrid forebodings of my heart
hances every other merit. As to his wretch, recur; yet surely she could not be so despe-
I have her in my power, and shall make her rate!-Shocking as the suspense is, I more
dearly repent.
dread the certainty. [Aside] Speak, however,
Cecil. Then I am lost indeed! [Aside] You my good fellow! [Jacob wipes his Eyes] I
have, my lord, though I know not how, dis- shall ever value your sensibility. Tell me then
covered-
[Rises in confusion. the simple truth, whatever it may be.
Lord G. [Rises, and takes Snuff, without Jacob. I wull, zur, I wull.-There has comed
looking at her] Oh, nothing more easy, ma- two foine gentlemen, wi' zwords by their zides,
dam; I had him carefully traced to her house, just for all the world like yourn.
and, during his absence, took servants and
forced her away.
Cecil. That, however, cannot be me.--Every
word seems to add to a mystery I dare not
inquire into. [Aside] Deprived of the weak,
the guilty, the miserable wretch you justly
condemn, a little time will no doubt incline
him to his duty.
Wood. Well, and what did these gentle-
men say?
Jacob. Why, they went up stears, willy-
nilly, and carr'd off-our Bridget.
[Bursts out a crying.
Wood. You impudent, ignorant clown! I'll
give you cause for your tears. [Shakes him.
Jacob. Loord! Loord! do ye ha' a little
Lord G. I will confess I resent his mis- Cristin commiseration! Well, if ever I do
conduct the more, as I ever treated him with cuome nigh ye again, I do wish
friendship as well as tenderness: to presume every buone in my zkin.
to insult me, by introducing into a family like Wood. [Walks about in a Rage] To in-
-
ye may break

SCENE 3.]
549
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
sult me with your own paltry love affairs!-mortal to come here? [Aside] I should have
These great and mighty gentlemen were only waited on you in half an hour, sir.
constables, I dare swear, and your fears con- Gov. H. Ay, and that's what I wanted to
verted their staves to swords.
avoid. The more I talk to your father, Frank,
Jacob. Ay, but that an't the worst neither. the more I find him fixed on the match with
I do verily think my turn wull cuome next-his miss Mortimer: nay, he tells me he will
can't zleep in my bed for thinking on't, nor have you married this very day.
enjoy a meal's meat-zo, except you do bring
your zword, and cuome and live in our houze,
I wull guo out on't, that's a zure thing; for I
had rather sceare craws at a graat 1) a deay
all my loife long, than 'bide there to be so her you despise.
terrifoid.
Wood. That's mighty probable, in the hu-
mour I am in.
Gov. H. Ah, Frank, the girl I offer thee-
Wood. Is no more agreeable to me than
Gov. H. How do you know that, pepper-
Wood. Sceare craws truly! why, the craws corn? how do you know that? 'Od, I could
will sceare you, ye hen-hearted puppy!-There, tell you-
teake that, [Gives him Money] and guo Wood. And to tell you my full mind, sir,
home, or to the devil, so you never fall in I had rather make myself miserable to gratify
my way again.
my father than any other man.
I
Jacob. Zome faulk that I do knaw wull zee
the black gentleman first, 'tis my belief; zoa
had best keep out o'his woy too. [Exit.
Enter CAPTAIN HARCOURT.
Capt. H. Woodville, what's the matter?
Why, you will raise the neighbourhood.
Re-enter JACOB.
Gov. H. 'Od, thou art so obstinate, boy, I
can't help loving thee.-I don't see why I am
obliged to know his miss is my daughter: I
have a great mind to own what we have done
with her; and, if he will marry, e'en take care
nobody hinders him; then trump up a farce
about forgiving them; and yet it goes against
my conscience to punish the puppy for life,
though he has punished me pretty sufficiently,
by the lord Harry.
[Aside.
Capt. H. I don't like this affair at all, and
tremble for my Sophia, when I see this odd
soul so inveterate against her.
[Aside.
Jacob. Here's a peaper housemaid do zend
you, wi' her humble duty; but if zo be it do
put you in another desperate teaking, I do
huope ye wull zend for zhe to beat, and not
I.-Loord! Loord! what wull becuome of me Gov. H. Well, my lad, do you know I am
in this woide world of London! [Exit. as deep in all your secrets as your favourite
Capt. H. Ha, ha, ha! he is a choice fellow! valet de chambre?
[To Woodville.
Wood. A heart oppressed with its own. Wood. I don't understand you, sir.
feelings fears every thing. I have hardly cou- Gov. H. Pho, pho, pho! keep that face till
rage to open a letter without an address. I show thee one as solemn as my lord's. Why
Capt. H. Come, come, give it me then.- should not you please yourself, and marry
Hey, what?-Confusion! Was ever any thing your miss, instead of your father's?
so unlucky?
[Attempts to tear it. Wood. Capt. H. Astonishing!
Wood. Ha! it is important then.
Gov. H. 'Od, if you turn out the honest
[Snatches it from him. fellow I take you for, I know a pretty round
Capt. H. Why will you invent torments for sum, an onion and a black coat ¹) may one
yourself?-My own letter, by every thing care- day or other entitle you to; so never mind
less! Here's a stroke!
[Aside. lord Gravity's resentment.
Wood. [Reads in a broken Voice and Wood. I act from better motives, sir, and
Manner] Woodville on the brink of mar- were unworthy your wealth, could it tempt
riage-you will be disengaged--A nobleman me to disobey the best of fathers.
Damnation! - Heart and fortune at her Gov. H. Why then marry miss Mortimer,
feet. I'll let his soul out there. Hell and and oblige him; take a back seat in your own
furies! but I will find him, if money-Never coach, get a family of pale-faced brats, born
will I close my eyes till-Oh, Cecilia!" with ostrich feathers on their heads, and hate
[Throws himself into a Seat. away a long life with all due decorum, Zounds,
Capt. H. This is the most unforeseen - I here's a fellow more whimsical than - even
know not what to say to him. [Aside] Pr'y-myself. Yesterday you would have the puss,
thee, Woodville, do not sacrifice so many spite of every body; but, you no sooner find
reasonable presumptions in her favour, to a it in your power to oblige your best friend,
paper that may be a forgery for aught you know. by humouring your inclinations, than, lo, you
Wood. Oh, Charles, that I could think so! are taken with a most violent fit of duty and
but I have seen the villain's execrable hand submission! 'Od, you don't know what you
somewhere! Did you never see the hand? have lost by it! But, since you are bent on
Har. Um, I can't but own I have.-What crossing me, I'll cross you, and once for all
the devil shall I say to him?
[Aside. too. My secret shall henceforth be as im-
penetrable as the philosopher's stone. Ay,
stare as you please, I'll give you more years
than you have seen days to guess it in. [Exit.
Capt. H. What this uncle of ours can mean
Re-enter GOVERNOR HARCOURT.
Goo, H. Woodville, my dear boy, I am
come to have a little talk with thee. Charles,
don't run away; you are in all your cousin's is quite beyond my guess.
secrets.
Wood. What should possess this tiresome
1) I would rather scare Crows at a groat (four pence)
a-day.
Wood. What signifies seeking to expound
1) A black coat for mourning, and an onion in your
handkerchief to make the water come into your eyes
at my funeral.

550
ACT V.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
by reason actions in which it had no share? Brid. Ugh, ugh-at church, sir.
his brain is indubitably touched. But Cecilia Gov. H. At church, quotha! A pretty place
lies heavy on my heart, and excludes every to commence an intrigue in!-And how long
other thought.
was it before you came to this admirable
Capt. H. Time may explain the secret of agreement?
that letter, which, I will lay my life, she Brid. Um-why, Sunday was Midsummer-
despises: a woman who did not, would have eve, and Sunday after was madam's wedding-
kept it from your hands.
day, and Monday was our fair, and-
Gov. H. Oh, curse your long histories!-
And what then said Woodville?
Brid. Oh Lord, nothing at all; why, it
warn't he.
Wood. That's true, indeed! If I wrong her,
and this was but an insult, there is a noble
sincerity in her own letter which sets suspi-
cion at defiance. If he stumbled on one word
of truth during this visit, the crisis of my fate Gov. H. Ho! Who, who, who? Tell me
approaches. Oh, wherever thou art, if the that, and quite distract me!
exalted being I will still hope my Cecilia, thou
shalt know I have at least deserved thee!
ACT V.
[Exeunt.
[Ready to burst with Passion.
Brid. Timothy Hobbs, squire's gardener.
Gov. H. An absolute clown! [Walks about,
half groaning with rage and disappoint-
SCENE I. A mean Room; Boots, Bridles, ment] Who, oh, who would be a father?-
I could laugh
etc. hanging all round.
-cry-die-with shame and
anger!-Since the man who corrupted left her
BRIDGET discovered sitting very mournfully, only one virtue, would he had deprived her
her fine Clothes in great Disorder; a of that too! Oh, that she had but skill enough
Table by her, with a small Roll, a Glass to lie well!
he had bu
of Water, an old dog's-ear'd Book, and Brid. Whether I can or no, I'll never speak
a bit of a Looking-glass.
truth again, that's a sure thing. What do I
Brid. Dear heart! dear heart! what a mise-get by it, or any poor souls of the female
rable time have I passed! and where I be to kind?"
[Aside.
pass my whole life, my lord here only knows. Gov. H. I am incapable of thinking.-Every
have not much stomach indeed; neither have plan, every resource thus overturned. I must
I much breakfast.
be wiser than all the world; this fool's head
of mine must take to teaching truly! as if I
could eradicate the stamp of nature, or regu-
Enter GOVERNOR HARCOURT.
late the senses, by any thing but reason.-
Gov. H. Had I more sins to answer for than Don't pipe, baggage, to me! You all can do
a college of Jesuits, I surely expiate them all, that, when too late. When I have considered
by going through a purgatory in this life whether I shall hang myself or not, I'll let
beyond what they have invented for the other. you know whether I shall tuck you up along
This vulgar maux of mine haunts my imagi- with me, you little wretch you!" [Exit.
nation in every shape but that I hoped to see Brid. Well, sure I have at last guessed
her in; I dare hardly trust myself to speak where I am shut up! It must be Bedlam; for
to her. 'Od, I would not have the extirpation the old gentleman is out of his mind, that's a
of the whole female sex depend upon my sure thing.
casting vote while I am in this humour.
[Eats a bit of Bread, and bursts into Tears.
Enter VANE.
Brid. Mercy on me, here's that cross old
gentleman again! What will become of me? Vane. Ha, ha, ha! my future father-in-law
[Aside] Do pray, strange sir, be so generous seems to have got a quietus of my intended;
as to tell me what is next to be done with me? and, faith, so would any man who was not
Gov. H. Why, just whatever I please, you in love with a certain forty thousand. To be
audacious baggage.-'Od, now I think on't, I sure, in plain English, she is a glorious maw-
have a great mind to try a few soft words, kin! [Aside] Well, madam, how are you
and dive into all the secrets of the little igno- pleased with your present mode of living?
ramus. [Aside] Come, suppose I had a mind Brid. Living, do you call it? I think 'tis
to grant you your freedom, how would you only starving. Why, I shall eat my way
requite me?
through the walls very shortly.
Brid. Dear heart, why I'd love you for
ever and ever.
Vane. Faith, miss, they use you but so so,
that's the truth on't: and I must repeat, even
Gov. H. Zounds, that's a favour I could to your face, what I said to my lord, that
very readily dispense with; and yet 'tis natural your youth, beauty, and accomplishments, de-
to the poor wench. Ah, if thou hadst been a serve a better fate. fish deep bre
good girl, thou hadst been a happy one. Hark Brid. Dear heart! Bedlam, did I say I was
ye, miss! confess all your sins; that's the in? Why, I never knew a more sensibler,
only way to escape, I promise you; and if genteeler, prettier sort of a man in my life.
you conceal the least, I'll-do-I don't know [Aside] I am sure, sir, if I was to study
what I'll do to you.
seven years, I should never know what I have
to be married.
Brid. I will, I will, sir, indeed, as I hope done to discommode them, not I.
Vane. O Lard, my dear! only what is done
Gov. H. Married, you slut! Bad as that is, every day by half your sex without punish-
it's too good for you.-Come, tell me all your ment; however, you are to suffer for all it
adventures.- Describe the behaviour of the seems. You see your fare for life! a dungeon,
young villain who seduced you.-Where did coarse rags, and the same handsome allow-
you see him first?
ance of bread and water twice a day.

SCENE 2.]
551
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Gov. H. What's this? chopped about again!
Brid. Oh, dear me! why I shall be an oto- Wood. While obedience was possible 1
my in a week.
never swerved, my lord; but when you com-
Vane. And an old black to guard you, more mand me to make myself wretched, a superior
sulky and hideous than those in the Arabian duty cancels that: already bound by a volun-
Night's Entertainments.
tary, an everlasting vow, I cannot break it
Brid. Why, sure they will let you come without offending heaven, nor keep it without
and see me, sir? I shall certainly swound offending you.
away every time I look at that nasty old black.
Vane. This is the last time your dungeon
[Aside.
(which your presence renders a palace to me) Wood. Did you once know the incom-
will ever be open to one visitor-unless-parable merits of my love, even your lord-
unless I could contrive - but no, it would be ship's prejudices must give way to your reason.
my ruin: yet who wouldn't venture something
for such a charming creature? you could en-
dear even ruin. Tell me then what reward
you would bestow on a man who ventured
all to give you freedom?
Brid. Nay, I don't know; you're such a
dear sweet soul, I shan't stand with you for
a trifle.
Vane. Ahey! miss will be as much too
Complying in a minute. [Aside] Well then,
my dear! I must marry you, or you will still
be in the power of your enemies.
Brid. Hey! what? do I hear rightly? marry
me? Why, this will be the luckiest day's I
work I ever did! [Aside] Nay, sir, if you
should be so generous, I hope I shall live to
make you amends.
Lord G. Mere dotage. Doesn't her conduct
equally evince her folly and depravity?
Wood. Covered, as I ought to be, with con-
fusion and remorse, I will own she was se-
duced and deceived.
Gov. H. Ah, poor boy! [Aside] One of the
two was wofully deceived, sure enough.
Lord G. Oh, your conscience may be very
easy on that account; it could not require
much art to deceive such an idiot.
Gov. H. No, no, my lord! Why paint the
devil blacker than he is? Not an idiot neither.
Wood. Sir, my father's freedom of speech
must endure; but yours-
Gov. H. You must endure too, young sir,
or I shall bite my tongue off.
Wood. But, my lord! that dear unhappy
Vane. The only amends you can make me girl is no longer a subject of debate. She
is by dying. [Aside] And now, my dear! I evidently proves her merit by her flight.
will own to you I have the license in my Lord G. Would you make a virtue from
pocket; and my lord as eager as myself. Our not doing ill, when it is no longer in your
chaplain will do us the favour with more power? Woodville! I was once weak enough
expedition than he says grace before meat! to believe indulgence the surest way of ob-
Well done, Vane! 'egad, thy lucky star predo-taining your duty and esteem. My eyes are
[Aside. Takes her Arm. at last opened. Miss Mortimer is worthy a
Brid. Surely my locking up does end very better husband; but you are hers, or no son
comical.
[Exeunt Arm in Arm. of mine. I solemnly promised this to her
dying father, and will acquit myself at all events.
Wood. Can you resolve to sacrifice me to
minates!
SCENE II.-The Drawing-room.
Enter GOVERNOR HARCOURT, musing. a promise made before we could judge of
Gov. H. I have lived fifty-eight years, five each other? You never felt, sir, the compul-
months, and certain odd days, to find out I sion you practise. Will you dissolve the first
am a fool at last; but I will live as many band of morality, and see your highly estimated
more, before I add the discovery that I am title end in me? for never will I on these
a knave too.
Enter CAPTAIN HARCOURT.
Capt. H. What the devil can he be now
hatching? mischief, I fear.
terms continue it.
Lord G. I almost wish I never had conti-
nued it. [Walks in Anger] I am determined,
Woodville! and nothing but miss Mortimer's
refusal can break the match.
Gov. H. Dear fortune! let me escape this Wood. I shall not put that in her power,
once undiscovered, and I compound for all my lord. Permit me to tell you, no son was
the rest. Charles! the news of the house? ever more sensible of a father's kindness; but
for the politics of this family are employment if I can purchase its continuance only with
for every individual in it.
my honour and my happiness, it would be
Capt. H. Bella, horrida bella, sir! My lord too dearly bought.
is determined to bring his son's duty to an Lord G. Tis well, sir. -I have listened to
immediate test. Thanks to his friend's schemes you sufficiently. Now hear me. Know, this
and his mistress's beauty.
[Aside. worthless wretch you prefer to your duty, is
Gov. H. What poor malicious wretches are in my power; nay, in this house.
we by nature! Zounds, if I could not find in Capt. H. The devil she is! How, in the
my heart to rejoice at thinking every one here name of ill-luck, should he find that out?-
will be as mortified and disappointed as a cer- My fine scheme entirely blown up, by Jupiter!
tain person that shall be nameless. So, so,
here they come, faith, to argue the point in
open court.
Enter LORD GLENMORE, followed by WooD-I
VILLE.
Lord G. Without this proof of your obe-
dience, all you can urge, sir, is ineffectual.
[Aside.
Wood. Why play thus upon me, my lord?
-Her letter-
Lord G. What, has she wrote to you? That
was not aware of, nor indeed suspected she
could write.
Gov. H. No, not so ignorant as that neither
I ordered she should write too!

552
[ACT V.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Lord G. You ordered she should write?|
Let me tell you, sir, it was wronging my
confidence.
Gov. H. No, I did not order she should
write. I mean-I mean-Zounds! I don't know to
what I mean.
Brid. Oh, dear me!
[Looks at Woodville and Captain Har-
court with ridiculous distress.
Lord G. I have put it out of your power
marry, sir, otherwise you may take her.
Wood. Take her? What poor farce is this?
Capt. H. Hey-day! more incomprehensibi-
Wood. So it seems indeed; since, hardly
half an hour ago, my uncle himself persuaded lities.
me to marry my love.
Gov. H. Here's a cursed affair now.
Vane. Now for the eclaircissement, since if
the governor doesn't acknowledge her in his
Lord G. Can this be possible? Let me tell first rage and confusion, I may never be able
you, governor, if, presuming upon your wealth, to make him. [Aside] I humbly hope Mr.
you play a double part in my family- Woodville will pardon me, if, with her own
Gov. H. Zounds! nobody knows his own consent and my lord's, I this morning mar-
part in your family, that I see! and this fel- ried this young lady.
low too to tease me, whom I loved above all Goo, H. Zounds, you dog, what's that? You
in it. Why, I spoke entirely from regard to married her?-Why, how did you dare?--
him. If since then I have discovered a bump- And you too, my lord! what the devil, did
kin was beforehand with him in the posses- you consent to this?
sion of his miss-
Part
Vane. Believe me, sir, I didn't then know
Wood. If any one beside yourself, sir, durst she was your daughter.
tell such a falsehood, it would cost a life. Lord G. Daughter!
Gov. H. Yes, and if any one beside myself Gov. H. So it's out, after all. [Aside] It's
durst tell me such a truth, it would cost a a lie, you dog, you did know she was my
soul perhaps.
[Exit. daughter; you all knew it; you all conspired
Capt. H. This is more unintelligible than all to torment me!
the rest.
All. Ha, ha, ha!
Lord G. To end these altercations, upon Gov. H. Ha, ha, ha! confound your mirth!
yourself, Woodville, shall depend the fortune As if I hadn't plagues enough already. --And
of this wretch to whom you have been so you have great reason to grin too, my lord,
gross a dupe as to justify the imputation of when you have thrown my gawky on your
folly. Why, even without knowing me, she impudent valet.
ridiculed your passion, and offered to leave you.
Wood. Impossible!
Lord G. Dare you disbelieve me, sir?-Nay,
she shall be produced, and obliged to confess
her arts; then blush and obey.-Here, Vane!
governor! the keys!
[Exit. Woodville walks behind
in great agitation.
Lord G. Who could ever have dreamt of
-ha, ha, ha!-of finding this your little won-
der of the country, brother?
Capt. H. Nay, my lord, she's the little won-
der of the town too.
All. Ha, ha, ha!
Gov. H. Mighty well, mighty well, mighty
well!-Pray take your whole high out, good
Capt. H. Now could I find in my heart to folks, since this is positively the last time of
make this story into a ballad, as a warning to my entertaining you in this manner. A cot-
all meddling puppies; and then hang myself, tage shall henceforth be her portion, and a
that it may conclude with a grace. Zounds, rope mine.
he must be endued with supernatural intelli- Brid. If you are my papa, I think you might
gence! Just when I was saying a thousand give some better proof of your kindness. But
civil things to myself on my success, to have I shan't stir. Why, I married on purpose
my mine sprung before my eyes by the ene- that I might not care for you.
my; and instead of serving my friend and Gov. H. Why, thou eternal torment! my
myself, become a mere tool to old Gravity's original sin! whose first fault was the greatest
revenge! Pshaw! however, we must make the frailty of woman, and whose second, her grea-
best of a bad matter. [Aside] Woodville, test folly! dost thou, or the designing knave
what dost mean to do, man?
who has entrapped thee merely for that pur-
Wood. Let them produce my Cecilia, I will pose, imagine my wealth shall ever reward
then seize and protect her to the last moment incontinence and ingratitude? No; go knit
of my life.loader
stockings to some regiment, where he is pre-
ferred to be drummer; warm yourself when
the sun shines; soak every hard-earned-crust
in your own tears, and repent at leisure.
Capt. H. And I will assist you to the last
moment of mine.
Wood. My generous cousin! this is indeed
friendship.
Capt. H. Not so very generous, if you knew all.
[Exit in a Rage.
All. Ha, ha, ha!
Lord G. He to ridicule my mode of edu-
Re-enter LORD GLENMORE and GOVERNOR cation! But what is the meaning of all this?
HARCOURT, with BRIDGET, holding a Hand- Wood. Truly, my lord, I believe it would
kerchief to her Eyes, followed by VANE; be very hard to find any for either my uncle's
WOODVILLE flies and clasps her in his words or actions. I am equally at a loss to
Arms, HARCOURT takes her Hand.
Wood. My love! my life! do I once again
behold thee?-Fear nothing; you here are safe
from all the world! Will you not bless me
with one look?
guess as to Bridget here.
Vane. Hey, what? Bridget, did you say,
sir? Why you little ugly witch, are you really
Bridget?
Brid. Why I told you so all along; but
you wouldn't believe me.

SCENE 2.]
553
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
All. Ha, ha, ha!
ville will tell you whether I have not solemnly
Brid. Oh dear heart! I am now as much rowed-
afeard of my new husband as father.
Lord G. For thee, wench!-
Brid. [Falls on her Knees] Oh, no more
locking up, for goodness' sake, my lord; I be
sick enough of passing for a lady: but, if old
Scratch ever puts such a trick again in my
head, I hope
that's all.
Wood. Not to accept me without the con-
sent of both fathers; and if mine consents,
what doubt-
Gov. H. [Without] Stop that old man!
Stop that mad parson! Stop him!
Grey. [Without] Nothing shall stop me
-
Enter GREY.
your lordship will catch me, in pursuit of my-
[Exit.
Vane. I shall run distracted! have I mar-
ried an-and all for nothing too?.
Ha! she is she is here indeed! Providence
Lord G. A punishment peculiarly just, as has at length directed me to her.
it results from abusing uy confidence. Hence,
wretch! nor ever, while you live, appear again
in my presence.
[Exit Vane, looking furiously after Bridget.
Lord G. 'Tis time to return to ourselves.
We shall soon come to an eclaircissement,
Woodville! since you won't marry, I will.
Wood. My lord!
Lord G. And you shall judge of my choice.
[Exit.
Capt. H. Now for it: whatever devil diverts
himself among us to-day, I see he owes my
sagacious lord here a grudge, as well as the
rest; and I foresee that his wife and the go-
vernor's daughter will prove equally enter-
taining.
Re-enter LORD GLENMORE, leading CECILIA,
followed by MISS MORTIMER.
Lord G. This lady, sir, I have selected;
worthy choice.
Wood. I dream, surely! that lady
choice? yours!
Lord G. Ungrateful son, had such
yours-
Wood. Why, this very angel is mine;
Cecilia, my first, my only love.
a
my
[Runs to Cecilia.
Cecil. My father! covered with shame let
me sink before you.
Lord G. Capt. H. Her father!
Re-enter GOVERNOR HARCourt.
Grey. Rise, my glorious girl! rise purified
and forgiven! rise to pity with me the weak
minds that know not all thy value, and vene-
rate the noble ones that do.
Gov. H. Hey! is it possible? Grey, is this my-
Grey. Yes, sir, this is your Cecilia; my
Cecilia; the object of your avowed rection
and contempt.
Gov. H. Rejection and contempt! stand out
of the way: let me embrace my daughter; let
me take her once more to my heart.
[Runs, and embraces her.
Lord G. His daughter!
Gov. H. Yes, my friend, this is really my
daughter; my own Cecilia; as sure as I am
your an old fool after being a young one, this good
girl has a right to call me by the name of
been father: hasn't she, Grey? Why, my lord, this
is the very parson I told you of! [Takes
Cecilia's Arm under his] And now, young
sir, what do you say to your uncle's freaks?
[To Woodville.
Cecil. Yes, my lord! you now know the Wood. Say, sir? that had you ten thousand
unhappy object at once of your resentment, such, I would go through a patriarchal servi-
contempt, and admiration, My own misfor- tude, in hopes of Cecilia's hand for my reward.
tunes I had learned to bear, but those of Gov. H. And had I ten millions of money,
Woodville overpower me. I deliver myself and this only girl, thou shouldst have her,
up to your justice; content to be every way and that too for thy noble freedom! - And
his victim, so I am not his ruin."
Lord G. How?
Lord G. But to find you in this house-
Cecil. Your generous nephew and the amiable
miss Mortimer distinguished me with the only
asylum could shelter me from your son!
what says my Cecilia to her father's first gift?
Cecil. Astonishment and pleasure leave me
hardly power to say, that a disobedience to
you, sir, would only double my fault; nor to
worship that heaven which has led me through
Lord G. They distinguished themselves! Oh, such a trial to such a reward! Take all I
Woodville! did I think an hour ago I could have left myself to give you, Woodville, in
be more angry with you? How durst you my hand.
warp a mind so noble?
-
[Woodville kisses first her Hand,
Wood. It is a crime my life cannot ex- and then herself.
piate; yet, if the sincerest anguish-
Grey. Now let me die, my darling child!
Lord G. I have one act of justice still in since I have seen thee once more innocent
my power: my prejudice in favour of birth, and happy.
and even a stronger prejudice, is corrected Gov. H. And now kiss me, my Cecilia! kiss
by this lovely girl. Of her goodness of heart, me.-'Od! miss Mortimer shall kiss me too,
and greatness of mind, I have had incon- for loving my poor girl here.- Kiss me, all
testible proofs; and, if I thought you, Frank- of you, old and young, men, women, and
Cecil. Yet stay, my lord! nor kill me with children!-'Od, I am so overjoyed, I dread
too much kindness. Once your generosity the consequences.-D'ye hear there? Fetch me
might have made me happy, now only mise a surgeon and a bottle of wine. I must both
rable. My reason, my pride, nay, even my empty and fill my veins on this occasion!-
love, induces me to refuse, as the only way Zooks, I could find in my heart to frisk it
to prove I deserve him. He has taught me to merrily in defiance of the gout, and take that
know the world too late; nor will I retort on cursed vixen below, whoever she is, for my
him the contempt I have incurred. Mr. Wood-partner!
70

554
[ACT V.
THE CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Lord G. Methinks all seem rewarded but 'Gov. H. 'Od, brother! Who'd have thought
my poor Sophia here; and her protection of you in the right all the while? We'll never
Cecilia deserves the highest recompense.-But separate again, by the Lord Harry! but knock
whenever, my dear, you can present me the down our Welsh friend's old house, and
husband of your choice, I will present him raise him one on the ruins large enough to
with a fortune fit for my daughter.
contain the whole family of us, where he shall
Gov. H. Protect Cecilia!-'Od! she is a reign sole sovereign over all our future little
good girl, and a charming girl, and I honour Woodvilles and Čecilias.
the very tip of her feathers now!-If she could
but fancy our Charles, I'd throw in something
pretty on his side, I promise you.
Cecil. Oppressed with wonder, pleasure,
gratitude, I must endeavour to forgive myself,
when heaven thus graciously proves its for-
Miss M. Frankness is the fashion. What giveness, in allying me to every human being
would you say, sir, and you, my lord, if I my heart distinguishes.
had fancied your Charles so much as to make
him mine already?
Grey. Yes, my Cecilia, you may believe
him, who never gave you a bad lesson, that
Lord G. Hey-day! more discoveries! How's you are now most truly entitled to esteem;
this, boy?
Capt. H. Even so, sir, indeed.
Lord G. It completes my satisfaction.
since it requires a far greater exertion to stop
your course down the hill of vice, than to
toil slowly up toward virtue.. [Exeunt
CHARLES MACKLIN.
THIS author was a native of Ireland, born, as we have been informed, in the county of West Meath, and that the
name of his family was M'Laughlin; which seeming somewhat uncouth to the pronunciation of an English tongue, he,
on his coming upon the stage, anglicized it to that by which he was ever afterwards known. He is said to have been
born as early as the 1st of May 1690, and, absconding from his mother, then a widow, came over to England in the
year 1708. He was presently seduced into a marriage with a publican's widow in the Borough; but the circumstances
coming to the ears of his friends, the widow was compelled to resign him (on the ground of non-age), and he was
sent back to Ireland. Here forming an acquaintance with some under-graduates of Trinity College, Dublin, he took up
the employment of badgeman in that college; read much for the improvement of his mind, and remained in that menial
situation till he arrived at the age of 21. He then again came to London, associated with the frequenters of Hockley
in the Hole, made a connexion with a strolling company, played Harlequin; and, after leading an extraordinary courso
of life, was again restored to his mother, and returned to his former station of badgeman in Trinity College. A third
time, he quitted, and finally, his mother's superintendence, and arrived in England in 1716. He first joined a company
of players at Bristol, then attached himself to several strolling companies, and afterwards made his entré at the theatre
in Lincoln's Inn Fields; where his merit was first shown in a small character in Fielding's Coffee-house Politician,
which in the hands of any other performer, would have gone unnoticed. For several seasons he performed comic
characters; and on the 10th of May 1735, was unfortunate enough to kill Mr. Hallam, an actor in the same theatre
with himself (Drury-Lane) and who was grand father to the present Mrs. Mattocks. The dispute originated about a
wig, which Hallam had on in Fabian's Trick for Trick, and which the other claimed as his properly; and, in a warmth
of temper, he raised his cane, and gave him a fatal stroke in the eye. He was brought to trial in consequence; but
no malicious intent appearing in evidence, he was acquitted. On the 14th of February 1741 he established his fame as
an actor, in the character of Shylock, in The Merchant of Venice, and restored to the stage a play which had been
forty years supplanted by Lord Lansdowne's Jew of Venice. Macklin's performance of this character so forcibly struck
a gentleman in the pit, that he as it were involuntarily exclaimed, "That is the Jew, that Shakspeare drew." It has
been said that this gentleman was Mr. Pope; and that he meant his panegyric on Macklin as a satire against Lord
Landsdowne. Mr. Macklin was in his private character a tender husband, a good father, and a steady friend. To his
firmness and resolution in supporting the rights of his theatrical brethren, it was owing that they have been relieved
from a species of oppression to which they had been ignominiously subjected for many years, whenever, the caprice or
malice of their enemies chose to exert itself. We allude to the prosecution which he commenced and carried on
against a set of insignificant beings, who, calling themselves The Town, used frequently to disturb the entertainments of
the theatre, to the terror of the actors, as well as to the annoyance and disgrace of the public. His merit as a come-
dian in various characters is too well known to need our taking up much time in expatiating on it, particularly in Sir
Gilbert Wrangle in The Refusal, Don Manuel in She Would and She Would not, Si Archy M'Sarcasm in his own
farce of Love à-la-Mode, and Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant, in The Man of the World. He was also esteemed very
capital in the character of Shakspeare's Iago; but the part in which he was long allowed to shine without a com-
petitor was that of Shylock.
THE MAN OF THE WORLD.
Acted with great success at Covent Garden 1781. This play, which in respect to originality, force of mind, and
well-adapted satire, may dispute the palm with any dramatic piece that has appeared within the compass of half a
century, was received with the loudest acclamations, in Ireland, about seventeen years before, under the title of The
True-born Scotchman, in three acts. In London, however, an official leave for its exhibition was repeatedly denied;
and our audiences are indebted for the pleasure they have since derived from it, to the death of Mr. Capell, the late
sub-licenser of the Theatres Royal. The plot of the play is briefly this: a crafty subtle Scotchman, thrown upon the
world without friends, and little or no education, directs the whole of his observation and assiduity (in both of which
he is indefatigable) to the pursuit of fortune and ambition. By his unwearied efforts, and meanness, he succeeds; but,
warned by the defects of his own education, he determines to give his eldest son the best that could be obtained, and
for this purpose puts him into the hands of a clergyman of learning, integrity, and honour, who, by teaching him good
precepts, and showing him the force of good example makes him the very reverse of what the father intended: viz.
not a man educated the better to make his court to the great, and extend the views of false ambition- but to make
himself respected, independent, and happy. Thus he defeats the views of his father, who wants to marry him to a
lady of rank and fortune, but to whom he cannot direct his affections, and marries the daughter of a poor officer, little
better than a dependant on his mother, but who has virtues and accomplishments to adorn any situation. In short, the
latter feels the just consequences of an overvaulting ambition; while the son, seeking his own happiness independent of
fortune or honours, in the concluding lines, thus avows and rejoices in the principles that he is governed by:
"My scheme; though mock'd by knave, coquet, and fool, "In all pursuits-but chiefly in a wife,
"Not wealth, but morals, make the happy life."
To thinking minds will prove this golden rule:

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
555
MAN OF THE WORLD.
The voice of party," says Mr. Cooke, "began to stir itself the first night's performance. Some young Scotchmen thought
it a libel on their countrymen, and resisted it; but the majority of the audience carried it through with applause, and
the next night it had no opponents; the more temperate of that nation argued very justly, that the character of Sir
Pertinax should not hurt the feelings of any good Scotchman; on the contrary, that, if it was a true picture, they
should laugh at it, and thus encourage a representation which only exposed the artful and designing of their country-
men. Some critics, however, start one objection against this comedy (and it is the only one we have ever heard ob-
jected against it); which is, that of the author making his hero a Scotchman, or of any particular country, so as to im-
pute national reflections; but this, in our opinion, is being too fastidious; the principal character must belong to some
country; and whatever country that is, it may be equally said to receive a national insult. But the universal rule al-
lowed to all satirists and dramatic writers, only restrains them from not drawing their characters from too limited a
source, so as to avoid personality and obscurity; and to say, that any one nation does not produce ridiculous or vicious
characters in abundance, is a degree of patriotism founded more in folly than in fact. Beside all this, a character is
generally heightened by a peculiarity of dialect. An Irishman would lose half his humour in committing his blunders
without his brogue, as a Scotchman would his cunning without his bur. The dramatist, then, is at liberty to seek his
characters (subject to the limitations we have laid down) wherever he can find them; and if he can procure stronger
colours in the provinces, he has a right to transfer them to his canvas for general representation. Beside the merit
of this piece in plot, character, sentiment, and diction, it is critically constructed in respect to the three unities of time,
place and action. In the respect of time, the whole continuance of the play does not take up above eight-and-forty
hours; in respect to place, the scene is never removed from the dwelling-house of Sir Pertinax; and as to the unity
of action, the whole of the comedy exhibits a chain of connected facts, of which each scene makes a link, and each
link accordingly produces some incident relative to the catastrophe. If many of our modern dramatic writers (as they
are so pleased to call themselves) would consult this comedy as a model, they would be ashamed of dragging so many
heterogeneous characters together so irrelevant to the general business of the scene, and which give the stage more the
appearance of a caricature-shop, than a faithful representation of life and manners." Macklin told a friend, that he
wrote the whole (or at least the greater part) of this play at an inn in Tennyhinch, in the county of Wicklow. This
inn was afterwards purchased by Mr. Henry Grattan, and converted into a dwelling-house. Another anecdote, respecting
this play, we shall give on good authority. The MS. of The True-born Scotchman had lain in the Lord Chamberlain's
office near ten years, and Macklin despaired of getting it returned to him; when one day, dining with Sir Fletcher
Norton and Mr. Dunning, he begged their opinions, what a man should do to recover property, when he knew by
whose hands it was withheld from him. They advised an action of trover. "Well," said Macklin, "the case is my
own: will you two undertake my cause." They agreed, and Macklin explained his particular wrong. The lawyers
smiled at the whim of the poet; by personal application they got the MS. restored, but with a refusal to license it
under its then title, as a national reflection. Macklin, in consequence, named it The Man of the World.
LORD LUMBERCOURT.
SIR PERTINAX MACSYC-
OPHANT.
EGERTON.
MELVILLE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SERGEANT EITHER-
SIDE.
COUNSELLOR PLAU-
SIBLE.
SIDNEY.
TOMLINS.
LADY MACSYCOPHANT.
SAM.
CONSTANTIA.
JOHN.
BETTY HINT.
LADY RODOLPHA LUM-
BERCOURT.
NANNY.
SCENE. Sir Pertinax Macsycophant's House, ten Miles from London.
ACT I.
SCENE I-4 Library.
Enter BETTY and Footman.
Bet. THE postman is at the gate, Sam, pray
step and take in the letters.
Bet. And what time will the family be down?
Nan. He has orders to have dinner ready
by five. There are to be lawyers, and a great
deal of company here-He fancies there is to
be a private wedding tonight between our
young master, Charles, and lord Lumbercourt's
Sam. John the gardener is gone for them, daughter, the Scotch lady; who, he says, is
Mrs. Betty.
just come from Bath, on purpose to be mar-
Bet. Bid John bring them to me, Sam; tell ried to him.
him, I'm here in the library.
Bet. Ay, lady Rodolpha! nay, like enough,
Sam. I will send him to your ladyship in for I know it has been talked of a good while
a crack, madam.
[Exit Sam.-Well, go tell miss Constantia that I will be
with her immediately.
Enter NANNY.
Nan. Miss Constantia desires to speak to
you, mistress Betty.
Bet. How is she now, Nanny? Any better?
Nan. Something-but very low spirited still.
I verily believe it is as you say.
Bet. Nay, I would take my oath of it, I
cannot be deceived in that point, Nanny. Ay,
she is certainly breeding, depend upon it.
Nan. Why, so the housekeeper thinks too.
Bet. Oh, if she is not, there is no bread in
uine loaves; nay, I know the father, the man
that ruined her.
Nan. The deuce you do!
Nan. I shall, Mrs. Betty. [Exit Nanny.
Bet. So! I find they all begin to suspect
her condition: that's pure; it will soon reach
my lady's ears, I warrant.
Enter JOHN, with Letters.
Well, John, ever a letter for me?
John. No, Mrs. Betty; but here's one for
miss Constantia.
Bet. Give it me-hum-My lady's hand.
John. And here is one, which the postman
says is for my young master-But it is a
strange direction. [Reads] To Charles Eger-
ton, Esq.
Bet. As sure as you are alive, Nanny, or I Bet. Oh, yes, yes! that is for master Char-
am greatly deceived-And yet I can't be de-les, John; for he has dropped his father's name
ceived neither. Was not that the cook that of Macsycophant, and has taken up that of
came galloping so hard over the common just Egerton. The parliament has ordered it.
John. The parliament!-Pr'ythee why so,
Nan. The same; how very hard he gallop-Mrs. Betty?
ed; he has been but three quarters of an hour, Bet. Why you must know, John, that my
he say's, coming from Hyde-park-corner! lady, his mother, was an Egerton by her father;
now?

556
[ACT I.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
she stole a match with our old master. Sir you ought to watch it carefully. From your
Stanley Egerton, that you just mentioned, earliest youth your father has honoured me
dying an old bachelor, and mortally hating with the care of your education, and the ge-
our old master, and the whole gang of the neral conduct of your mind; and however
Macsycophants-he left his whole estate to singular and morose his behavour may be
master Charles, who was his godson; but on towards others, to me he has ever been re-
condition though, that he should drop his fa- spectful and liberal. I am now under his roof
ther's name of Macsycophant, and take up too-and because I will not abet an unwar-
that of Egerton; and that is the reason, John, rantable passion, in direct opposition to your
why the parliament has made him change his father's hopes and happiness, you blame-you
angrily break from me, and call me unkind.
John. I am glad that master Charles has Eger. Dear Sidney-for my warmth I stand
got the estate, however; for he is a sweet condemned, but for my marriage with Con-
tempered gentleman.
stantia, I think I can justify it upon every
Bet. As ever lived-But come, John, as I principle of filial duty, honour, and worldly
know you love miss Constantia, and are fond prudence.
of being where she is, I will make you happy
-You shall carry her letter to her.
name.
John. Shall 1, Mrs. Betty? I am very much
obliged to you. Where is she?
Sid. Only make that appear, Charles, and
you know you may command me.
Eger. I am sensible how unseemly it ap-
pears in a son, to descant on the unamiable
Bet. In the housekeeper's room, settling the passions of a parent; but as we are alone, and
dessert. Give me Mr. Egerton's letter, and I friends, I cannot help observing, in my own
will leave it on the table in his dressing-room. defence, that when a father will not allow the
--I see it is from his brother Sandy.-So, now use of reason to any of his family;-when
go and deliver your letter to your sweetheart, his pursuit of greatness makes him a slave
John.
abroad only to be a tyrant at home-and
John. That I will; and I am much beholden when, merely to gratify his own ambition, he
to you for the favour of letting me carry it would marry his son into a family he detests
to her; for though she should never have me, sure, Sidney, a son thus circumstanced
yet I shall always love her, and wish to be (from the dignity of human nature, and the
near her, she is so sweet a creature-Your feelings of a loving heart) has a right-not
servant, Mrs. Betty.
[Exit.
Bet. Your servant, John, ha! ha! ha! poor parent, but to pursue those measures that
Bet. Your servant, John, ha! ha! haait. only to protest against the blindness of the
fellow! He perfectly dotes on her; and daily virtue and happiness point out.
follows her about, with nosegays and fruit- Sid. The violent temper of sir Pertinax, I
and the first of every thing in the season-own, cannot on many occasions be defended;
Ay, and my young master, Charles, too, is but still your intended alliance with lord Lum-
in as bad a way as the gardener-in short bercourt-
every body loves her, and that is one reason Eger. Oh! contemptible! a trifling, quaint,
why I hate her-for my part I wonder what debauched, voluptuous, servile fool; the mere
the deuce the men see in her—A creature that lackey of party and corruption; who for a
was taken in for charity!-I am sure she is mean, slavish, factious prostitution of near
not so handsome. I wish she was out of the thirty years, and the ruin of a noble fortune,
family once; if she was, I might then stand a has had the despicable satisfaction, and the
chance of being my lady's favourite myself. infamous honour, of being kicked
up and
Ay, and perhaps of getting one of my young kicked down-kicked in and kicked out-just
masters for a sweetheart, or at least the chap-as the insolence, compassion, or the conveni-
lain-but as to him, there would be no such ency of leaders predominated; and now-be-
great catch if I should get him. I will try for ing forsaken by all parties, his whole poli-
him, however: and my first step shall be to tical consequence amounts to the power of
let the doctor know all I have discovered franking a letter, and the right honourable
about Constantia's intrigues with her spark at privilege of not paying a tradesman's bill.
Hadley--Yes, that will do; for the doctor loves
to talk with me, and always smiles and jokes to wed my lord, but his daughter.
with me, and he loves to hear me talk-And Eger. Who is as disagreeable for a com-
I verily believe, he! he he! that he has a panion, as her father is for a friend or an ally.
sneaking kindness for me, and this story I Sid. [Laughing] What, her Scotch accent,
know will make him have a good opinion of I suppose, offends you?
Sid. Well, but dear Charles, you are not
my honesty-And that, I am sure, will be one Eger. No;-upon my honour-not in the
step towards-Oh! bless me-here he comes least. I think it entertaining in her-but were
-and my young master with him-I'll watch it otherwise-in decency-and indeed in na-
an opportunity to speak to him, as soon as tional affection (being a Scotchman myself) I
he is alone, for I will blow her up, I am re- can have no objection to her on that account
solved, as great a favourite, and as cunning-besides she is my near relation.
as she is.
[Exit.
Enter EGERTON and SIDNEY.
Eger. I have done, sir.-You have refused.
I have nothing more to say upon the subject
-I am satisfied.
Sid. So I understand. But pray, Charles,
how came lady Rodolpha, who I find was
born in England, to be bred in Scotland.
Eger. From the dotage of an old, formal,
obstinate, stiff, rich, Scotch grandmother; who
upon a promise of leaving this grandchild all
Sid. Come, come, correct this warmth, it is her fortune, would have the girl sent to her
the only weak ingredient in your nature, and to Scotland, when she was but a year old;

SCENE 1.]
557
MAN OF THE WORLD.
and there has she been bred up ever since, well-spoken woman, Mrs. Belty: and I am
with this old lady, in all the vanity, splendeur, mightily beholden to you for your good cha-
and unlimited indulgence, that fondness and racter of me.
admiration could bestow on a spoiled child,
a fancied beauty, and a pretended wit. And is
this a woman fit to make my happiness? this
the partner Sidney would recommend me for
life? to you, who best know me, I appeal.
Sid. Why, Charles, it is a delicate point,
unfit for me to determine-besides, your father
has set his heart upon the match-
Eger. All that I know-But still I ask and
insist upon your candid judgment-Is she the
kind of woman that you think could possibly
contribute to my happiness? I beg you will
give me an explicit answer.
Bet. Indeed, sir, it is no more than you
deserve, and what all the servants say of you.
Sid. I am much obliged to them, Mrs. Betty.
But pray what are your commands with me?
Bet. Why I will tell your reverence-to be
sure I am but a servant, as a body may say;
and every tub should stand upon its own bot-
tom-but-
[She takes hold of him familiarly, look-
ing first about very cautiously, and
speaks in a low familiar Tone of
great Secrecy.
My young master is now in the china-room;
Sid. The subject is disagreeable-but since-in close conference with miss Constantia.
I must speak, I do not think she is.
I know what they are about-but that is no
Eger. I know you do not; and I am sure business of mine-and therefore I made bold
you never will advise the math.
Sid. I never did-I never will.
Eger. You make me happy-which I assure
you I never could be, with your judgment
against me in this point.
Eger. That I cannot say positively; but I
suppose so.
to listen a little, because you know, sir, one-
would be sure-before one took away any
body's reputation.
Sid. Very true, Mrs. Betty-very true, in-
deed.
Sid. But pray, Charles, suppose I had been Bet. Oh! heavens forbid that I should take
so indiscreet as to have agreed to marry you away any young woman's good name, unless
to Constantia, would she have consented, think I had a reason for it-but, sir-if I am in this-
you?
place alive-as I listened with my ear close-
to the door, I heard my young master ask
miss Constantia the plain marriage question-
Upon which I started-1 trembled-nay, my very
conscience stirred within me so that I could
Eger. In general terms only: never directly not help peeping through the keyhole.
requested her consent in form. But I will this Sid. Ha! ha! ha! and so your conscience
very moment-for I have no asylum from my made you peep through the keyhole, Mrs.
father's arbitrary design, but my Constantia's Betty!
Sid. Did you never speak to her then upon
that subject?
arms.-Pray do not stir from hence. I will Bet. It did indeed, your reverence. And
return instantly. I know she will submit to there I saw my young master upon his knees
your advice, and I am sure you will persuade -Lord bless us! kissing her hand, as if he
her to my wish; as my life, my peace, my would eat it! and protesting and assuring her
earthly happiness, depend on my Constantia. he knew that your worship would consent to
[Exit. the match. And then the tears ran down her
Sid. Ay!
Bet. They did indeed, sir;-I would not
tell your reverence a lie for the world.
Sid. Poor Charles! he little dreams that I cheeks as fast-
love Constantia too; but to what degree I
knew not myself, till he importuned me to
join their hands - Yes, I love, but must not be
a rival; for he is dear to me as fraternal
fondness-My benefactor, my friend!
Enter BETTY, running up to him.
Bet. I beg your worship's pardon for
intrusion; I hope I do not disturb your
verence.
Sid. I believe it, Mrs. Betty. And what did
Constantia say to all this?
Bet. Oh! oh! she is sly enough-She looks
as if butter would not melt in her mouth-
my but all is not gold that glisters-smooth water,
re- you know, runs deepest. I am sorry, very
sorry indeed-my young master makes himself
Sid. Not in the least, Mrs. Betty.
such a fool-but-um!-ha!-take my word
Bet. I humbly beg pardon, sir;-but I-I-for it, he is not the man-for though she looks
I wanted to break my mind to your honour as modest as a maid at a christening-yet-a
about a-a-a scruple-that-that lies upon when sweet-hearts meet-in the dusk of the
my conscience-and indeed I should not have evening-and stay together a whole hour-in
presumed to trouble you-but that I know the dark grove-and-a-aha! embrace-and
you are my young master's friend; and my kiss-and-weep at parting-why then-then
old master's friend, and my lady's friend, and you know-ah! it is easy to guess all the rest.
indeed a friend to the whole family-for to Sid. Why, did Constantia meet any body
give you your due, sir, you are as good a in this manner?
preacher as ever went into a pulpit.
Bet. Oh! heavens! I beg your worship will
Sid. Ha! ha! ha! do you think so, Mrs. not misapprehend me! for I assure you, I do
Betty?
not believe they did any harm-that is-not
Bet. Ay, in truth do I-and as good a gen- in the grove-at least not when I was there
tleman too as ever came into a family, and -and she may be honestly married, for aught
one that never gives a servant a hard word; I know-She may be very honest, for aught
nor that does any one an ill turn-neither I know-heaven forbid I should say any harm
behind one's back, nor before one's face. of her-I only say-that they did meet in
Sid. Ha! ha! ha! Why you are a mighty the dark walk-and perhaps nine months

558
[ACT II.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
hence-ay, remember, sir-I said that-a of breakfasting with me this morning in my
-certain person in this family-nine months little study.
hence may ask me to stand godmother-only
remember-for I think I know what's what-
when I see it, as well as another.
Eger. We had that happiness, madam.
Con. Just after you left me, upon my open-
ing my book of accounts, which lay in the
Sid. No doubt you do, Mrs. Betty.
drawer of the reading desk, to my great sur-
Bet. I do indeed, sir; and so your servant, prise-I there found this case of jewels, con-
sir; [Going, returns] but I hope your wor-taining a most elegant pair of ear-rings, a
ship will not mention my name in this busi- necklace of great value, and two bank-bills in
ness; or that you had any item from me this pocket-hook; the mystery of which, sir, I
about it.
presume you can explain.
Eger. I can.
Sid. I shall not, Mrs. Betty.
Con. They were of your conveying, then?
Eger. They were, madam.
Bet. For indeed, sir, I am no busybody,
nor do I love fending 1) or proving- and I
assure you, sir, I hate all tittling and tattling
-and gossiping, and backbiting-and taking me.
away a person's character.
Sid. I observe you do, Mrs. Betty.
Con. I assure you they startled and alarmed
Eger. I hope it was a kind alarm, such as
blushing virtue feels, when with her hand she
Bet. I do, indeed, sir;-I am the furthest gives her heart-and last consent.
from it of any person in the world.
Sid. I dare say you are.
Con. It was not, indeed, sir.
Eger. Do not say so, Constantia-come, be
Bet. I am, indeed, sir; and so, sir, your kind at once; my peace and worldly bliss
humble servant.
Sid. Your servant, Mrs. Betty.
Bet. So! I see he believes every word I
say, that's charming-I will do her business
for her I am resolved.
depend upon this moment.
Con. What would you have me do?
Eger. What love and virtue dictate.
Con. Oh! sir-experience but too severely.
[Aside. Exit. proves that such unequal matches as ours ne-
Sid. What can this ridiculous creature ver produced aught but contempt and anger
mean-by her dark walk?--I see envy is as in parents, censure from the world-and a
malignant in a paltry waiting wench, as in long train of sorrow and repentance in the
the vainest, or the most ambitious lady of the wretched parties, which is but too often en-
court. It is always an infallible mark of the tailed upon their hapless issue.
basest nature; and merit in the lowest, as in Eger. But that, Constantia, cannot be our
the highest station, must feel the shafts of en-condition; for my fortune is independent and
vy's constant agents-falsehood and slander. ample, equal to luxury and splendid folly; I
have the right to choose the partner of my
Enter SAM.
heart.
Con. But I have not, sir-I am a dependant
Sam. Sir, Mr. Egerton and miss Constantia on my lady-a poor, forsaken, helpless orphan.
desire to speak with you in the china-room. Your benevolent mother found me, took me
Sid. Very well, Sam. [Exit Sam] I will to her bosom, and there supplied my parental
not see them-what's to be done?-inform his loss with every tender care, indulgent dalliance,
father of his intended marriage!-no;-that and with all the sweet persuasion that mater-
must not be-for the overbearing temper, and nal fondness, religious precept, polished man-
ambitious policy of sir Pertinax, would exceed ners, and hourly example could administer.
all bounds of moderation. But this young man She fostered me; [Weeps] and shall I now
must not marry Constantia-I know it will turn viper, and with black ingratitude sting
offend him-no matter. It is our duty to offend the tender heart that thus has cherished me?
when the offence saves the man we love from Shall I seduce her house's heir, and kill her
a precipitate action. - Yes, I must discharge peace? No-though I loved to the mad ex-
the duty of my function and a friend, though treme of female fondness; though every worldly
I am sure to lose the man whom I intend to bliss that woman's vanity, or man's ambition
[Exit could desire, followed the indulgence of my
love, and all the contempt and misery of this
life the denial of that indulgence, I would dis-
charge my duty to my benefactress, my earthly
guardian, my more than parent.
serve.
ACT II.
SCENE L-A Library.
Enter EGERTON and CONSTANTIA.
Con. Mr. Sidney is not here, sir.
Eger. I assure you I left him here, and
begged that he would stay till I returned.
I
Con. His prudence, you see, sir, has made
Eger. My dear Constantia! Your prudence,
your gratitude, and the cruel virtue of your
self-denial, do but increase my love, my ad-
miration, and my misery.
Con. Sir, I must beg you will give me leave
him retire; therefore we had better defer the to return these bills and jewels.
subject till he is present-In the mean time,
Eger. Pray do not mention them; sure my
sir, I hope you will permit me to mention an kindness and esteem may be indulged so far,
affair that has greatly alarmed and perplexed without suspicion or reproach-I beg you will
me. I suppose you guess what it is?
accept of them; nay, I insist-
Eger. I do not, upon my word!
Con. I have done, sir-my station here is
Con. That's a little strange-You know, sir, to obey-I know they are the gifts of a vir-
that
you and Mr. Sidney did me the honour tuous mind, and mine shall convert them to
the tenderest and most grateful use.
Eger. Hark! I hear a carriage-it is my
1) Defending.

SCENE 1.]
559
MAN OF THE WORLD.
father! dear girl, compose yourself-I will that-that my presence there was necessary.
consult Sidney and my lady; by their judg- Sir P. Sir, it was necessary-I tauld ye it
ment we will be directed;-will that satisfy was necessary-and, sir-I must now tell ye,
you?
that the whole tenor of your conduct is most
offensive.
Con. I can have no will but my lady's;
with your leave, I will retire-I would not
see her in this confusion.
Eger. Dear girl, adieu! [Exit Constantia.
Enter SAM.
Eger. I am sorry you think so, sir. I am
sure I do not intend to offend you.
Sir P. [In anger] I care not what ye in-
tend-sir, I tell ye, ye do offend - What is
the meaning of this conduct?-neglect the le-
Sam. Sir Pertinax and my lady are come, vee!-'Sdeeth! sir, your-what is your reason,
sir; and my lady desires to speak with you I say, for thus neglecting the levee, and dis-
in her own room-Oh! she is here, sir. obeying my commands?
[Exit Sam.
Enter LADY MACSYCOPHANT.
Lady M. Dear child, I am glad to see you:
why did you not come to town yesterday, to
attend the levee-your father is incensed to
the uttermost at your not being there.
Eger. Sir, I own-I am not used to levees;
-nor do I know how to dispose of myself-
nor what to say or do, in such a situation.
Sir P. Zounds, sir! do you not see what
others do? gentle and simple; temporal and
spiritual; lords, members, judges, generals,
and bishops? aw crowding, bustling, pushing
Eger. Madam, it is with extreme regret I foremost intill the middle of the circle, and
tell you, that I can no longer be a slave to there waiting, watching, and striving to catch
his temper, his politics, and his scheme of a luock or a smile fra the great mon; which
marrying me to this woman. Therefore you they meet with an amicable risibility of aspect
had better consent at once to my going out a modest cadence of body-and a conciliat-
of the kingdom, and to my taking Constantia ing co-operation of the whole mon;-which-
with me; for, without her, I never can be expresses an officious promptitude for his ser-
happy.
vice, and indicates-that they luock upon them-
Lady M. As you regard my peace, or your selves as the suppliant appendages of his pow-
own character, I beg you will not be guilty er, and the enlisted Swiss of his poleetical ¹)
of so rash a step-you promised me, you fortune-this, sir, is what ye aught to do-
would never marry her without my consent. and this, sir, is what I never once omitted for
I will open it to your father: pray, dear Char- these five-and-tharty years-let wha would be
les, be ruled-let me prevail.
Eger. Madam, I cannot marry this lady!
Lady M. Well, well; but do not determine.
First patiently hear what your father and lord
Lumbercourt have to propose, and let me try
to manage this business for you with your
father-pray do, Charles.
Eger. Madam, I submit.
meenister.
Eger. [Aside] Contemptible!
Sir P. What is that ye mutter, sir?
Eger. Only a slight reflection, sir; and not
relative to you.
Sir P. Sir, your absenting yourself fra the
levee at this juncture is suspeecious-it is
luocked upon as a kind of disaffection; and
Lady M. And while he is in this ill hu- aw your countrymen are highly offended with
mour I beg you will not oppose him, let yeer conduct: for, sir, they do not luock upon
him say what he will; when his passion is a ye as a friend or a weel wisher either to
little cool, I will try to bring him to reason Scotland or Scotchmen.
-but pray do not thwart him.
Eger. Then, sir, they wrong me, I assure
Sir P. [Without] Haud your gab, 1) ye you; but pray, sir, in what particular can I
scoundrel, and do as you are bid. Zounds! be charged either with coldness or offence to
ye are so full of your gab. Take the chesnut my country?
gelding, return to town, and inquire what is Sir P. Why, sir, ever since your mother's
become of my lord.
Lady M. Oh! here he comes, I'll get out
of the way.
[Exit.
Sir P. Without] Here you, Tomlins.
Tom. Without Sir!
Sir P.Without] Where is my son, Egerton.
Tom. Without] In the library, sir Pertinax.
Sir P. [Without] Vary weel, the instant
the lawyers come, let me ken it.
uncle, sir Stanley Egerton, left ye this three
thousand pounds a year, and that ye have, in
compliance with his will, taken up the name
of Egerton, they think ye are grown proud-
that ye have estranged yoursal fra the Macsyc-
ophants - have associated with yeer mother's
family-with the opposeetion-and with those,
again I must tell you, wha do not wish weel
till Scotland-besides, sir, in a conversation
the other day, after dinner, at yeer cousin
Campbell Mackenzies, before a whole table
Sir P. Vary weel-Vary weel-ah, ye are full of yeer ain relations, did ye not publicly
a fine fellow-what have ye to say for your-wish-a total extinguishment of aw party-
sal-are not ye a fine spark? are not ye a and of aw national distinctions whatever, re-
fine spark, I say?-ah! you're a-so ye would lative to the three kingdoms. And, ye block-
not come up till 2) the levee?
head-was that a prudent wish-before sae
Eger. Sir, I beg your pardon-but-I-I- many of yeer ain countrymen, and be d-n'd
I was not very well;-besides-I did not think to ye? Or, was it a filial language to hold
before me?
Enter SIR PERTINAX.
1) Sir Pertinax's Scotch is not so very incomprehensible
as to make it necessary to explain the whole; we shall
therefore content ourselves with a word here and there.
2) To.
Eger. Sir, with your pardon-I cannot think
1) Political; the scotch generally lengthen this sound of
the i under the accent.

560
[ACT II.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
it unfilial, or imprudent; I own I do wish- Sir P. Why, mon, he cares not if his fa-
most ardently wish, for a total extinction of mily were aw at the deel, so his luxury be
all parties-particularly that of English, Irish, but gratified-only let him have his race-horse,
and Scotch might never more be brought into till feed his vanity; his polite blacklegs, to
contest, or competition; unless, like loving advise him in his matches on the turf, cards,
brothers, in generous emulation for one com- and tennis; his harridan, till drink drams wee
him, scrat his face, and burn his periwig,
mon cause.
Sir P. How, sir; do ye persist? what, when she is in her maudlin hysterics--the fel-
would ye banish aw party and aw distinc-low has aw that he wants, and aw that he
tion betwaxt English, Irish, and your ain coun- wishes, in this world-
trymen?
Eger. I would, sir.
Sir P. Then d-me, sir-ye are nae true
Scot. Ay, sir, ye may luock as angry as ye
wull; but again I say-ye are nae true Scot.
Eger. Your pardon, sir, I think he is the the
true Scot, and the true citizen, who wishes
equal justice to the merit and demerit of every
subject of Great Britain.-Amongst whom, sir,
I know but of two distinctions.
Enter TOMLINS.
Tom. Lady Rodolpha is come, sir.
Sir P. And my lord?
Tom. No, sir, he is about a mile behind,
servant says.
Sir P. Let me know the instant he arrives.
Tom. I shall, sir.
[Exit.
Sir P. Step ye oot, Charles, and receive lady
Rodolpha. And I desire, sir, ye wool treat
Sir P. Weel, sir, and what are those? what her with ass 1) much respect and gallantry
are those?
[Impatiently. ass possible-for my lord has hinted that ye
Eger. The knave and-the honest man. have been very remiss ass a lover. Adzoods,
Sir P. Pshaw! redeeculous!
Charles! ye should admeenister a whole tor-
Eger. And he who makes any other-let rant o'flattery till her; for a woman ne'er
him be of the north or of the south, of the thinks a man loves her, till he has made an
east or of the west, in place or out of place ideot of her understanding by flattery; flat-
-is an enemy to the whole, and to the vir-tery is the prime bliss o'the sex, the nectar
tues of humanity.
and ambrosia o'their charms; and ye can
Enter TOMLINS and LORD LUMBERCOURT.
Tom. Lord Lumbercourt.
Sir P. Ay, sir! this is your brother's im- ne'er gi them o'er muckle of it: sae, there's a
pudent doctrine-for the which I have banished guid lad, gang and mind yeer flattery. [Exit
him for ever fra my presence, my heart, and Egerton] Hah! I must keep a tight hand upon
my fortune-sir, I will have nae son of mine, this fallow, I see. I'm frighten'd oot o'my
because truly he has been educate in an Eng-wits lest his mother's family should seduce
lish univarsity, presume to speak against his him to their party, which would ruin my
native land-or against my principles. Sir, whole scheme, and break my heart. A fine
Scotsmen-Scotsmen, sir-wherever they meet time o'day indeed for a blockhead to turn
throughout the globe-should unite and stick patriot-when the character is exploded, mark-
together, as it were, in a poleetical phalanx. ed, proscribed; why, the common people,
However-nae mair of that now, I will talk at the very vulgar, have found out the jest, and
large till ye about that business anon; in the laugh at a patriot now-a-days, just as they
mean time, sir, notwithstanding your contempt do at a conjurer, a magician, or any other im-
of my advice, and your disobedience till my postor in society.
commands, I wool convince ye of my pater-
nal attention till your welfare, by my mana-
gement with this voluptuary-this lord Lum-
bercourt, whose daughter ye are to marry:-
ye ken, sir, that the fellow has been my pa-
tron above these five-and-tharty years.
Eger. True, sir.
Lord L. You stole a march upon me this
Sir P. Vary weel-and now, sir, you see morning!-gave me the slip, Mac; though I
by his prodigality he is become my depen-never wanted your assistance more in my life.
dant; and accordingly I have made my bar- I thought you would have called upon me.
gain with him-the deel a bawbee he has Sir P. My dear lord, I beg ten millions of
in the world but what comes through these pardons, for leaving town before you-but ye
clutches; for his whole estate, which has three ken that your lordship at dinner yesterday
impleecit boroughs upon it-mark-is now in settled that we should meet this morning at
my custody at nurse; the which estate, on the levee?
my paying off his debts, and allowing him a
life-rent of seven thousand per annum, is to
be made over till me for my life; and at my Sir P. You did, indeed-and accordingly I
death is to descend till ye and your issue-was at the levee: and waited there till every
the peerage of Lumbercourt, you ken, will mortal was gone, and seeing you did na come,
follow of course-so, sir, you see there are I concluded that your lordship was gone
three impleecit boroughs, the whole patrimony before.
[Exit.
Lord L. Sir Pertinax, I kiss your hand.
Sir P. Your lordship's most devoted-I re-
joice to see you.
Lord L. That I acknowledge, Mac-I did
promise to be there, I own-but-
of Lumbercourt, and a peerage, at one slap- Lord L. To confess the truth, my dear Mac,
why it is a stroke-a hit-a hit-a capital hit, that old sinner, lord Freakish, general Jolley,
mon.-Zounds! sir, a man may live a century, sir Anthony Soaker, and two or three more
and not make sic another hit again!
of that set-laid hold of me last night at the
Eger. It is a very advantageous bargain, no
doubt, sir; but what will my lord's family say
to it?
1) The double s, in ass, is put to show that the scotch
give the sharp instead of the soft sound to this con-
sonant in these words,

SCENE 1.]
561
MAN OF THE WORLD.
-ha! ha! ha! and-
opera; and, as the general says, I believe, by servants all about me-a fellow, called a tip-
the intelligence of my head this morning- staff¹), stepped up, and begged the favour of
ha! ha! ha! we drank deep ere we departed my footman, who thrashed the upholsterer,
and the two that held him, to go along with
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! nay, if you were with him upon a little business to my lord chief
that party, my lord, I don't wonder at not justice.
seeing your lordship at the levee!
Lord L. The truth is, sir Pertinax, my fel-
low let me sleep too long for the levee. But
I wish I had seen you before you left town
-I wanted you dreadfully.
Sir P. I am heartily sorry that I was not
in the way; but on what account, my lord,
did you want me?
Sir P. The devil!
Lord L. And at the same instant I, in my
turn, was accosted by two other very civil
scoundrel's, who, with a most insolent polite-
ness, begged my pardon, and informed me,
that I must not go into my own chaise!
Sir P. How, my lord! not intil your ain
carriage!
Lord L. Ha! ha! ha! a cursed awkward Lord L. No, sir-for that they, by order of
affair-and-ha! ha! yet I cannot help laugh- the sheriff, must seize it, at the suit of a
ing at it neither; though it vexed me con- gentleman-one Mr. Mahogany, an upholsterer.
foundedly.
Sir P. An impudent villain!
Sir P. Vexed you, my lord-I wish I had Lord L. It is all true, I assure you; so you
been wi ye then: but for heaven's sake, my see, my dear Mac, what a d-ned country
lord, what was it that could possibly vex your this is to live in, where noblemen are obliged
lordship?
to pay their debts, just like merchants, coblers,
peasants, or mechanics-Is not that a scandal,
dear Mac, to a nation?
Lord L. Why, that impudent, teasing, dun-
ning rascal, Mahogany, my upholsterer-you
know the fellow?
Sir P. Perfectly, my lord.
Sir P. My lord, it is not only a scandal,
but a national grievance.
Lord L. Sir, there is not another nation in
Lord L. The impudent scoundrel has sued
me up to some infernal kind of a-something the world that has such a grievance to com-
or other, in the law, which I think they call
an execution!
Sir P. The rascal!
plain of. But what concerns me most, I am
afraid, my dear Mac, that the villain will send
down to Newmarket, and seize my string of
horses.
Lord L. Upon which, sir, the fellow-ba!
ha! ha! I cannot help laughing at it-by wat Sir P. Your string of horses! We must
of asking pardon, ha! ha! ha! had the mo- prevent that, at all events:-that would be
desty to wait on me two or three days ago such a disgrace, I will dispatch an express to
-to inform my honour, ha! ha! as he was town directly, to put a stop till the scoun-
pleased to dignify me-that the execution was drel's proceeding.
now ready to be put in force against my ho-
nour, ha! ha! ha!-but that, out of respect
to my honour, as he had taken a great deal
of my honour's money, he would not suffer
his lawyer to serve it-till he had first inform- Sir P. Oh, my lord; 'tis my duty to oblige
ed my honour-because he was not willing your lordship to the very utmost stretch of
to affront my honour! ha! ha! ha!-a son my abeelity.
of a whore!
Lord L. Pr'ythee do, my dear sir Pertinax.
Sir P. Oh! it shall be done, my lord.
Lord L. Thou art an honest fellow, sir
Pertinax, upon honour.
Enter TOMLINS.
Sir P. I never heard of so impudent a dog.
Lord L. Now, my dear Mac! ha! ha! as Tom. Colonel Toper presents his compli-
the scoundrel's apology was so very satisfac-ments to you, sir, and having no family down
tory, and his information so very agreeable with him in the country - he and captain
to my honour-I told him, that in honour I Hardbottle, if not inconvenient, will do them-
could not do less than to order his honour selves the honour of taking a family dinner
to be paid immediately.
with you.
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha!-vary weel-ye were
as complaisant ass the scoundrel till the full,
I think, my lord.
Sir P. They are two of our militia officers:
does your lordship know them?
Lord L. By sight only.
Sir P. I am afraid, my lord, they will in-
terrupt our business.
Lord L. Ha! ha! ha! to the full; but
you
shall hear-you shall hear, Mac-so, sir, with
great composure, seeing a smart oaken cud- Lord L. Ha! ha! not at all-not at all-
gel, that stood very handily in a corner of ha! ha! ha! I should like to be acquainted
my dressing-room-I ordered two of my with Toper, they say he is a fine jolly fellow!
fellows to hold the rascal, and another to take Sir P. Oh! very jolly, and very clever. He
the cudgel, and return the scoundrel's civility and the captain, my lord, are reckoned two
with a good drubbing, as long as the stick of the hardest drinkers in the country.
Lord L. Ha! ha! ha! so I have heard-let
lasted!
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! admirable! as gude a us have them by all means, Mac; they will
stroke of humour as ever I heard of-and enliven the scene-how far are they from you?
did they drub him soundly, my lord?
Sir P. Just across the meadows-not halfa
mile, my lord-a step-a step.
Lord L. Oh! most liberally, ha! ha! ha!
most liberally; and there I thought the affair
would have rested, till I should think proper
to pay the scoundrel-but this morning, sir,
just as I was stepping into my chaise-my
1)
A Constable (tipped staff), from their having the
symbols of authority placed on the top of their staves;
which being shown to any man, in the king's name,
he dares not refuse to follow the constable.
71

562
[ACT II.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
all means!
Lord L. Oh, let us have the jolly dogs, by probation of so sound an understanding-so
sublime a genius-and so polished, nay, so
Sir P. My compliments, I shall be proud exquisite a taste, as that of the all-accomplished
of their company. [Exit Tomlins] Guif¹) Mr. Egerton.
ye please, my lord, we wull gang and chat a Sir P. But, lady Rodolpha, I wish till ask
bit wee2) the women. I have not seen lady your ladyship some questions abbot the com-
Rodolpha since she returned fra the Bath; I pany at Bath; they say ye had aw the world
long to have a little news from her aboot there.
the company there.
Lady R. O, yes;-there was a vary great
Lord L. O! she'll give you an account of mob indeed; but vary little company: aw ca-
them, I'll warrant you. [A very loud laugh naille-except our ain party; the place was
without] Here the hairbrain comes! it must quite crooded wi your little purseprood me-
be her by the noise.
chanics-an odd kind of queer luocking ani-
tickets, 'rich prizes at sea, gambling in Change-
alley, and sic like caprices of fortune, and
Lady R. [Without] Allons! gude folks-mals, that ha started intil fortunes fra lottery
follow me sans ceremonie!
Enter LADY RODOLPHA, LADY MACSYCO-awaw they aw crood till the Bath, to larn
PHANT, EGERTON, and SIDNEY.
genteelity, and the names, titles, intrigues, and
Lady R. [Running up to Sir Pertinax] bon mots of us people of fashion-ha! ha! ha!
Sir Pertinax,-your most devoted-most ob- Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
sequious, and most obedient vassal.
Lord L. Ha! ha! ha! I know them -- I
[Courtesies very low. know the things you mean, my dear, extreme-
Sir P. Lady Rodolpha-down till the ground ly well. I have observed them a thousand
my congratulations, duty, and affection, sin- times; and wondered where the devil they
cerely attend your ladyship.
all came from! ha! ha! ha!
Lady M. Pray, lady Rodolpha, what were
your diversions at Bath?
[Bowing ridiculously low.
Lady R. O! Sir Pertinax-your humeelity is
most sublimely complaisant-at present un- Lady R. Gude faith, my lady, the company
answerable-but, sir, I shall intensely study were my diversion- and better nai human
to return it [Courtesies very low] fafty fold. follies ever afforded-ha! ha! ha! sic an a
Sir P. Weel, madam, ha! you luock gaily maxture-and sic oddities, ha! ha! ha! a per-
-weel and how-how is your ladyship after fect gallimowfry! ha! ha! ha! lady Kunigunda
your jaunt till the Bath?
Mackensie and I used to gang aboot till every
part of this human chaos, ha! ha! on pur-
pose till reconnoitre the monsters, and pick
their frivolities, ha! ha! ha! ha!
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Lady R. Never better, sir Pertinax-as well
as youth, health, riotous spirits, and a careless,
happy heart can make me.
Sir P. I am mighty glad till hear it, my
lady.
up
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! why, that must have
Lord L. Ay, ay,-Rodolpha is always in been a high entertainment till your ladyship!
spirits; sir Pertinax, Vive la bagatelle, is the Lady R. Superlative, and inexhaustible, sir
philosophy of our family, ha!-Rodolpha,-ha! Pertinax! ha! ha! ha! Madam, we had in
Lord R. Traith is it, my lord: and upon yane group a peer and a sharper-a duchess
honour, I am determined it never shall be and a pin-maker's wife- a boarding-school
changed by my consent-weel I vow-ha! miss and her grandmother-a fat parson, a
ha! ha! ha! ha! Vive la bagatelle would be lean general, and a yellow admiral-ha! ha!
a most brilliant motto for the chariot of a all speaking together, and bawling, and frett-
belle of fashion-what say ye till my fancy, ing, and fuming, and wrangling, and retorting
lady Macsycophant?
in fierce contention, as if the fame, and the
fortune, of aw the parties, were till be the
issue of the conflict.
Lady M. It would have novelty at least to
recommend it, madam.
an
Lady R. Which of aw charms is the most
delightful that can accompany wit, taste, love,
or friendship-for novelty, I take to be the
true je ne sçai quoi, of all worldly bliss.
Cousin Egerton, should not you like to have
a wife with Vive la bagatelle upon her wed-
ding chariot?
Eger. Oh! certainly, madam.
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! Pray, madam, what
was the object of their furious contantion?
Lady R. Oh; a vary important one, I as-
sure you, sir Pertinax; of no less consequence,
madam, than how an odd trick at whist was
lost, or might have been saved!
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Lady R. In another party, sir Pertinax, we
Lady R. Yes-I think it would be quite had what was called the cabinet council;
out of the common, and singularly ailegant. which was composed of a duke, and a haber-
Eger. Indisputably, madam-for, as a motto dasher-a red hot patriot and a sneering court-
is a word to the wise; or rather a broad ier-a discarded statesman and his scribbling
hint to the whole world, of a person's taste chaplain-wi a busy, bawling, muckle-heeded
and principles, Vive la bagatelle-would be prerogative lawyer-All of whom were every
most expressive, at first sight, of your lady-minute ready to gang together by the lugs 1),
ship's characteristic!
aboot the in and the oot meenistry, ha! ha! ha!
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Lady R. Oh! maister Egerton! You touch
my very heart wi your approbation-ha! ha! Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! weel, that was a droll,
ha! that is the vary spirit of my intention, motley cabinet, I vow. Vary whimsical, upon
the instant I commence bride. Well, I am honour; but they are aw greet politeecians at
immensely proud that my fancy has the ap- Bath, and settle a meenistry there with ass
1) If. 2) With.
1) Ears.

SCENE 1.]
563
MAN OF THE WORLD.
much ease ass they do a tune for a country Sir P. Hah! by this time to-morrow, mai-
dance!
ster Sidney, I hope wee shall ha every thing
Lady R. Then, sir Pertinax, in a retired ready for ye to put the last helping hand till
part of the room-snug-in a by-corner-in the earthly happiness o'your friend and pupil;
close conference, we had a Jew and a beeshop. and then, sir, my cares wull be over for this
Sir P. A Jew and a beeshop! ha! ha! a life; for as till my other son I expect nai gude
devilish gude connexion that; and pray, my of him: nor should I grieve were I to see
lady, what were they aboot?
him in his coffin. But this match-Oh! it wull
[Exeunt.
Lady R. Why, sir, the beeshop was striving make me the happiest of aw human beings.
to convert the Jew; while the Jew, by inter-
vals, was slily picking up intelligence fra the
beeshop, aboot the change in the meenistry,
in hopes of making a stroke in the stocks.
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! admirable, admirable,
I honour the smouse-hah!-it was deevilish
clever of him, my lord, deevilish clever, the
Jew distilling the beeshop's brains.
Lord L. Yes, yes, the fellow kept a sharp
look out; I think it was a fair trial of skill
on both sides, Mr. Egerton.
Eger. True, my lord; but the Jew seems
to have been in the fairer way to succeed.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-A Library.
Enter SIR PERTINAX and EGERTON.
Sir P. Sir, I wull not hear a word aboot
it;-I insist upon it ye are wrong-ye should
hai paid your court till my lord, and not ha
scrupled swallowing a bumper or twa-or >
twanty till oblige him!
Eger. Sir, I did drink his toast in a bumper.
Sir P. Yas, ye did; but how?-how?-just
Lord L. Oh! all to nothing, sir; ha! ha! ass a cross brain takes pheesic, wi wry mouths,
ha! well, child, I like your Jew and your and sour faces, whach my lord observed; then,
bishop much--it is monstrous clever, let us to mend the matter, the moment that he and
have the rest of the history, pray, my dear. the colonel got intill a drunken dispute aboot
Lady R. Gude traith, my lord, the sum to-releegion, ye slily slunged awa.
tal is, that there we aw danced, and wrang-
led, and flattered, and slandered, and gambled,
and cheated, and mingled, and jumbled-
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Eger. I thought, sir, it was time to go,
when my lord insisted upon half-pint bumpers.
Sir P. Sir, that was not levelled at you-
but at the colonel, the captain, and the com-
Lord L. Well, you are a droll girl, Ro-missioner, in order till try their bottoms; but
dolpha, and upon honour, ha! ha! ha!-you they aw agreed that ye and I should drink
have given us as whimsical a sketch as ever oot o'smaw glasses.
was hit off. What say you, Mr. Sidney.
Sid. Upon my word, my lord, the lady has
made me see the whole assembly at Bath, in
glaring, pleasing, distinct colours!
Eger. But, sir, I beg pardon-I did not
choose to drink any more.
Sir P. But, sir, I tell you there was necess-
ity for your drinking more at this particular
Lady R. O, dear maister Sidney, your ap-juncture.
probation makes me as vain, as a reigning
toast at her looking-glass.
Enter TOMLINS.
Tom. Colonel Toper and captain
bottle are come, sir.
Eger. A necessity! in what respect, sir?
Sir P. Why, sir, I have a certain point to
carry, independent of the lawyers, with my
lord, in this agreement of your marriage,
Hard-aboot whach, I am afraid we shall ha a warm
crooked squabble-and therefore I wanted your
assistance in it.
Sir P. O, vary weel! dinner immediately.
Tom. It is ready, sir. [Exit Tomlins.
Sir P. My lord, we attend your lordship.
Lord L. Lady Mac, your ladyship's hand,
if you please.
[He leads her out.
Sir P. Lady Rodolpha, here is an Arcadian
swain, that has a hand at your ladyship's de-
votion!
Eger. But how, sir, could my drinking con-
tribute to assist you in your squabble?
Sir P. Yas, sir, it would ha contributed-
it might have prevented the squabble.
Eger. How so, sir?
ye
Sir P. Why, sir, my lord is proud of
for a son-in-law, and of your little French
Lady R. And I, sir Pertinax, ha yean at songs-your stories, and your bon mots, when
his-[Gives her Hand to Egerton] there, ye are in the humour-and guin. ye had but
sir, as to hearts-ye ken, cousin, they are staid, and been a lettle jolly, and drank half
nae brought into the account o'human dealings a score bumpers wi him, till he got a little
now-a-days.
tipsy, I am sure when we had him i'that tipsy
Eger. Oh! madam, they are mere tempo- mood-we might ha settled the point amongst
rary baubles, especially in courtship; and no ourselves, before the lawyers came-but noow,
more to be depended upon than the weather sir, I dinna ken what will be the consequence.
-or a lottery ticket.
Eger. But when a man is intoxicated, would
Lady R. Ha! ha! ha! twa axcellent seemi- that have been a seasonable time to settle
lies, I vow, Mr. Egerton, axcellent! for they business, sir?
illustrate the vagaries, and inconstancy of my Sir P. The most seasonable, sir, the most
dissipated heart, ass exactly ass if ye had seasonable; for, sir, when my lord is in his
meant till describe it. [Egerton leads her out. cups, his suspeecion and his judgment are baith
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! what a vast fund of asleep, and his heart is aw jollity, fun, and
speerits and good humour she has, maister gude fellowship-you may then mould his
Sidney.
Sid. A great fund, indeed, sir Pertinax.
consent to any thing; and can there be a
happier moment than that for a bargain, or

564
[ACT II.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
to settle a dispute wi a friend? What is it prudently conducted, would be the readiest
you shrug your shoulders at, sir?
gait I could gang for the bettering of my con-
Eger. At my own ignorance, sir: for I un- deetion, and accordingly set aboot it-noow,
derstand neither the philosophy nor the mo- sir, in this pursuit-beauty-beauty, ah! beauty
rality of your doctrine.
often struck mine eyne, and played aboot my
Sir P. I ken ye do not, sir:-and what is heart, and fluttered, and beet, and knocked,
warse, ye never wull understand it, ass ye and knocked, but the deel an entrance I ever
proceed. In yean word, Charles-I ha often let it get-for I observed that beauty is gene-
tauld ye, and noow again I tell ye yeance rally a prood, vain, saucy, expensive sort of
for aw, that every man should be a man o'the a commodity.
warld, and should understand the doctrine of Eger. Very justly observed, sir.
pleeabeelity; for, sir, the manœuvres of pleea- Sir P. And therefore, sir, I left it to pro-
beelity are ass necessary to rise in the warld, digals and coxcombs, that could afford till
ass wrangling and logical subtlety are to rise pay for it, and in its stead, sir,-mark-I
at the bar. Why ye see, sir, I ha acquired luocked oot for an ancient, weeljointured, su-
a noble fortune, a princely fortune, and hoow perannuated dowager:-a consumptive, tooth-
do ye think I ha raised it?
less, phthisicky, wealthy widow-or a shree-
Eger. Doubtless, sir, by your abilities. veled, cadaverous, neglacted piece of deform-
Sir P. Dootless, sir, ye are a blockhead-ity, i'th' shape of an ezard, or an empersi¹)-
nai, sir, I'll tell ye hoow I raised it, sir; Iland - or in short, any thing, any thing, that
raised it by boowing; by hoowing, sir; I na- had the siller, the siller; for that was the
ver in my life could stond straight i'th' pre- north star of my affection-do ye take me,
sence of a great mon; but awways boowed, sir? Was na that right?
instinct.
and boowed, and boowed, as it were by Eger. O doubtless, doubtless, sir.
Sir P. Noow, sir, where do ye think I
Eger. How do you mean, by instinct, sir? ganged to luock for this woman wi th' siller
Sir P. Hoow do I mean, by instinct-why, -na till court-na till play-houses, or assem-
sir, I mean by-by-by the instinct of interest, blies-ha, sir, I ganged till the kirk, till the
sir, whach is the universal instinct of mankind, anabaptists, independent, Bradleonian, Mug-
sir: it is wonderful to think, what a cordial, gletonian meetings 2), till the morning and
what an amicable, nay, what an infallible in- evening service of churches and chapels of
fluence, beowing has upon the pride and va- ease; and till the midnight, melting, concee-
nity of human nature; Chairles, answer me liating love-feasts of the methodists3) — and
sincerely, ha ye a mind till he convinced of there at last, sir, I fell upon an old, rich, sour,
the force of my doctrine, by example and slighted, antiquated, musty maiden; that luocked
demonstration?
-ha! ha! ha! she luocked just like a skeleton,
in a surgeon's glass-case-noow, sir, this
Eger. Certainly, sir.
Sir P. Then, sir, as the greatest favour I meeserable object was releegiously angry wi
can confer upon ye, I wull give ye a short hersel, and aw the world; had nai comfort
sketch of the stages of my boowing; ass an but in a supernatural, releegious, enthusiastic
excitement and a landmark for ye till boow deleerium; ha! ha! ha! sir, she was mad-
by, and ass an infallible nostrum for a mon mad ass a bedlamite.
o'the warld till thrive i'the warld.
Eger. Sir, I shall be proud to profit by
your experience,
Eger. Not improbable, sir; there are num-
bers of poor creatures in the same enthusiastic
condition.
Sir P. Vary weel. [They both sit down] Sir P. Oh! numbers, numbers; now, sir,
And noow, sir, ye must recall till your thoughts, this poor, cracked, crazy creature, used to
that your grand-father was a mon, whose sing, and sigh, and groan, and weep, and
penurious income of half-pay was the sum wail, and gnash her teeth constantly, morning
total of his fortune; and, sir, aw my provee- and evening, at the tabernacle. And ass soon
sion fra him was a modicum of Latin, an ex-ass I found she had the siller, aha! gude
partness of areethmetic, and a short system traith, I plumped me doon upo' my knees
of worldly counsel; the chief ingredients of close by her, cheek-by-jole, and sung, and
which were, a persevering industry, a reegid sighed, and groaned as vehemently ass she
economy, a smooth tongue, a pliabeclety of could do for the life of her; ay, and turned
temper, and a constant attention till make up the whites of my eyne, till the strings aw-
every mon weel pleased wi himself.
most cracked again: I watched her attentively;
Eger. Very prudent advice, sir.
handed her till her chair; waited on her hame;
Sir P. Therefore, sir, I lay it before ye-got most releegiously intimate wi her in a
now, sir, wi these materials, I set oot, a week; married her in a fortnight; buried her
rough raw-boned stripling, fra the north, till in a month; touched the siller; and wi a
try my fortune wi them here i'the south; and deep suit of morning, a sorrowful veesage,
my first step intill the world was a beggarly and a joyful heart, I began the warld again;
clerkship in Sawney Gordon's counting-house, and this, sir, was the first effectual boow I
here i'the city of London, whach, you'll say, ever made till the vanity of human nature:
afforded but a barren sort of a prospect. noow, sir, do ye understand this doctrine?
Eger. It was not a very fertile one, in-
deed, sir.
Sir P. The revearse, the revearse. Weel,
sir, seeing mysel in this unprofitable situa-
1) In the shape of a Z or an and per se (and for itself).
Formerly the word and was denoted by a sign in
printing thus etc.
2) Different sects dissenting from the church of England.
tion, I reflected deeply, I cast aboot my thoughts, 3) These love feasts, notwiths tanding they ought to be
and concluded that a matrimonial adventure,
eligious, possess a great deal of the old love system

SCENE 1.]
565
MAN OF THE WORLD.
Eger. Perfectly well, sir.
Sons of care, 'twas made for you.
[Gives him the Cup.
Tom. Will your lordship please to have
another, dish?
Sir P. My next boow, sir, was till your Here, Mr. Tomlins.
ain mother, whom I ran away wi fra the
boarding-school, by the interest of whose fa-
mily I got a gude smart place i'th' treasury; Lord L. No more, Mr. Tomlins. [Exit.
and, sir, my vary next step was intill parlia- Tomlins] Well, my host of the Scotch pints!
ment, the whach I entered wi ass ardent and we have had warm work.
ass determined an ambeetion, ass ever agee- Sir P. Yes, you pushed the bottle aboot,
tated the heart o'Cæsar himsel. Sir; I boowed, my lord, wi the joy and veegour of a bac-
and watched, and attended, and dangled upo' chanal.
the then great mon, till I got intill the vary Lord L. That I did my dear Mac-no loss
bowels of his confidence-hah! got my snack of time with me-I have but three motions,
of the clothing, the foraging, the contracts ¹), old boy, charge!-toast!-fire! )-and off we
the lottery tickets, and aw the poleetical go-ha! ha! ha! that's my exercise.
bonuses; till at length, sir, I became a much
wealthier mon than one half of the golden
calves a had been so long a boowing too.
[He rises, Egerton rises too] And was na
that boowing to some purpose, sir, ha?
Eger. It was, indeed, sir.
Sir P. But are ye convinced of the gude
effects, and of the uteelity of boowing?
Eger. Thoroughly, sir, thoroughly.
Sir P. And fine warm exercise it is, my
lord, especially with the half-pint glass.
Lord L. It does execution point blank-ay,
ay, none of your pimping acorn glasses for
me, but your manly, old English half-pint
bumpers, my dear-Zounds, sir! they try a
fellow's stamina at once. But where's Egerton?
Sir P. Just at hand, my lord; there he
stonds, luocking at your lordship's picture.
Lord L. My dear Egerton.
Sir P. Sir, it is infallible-but, Chairles, ah!
while I was thus boowing and raising this Eger. Your lordship's most obedient.
princely fortune, ah! I met many heart sores, Lord L. I beg your pardon, I did not see
and disappointments, fra the want of leetera-you-I am sorry you left us so soon after
ture, ailoquence, and other popular abeelities; dinner; had you staid, you would have been
sir, guin I could but ha spoken i'th' house, highly entertained, I have made such examples 2)
I should ha done the deed in half the time; of the commissioner, the captain, and the
but the instant I opened my mouth there, colonel!
they aw fell a laughing at me: aw which de- Eger. So I understand, my lord.
feeciencies, sir, I determin'd at any expense Lord L. But, Egerton, I have slipped from
till have supplied by the polish'd education of the company, for a few moments, on purpose
a son, who I hop'd would yean day raise to have a little chat with you. Rodolpha tells
the house of Macsycophant till the highest me she fancies there is a kind of a demur on
pinnacle of ministeerial ambeetion; this, sir, your side, about your marriage with her.
is my plan: I ha done my part of it. Nature Sir P. A demur, hoow so, my lord?
has done her's, ye are ailoquant, ye are po- Lord L. Why, as I was drinking my cof
pular; aw parties like ye; and noow, sir, it fee with the women, just now, I desired they
only remains for ye to be directed-comple- would fix the wedding night, and the etiquette
tion follows.
of the ceremony; upon which the girl burst
Eger. Your liberality, sir, in my education, into a loud laugh, telling me she supposed I
and the judicious choice you made of the was joking, for that Mr. Egerton had never
worthy gentleman, to whose virtue and abili- yet given her a single glance, or hint upon
ties you entrusted me, are obligations I ever the subject.
shall remember with the deepest filial gratitude. Sir P. My lord, I have been just this vary
Sir P. Vary weel, sir-vary weel; but, instant talking to him aboot his shyness to
Chairles, ha ye had any conversation yet wi the lady.
lady Rodolpha, aboot the day of yeer mar-
riage, yeer leeveries, yeer equipage, or yeer
establishment?
Eger. Not yet, sir.
Sir P. Pah! why there again now, there
again, ye are wrong; vary wrong.
Eger Sir, we have not had an opportunity.
Sir P. Why, Chairles, ye are vary tardy
in this business.
Lord L. [Singing without]
What have we with day to do? etc.
Sir P. Oh! here comes my lord!
Lord L. [Singing without]
Sons of care, 'twas made for you.
Enter LORD LUMBERCOURT, drinking a Dish
of Coffee; TOMLINS waiting, with a Salver
in his Hand.
Sons of care, 'twas made for you.
Very good coffee, indeed, Mr. Tomlins.
1) The contracts for providing cloathes, forage etc. for
the soldiers in the British service, have enriched many
a scoundrel, who has not scrupled to adulterate the
bread with lime to answer their miserable purpose.
Enter TOMLINS.
Tom. Counsellor Plausible is come, sir,
and sergeant Eitherside.
Sir P. Why, then we can settle this busi-
ness this vary evening, my lord.
Lord L. As well as in seven years-and to
make the way as short as possible, pray, Mr.
Tomlins, present your master's compliments
and mine to lady Rodolpha, and let her lady-
ship know we wish to speak to her directly.
[Exit Tomlins] He shall attack her this in-
stant, sir Pertinax.
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! ay! that's axcellent;
this is doing business effectually, my lord!
Lord L. Oh! I will pit 3) them in a moment,
sir Pertinax--that will bring them into the
heat of the action at once; and save a deal
of awkwardness on both sides-Oh, here your
Dulcinea comes, sir!
1) Fill the glass-Give a toast-and drink.
2) Drank them under the table.
5) Pit is a place for fighting cocks, which when pitted,
immediately begin to fight.

566
[ACT III.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
Enter LADY RODOLPHA.
ye ha mair humanity than to think of wed-
Lady R. Weel, sir Pertinax, I attend your ding me, without first admeenistering some
commands, and yours, my paternal lord. o'th preleeminaries usual on those occasions?
[She courtesies. Eger. Madam, I own your reproach is just;
Lord L. Why then, my filial lady, we are I shall therefore no longer disguise my sen-
to inform you, that the commission for your timents, but fairly let you know my heart-
ladyship, and this enamoured cavalier, com- Lady R. Ah! ye are right, ye are right,
manding you jointly and inseparably to serve cousin. Honourably and affectionately right-
your country, in the honourable and forlorn noow that is what I like of aw things in my
hope of matrimony, is to be signed this very swain-ay, ay, cousin, open your heart frankly
evening.
Lady R. This evening, my lord!
Lord L. This evening, my lady: come, sir
Pertinax, let us leave them to settle their li-
veries, wedding suits, carriages, and all their
amorous equipage for the nuptial camp.
till me, ass a true lover should; but sit ye doown,
sit ye doown again, I shall return your frankness
and your passion, cousin, wi a melting ten-
derness, equal to the amorous enthusiasm of
an ancient heroine.
Eger. Madam, if you will hear me-
Sir P. Ha! ha! ha! axcellent! weel, I voow, Lady R. But remember ye must begin yeer
my lord, ye are a great officer: this is as address wi fervency, and a most rapturous
gude a manoeuvre to bring on a rapid en-vehemence; for ye are to conseeder, cousin,
gagement, as the ablest general of them aw that oor match is na till arise fra the union
could ha started.
of hearts, and a long decorum of ceremo-
Lord L. Ay, ay; leave them together, they'll nious courtship, but is instantly till start at
soon come to a right understanding, I war-yeance out of necessity or mere accident, ha!
rant you,
or the needle and the loadstone ha! ha! just like a match in an ancient ro-
have lost their sympathy.
mance, where ye ken, cousin, the knight and
[Exeunt L. Lumbercourt and Sir Pertinax. the damsel are mutually smitten, and dying
Eger. What a dilemma am I in! [Aside. for each other at first sight; or by an amo-
Lady R. Why, this is downright tyranny rous sympathy, before they exchange a single
-it has quite damped my spirits, and my glance.
betrothed, yonder, seems planet-struck too, Eger. Dear madam, you entirely mistake.
Lady R. So noow, cousin, wi the true
Eger. A whimsical situation mine! [Aside. romantic enthusiasm, ye are till suppose me
Lady R. Ha! ha! ha! methinks we luock the lady o'th' enchanted castle, and ye-ha!
like a couple of cawtious geenerals, that are ha! ha! ye are to be the knight o'the sorrowful
obliged till take the field, but neither of us countenance, ha! ha! ha! and, upon honour,
seems willing to come till action. [Aside. ye luock the character admirably, ha! ha!
Eger. I protest, I know not how to ad- Eger. Trifling creature!
I think.
dress her.
[Aside. Lady R. Nay, nay, cousin, guin ye do na
Lady R. He wull nai advance, I see-what begin at yeance, the lady o'the enchanted
am I to do i'this affair? gude traith, I wull castle wull vanish in a twankling.
even do as I suppose many brave heroes ha Eger. [Rises] Lady Rodolpha, I know your
done before me; clap a gude face upo' the talent for raillery well; but at present, in my
matter, and so conceal an aching heart under case, there is a kind of cruelty in it.
a swaggering countenance. [Aside] Sir, sir, Lady R. Raillery! upon my honour, cou-
ass we ha, by the commands of our gude sin, ye mistake me quite and clean. I am
fathers-a business of some little consequence serious; vary serious; ay, and I have cause
till transact-I hope ye wull excuse my tak-till be serious; ay, and vary sad intill the
ing the leeberty of recommending a chair till bargain; [Rises] nay, I wull submit my case
ye.
[Courtesies very low. even till yoursel-can any poor lassie be in
Eger. [Greatly embarrassed] Madam, I a mair lamentable condeetion [Whining]
beg your pardon. [Hands her a Chair, than to be sent four hundred miles, by the
then one for himself. They sit down. commands of a positive grand-mother, till
Lady R. Aha! he's resolved not to come marry a man who I find has na mair affec-
too near till me, I think.
[Aside. tion for me than if I had been his wife these
seven years.
Eger. A pleasant interview-hem! hem!
[Aside.
Lady R. Hem! hem! [Mimics him] He wull
not open the congress, I see; then I wull,
[Aside] Come, sir, whan wull ye begin?
[Very loud.
Eger. [Starts] Begin! what, madam?
Lady R. To make, love till me.
Eger. Love, madam?
Eger. Madam, I am extremely sorry.
Lady R. But it is vary weel, cousin-vary
weel-I see your aversion plain enough-
and, sir, I must tell ye fairly, ye are the ain-
ly mon that ever slighted my person, or that
drew tears fra these eyne; but 'tis vary weel.
[Cries] I wull return till Scotland to-morrow
morning, and let my grandmother know hoow
Lady R. Ay, love, sir; why you ha never I have been affronted by your slights, your
said a word till me yet upo' the subject; nor contempts, and your aversions.
cast a single glance at me, nor brought forth Eger. If you are serious, madam, your dis-
one tender sigh, nor even yeance secretly squeez-tress gives me a deep concern: but affection
ed my loof¹). Now, sir, thoff oor fathers are is not in our power; and when you know
so tyrannical ass to dispose of us merely for that my heart is irrecoverably given to ano-
their ain interests, without a single thought ther woman, I think your understanding and
of oor hearts or affections; yet, sir, I hope good nature will not only pardon my past
coldness and neglect of you, but forgive me
1) Hand.

SCENE 1.]
567
MAN OF THE WORLD.
when I tell you, I never can have that ho- gratitude: but now, sir, let me ask one que-
nour which is intended me, by a connexion stion-pray, how is your mother affected in
with your ladyship.
this business?
Lady R. [Starting up] How, sir! are ye
serious?
Eger. She knows of my passion, and will,
I am sure, be a friend to the common cause.
Eger. Madam, I am too deeply interested, Lady R. Ah! that is lucky, vary lucky--
both as a man of honour and a lover, to act our first step must be to take her advice
otherwise with you on so tender a subject. upon our conduct, so as till keep our faithers
Lady R. And so, ye persast in slighting in the dark, till we can hit off some measure
me?
that wull wind them aboot till our ain
Eger. I beg your pardon, but I must be pose, and till the common interest of our ain
explicit and at once declare, that I never can passions.
pur-
give my hand where I cannot give my heart. Eger. You are very right, madam; for
Lady R. Why then, sir, I must tell you, should my father suspect my brother's affec-
that your declaration is sic an affront ass na tion for your ladyship, or mine for Constan-
woman o'speerit ought to bear, and here I tia, there is no guessing what would be the
make a solemn voow never till pardon it-consequence; his whole happiness depends
but on yean condeetion.
upon this bargain with my lord; for it gives
Lady R. Sir, it is i'your poower.
Eger. If that condition be in my power, him the possession of three boroughs, and
madam-
those, madam, are much dearer to him than
the happiness of his children: I am sorry to
Eger. Then, madam, you may command me. say it, but to gratify his political rage, he
Lady R. Why then, sir, the condeetion is would sacrifice every social tie that is dear to
this; ye must here gie me your honour, that friend or family.
na importunity, command, or menace, o'your
father-in fine, that na consideration what-
ever shall induce you to take me, Rodolpha
Lumbercourt, till be your wedded wife.
Eger. Madam! I most solemnly promise, I
never will.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-A library.
[Exeunt.
Enter SIR PERTINAX and COUNSELLOR
PLAUSIBLE.
Lady R. And I, sir, in my turn, most so- Sir P. No, no; come away, counsellor
lemnly and sincerely thank ye for your reso- Plausible-come away, I say; let them chew
lution, [Courtesies] and your agreeable aver-upon it-let them chew upon it.-Why, coun-
sion, ha! ha! ha! for ye ha made me as happy sellor, did ye ever hear so impertinent, so
as a poor wretch reprieved in the vary in- meddling, and so obstinate a blockhead, ass
stant of intended execution.
that sergeant Eitherside? confound the fallow,
Eger. Pray, madam, how am I to under- he has put me oot of aw temper!
stand all this?
Plau. He is very positive, indeed, sir Per-
Lady R. Sir, your frankness and sincerity tinax, and no doubt was intemperate and rude;
demand the same behaviour on my side. There-but, sir Pertinax, I would not break off the
fore, without further disguise or ambiguity, match notwithstanding: for, certainly, even
know, sir, that I myself am ass deeply smit-without the boroughs, it is an advantageous
ten wi a certain swain, ass I understand ye bargain, both to you and your son.
are wi yeer Constantia.
Eger. Indeed, madam!
Sir P. But, Plausible, do you think I wull
give up the nomination till three boroughs?
Lady R. Oh, sir, aw my extravagance, le- why, I would rather give him twanty, nay,
vity, and redeeculous behaviour in your pre- tharty thousand pounds in any other part
sence, noow, and ever since your faither pre- o'th' bargain-especially at this juncture, when
vailed on mine to consent till this match, has votes are likely to become so valuable-why,
been a premeditated scheme, to provoke your mon, if a certain affair comes on, they'll rise
gravity and gude sense intill a cordial disgust, above five hundred per cent¹).
and a positive refusal.
Plau. No doubt they will, sir Pertinax-
Eger. Madam, you have contrived and exe- but what shall we do in this case? for Mr.
cuted your scheme most happily; but, with Sergeant insists that you positively agreed to
your leave, madam, if I may presume so far my lord's having the nomination to the three
-pray who is your lover?
boroughs during his own life.
Lady R. In that too I shall surprise you, Sir P. Why, yes, in the first sketch of the
sir-he is [Courtesies] your ain brother. So agreement I believe I did consent; but at that
ye see, cousin Chairles, thoff I could na mingle time, mon, my lord's affairs did not appear
affections wi ye, I ha na ganged oot of the to be half so desperate ass I noow find they
family.
turn oot. Sir, he must acquiesce in whatever
Eger. Madam, give me leave to congratu- I demand, for I ha gotten him intill sic an
late myself upon your affection-you couldn't hobble, that he canna exist without me.
have placed it on a worthier object; and Plau. No doubt, sir Pertinax, you have
whatever is to be our chance in this lottery him absolutely in your power.
of our parents, be assured that my fortune
shall be devoted to your happiness and his.
Lady R. Generous indeed, cousin, but not
a whit nobler, I assure you, than your brother
Sandy believes of you; and pray credit me,
sir, that we shall both remember it, while the
heart feels, or memory retains a sense of
Sir P. Vary weel; and ought not a mon
till make his vantage of it?
Plau. No doubt you ought, no manner of
doubt; but, sir Pertinax, there is a secret
1) This borough business is another black spot in Eng-
lish liberty; one would almost wish to turn reformer
only to do away with this.

568
[ACT IV.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
spring in this business that you do not seem too, we always understood the nomination to
to perceive, and which I am afraid governs be in my lord, durante vitâ, durante vitâ--
the whole matter respecting these boroughs. clearly, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Sir P. What spring do ye mean, coun- Sir P. Why then, my lord, till shorten the
sellor?
2
dispute, all I can say, in answer till your
Plau. Why this: I have some reason to lordship, is, that there has been a total mis-
think that my lord is tied down, by some take betwaxt us in that point-and therefore
means or other, to bring sergeant Eitherside the treaty must end here I give it up-I
in, the very first vacancy, for one of those wash my honds of it for ever-for ever.
boroughs-now that, I believe, is the sole Plau. Well but, gentlemen, a little patience
motive why the sergeant is so very strenuous pray. Sure this mistake, some how or other,
that my lord should keep the boroughs in his may be rectified-Mr. Sergeant, pray let you
own power, fearing that you might reject him and I step into the next room by ourselves,
for some man of your own.
and reconsider the clause relative to the bo-
Sir P. Oh! my dear Plausible, ye are cle- roughs, and try if we cannot hit upon some
ver-yes, vary clever-ye ha hit upo' the vary medium that will be agreeable to both parties.
string that has made aw this discord-O! 1 Serg. E. Mr. Plausible, I have already con-
see it-I see it noow; but haud, haud-hide sidered the clause fully, am entirely master
wee¹) bit-a wee bit, mon-I ha a thought of the question, and my lord cannot give up
come intill my head-yes-I think noow, the point; it is unkind, unreasonable to ex-
Plausible, wi a little twist in oor negociation, pect it, and I shall never, never-on no ac-
that the vary string, properly tuned, may be count whatsoever, shall I ever advise him to
still made to produce the very harmony we give it up.
wish for-ya-yas I ha it-this sergeant I Plau. Nay, Mr. Sergeant, I beg you will
see understands business, and if I am not not misapprehend me-do not think I want
mistaken knows hoow till take a hint.
his lordship to give up any point without an
Plau. Oh! nobody better, sir Pertinax, no- equivalent. Sir Pertinax, will you permit Mr.
body better.
Sergeant and me to retire for a few moments,
to reconsider this point about the three bo-
roughs?
Sir P. Why then, Plausible, the short road
is awways the best wi sic a man; ye must
even come up till his mark a yeance, and let
him know fra me, that I wull secure him a
seat for yean of those vary boroughs.
Plau. Oh! that will do, sir Pertinax; that
will do, I'll answer for it.
Sir P. We aw my heart and saul, maister
Plausible, ainy thing till accommodate his
lordship-ainy thing-ainy thing.
Plau. What say you, my lord!
Lord L. Nay, I submit it entirely to you
and Mr. Sergeant.
Sir P. And further, I beg ye wull let him
know, that I think myself obliged till conseeder Plau. Come, Mr. Sergeant, let us retire.
him in this affair ass acting for me ass weel Lord L. Ay, ay, go, Mr. Sergeant, and hear
ass for my lord, ass a common friend till what Mr. Plausible has to say, however.
baith, and for the service he has already done Serg. E. Nay, I will wait on Mr. Plausible,
us, mak my special compliments till him; my lord, with all my heart; but I am sure
and pray let this soft, sterling, bit of paper I cannot suggest the shadow of a reason for
be my faithful advocate till convince him altering my present opinion:-impossible, im-
what my gratitude further intends for his possible, he cannot give them up; it is an opi-
great [Gives him a Bank-bill] equity, in nion from which I never can depart.
adjusting this agreement betwixt my lord's Plau. Well, well, do not be positive, Mr.
family and mine.
Sergeant, do not be positive. I am sure rea-
Plau. Ha! ha! ha! sir Pertinax, upon my son, and your client's conveniency, will al-
word this is noble-ay, ay! this is an eloquent ways make you alter your opinion.
bit of paper, indeed,
Serg. E. Ay, ay, reason, and my client's
Sir P. Maister Plausible, in aw human conveniency, Mr. Plausible, will always con-
dealings the most effectual method is that of trol my opinion, depend upon it. Ay, ay! there
ganging at yeance till the vary bottom of a you are right; sir, I attend you.
mon's heart-for if we expact that men should
serve us, we must first win their affections
by serving them-Oh! here they baith come!
Enter LORD LUMBERCOURT and SERGEANT
EITHER SIDE.
[Exeunt Lawyers.
Sir P. I am sorry, my lord, extremely
sorry, indeed, that this mistake has happened.
Lord L. Upon honour, and so am I, sir
Pertinax.
Sir P. But come noow, after aw, your lord-
Lord L. My dear sir Pertinax, what could ship must allow ye ha been i'the wrong.
provoke you to break off this business so ab- Come, my dear lord, ye must allow that noow.
ruptly! You are really wrong in the point; Lord L. How so, my dear sir Pertinax?
and if you will give yourself time to recollect, Sir P. Not aboot the boroughs, my lord,
you will find that my having the nomination for those I do not mind of a bawbee-but
to the boroughs for my life, was a prelimi- aboot yeer distrust of my friendship. Why,
nary article and I appeal to Mr. Sergeant do ye think noow, I appeal till your ain
Eitherside here, whether I did not always un-breast, my lord; do ye think, I say, that I
derstand it so.
should ever ha refused, or slighted your lord-
Serg. E. I assure you, sir Pertinax, that in ship's nomination till these boroughs?
all his lordship's conversation with me upon Lord L. Why really I don't think you
this business, and in his positive instructions would, sir Pertinax; but one must be direct-
1) Stop a moment.
ed by one's lawyer, you know.

SCENE 1.]
569
MAN OF THE WORLD.
Sir P. Ha! my lord, lawyers are a danger- every shape of ruin that the law can assume;
ous species of animals till ha ainy depen- all which must be put in force, should this
dence upon-they are awways starting punct- agreement go off; and as sir Pertinax gives
ilios and deeficulties among friends. Why, his honour, that your lordship's nomination
my dear lord, it is their interest that aw-shall be sacredly observed, why, upon a nearer
mankind should be at variance; for disagree-review of the whole affair, I am convinced
ment is the vary manure wi whach they en- that it will be the wiser measure to conclude
rich and fatten the land of leetigation; and the agreement just as it is drawn-just as it
ass they find that that constantly produces is drawn, my lord; it cannot be more to your
the best crop, depend upon it they wull advantage.
awways be sure till lay it on ass thick ass Lord L. I am very glad you think so, Mr.
they can.
Sergeant, because that is my opinion too-so,
my dear Eitherside, do you and Plausible dis-
patch the business now as soon as possible.
Lord L. Come, come, my dear sir Pertinax,
you must not be angry with the sergeant for
his insisting so warmly on this point-for
those boroughs, you know, are my sheet
anchor.
Serg. E. My lord, every thing will be ready
for signing in less than an hour-come, Mr.
Plausible, let us go and fill up the blanks, and
put the last hand to the writings, on our part.
Plau. I attend you, Mr. Sergeant.
[Exeunt Lawyers.
Lord L. And while the lawyers are prepar-
Sir P. I know it, my lord; and as an in-
stance of my promptness to study, and my
acquiescence till your lordship's inclination,
ass I see that this sergeant Eitherside wishes
ye weel, and ye him, I think noow he would ing the writings, sir Pertinax, I will go and
be as gude a mon to be returned for yean saunter with the women.
of those boroughs, as could be pitched upon, Sir P. Do, do, my lord, and I wull come
and ass such I humbly recommend him till till you presently.
your lordship's consideration.
Lord L. Very well, my dear Mac, I shall
Lord L. Why, my dear sir Pertinax, to expect you.
[Exit singing.
tell you the truth, I have already promised Sir P. So! a leetle flattery, mixt wi the fi-
him; he must be in for one of them, and nesse of a guilded promise on yean side, and
that is one reason why I insisted so strenu- a quantum sufficit of the aurum palpabile on
ously he must be in.
the other, have at last made me the happiest
Sir P. And why not?-why not? is na father in Great Britain, and feel nothing but
yeer word a fiat? and wull it na be awways dignity and elevation. Haud! haud! bide a
so till me? are ye nait my friend, my pa- wee! bide a wee! I ha yean leetle matter mair
tron? and are we nait by this match of our in this affair till adjust, and then, sir Pertinax,
children to be united intill yean interest? ye may dictate till fortune herself, and send
Lord L. So I understand it, I own, sir her till govern feuls¹), while ye show, and
Pertinax.
convince the world, that wise men awways
Sir P. My lord, it canna be otherwise-govern her. Wha's there?
then for heaven's sake, ass your lordship and
I ha but yean interest for the future, let us
Enter SAM. ow
ha na mair words aboot these paltry boroughs, Tell my son Egerton I would speak wee him.
but conclude the agreement at yeance-just Now I ha settled the grand point [Exit Sam]
as it stonds-otherwise there must be new wi my lord, this I think is the proper juncture
writings drawn, new consultations of lawyers; till feel the poleetical pulse of my spark, and
new objections and delays will arise, credi- yeance for aw till set it to the exact measure
tors wull be impatient and impertinent-so that I would ha it constantly beat.
that we shall na finish the Lord knows when.
Lord L. You are right, you are right; say
Enter EGERTON.
no more, Mac, say no more-split the law-Come hither, Chairles.
yers- you judge the point better than all Eger. Your pleasure, sir?
Westminster-hall could-it shall stand as it Sir P. Aboot twa hours since I told you,
is-yes, it shall be settled your own way, Chairles, that I received this letter express,
for your interest and mine are the same, I complaining of your brother's acteevity at an
see plainly. Oh! here the lawyers come-election i'the north, against a particular friend
so, gentlemen-well, what have ye done-of mine; which has given great offence; and,
how are you opinions now?
sir, ye are mentioned in the letter, ass weel
ass he. To be plain, I must roundly tell ye,
Enter COUNSELLOR PLAUSIBLE and SERGEANT that on this interview depends my happiness,
ass a mon and a faither, and my affection till
Serg. E. My lord, Mr. Plausible has con- ye, sir, ass a son, for the remainder of your
vinced me-fully convinced me, that the bo- days.
EITHERSIDE.
roughs should be given up to sir Pertinax. Eger. I hope, sir, I shall never do any thing
Plau. Yes, my lord, I have convinced him either to forfeit your affection, or disturb your
--I have laid such arguments before Mr. happiness.
Sergeant, as were irresistible.
Sir P. I hope so too; but to the point-the
Serg. E. He has, indeed, my lord; for when fact is this. There has been a motion made
I come to consider the long friendship that this vary day, to bring on the grand affair,
has subsisted between your lordship and sir which is settled for Friday se'nnight; noow,
Pertinax; the great and mutual advantages sir, ass ye are popular, ha talents, and are
that must attend this alliance; the various weel heard, it is expacted, and I insist upon
foreclosing, seizing, distraining, and in short 1) Fools.
72

570
[ACT IV.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
pre-
it, that ye endeavour till atone for yeer mis-rosity on the ain side, and gratitude on the
conduct, by preparing and taking a lairge other-so, sir, let me ha na mair of yeer re-
share in that question, and supporting it willeegious or philosophical refinements: but
aw your poower.
pare-attend-and speak till the question, or
Eger. But, sir, I hope you will not so exert ye are na son o'mine-sir, I insist upon it.
your influence, as to insist upon my support-
ing a measure by an obvious, prostituted so-
phistry, in direct opposition to my character
and my conscience.
Enter SAM.
Sam. Sir, my lord says the writings are
now ready, and his lordship and the lawyers
Sir P. Conscience! did ye ever hear ainy are waiting for you and Mr. Egerton.
man talk of conscience in poleetical maiters? Sir P. Vary weel; we'll attend his lordship.
conscience, quotha, I ha been in parliament [Exit Sam] Come, sir, let us gang doown
these three-and-tharty years, and never heard and dispatch the business.
the term made use of before-sir, it is an un-, [Going, is stopped by Egerton.
pairliamentary word, and ye wull be laughed Eger. Sir, with your permission, I beg you
gomates will first hear me a word or two upon this
at for it.
Sir P. Weel, sir; what would ye say?
Eger. I have often resolved to let you know
[Bows very low] my aversion to this match.
Sir P. Hoow, sir?
Eger. Then, sir, I must frankly tell you, subject.
that you work against my nature-you would
connect me with men I despise, and press me
into measures I abhor. For know, sir, that
the malignant ferment, which the venal am-
bition of the times provokes in the heads and
hearts of other men-I detest.
Eger. But my respect and fear of disoblig-
ing you, hitherto kept me silent.
Sir P. What are ye aboot, sir; with your Sir P. Your avarsion! hoow dare ye use
malignant, yeer venal ambeetion, and your sic language till me? your avarsion! luock
romantic nonsense? Sir, every mon should be you, sir, I shall cut the matter vary short.-
ambeetious till serve his country- and every Conseeder-my fortune is na inheritance; aw
man should be rewarded for it. And pray, my ain acquiseetion; I can make ducks and
sir, would not ye wish till serve yeer coun- drakes¹) of it; so do not provoke me, but
try? answer me that, I say, would not ye sign the articles directly.
wish till serve your country?
Eger. I beg your pardon, sir; but I must
Eger. Only show me how I can serve my be free on this occasion, and tell you at once,
country, and my life is hers. Were I qua- that I can no longer dissemble the honest pas-
lified to lead her armies, to steer her fleets, sion that fills my heart for another woman.
and deal her honest vengeance on her insult- Sir P. Hoow! another woman! ah, ye vil-
ing foes; or could my eloquence pull down lain, how dare ye love another woman with-
a state leviathan, mighty by the plunder of out my parmission--but what other woman?
his country, black with the treasons of her wha is she? speak, sir, speak.
disgrace, and send his infamy down to free Eger. Constantia.
[Bowing very low.
posterity, as a monumental terror to corrupt Sir P. Constantia! Oh, ye profligate! what,
ambition, I would be foremost in such service, a creature taken in for charity?
and act it with the unremitting ardour of a
Roman spirit.ders an
Eger. Her poverty is not her crime, sir,
but her misfortune; and virtue, though co-
vered with a village garb, is virtue still; there-
fore, sir-
Sir P. Why, ye are mad, sir; stark, staring,
raving mad; certainly the fellow has been
bitten by some mad whig 1) or other! ye are Sir P. Haud yeer jabbering, ye villain; haud
vary young-vary young, indeed, in these yeer jabbering! none of yeer romance, or re-
maiters; but experience wull convince ye, sir, finement, till me. I ha but yean question till
that every mon in public business has twa ask ye, but yean question, and then I ha done
consciences; mind, sir, twa consciences; a re- we ye for ever-for ever-therefore think be-
leegious and a poleetical conscience-you see fore ye answer; wull ye marry the lady, or
a mairchant, or a shopkeeper, that kens the wull ye break my heart?
science of the world, awways luocks upon an Eger. Sir, my presence shall not offend you
oath in a custom-house, or behind a counter, any longer; but when reason and reflection
only as an oath in business-a thing of course take their turn, I am sure you will not be
-a mere thing o'course, that has nathing till pleased with yourself for this impaternal pas-
do wi releegion; and just so it is at an elec-sion.
[Going.
tion, exactly the same-for instance, noow, I Sir P. Tarry, I command you-and I com-
am a candidate-pray observe-I gang till a mand ye likewise not to stir till ye ha given
periwig-maker, a hatter, or a hosier, and I me ain answer-a defeenitive answer-wull
give ten, twanty, or tharty guineas, for a ye marry the lady, or wull ye not?
periwig, a hat, or a pair of hose, and so on Eger. Since you command me, sir, know
through a majority o'voters; vary weel, what then, that I cannot-will not marry her.
ill no
is the consequence? why, this commercial in-
[Exit.
tercourse, ye see, begets a friendship betwixt Sir P. Oh! the villain has shot me through
us, and in a day or twa, these men gang and the head; he has cut my vitals! I shall run
give me their suffrages. Weel, what is the distracted-there never was sic a bargain ass
inference, pray, sir? can ye, or ainy lawyer,
divine, or casuist, caw this a bribe? nai, sir,
in fair poleetical reasoning, it is ainly gene-
1) The Whigs are opposed to the Tories, forming the
two grand political factions in England.
1)
Children amuse themselves by throwing flat stones
sideways on the surface of a river, etc., in such a
manner that they alternately dip in and rise ont of
the water, and this they call ducks and drakes; so that
if Sir Pertinax would convert his fortune into dollars,
he could amuse himself for some time pretty well.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
571
MAN OF THE WORLD.
I ha made wi this feulish lord-possession of [Exit Tomlins] Why suppose this Sidney
his whole estate, wi three boroughs upon it; noow should be privy till his friend Chairles'
sax members! why, what an acquiseetion, love for Constantia-what then, gude traith,
what consequence! what dignity, what weight it is natural till think that his ain love wull
till the house of Macsycophant-O! domn the demand the preference-ay, and obtain it too
fellow-three boroughs, only for sending doon-yas! yas! self-self! is an ailoquent advo-
six broomsticks-Oh! miserable; ever since cate on these occasions-for only make it a
this fallow came intill the world have I been mon's interest till be a rascal, and I think we
secretly preparing him for the seat of ministe- may safely depend upon his integreety in
rial dignity, and sure never, never were times serving himsel. Lang
so favourable-every thing conspires; for aw
Enter SIDNEY.
your cloth,
the auld poleetical posthorses are broken- Sid. Sir Pertinax, your servant. Mr. Tom-
winded, and foundered, and canna get on; lins told me you desired to speak with me.
and ass till the rising generation, the vanity Sir P. Yes, I wanted till speak wi yee upon
of surpassing yean another in what they feul- a vary singular business-Maister Sidney, give
ishly caw taste and ailegance, binds them me yeer hond, guin it did na luock like flat-
hond and foot in the chains af luxury; which tery (which I detest), I would tell ye, maister
wull awways set them up till the best Sidney, that ye are an honour till
bidder; so that if they can but get where- yeer country, and till human nature.
withal till supply their dissipation, a meenister Sid. Sir, you are very obliging.
may convert the poleetical morals of aw sic Sir P. Sit ye doon here, maister Sidney-
voluptuaries intill a vote that would sell the sit ye doon here by me my friend. [They
nation till Prester John, and their boasted lee-sit] I am under the greatest obligations till
berties till the great mogul.
[Exit. ye, for the care ye ha taken of Chairies -- the
ACT V.
SCENE I-A Library.
principles, releegious, moral, and poleetical,
so that ye ha infused intill him, demand the
warmest return of gratitude, baith fra him
Chaand fra me.go
Enter SIR PERTINAX and BETTY.
Sid. Your approbation, sir, next to that of
Sir P. Come this way, Betty, come this my own conscience, is the best test of my
way; ye are a gude girl, and I'll reward ye endeavours, and the highest applause they can
for this discovery. Oh! the villain! offer her receive.
marriage!
Sir P. Sir, ye deserve it, richly deserve it;
Sid. In truth, sir, I think so too.
Sir P. She is, besides, a gentlewoman, and
of ass gude a family ass any in this county.
Sid. So I understand, sir.
Bet. It is true, indeed; I would not tell and noow, sir, the same care that ye ha had
your honour a lie for the world; but in troth of Chairles, the same my wife has taken of
it lay upon my conscience, and I thought it her favourite, and sure never were accom-
my duty to tell your worship.plishments, knowledge, or principles, social
Sir P. Ye are right, ye are right; it was and releegious, impressed intill a better nature
yeer duty to tell me, and I'll reward you for than Constantia's.
it; ye say maister Sidney is in love wi her
too-pray how came you by that intelligence?
Bet. Oh! sir, I know when folks are in love,
let them strive to hide it as much as they will;
I know it by Mr. Sidney's eyes, when I see Sir P. Sir, her faither had a vast estate; the
him stealing a sly sidelook at her, by his which he dissipated and melted in feastings,
trembling, his breathing short, his sighing and friendships, and charities, hospitalities,
when they are reading together-besides, sir, and sic kind of nonsense-but to the business
he made love verses upon her, in praise of-Maister Sidney, I love ye-yas, I love you,
her virtue, and her playing upon the music; and ha been luocking oot, and contriving hoow
ay! and I suspect another thing, sir; she has till settle ye in the world: sir, I want till see
a sweetheart, if not a husband, not far from ye comfortably and honourably fixed at the
hence. Lads to paraf
heed of a respectable family, and guin ye were
Sir P. Wha! Constantia ?
mypain son, a thoosand times, I could na
Bet. Ay, Constantia, sir-lord, I can know make a mair valuable present till ye for that
the whole affair, sir, only for sending over to purpose ass a partner for life, than this same
Hadley, to farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Constantia, wee sic a fortune doon wi her ass
Sukey Hilford.
30
ye yoursel shall deem to be competent: ay,
Sir P. Then send this instant, and get me and an assurance of every canonical contin-
a particular account of it.
sgency in my poower till confer or promote.
Bet. That I will this minute, sir.
Sid. Sir, your offer is noble and friendly;
Sir P. In the mean time keep a strict watch but though the highest station would derive
upon Constantia - and be sure ye bring me lustre from Constantia's charms and worth;
word of whatever new matter ye can pick up yet, were she more amiable than love could
aboot her, my son, or this Hadley husband or paint her in the lover's fancy, and wealthy
sweetheart.
Bet. Never fear, sir.
Sir P. Wha's there?
Enter TOMLINS.
Where is maister Sidney?
Tom. In the drawing-room, sir.
beyond the thirst of the miser's appetite, I
could not-would not wed her. [Rises.
Sir P. Not wed her! odzwins, mon! ye sur-
prise me! why so? what hinders? [Rises.
Sid. I beg you will not ask a reason for
my refusal; but, briefly and finally, it cannot
be, nor is it a subject I can longer converse
Sir P. Tell him I would speak we him.[upon.

572
[ACT V.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
Sir P. Weel, sir, I ha done, I ha done-the mask at last, ye ha been in my service for
sit doon, man-sit doon again-sit ye doon. many years, ye hypocrite! ye impostor-but I
[They sit] I shall mention it no more-not never knew your principles before.
but I must confess honestly till ye, friend Sid- Sid. Sir, you never affronted them before;
ney, that the match, had ye approved of my if you had, you should have known them sooner.
proposal, besides profiting you, would ha been Sir P. I ha done wi ye-I ha done wi ye.
of singular sarvice till me likewise; hoowever Ay, ay, noow I can account for my son's con-
ye may still sarve me ass effectually ass if ye duct; his aversion till courts, till meenisters,
had married her.
levees, public business, and his disobedience
Sid. Then, sir, I am sure I will most heartily. till my commands-a perfeedious fellow-ye're
Sir P. I believe it, I believe it, friend Sid- a Judas! ye ha ruined the morals of my son,
ney, and I thank ye.
I ha na friend till de- ye villain; but I ha done wi ye; however this
pend upon but yoursel-my heart is awmost I wull prophesy at oor pairting, for your com-
broke-1 canna help these tears; and to tell fort, that guin ye air so vary squemish in ob-
ye the fact at yeance, your friend Chairles is liging your patron, ye'll never rise in the
struck wi a most dangerous malady, a kind church.
d
Sid. Though my conduct, sir, should not
of insanity-in short, this Constantia, I am
afraid, has cast an evil eye upon him-do ye make me rise in her power, I am sure it will
understand me?
in her favour-in the favour of my own con-
science too, and in the esteem of all worthy
men; and that, sir, is a power and dignity
beyond what patrons of any denomination can
confer.
[Exit.
Sid. Not very well, sir.
Sir P. Why, he is grievously smitten wi
the love of her, and I am afraid will never
be cured withoot a leetle of your assistance.
Sid. Of my assistance! pray, sir, in what Sir P. What a reegorous, saucy, stiff-necked
manner?
fallow it is!--I see my folly noow; I am un-
Sir P. In what manner! Lord, maister Sid- done by my ain policy! this Sidney was the
ney, how can ye be so dull! Now then, my last man that should ha been aboot my son.
vary guid friend, guin you would take an op- The fellow, indeed, hath given him principles
portunity to speak a guid word for him till that might ha done vary weel among the an-
the wench, and contrive to bring them toge-cient Romans, but are domned unfit for the
ther once, why, in a few days after, he woul modern Britons-weel! guin I had a thoosand
nai care a pinch o'snuff for her. [Sidney sons, I never would suffer yean of yeer Eng-
starts up] What is the matter wi ye, mon-lish univarsity bred fellows, till be aboot a son
what the deevil gars ye start and luock so as- of mine again; for they ha sic an a pride of
tonished?
leeterature and character, and sic saucy Eng-
Sid. Sir, you amaze me! In what part of lish notions of leeberty, conteenually ferment-
my mind, or conduct, have you found that ing in their thoughts, that a man is never sure
baseness, which entitles you to treat me with of one of them; but what am I to do? Zoons,
this indignity?
he must nai marry this beggar-I canna sit
Sir P. Indignity-what indignity do ye mean, doon tamely under that-stay, haud a wee;
sir? is asking ye till serve a friend wi a wench by the blood I have it-yas! I ha hit upon't.
an indignity? Sir, am not I your patron and
benefactor, ha?
Sid. You are, sir; and I feel your bounty
at my heart-but the virtuous gratitude, that
sowed the deep sense of it there, does not
inform me, that in return, the tutor's sacred
function, or the social virtue of the man, must
be debased into the pupil's pander, or the pa-
tron's prostitute.
Enter BETTY.
Bet. Oh! sir, I have got the whole secret
out.
Sir P. Aboot what?
Bet. Aboot miss Constantia; I have just had
all the particulars from farmer Hilford's young-
est daughter, Sukey Hilford.
Sir P. Weel, weel, but what is the story?
quick, quick, what is it?
Sir P. Hoow! what, sir, do ye dispute? are Bet. Why, sir, it is certain that Mrs. Con-
ye na my dependant-ha! and do ye hesitate stantia has a sweetheart, or a husband, a sort
aboot an ordinary civeelity, which is practised of a gentleman, or a gentleman's gentleman,
every day by men and women of the first they don't know which, that lodges at Gaffer
fashion? sir, let me tell ye, however nice ye Hodges'; for Sukey says she saw them toge-
may be, there is na a dependant aboot the ther last night in the dark walk, and Mrs.
court that would na jump at sic an opportu- Constantia was all in tears.
nity till oblige his patron.
Sir P. Ah! I am afraid this is too gude
Sid. Indeed, sir, I believe the doctrine of news til! be true.
pimping for patrons may be learned in every Bet. Oh! sir, it is certainly true; besides,
party school: for where faction and public sir, she has just writ a letter to the gallant;
venality are taught as measures necessary to and I have sent John Gardener to her, who
the prosperity of the Briton and the patriot-is to carry it to him to Hadley; now, sir, if
there every vice is to be expected.
your worship would seize the letter. See, see,
Sir P. Oho! Oho! vary weel, fine insinua- sir, here John comes, with the letter in his
tions! I ken what you glance at-yes, ye in-hand!
tend this satire as a slander upon meenisters Sir P. Go, go; step ye oot, Betty, and leave
-ay! ay! fine sedeetion against government the fellow till me.
-Oh! ye villain-ye-ye-sirrah-ye are a Bet. I will, sir.
black sheep, and I'll mark ye, and represent
[Exit.
ye: I'll draw your picture-ah! ah! I am glad Enter JOHN, with a Packet and a Letter."
ye show yoursel-yas, yas-ye ha taken off John. There, go you into my pocket. [Puts

SCENE 1.]
573
MAN OF THE WORLD.
up the Packet] There's nobody in the library dear, dear Chairles; what would ye think of
--so I'll e'en go through the short way; let her?
me see what is the name-Mel-Meltil-O! Eger. I should think her the most deceitful,
no! Melville, at Gaffer Hodges'.
Sir P. What letter is that, sir?
John. Letter, sir!
Sir P. Give it me, sir. s
John. An't please your honour, sir-it-it
-it is not mine.
Sir P. Deliver it this instant, sirrah; or I'll
break yeer head.
John. There, there, your honour.
[Gives the Letter to Sir Pertinax.
Sir P. Be gone, rascal--this I suppose wull
let us intill the whole business.
and the most subtle of her sex, and if possible
would never think of her again.
Sir P. Wull ye give me yeer honour of
that?
Eger. Most solemnly, sir.
Sir P. Enough-I am satisfied. [Cries with
joy] You make me young again; I was afraid
ye were fascinated wi the charms of a crack.
Do ye ken this hond?
Eger. Mighty well, sir.
Sir P. And ye, madam?
Lady M. As well as I do my own, sir; it
Constantia's.
John. You have got the letter, old surly, is
but the packet is safe in my pocket. I'll go Sir P. It is so; and a better evidence it is,
and deliver that, however; for I wull be true than any that can be given by the human
to poor Mrs. Constantia, in spite of you. tongue; here is a warm, rapturous, lascivious
[Aside. Exit. letter, under the hypocritical syren's ain hond;
Sir P. [Reading the Letter] Um!-Um! her ain hond, sir, her ain hond. But judge
-Um! And bless my eyes with the sight of yourselves-read it.
you. Um! um! throw myself into your dear Eger. [Reads] 1 have only time to tell
arms. Zoouns, this letter is invaluable!
Enter BETTY.
Jed
you, that the family came down sooner
than I expected, and that I cannot bless
my eyes with the sight of you till the even-
Oh! Betty, ye are an axcellent wench, this ing. The notes and jewels, which the bea-
letter is worth a million. olerer of this will deliver to you, were pre-
Bet. Is it as I suspected, sir, to her sweetheart? sented to me, since I saw you, by the son
Sir P. It is-it is! bid Constantia pack oot of my benefactor-
of the house this instant; and let them get the
chaise ready to carry her wherever she plea-
ses; but first send my wife and son hither.
Bet. I shall, sir.
Sir P. Do so, be gone. [Exit Betty] Aha!
maister Chairles, I believe I shall cure your
passion for a vartuous beggar noow; I think
he canna be so infatuated as to be a dupe till
a strumpet-let me see-hoow am I till act
noow?-why, like a true poleetician, I must
pretend most sincerely, where I intend most
deceit.
Sir P. Now mark.
Eger. [Reads] All which I beg you will
convert to your own immediate use, for my
heart has no room for any wish, or for-
tune, but what contributes to your relief
and happiness-
Sir P. Oh, Chairles, Chairles! do ye see,
sir, what a dupe she makes of you? But mark
what follows; mark, Chairles, mark.
Eger. [Reads] Oh, how I long-
Sir P. Mark.
Eger. [Reads] To throw myself into your
of a dear, dear arms-
Sir P. Mark, mark.
Enter LADY MACSYCOPHANT and EGERTON.
Eger. [Reads] To sooth your fears, your
Weel, Chairles, notwithstanding the mee- apprehensions, and your sorrows. I have
sery ye ha brought upon me, I ha sent for something to tell you of the utmost moment,
ye and yeer mother, in order till convince ye but will reserve it till we meet this evening
baith of my affection, and my readiness till in the dark walk-in the dark walk!
forgive; nay, and even till indulge your per- Sir P. In the dark walk-ah! an evil-eyed
verse passion; for since I find this Constantia curse upon her! yas, yas, she has been often
has got hold of your heart, and that your in the dark walk, I believe-but read, read!
mother and ye think that ye can never be
happy withoot her, why I'll na longer oppose
yeer inclinations. do
Eger. Dear sir, you snatch me from sharpest
misery. On my knees let my heart thank you
for this goodness. Jang
Lady M. Let me express my thanks too,
and my joy; for had you not consented to
his marrying her, we all should have been
miserable.
Eger. [Reads] In the mean time, banish
all fears, and hope the best, from fortune,
and your ever dutiful, and ever affectio-
nated CONSTANTIA HARRINGTON.
Sir P. There, there's a warm epistle for
you! in short, the fact is-the hussy, ye must
know, is married till the fellow.
Eger. Not unlikely, sir.
Lady M. Indeed, by her letter, I believe she is.
Sir P. Noow, madam, what amends can ye
Sir P. Weel, I am glad I ha found a way make me for countenancing your son's pas-
till please ye baith at las-but noow, my dear sion for sic an a reptile? and ye, sir, what ha
Chairles, suppose noow, that this spotless ves-ye till say for your disobedience and your
tal, this wonder of vartue, this idol of your frenzy? Oh! Chairles! Chairles, you'll shorten
heart, should be a concealed wanton, after aw! my days!
[Sits down.
Eger. A wanton, sir!
[Eagerly. Eger. Pray, sir, be patient-compose your-
Sir P. Or suppose that she should have an self a moment; I will make you any compen-
engagement of marriage, or an intrigue wisation in my power.
another mon, and is only making a dupe of Sir P. Then instantly sign the articles of
ye aw this time; I say only suppose it, my marriage.

574
[ACT V.
MAN OF THE WORLD.
Eger. The lady, sir, has never yet been affection brought me to my native land, in
consulted, and I have some reason to believe quest of an only child. I found her, as I
that her heart is engaged to another man.
Sir P. Sir, that is na business of yours
know she wull consent; and that's aw we are
till consider. Oh! here comes my lord!
we
Enter LORD LUMBERCOURT.
Lord L. Sir Pertinax, every thing is ready,
and the lawyers wait for us. an
Sir P. We attend your lordship; where is
lady Rodolpha?
thought, amiable as paternal fondness could
I desire; but foul seduction has snatched her
from me; and hither am I come, fraught with
a father's anger, and a soldier's honour, to
seek the seducer, and glut revenge.
Lady M. Pray, sir, who is your daughter?
Mel. I blush to own her-but-Constantia.
Omnes. How!
Lady M. Constantia!
Eger. Is Constantia your daughter, sir?
Mel. She is, and was the only comfort that
nature, fortune, or my own extravagance had
Lord L. Giving some female consolation to
poor Constantia. Why, my lady! ha! ha! ha!
I hear your vestal, Constantia, has been flirt-left me.
ing!
Sir P. Yas, yas, my lord, she is in very
gude order for ainy mon that wants a wife,
and an heir till his estate, intill the bargain.
Enter TOMLINS.
Tom. Sir, there's a man below, that wants
to speak to your honour upon particular bu-
siness.
Sir P. Gude traith, then I fancy ye wull
find but vary little comfort fra her; for she is
na better than she should be-she has had na
damage in this mansion; but ye may gang
till Hadley, till yean farmer Hodges', and there
ye may learn the whole story, fra a cheel they
caw Melville.
Mel. Melville!aka
Sir P. Yas, sir; Melville.
Sir P. Sir, I canna speak tillainy body Mel. O! would to heaven she had no crime
noow he must come another time; haud-to answer but her commerce with Melville-
stay, what, is he a gentleman?
no, sir, he is not the man; it is your son,
Tom. He looks something like one, sir; a your Egerton, that has seduced her! and here,
sort of a gentleman; but he seems to be in sir, are the evidences of his seduction.
a kind of a passion; for when I asked his
name, he answered hastily, 'tis no matter,
friend, go tell your master there is a gentle-
Eger. Of my seduction, sir!
Mel. Of yours, sir, if your name be Egerton.
Eger. I am that man, sir; but pray what
man here, that must speak to him directly. is your evidence?
Enter LADY RODOLPHA.
Sir P. Must! ha! vary peremptory indeed! Mel. These bills, and these gorgeous jewels
pr'ythee let's see this angry sort of a gentle--not to be had in her menial state, but at
man, for curiosity's sake. [Exit Tomlins. the price of chastity; not an hour since she
sent them, impudently sent them, by a servant
of this house; contagious infamy started from
Lady R. Oh! my lady Macsycophant, I am their touch.de off
come an humble advocate for a weeping piece
of female frailty; who begs she may be per- concerning the terms on which she received
mitted to speak till your ladyship, before ye
finally reprobate her.
Eger. Sir, perhaps you may be mistaken
them; do you but clear her conduct with re-
spect to Melville, and I will instantly satisfy
your fears concerning the jewels and her
Sir P. I beg your pardon, lady Rodolpha,
but it must not be; see her, she shall not. virtue.
Lady M. Nay, there can be no harm, my
dear, in hearing what she has to say for herself,
Sir P. I tell you, it shall not be.
Lady M. Well, well, my dear, I have done,
I have done.
Enter TOMLINS and MELVILLE.
Tom. Sir, that is my master.
Sir P. Weel, sir, pray what is your urgent
business wi me, sir?
Mel. To shun disgrace and punish baseness.
Sir P. Punish baseness! what does the fal-
low mean? wha are ye, sir? hode ni Tuor
Mel. A man, sir.
Sir P. A mon, sir!
Mel. And one whose spirit and fortune once
bore as proud a sway as any within this
country's limits.
Mel. Sir, you give me new life; you are
my better angel-I believe in your words,
your looks-know then-I am that Melville.
Sir P. Hoow, sir! ye that Melville, that was
at farmer Hodges'?
we
Mel. The same, sir; it was he brought my
Constantia to my arms; lodged and secreted
me once my lowly tenant, now my only
friend; the fear of inexorable creditors made
me change my name from Harrington to Mel-
ville, till I could see and consult some who
once called themselves my friends.
Eger. Sir, suspend your fears and anger
but for a few minutes-I will keep my word
with you religiously; and bring your Con-
stantia to your arms, as virtuous and as happy
as you could wish her.
[Exeunt Lady Macsycophant and
Egerton.
Lord L. You seem to be a soldier, sir!
Mel. I was, sir, and have the soldier's cer- Sir P. The clearing up of this wench's vir-
tificate, to prove my service-rags and sears: tue is dom'd unlucky! I'm afraid it wull ruin
for ten long years, in India's parching clime, aw oor affairs again
oor affairs again-hoowever, I ha yean
I bore my country's cause, and in noblest stroke still in my heed, that wull secure the
dangers sustained it with my sword-at length bargain wi my lord, let matters gang as they
ungrateful peace has laid me down, where wull. [Aside] But I wonder, maister Melville,
welcome war first took me up-in poverty-that ye did na pick up some leetle matter of
and the dread of cruel creditors. Paternal the siller in the Indies-Ah! there ha been

SCENE 1.]
575
MAN OF THE WORLD.
bonny fortunes snapped up there of late years
by some of the meelitary blades.
upon honour, yean brother is ass gude till
Rodolpha ass another.
Mel. Very true, sir; but it is an observation Sir P. I'll ainswer, madam, for your grand-
among soldiers, that there are some men who mother; noow, my lord, what say you?
never meet with any thing in the service but Lord L. Nay, sir Pertinax, so the agreement
blows and ill fortune-I was one of those, stands, all is right again; come, child, let us
even to a proverb.
be gone. Lookye, sir Pertinax, let me have
Sir P. Ah! 'tis pity, sir; a great pity, noow, no more perplexity, or trouble about writings,
that ye did na get a mogul, or some sic an lawyers, duns, debts, or daughter; only let me
animal intill your clutches-Ah! I should like be at my ease, and rat me if I care one pinch
till ha the strangling of a nabob-the rum- of snuff if her ladyship concorporates with the
maging of his gold dust, his jewel closet, and cham of Tartary. [Exit Lord Lumbercourt.
aw his magazines of bars and ingots; ha! ha! Sir P. Ass to ye, my lady Macsycophant, I
ha! gude traith, noow, sic an aw fellow would suppose ye concluded, before ye gave your
be a bonny cheel to bring over till this toown, consent till this match, that there would be an
and till exhibit him riding on an elephant; end of every thing betwixt ye and me: ye
upon honour a mon might raise a poll tax
by him that would gang near till pay the debts
of the nation!
Enter EGERTON, CONSTANTIA, LADY MACSY-
COPHANT, and SIDNEY.
shall ha a jointure, but not a bawbee besides,
living or dead, shall ye, or any of your issue,
ever see of mine; so, madam, live wi yeer
Constantia, wi yeer son, and wi that-that
damn'd black sheep there. [Exit Sir Pertinax.
Lady R. Weel, cousin Egerton, in spite
Eger. Sir, I promised to satisfy your fears o'the ambeetious frenzy o'your faither, and the
concerning your daughter's virtue; and my thoughtless deesipation o'mine, don Cupid has
best proof to you and all the world, that I at last carried his point in favour o'his devo-
think her not only chaste, but the most de-tees; but I mun noow take my leave with the
serving of her sex, is, that I have made her fag-end of an awd north country wish, brought
the partner of my heart, and the tender guar-fra the hospitable land of fair Strathbogie:
dian of my earthly happiness for life! may mutual love and gude humour ever be
Sir P. Hoow, married! h
the guest of your hearts, the theme of
your
Eger. I know, sir, at present we shall meet tongues, and the blithsome phantom of aw
your anger-but time, reflection, and our du- your tricksy dreams through the rugged road
tiful conduct, we hope, will reconcile you to of this crooked, deceitful world; and may our
our happiness.
sin natin bed and faithers be an example to oorsels, that will
Sir P. Naver, naver; and could I make ye, remind us to treat oor bairns ¹), should heaven
her, and aw your issue beggars-I would move croon our endeavours, wi more lebeerality
hell, heaven, and earth till effect it.
and affection, than that with which oor fathers
have treated us. [Exit Lady Rodolpha.
Lord L. Why, sir Pertinax, this is a total
revolution, and will entirely ruin my affairs. Eger. You seem melancholy, sir.
Sir P. My lord, wi the consent of your lord- Mel. These precarious turns of fortune, sir,
ship and lady Rodolpha, I ha an expedient till will press upon the heart: for notwithstanding
offer, that wull not ainly punish that rebel- my Constantia's happiness, and mine in hers,
lious villain, but answer every end that your I own I cannot help feeling some regret, that
lordship and lady Rodolpha proposed by the my misfortunes should be the cause of any
intended match wee him.
hadisagreement between a father and the man to
Lord L. I doubt it much, sir Pertinax; I whom I am under the most endearing obligations.
doubt it much; but what is it, sir? what is Eger. You, sir, have no share in his disa-
your expedient?
greement; for had not you been born, from
Sir P. My lord, I ha another son, my son my father's nature, some other cause of his
Sandy, he is a guid lad; and provided the resentment must have happened; but for a
lady and your lordship ha na objection till time, sir, at least, and I hope for life, afflic-
him, every article of that rebel's intended mar- tion and angry vicissitudes have taken their
riage shall be amply fulfilled, upon lady Ro- leave of us all: if affluence can procure con-
dolpha's union with my younger son, Sandy. tent and ease, they are within our reach. My
Lord L. Why, that is an expedient, indeed, fortune is ample, and shall be dedicated to
sir Pertinax; but what say you, Rodolpha? the happiness of this domestic circle.
Lady R. Nay, nay, my lord, ass I had na
reason till ha the least affection till my cousin
Egerton, and ass my intended marriage wi
him was entirely an act of obedience till my
grandmother, provided my cousin Sandy wull
be ass agreeable till her ladyship, ass my cou-
sin Chairles, here, would ha been-I have na
the least objection till the change; ay, ay,
My scheme, though mock'd by knave, co-
a enquette, and fool, del
To thinking minds must prove this golden
rule:
In all pursuits--but chiefly in a wife,
Not wealth, but morals, make the happy
life.
[Exeunt.
1) Children.
For he no
Jinand boblar mood and 30
1000w ledig teist on disay
ass por tod

576
[ACT I.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Comedy by P. Massinger. Acted at the Phoenix, Drury Lane 1633. This play is very deservedly commended in
two copies of verses by Sir Henry Moody and Sir Thomas Jay: it is one of the best of the old comedies. The plot
is good and well conducted, the language dramatic and nervous, and the characters, particularly that of Sir Giles Over-
reach, are highly and judiciously drawn. It was revived at Drury Lane Theatre in the year 1748, and several times
since; but whether from any fault in the performance, or want of taste in the audience, it did not meet with that suc-
cess which might have been expected from its merit, and which some of its contemporaries, not possessed of more,
have since received on a revival. We are the more inclined to believe that the want of success must have arisen from.
the performers, as it was acted at Covent Garden, in 1781, in a manner that showed it was deserving of the utmost ap-
plause. Mr. Henderson's perfance of Sir Giles Over-reach, in particular, could not be too much commended. It was
revived by Mr. Cooke, who, though he may have fallen short of his predecessor just mentioned, yet has sustained the
part with credit, and he who has seen Kean in this character will not easily forget him.
wieled bobola DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
LORD LOVELL.
SIR GILES OVERREACH.
JUSTICE GREEDY.
MARRALL.
WELLBORN.
ALLWORTH.
WELLDO.
TAPWELL.
ACT I.
fub leg and to gui
ORDER.
FURNACE.
AMBLE.
LADY ALLWORTH.
MARGARET.
FROTH.
CREDITORS.
My quondam master, was a man of worship;
SCENE I. The Outside of
The Outside of a Village Ale-Bore the whole sway of the shire; kept a good
house.
Enter WELLBORN, TAPWELL, and FROTH.
Well. No liquor! nor no credit?
Tap. None, sir;
Not the remainder of a single can,
Left by a drunken porter; all night pall'd too.
Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your
mode morning's draught, sir.
'Tis verity, I assure you.
Well. Verity, you brach!
The devil turn'd precisian? Rogue, what am I?
Tap. Troth! durst I trust you with a look-
ing-glass,
To let you see your trim shape, you would
quit me,
And take the name yourself.
Well. How! dog?
Tap. Even so, sic. Advance your Plymouth
cloak;
There dwells, and within call (if it please your
ale
worship),
A potent monarch call'd the constable,
That does command a citadel call'd the stocks;
Such as with great dexterity will hale
Your poor tatter'd-
Well. Rascal! slave!
Froth. No rage, sir.
Tap. At his own peril! Do not put yourself
In too much heat, there being no water near
To quench your thirst; and sure for other liquor,
As mighty ale, or beer, they are things, I take it,
You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir.
Well. Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st
thou talk thus?
house;
And the twelve hundred a year coming to you,
Reliev'd the poor, and so forth; but he dying,
Late master Francis, but now forlorn Well-
born-
Well. Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.
Froth. Very hardly.
You cannot be out of your way.
Tap. You were then a lord of acres, the
prime gallant,
And I your under-butler: note the change now:
You had a merry time of't. Hawks and hounds,
With choice of running horses; mistresses,
And other such extravagancies;
Which your uncle, sir Giles Overreach, ob-
serving,
Resolving not to lose so fair an opportunity,
On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds,
For awhile supplied your lavishness, and then
left you. or how redt
Well. Some curate has penn'd this invec-
motive, mongrel, b
And you have studied it.
Tap. I have not done yet.
Your lands gone, and your credit not worth
a token,
You grew the common borrower; no man'scap'd
Your paper pellets, from the gentleman to the
groom;
While I, honest Tim Tapwell, with a little
stock,
Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage,
And humbled myself to marriage with my
Froth here.
Well. Hear me, ungrateful hell-hound! did
not 1
Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift?
Tup. I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Make purses for you? then you lick'd my boots,
And thought your holiday cloak too coarse to
clean 'em.
Tapwell
Does keep no other register.
Well. Am I not he
'Twas I, that when I heard thee swear, if ever
Whose riots fed and cloth'd thee? Wert Thou couldst arrive at forty pounds, thou
thou not
Born on my father's land, and proud to be
A drudge in his house?
Tap. What I was, sir, it skills not;
What you are is apparent. Now for a farewell:
Since you talk of father, in my hope it will
torment you,
I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father,
old sir John,
wouldst harde tarat
Live like an emperor: 'twas I that gave it,
In ready gold. Deny this, wretch!
Tap. I must, sir.
For from the tavern to the tap-house, all,
On forfeiture of their license, stand bound,
Never to remember who their best guests were,
If they grow poor like you.
Well. They are well rewarded

SCENE 2.]
577
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
That beggar themselves to make such rascals rich. There's such disparity in their conditions
Thou viper, thankless viper!
But since you are grown forgetful I will help
Your memory, and beat thee into remembrance;
Nor leave one bone unbroken. [Beats him.
Tap. Oh, oh, oh!
Froth. Help! help!
Enter ALLWORTH.
Allw. Hold, for my sake, hold!
Deny me, Frank? they are not worth your anger.
Well. For once thou hast redeem'd them
of from this sceptre:
[Shaking his Cudgel.
But let 'em vanish;
For if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.
Froth. This comes of your prating, hus-
band; you presum'd
of
On your ambling wit, and must use your
glib tongue,
Though you are beaten lame for't.
Tap. Patience, Froth,
There's law to cure our bruises.
[Tapwell and Froth go into the House.
Well. Sent for to your mother?
Alle. My lady, Frank, my patroness! my all!
She's such a mourner for iny father's death,
And, in her love to him, so favours me,
That I cannot pay too much observance to her.
There are few such stepdames.
Well. 'Tis a noble widow,
And keeps her reputation pure, and clear
From the least taint of infamy; her life,
With the splendour of her actions, leaves
tongue
To envy or detraction. Pr'ythee tell me,
Has she no suitors?
no
Allw. Even the best of the shire, Frank,
My lord excepted: such as sue and send,
And send and sue again; but to no purpose.
Yet she's so far from sullenness and pride,
That I dare undertake you shall meet from her
A liberal entertainment.
Well. I doubt it not.
Now, Allworth, better come and mark my
counsel. I am bound to give it;
Thy father was my friend; and that affection
I bore to him, in right descends to thee:
Thou art a handsome and a hopeful youth;
Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee,
If I with any danger can prevent it.
Allw. I thank your noble care; but, pray
de les bod you, in what
Do I run the hazard?
Well. Art thou not in love?cde I
Put it not off with wonder.
Allw. In love, at my years?
Well. You think you walk in clouds, but
are transparent.
I have heard all, and the choice that you
have made;
And, with my finger, can point out the north star,
By which the loadstone of your folly's guided.
And to confirm this true, what think you of
Fair Margaret, the only child and heira
Of cormorant Overreach? Dost blush and start,
To hear her only nam'd? Blush at your want
Of wit and reason.
Allw. Howe'er you have discover'd my intents,
You know my aims are lawful; and if ever
The queen of flowers, the glory of the spring,
Sprung from an envious briar, I may infer,
Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter,
And the base churl her father.
Well. Grant this true,
As I believe it; canst thou ever hope
To enjoy a quiet bed with her, whose father
Ruin'd thy state?
Allw. And yours too.
Well. I confess it, Allworth.
I must tell you as a friend, and freely,
That, where impossibilities are apparent,
'Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes.
Or canst thou think (if self-love blind thee not)
That sir Giles Overreach (that to make her great
In swelling titles, without touch of conscience,
Will cut his neighbour's throat, and I hope
his own too)
Will e'er consent to make her thine? Give o'er,
And think of some course suitable to thy rank,
And prosper in it.
Allw. You have well advised me.
But, in the mean time, you that are so studious
Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own.
Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.
Well. No matter, no matter.
Allw. Yes, 'tis much material:
You know my fortune and my means; yet
something
I can spare from myself, to help your wants.
Well. How's this?
Allw. Nay, be not angry.
Well. Money from thee?
From a boy, a stipendiary? one that lives
At the devotion of a stepmother,
And the uncertain favour of a lord?
I'll eat my arms first. Howsoe'er blind fortune
Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me;
Though I am vomited out of an alehouse,
And thus accoutred; know not where to eat,
Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy;
Although I thank thee, I despise thy offer.
And as I, in my madness, broke my state
Without th' assistance of another's brain,
In my right wits I'll piece it; at the worst,
Die thus, and be forgotten.
Allw. A strange humour! [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-A Chamber in LADY ALLWORTH'S
House.
Enter ORDER, AMBLE, and FURNACE.
Order. Set all things right, or, as my name
is Order,
Whoever misses in his function,
For one whole week makes forfeiture of his
breakfast,
And privilege in the wine-cellar.
Amble. You are merry,
Good master steward.
Fur. Let him; I'll be angry.
Amble. Why, fellow Furnace, 'tis not twelve
fdg o'clock yet,
Nor dinner taking up; then 'tis allow'd,
Cooks, by their places, may be choleric.
Fur. You think you have spoke wisely, good
man Amble,
My lady's go-before.
Order. Nay, nay, no wrangling.
Fur. Twit me with the authority of the
kitchen?
At all hours, and at all places, I'll be angry;
And, thus provok'd, when I am at my prayers
I will be angry.
73

578
[ACT 1.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Amble. There was no hurt meant.
Inscription, vicious or honourable.
Fur. I am friends with thee, and yet I will I will not force your will, but leave you free
be angry.
To your own election.
Allo. Any form you please
Order. With whom?
Fur. No matter whom: yet, now I think on't, I will put on: but, might I make my choice,
I'm angry with my lady.
Amble. Heaven forbid, man.
Order. What cause has she given thee?
Fur. Cause enough, master steward:
I was entertain'd by her to please her palate,
And, till she forswore eating, I perform'd it.
Now since our master, noble Allworth, died,
Though I crack my brains to find out tempt-
ing sauces,
When I am three parts roasted,
And the fourth part parboil'd, to prepare her
viands,
She keeps her chamber, dines with a panada,
Or water gruel; my skill ne'er thought on.
Order. But your art is seen in the dining-
room.
Fur. By whom?
By such as pretend to love her, but come
To feed upon her. Yet, of all the harpies
That do devour her, I am out of charity
With none so much as the thin-gutted squire,
That's stolen into commission.
Order. Justice Greedy?
Fur. The same, the same. Meat's cast away
upon him;
It never thrives. He holds this paradox,
"Who eats not well, can ne'er do justice well."
His stomach's as insatiate as the grave.
Amble. One knocks.
Enter ALLWORTH.
With humble emulation, I would follow
The path my lord marks to me.
Lady A. "Tis well answer'd,
And I commend your spirit. You had a father
(Bless'd be his memory), that some few hours
Before the will of heaven took him from me,
Did commend you, by the dearest ties
Of perfect love between us, to my charge:
And therefore what I speak you are bound
to hear,
With such respect, as if he liv'd in me.
the liv'd in m
Allo. I have found you,
Most honour'd madam, the best mother to me;
And with my utmost strength of care and service,
Will labour that you never may repent
Your bounties shower'd upon me.
Lady A. I much hope it.
These were your father's words: "If e'er my son
Follow the war, tell him it is a school
Where all the principles tending to honour
Are taught, if truly follow'd; but for such
As repair thither, as a place in which
They do presume they may with license practise
Their lawless riots, they shall never merit
The noble name of soldiers..
To obey their leaders, and shun mutinies;
To dare boldly
In a fair cause, and for the country's safety
[A Knocking. To run upon the cannon's mouth undaunted;
To bear with patience the winter's cold,
And summer's scorching heat,
Order. Our late young master.
Amble. Welcome, sir.
Fur. Your hand.
RA
If you have a stomach, a cold bake-meat's ready.
Order. His father's picture in little.
Fur. We are all your servants.
Allo. At once, my thanks to all:
This is yet some comfort. Is my lady stirring?
Enter LADY ALLWORTH.
Order. Her presence answers for us.
Lady A. Sort those silks well.
I'll take the air alone.
And, as I gave directions, if this morning
I am visited by any, entertain 'em
As heretofore; hut say, in my excuse,
I am indispos'd.
Order. I shall, madam.
Lady A. Do, and leave me.
[Exeunt Order, Amble, and Furnace.
Nay, stay you, Allworth.
How is it with your noble master?
Allw. Ever like himself;
No scruple lessen'd in the full weight of honour.
He did command me (pardon my presumption),
As his unworthy deputy, to kiss
Your ladyship's fair hands.
Lady A. I am honour'd in
His favour to me. Does he hold his
For the Low Countries?
purpose
Allw. Constantly, good madam:
But he will in person first present his service.
Lady A. And how approve you of his course?
You are yet,
Like virgin parchment, capable of any
Are the essential parts make up a soldier;
Not swearing, dice, or drinking.
Allw. There's no syllable
You speak, but it is to me an oracle;
Which but to doubt were impious.
Lady A. To conclude:
Beware ill company; for often men
Are like to those with whom they do converse:
And from one man I warn you, and that's
Wellborn:
Not 'cause he's poor-that rather claims your
pity;
But that he's in his manners so debauch'd,
And hath to vicious courses sold himself.
'Tis true your father lov'd him, while he was
Worthy the loving; but if he had liv'd
To have seen him as he is, he had cast him off,
As you must do.
All. I shall obey in all things,
Lady A. Follow me to my chamber; you
shall have gold
To furnish you like my son, and still supply'd
As I hear from you.
Allw. I am still bound to you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.A Hall in LADY ALLWORTH'S
House.
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, JUSTICE GREEDY,
ORDDER, AMBLE, FURNACE, and MARRALL.
Just. G. Not to be seen?
Sir G. Still cloister'd up? Her reason,
I hope, assures her, though she makes herself
Close pris'ner ever for her husband's loss,
Twill not recover him.
Order. Sir, it is her will;
Which we that are her servants ought to serve,

SCENE 3.]
579
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
And not dispute. Howe'er, you are nobly
welcome:
And if you please to stay, that you may think so,
There came not six days since from Hull, a pipe
Of rich Canary; which shall spend itself
For my lady's honour.
Just. G. Is it of the right race?
Order. Yes, Mr. Greedy.
Amble. How his mouth runs o'er! [Apart.
Fur. I'll make it run and run. [Apart] Save
your good worship!
Just. G. Honest Mr. Cook, thy hand-again!
How I love thee!
Are the good dishes still in being? speak, boy.
Fur. If you have a mind to feed, there is
a chine
Of beef well season'd.
Just. G. Good.
Fur. A pheasant larded.
Just. G. That I might now give thanks for't!
Fur. Besides, there came last night, from
the forest of Sherwood,
The fattest stag I ever cook'd.
Just. G. A stag, man?
Fur. A stag, sir; part of it is prepar'd for
dinner,
And bak'd in puff-paste.
Just. G. Puff-paste too, sir Giles!
A pond'rous chine of beef! a pheasant larded!
And red deer too, sir Giles, and bak'd in puff-
paste!
All business set aside, let us give thanks here.
Sir G. You know we cannot.
Fur. Pr'ythee vanish
Into some out-house, though it be the pig-sty;
My scullion shall come to thee.
Enter ALLWORTH.
Well. This is rare.
Oh, here is Tom Allworth!-Tom!
Allw. We must be strangers;
Nor would I have you seen here for a million.
[Exit.
Well. Better and better. He contemns me too.
Fur. Will you know your way?
Amble. Or shall we teach it
By the head and shoulders?
Well. No, I will not stir:
you,
Do you mark, I will not. Let me see the wretch
That dares attempt to force me. Why, you
slaves,
Created only to make legs and cringe,
To carry in a dish and shift a trencher,
That have not souls only to hope a blessing
Beyond your master's leavings who advan-
Jave yet a ces? who
Shows me the way?
Order. Here comes my lady.
Enter LADY ALLWORTH.
Lady A. What noise is this?
Well. Madam, my designs bear me to you.
Lady A. To me?
Well. And though I have met with
But ragged entertainment from your grooms
here,
Mar. Your worships are to sit on a com-I hope from you to receive that noble usage,
As may become the true friend of your hus-
band;
mission,
And if you fail to come, you lose the cause.
Just. G. Cause me no causes: I'll prove't,
for such a dinner,
We may put off a commission; you shall find it
Henrici decimo quarto.
Sir G. Fie, Mr. Greedy,
Will you lose me a thousand pounds for
dinner?
a
No more, for shame! We must forget the belly,
When we think of profit.
Just. G. Well, you shall overrule me.
I could ev'n cry now. Do you hear, master Cook?
Send but a corner of that immortal pasty,
And I in thankfulness will, by your boy,
Send you a brace of threepences.
Fur. Will you be so prodigal?
Sir G. Remember me to your lady.
Enter WELLBORN.
Who have we here?
Well. You know me.
Sir G. I did once, but now I will not;
Thou art no blood of mine. Avaunt, thou beggar!
If ever thou presume to own me more,
I'll have thee cag'd and whipp'd.
Just. G. I'll grant the warrant.
Think of pie-corner, Furnace.
[Exeunt Sir Giles Overreach,
Greedy, and Marrall.
Amble. Will you out, sir?
I wonder how you durst creep in.
Order. This is rudeness,
And saucy impudence.
Amble. Cannot you stay
[To
And then I shall forget these.
Lady A. I am amaz'd,
To see and hear this rudeness. Dar'st thou
think,
Though sworn, that it can ever find belief,
That I, who to the best men of this country
Denied my presence since my husband's death,
Can fall so low as to change words with thee?
Well. Scorn me not, good lady;
But as in form you are angelical,
Imitate the heavenly natures, aud vouchsafe
At least awhile to hear me. You will grant
The blood that runs in this arm is as noble
As that which fills your veins. Your swelling
titles,
Equipage, and fortune; your men's observance,
And women's flattery, are in you no virtues;
Nor these rags, with my poverty, in me vices.
You have a fair fame, and I know deserve it;
Yet, lady, I must say, in nothing more
Than in the pious sorrow you have shown
For your late noble husband.
[Aside.
Order. There he touch'd her.
Well. That husband, madam, was once in
his fortune
Almost as low as I. Want, debts, and quarrels,
Justice Lay heavy on him: let it not be thought
A boast in me, though I say I reliev'd him.
'Twas I that gave him fashion; mine the sword
That did on all occasions second his;
Wellborn.
I brought him on and off with honour, lady:
And when in all men's judgments he was sunk,
And in his own hopes not to be buoy'd up;
I stepp'd unto him, took him by the hand,
To be serv'd among your fellows from the basket, And brought him to the shore.
But you must press into the hall?
Fur. Are not we base rogues

580
[ACT II.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
That could forget this?
Well. I confess you made him
you for't:S
[Aside. Mar. Your worship has the way on't, and
ne'er miss
Master of your estate; nor could your friends, To squeeze these unthrifts into air; and yet
Though he brought no wealth with him, blame The chop-fall'n justice did his part, returning
For your advantage the certificate,
Against his conscience and his knowledge too
(With your good favour), to the utter ruin
Of the poor farmer.
For he had a shape, and to that shape a mind
Made up of all parts, either great or noble;
So winning a behaviour, not to be
Resisted, madam.
Lady A. 'Tis most true, he had.
Well. For his sake then, in that I was his
Do not contemn me.
[friend,
Lady A. For what's past excuse me;
I will redeem it. [Offers him her Pocket-book.
Well. Madam, on no terms:
I will not beg nor borrow sixpence of you;
But be supplied elsewhere, or want thus ever.
Only one suit I make: pray give me leave.
[Lady Allworth signs to the Servants to retire.
I will not tire your patience with relation
Of the bad arts my uncle Overreach
Still forg'd, to strip me of my fair possessions;
Nor how he shuts the door upon my want.
Would you but vouchsafe,
To your dead husband's friend, such feigned
As might beget opinion in sir Giles [grace
Of a true passion toward me, you would see
In the mere thought to prey on me again
He'd turn my friend,
Quit all my owings, set me truly forth,
And furnish'd well with gold; which I should use,
I trust, to your no shame, lady, but live
Ever a debtor to your gentleness.
Lady A. What, nothing else?
Well. Nothing, unless you please to charge
your servants
To throw away a little respect upon me.
Lady A. What you demand is yours.
Respect this gentleman as 'twere myself.
[To the Servants.
Adieu, dear master Wellborn;
Pray let me see you with your oft'nest means.
Well. Your honour's servant.
[Kisses her Hand. Exit Lady Allworth.
Now what can be wrought out of such a suit
Is yet in supposition. [Servants bow] Nay,
all's forgotten;
And for a lucky omen to my project,
Shake hands, and end all quarrels in the cellar.
Order. Agreed, agreed.
Fur. Still merry, Mr. Wellborn?
[Exeunt Servants.
Well. Well, faith, a right worthy and a
liberal lady,
Who can at once so kindly meet my purposes,
And brave the flouts of censure, to redeem
Her husband's friend! When by this honest plot
The world believes she means to heal my wants
With her extensive wealth, each noisy creditor
Will be struck mute, and I be left at large
To practise on my uncle Overreach.
Here I may work the measure, to redeem
My mortgag'd fortune, which he stripp'd me of
When youth and dissipation quell'd my reason.
The fancy pleases-if the plot succeed,
'Tis a new way to pay old debts indeed. [Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE I-4 Landscape.
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH and MARRALL.
Sir G. He's gone, I warrant thee; this com-
mission crush'd him.
Sir G. 'Twas for these good ends
I made him a justice. He that bribes his belly,
Is certain to command his soul.
Mar. I wonder
Why, your worship having
The power to put this thin gut in commission,
You are not in't yourself.
Sir G. Thou art a fool;
In being out of office I am out of danger;
Where, if I were a justice, besides the trouble,
I might, or out of wilfulness or error,
Run myself finely into a premunire;
And so become a prey to the informer.
No, I'll have none of't: 'tis enough I keep i
Greedy at my devotion: so he serve
My purposes, let him hang, or damn, I care not;
Friendship is but a word.
Mar. You are all wisdom.
Sir G. I would be worldly wise; for the
other wisdom,
That does prescribe us a well-govern'd life,
And to do right to others as ourselves,
I value not an atom.
Mar. What course take you
(With your good patience), to hedge in the
manor
Of your good neighbour, Mr. Frugal? As
'tis said,
He will nor sell, nor borrow, nor exchange;
And his land lying in the midst of your many
lordships,
Is a foul blemish.
Sir G. I have thought on't, Marrall,
And it shall take. I must have all men sellers,
And I the only purchaser.
Mar. 'Tis most fit, sir.
Sir G. I'll therefore buy some cottage near
his manor;
Which done,
I'll make my men break ope'
his fences,
Ride o'er his standing corn, and in the night
Set fire to his barns, or break his cattle's legs.
These trespasses draw on suits, and suits
the expenses;
Which I can spare, but will soon beggar him.
When I have harried him thus two or three
years,
Though he sue forma pauperis, in spite
Of all his thrift and care, he'll grow behind-
hand.
Mar. The best I ever heard. I could adore you.
Sir G. Then, with the favour of my man oflaw,
I will pretend some title; want will force him
To put it to arbitrement; then, if he sell
For half the value, he shall have ready money,
And I possess the land.
Mar. Wellborn was apt to sell, and needed not
These fine arts, sir, to hook him in.
Sir G. Well thought on.
This varlet, Wellborn, lives too long to up-
braid me
With my close cheat put upon him. Will
not cold
Nor hunger kill him?

SCENE 1.]
581
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Mar. I know not what to think on't.
I have us'd all means; and the last night I caus'd
His host, the tapster, to turn him out of doors;
And have been since with all your friends
and tenants,
That would not be instructed. I swear deeply.
Well. By what?
Mar. By my religion.
Well. Thy religion!
od
The devil's creed. But what would you have
And on the forfeit of your favour, charg'd them,inter
done?
Though a crust of mouldy bread would keep Mar. Before, like you, I had outliv'd my
him from starving, sh
fortunes,
Yet they should not relieve him. This is A withe had serv'd my turn to hang myself.
I am zealous in your cause, pray you hang
done, sir.
Sir G. That was something, Marrall; but
thou must go further,
And suddenly, Marrall.
Mar. Where and when you please, sir.
Sir G. I would have the seek him out; and,
if thou canst,
Persuade him that 'tis better steal than beg:
Then, if I prove he has but roob'd a henroost,
Not all the world shall save him from the gallows.
Do any thing to work him to despair,
And 'tis thy masterpiece.
Mar. I will do my best, sir.
Sir G. I am now on my main work with
the lord Lovell,
The gallant-minded, popular lord Lovell,
The minion of the people's love. I hear
He's come into the country; and my aims are
To insinuate myself into his knowledge,
And then invite him to my house.
Mar. I have you.
This points at my young mistress.
Sir G. She must part with
That humble title, and write honourable;
yourself;
And presently, as you love your credit.
Well. I thank you.
Mar. Will you stay till you die in a ditch?
Or, if you dare not do the fate yourself,
But that you'll put the state to charge and
trouble,
Is there no purse to be cut? house to be broken?
Or market-woman with eggs that you may
murder,
And so dispatch the business?
Well. Here's variety,
I must confess; but I'll accept of none
Of all your gentle offers, I assure you.
Mar. If you like not hanging, drown your-
self; take some course
For your reputation.
Well. Twill not do, dear tempter,
With all the rhetoric the fiend hath taught you;
I am as far as thou art from despair.
Nay, I have confidence, which is more than hope,
To live, and suddenly, better than ever.
Mar. Ha, ha! these castles you build in the air
Right honourable, Marrall; my right honour-Will not persuade me or to give or lend
able daughter,
If all I have, or e'er shall get, will do it.
I will have her well attended; there are ladies
Of errant knights decay'd, and brought so low,
That for cast clothes and meat will gladly
meat wil
serve her;
And 'tis my glory, though I come from the city,
To have their issue, whom I have undone,
To kneel to mine as bond slaves,
Mar. 'Tis fit state, sir.
Sir G. And therefore I'll not have a cham-
bermaid
That ties her shoes, or any meaner office,
But such whose fathers were right worshipful.
'Tis a rich man's pride! there having ever been
More than a feud, a strange antipathy
Between us and true gentry.
Enter WELLBORN.
Mar. See! who's here, sir.
Sir G. Hence! monster! prodigy!
Well. Call me what you will, I am your
Your sister's son.
[nephew, sir,
Sir G. Avoid my sight; thy breath's in-
fectious, rogue!
I shun thee as a leprosy, or the plague.
Come hither, Marrall, this is the time to
work him.
[Apurt to Marrall, and exit.
Mar. I warrant you, sir.
Well. By this light, I think he's mad.
Mar. Mad! had you took compassion
yourself,
You long since had been mad.
Well. You have took a course,
Between you and my venerable uncle,
To make me so.
Mar. The more pale-spirited you,
on
A token to you.
Well. I'll be more kind to thee.
Come, thou shalt dine with me.
Mar. With you?
Well. Nay more, dine gratis.
Mar. Under what hedge, I pray you? or
at whose cost?
Are they padders, or gipsies, that are your
consorts?
Well. Thou art incredulous; but thou shalt
dine
Not alone at her house, but with a gallant lady;
With me, and with a lady.
Mar. Lady! what lady?
With the lady of the lake, or queen of fairies?
For I know it must be an enchanted dinner.
Well. With the lady Allworth, knave.
Mar. Now there's hope
Thy brain is crack'd..
Well. Mark thee with what respect
I am entertained.
Mar. With choice, no doubt, of dog-whips.
Why, dost thou ever hope to pass her porter?
Well. 'Tis not far off, go with me; trust
thine own eyes.
Mar. Troth, in my hope, or my assurance
rather,
To see thee curvet, and mount, like a dog,
in a blanket;
If ever thou presume to pass her threshold,
I will endure thy company.
Well. Come along then.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A Hall in LADY ALLWORTH'S House.
Enter ALLWORTH, ORDER, AMBLE, and
FURNACE.
Allw. Your courtesies overwhelm me; I much
grieve

582
[ACT II.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
To part from such true friends, and yet I find Pray you walk, sir, to the dining-room.
comfort;
My attendance on my honourable lord
Will speedily bring me back
[Knocking at the Gate.
Mar. [Within] Dar'st thou venture further?
Well. [Within] Yes, yes, and knock again.
Order. Tis he; disperse.
Amble. Perform it bravely.
bed [Exit.
Fur. I know my cue; ne'er doubt me. [Exit.
Enter MARRALL and WELLBORN.
Order. Most welcome;
You were long since expected.
Well. Say so much
To my friend, I pray you.
Order. For your sake I will, sir.
Mar. For his sake!
Well. Mum; this is nothing.
Mar. More than ever
Well. I am well here,500
Till her ladyship quits her chamber.
Mar. Well here, say you?
'Tis a rare change! but yesterday you thought
Yourself well in a barn, wrapp'd up in pease
straw.
Order. Sir, my lady.
Enter LADY ALLWORTH.
[Aside.
[Exit.
Lady A. I come to meet you, and languish'd
till I saw you.
This first kiss for form; I allow a second,
As token of my friendship.
Well. I am wholly yours; yet, madam, if
you please
[Exit. To grace this gentleman with a salute-
Mar. Salute me at his bidding!
[Aside.
Aside.
I would have believed, though I had found it
in my primmer.
Aside.
Allw. When I have given you reasons for
my late harshness,
You'll pardon and excuse me; for, believe me,
Though now I part abruptly, in my service
I will deserve it.
Mar. Service! with a vengeance! [Aside.
Well. I am satisfied; farewell, Tom.
Allw. All joy stay with you.
Re-enter AMBLE.
[Exit.
Well. I shall receive it
As a most high favour.
I
[Aside.
Lady A. Sir, your friends are welcome to me.
Well. Run backward from a lady! and such
a lady?
Mar. To kiss her foot, is to poor me a favour
am unworthy of- [Offers to kiss her Foot.
Lady A. Nay, pray you rise;
And since you are so humble, I'll exalt you;
You shall dine with me to-day at mine own table.
Mar. Your ladyship's table? I am not good
enough
To sit at your steward's board.
Lady A. You are too modest;
Amble. You are happily encounter'd; II will not be denied.
**never yet
Presented one so welcome, as I know
You will be to my lady.
Mar. This is some vision;
Or sure these men are mad, to worship a
dunghill;
It cannot be a truth.
Well. Be still a pagan,
[Aside.
An unbelieving infidel; be so, miscreant!
And meditate on blankets, and on dog-whips.
Mayton [To Marrall.
Re-enter FURNACE.
Fur. I am glad you are come; until I know
your pleasure,
I knew not how to serve up my lady's dinner.
Mar. His pleasure! is it possible? [Aside.
Well. What's thy will?
Fur. Marry, sir, I have some grouse and
turkey-chicken,
Some rails and quails; and my lady will'd me
to ask you
What kind of sauces best affect your palate,
That I may use my utmost skill to please it.
Mar. The devil's enter'd this cook: sauce
for his palate,
month,
Re-enter ORDER.
Order. Dinner is ready for your ladyship.
Lady A. Your arm, Mr. Wellborn:
Nay, keep us company.
Mar. I was never so grac'd.
[Exeunt Well. Lady A. Amble, and Mar.
Re-enter FURNACE.
Order. So, we have play'd our parts, and
are come off well;
But if I know the mystery, why my lady
Consented to it, may I perish.
Fur. Would I had
The roasting of his heart that cheated him,
And forces the poor gentleman to these shifts.
By fire! (for cooks are Persians, and swear by it)
Of all the griping and extorting tyrants
I ever heard or read of, I never met
A match to sir Giles Overreach.
Order. What will you take
To tell him so, fellow Furnace?
Fur. Just as much
As my throat is worth, for that would be the
price on't.
To have a usurer that starves himself,
That on my knowledge, for almost this twelve-To grow rich, is too common:
Durst wish but cheese-parings and brown bread
on Sundays.
But this sir Giles feeds high, keeps many ser-
vants,
[Aside. Rich in his habit; vast in his expenses;
Well. That way I like them best.
Yet he to admiration still increases
Fur. It shall be done, sir.
[Exit. In wealth and lordships.
Well. What think you of the hedge we
shall dine under?
Shall we feed gratis?
[To Marrall.
Mar. I know not what to think:
Pray you make me not mad,
Re-enter ORDER.
Order. This place becomes you not;
Order. He frights men out of their estates;
And breaks through all law-nets, made to
curb ill men,
As they were cobwebs. No man dares re-
prove him.
Such a spirit to dare, and power to do, were
never
Lodg'd so unluckily.

SCENE 3.1
583
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Re-enter AMBLE.
Amble. Ha! ha! I shall burst.
Order. Contain thyself, man.
Fur. Or make us partakers
Of your sudden mirth.
Amble. Ha, ha! my lady has got
Such a guest at her table; this term-driver,
that on oral Marrall,
This snip of an attorney.
Fur. What of him, man?
domi um
1
Amble. The knave feeds so slovenly!
Fur. Is this all?
Amble. My lady
Siguedt
Drank to him for fashion's sake, or to please
Mr. Wellborn.
As I live, he rises and takes up a dish,
In which there were some remnants of a boil'd
capon,
And pledges her in white broth.
Fur. Nay, 'tis like
The rest of his tribe.
Amble. And when I brought him wine,
He leaves his chair, and after a leg or two
Most humbly thanks my worship! my worship!
Order. Risen already!
Fur. My lady frowns.
Amble. I shall be chid.
davet band
Though it hail hazel nuts, as to be covered
When your worship's present.
Well. Is not this a true rogue,
That out of mere hope of a future coz'nage
Can turn thus suddenly? 'tis rank already.
[Aside
Mar. I know your worship's wise, and needs
no counsel;
Yet if in my desire to do you service,
I humbly offer my advice (but still
Under correction), I hope I shall not
Incur your high displeasure.
Well. No; speak freely.
Mar. Then in my judgment, sir, my simple
judgment
(Still with your worship's favour), I could
wish
wish you
A better habit, for this cannot be
But much distasteful to the noble lady
That loves you. I have twenty pounds here,
Which out of my true love, I presently
Lay at your worship's feet; 'twill serve to buy you
A riding suit.
Well. But where's the horse?
Mar. My gelding
Is at your service: nay, you shall ride me,
Before your worship shall be put to the trouble
To walk afoot. Alas! when you are lord
Re-enter LADY ALLWORTH, WELLBORN, and Of this lady's manor (as I know you will be),
MARRALL.
Lady A. You attended us well!
Let me have no more of this; I observ'd your
jeering.
Sirrah, I'll have you know, whom I think worthy
To sit at my table, is not your companion.
[To Amble.
Order. Nay, she'll preserve what's due to
her.
[Aside.
Lady A. Your are master
Of your own will. I know so much of manners
As not to inquire your purposes; in a word,
To me you are ever welcome, as to a house
That is your own.
[To Wellborn.
Well. Mark that.
Mar. With reverence, sir,
And it like your worship.
Well. Trouble yourself no further,
Dear madam; my heart's full of zeal and service,
However in my language I am sparing.
Come, Mr. Marrall.
Mar. I attend your worship.
[Exeunt Wellborn, Marrall, and Amble.
Lady A. I see in your looks you are sorry,
and you know me
An easy mistress: be merry! I have forgot all.
Order and Furnace come with me; I must
give you
Further directions.
Order. What you please.
Fur. We are ready.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-The Country.ollst
Enter WELLBORN and MARRALL.
Well. I think I am in a good way.
Mar. Good sir! the best way;
The certain best way.
Well. There are casualties
That men are subject to.
Is't for your ease your keep your hat off?
Mar. Ease, and it like your worship!
I hope Jack Marrall shall not live so long,
To prove himself such an unmannerly beast,
You may with the lease of glebe land call'd
Knave's-acre,is out us
A place I would manure, requite your vassal.
Well. I thank thy love; but must make no
use of it.
What's twenty pounds?
Mar. 'Tis all that I can make, sir.
Well. Dost thou think, though I want clothes,
I could not have 'em
For one word to my lady?
Mar. As I know not that-
Well. Come, I'll tell thee a secret, and so
leave thee.
I'll not give her the advantage, though she be
A gallant-minded lady, after we are married,
To hit me in the teeth, and say she was forc'd
To buy my wedding-clothes;
No, I'll be furnish'd something like myself.
And so farewell; for thy suit, touching Kna-
ve's-acre,
When it is mine, 'tis thine.
[Exit.
Mar. I thank your worship.
How was I cozen'd in the calculation
Of this man's fortune! my master cozen'd too,
Whose pupil I am in the art of undoing men;
For that is our profession. Well, well, Mr.
Wellborn,
You are of a sweet nature, and fit again to
be cheated:
Which, if the fates please, when you are possess'd
Ofthe land and lady, you sans question shall be.
I'll presently think of the means.
[Walks about, musing.
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH.
Sir G. Sirrah, order my carriage round;
I'll walk to get me an appetite. "Tis but a mile,
And exercise will keep me from being pursy.
Ha! Marrall! is he conjuring? Perhaps
The knave has wrought the prodigal to do
Some outrage on himself, and now he feels
Compunction in his conscience for't; no matter,
So it be done. Marrall! Marrall!

584
[ACT III.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Mar. Sir.
Sir G. How succeed we
In our plot on Wellborn?
Mar. Never better, sir.
Sir G. Has he hang'd or drown'd himself?
Mar. No, sir, he lives;
Lives once more to be made a prey to you;
And greater prey than ever.
Sir G. Art thou in thy wits?
If thou art, reveal this miracle, and briefly.
Mar. A lady, sir, is fall'n in love with him.
Sir G. With him? What lady?
Mar. The rich lady Allworth.
Sir G. Do you grumble?
Mar. No, sir.
ed Fall [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. The same.
-
Enter LORD LOVELL and ALLWORTH.
Lord L. Drive the carriage down the hill;
something in private
I must impart to Allworth.
Allw. O, my lord!
What danger, though in ne'er so horrid shapes,
Nay death itself, though I should run to meet it,
Sir G. Thou dolt, how dar'st thou speak this? Can I, and with a thankful willingness suffer;
Mar. I speak truth;
And I do so but once a year, unless
It be to you, sir. We din'd with her ladyship,
I thank his worship.
Sir G. His worship!
Mar. As I live, sir,
2920
I din'd with him at the great lady's table,
Simple as I stand here; and saw when she
kiss'd him;
And would, at his request, have kiss'd me too.
Sir G. Why, thou rascal,
To tell me these impossibilities;
Dine at her table! and kiss him, or thee!
Impudent varlet. Have not I myself,
To whom great countesses' doors have
flown open,
oft
Ten times attempted, since her husband's death,
But still the retribution will fall short
Of your bounties shower'd upon me.
Lord L. Nay, good youth,
Till what I purpose be put into act,
Do not o'er-prize it; since you have trust-
ed me
With your soul's nearest, nay, her dearest
secret,
Rest confident, 'tis in a cabinet lock'd
Treachery shall never open. I have found you
More zealous in your love and service to me,
Than I have been in my rewards.
Allw. Still great ones,
Above my merit. You have been
More like a father to me than a master.
Pray you pardon the comparison.
Lord L. I allow it;
In vain to see her, though I came a suitor? And give you assurance I'm pleas'd in't,
And yet your good solicitorship, and rogue, My carriage and demeanour to your mistress,
Fair Margaret, shall truly witness for me,
Wellborn,
Were brought into her presence, feasted with her. I can command my passion.
But that I know thee a dog that cannot blush, Allw. 'Tis a conquest
This most incredible lie would call up one
On thy buttermilk cheeks.
Mar. Shall I not trust my eyes, sir?
Few lords can boast of when they are temp-
ted.-Oh!
Lord L. Why do you sigh? can you be
Or taste? I feel her good cheer in my belly.em to do doubtful of me?
Sir G. You shall feel me, if you give not
over, sirrah;
Recover your
With a beggar's plot, assisted by the aids.
Of serving men and chambermaids (for beyond
brains again, and be no more
gull'd
ezin sil these,
By that fair name I in the wars have purchas'd,
And all my actions hitherto untainted,
I will not be more true to mine own honour,
Than to thee, Allworth.
Allw. Were you to encounter with a single
foe, derowy dif
The victory were certain: but to stand
Thou never saw'st a woman), or I'll quit you The charge of two such potent enemies,
From my employments.
Mar. Will you credit this yet?
At once assaulting you, as wealth and beauty,
And those two seconded with power, is odds
On my confidence of their marriage, I offered Too great for Hercules.
Douluo Wellborn
Leew wall
Lord L. Speak your doubts and fears,
(I would give a crown now, I durst say his Since you will nourish 'em, in plainer language,
Bom going to worship)
[Aside. That I may understand 'em.
My nag, and twenty pounds.
Sir G. Did you so, idiot? [Strikes him down.
Was this the way to work him to despair,
Or rather to cross me?
Mar. Will your worship kill me?
Allw. What's your will, dijm pass t
Though I lend arms against myself (provided
They may advantage you) must be obey'd.
My much-lov'd lord, were Margaret only fair,
You might command your passion;
Sir G. No, no; but drive the lying spirit But when you feel her touch, cr hear her talk!
one out of
you.
Mar. He's gone.
Sir G. I have done then. Now, forgetting
Your late imaginary feast and lady,
Know my lord Lovell dines with me to-morrow;
Be careful nought be wanting to receive him;
And bid my daughter's women trim her up,
Though they paint her, so she catch the lord;
I'll thank 'em.
There's a piece for my late blows.
Mar I must yet suffer:
But there may be a time-
Hypolitus himself would leave Diana,
To follow such a Venus.
Lord L. Love hath made you
Poetical, Allworth.
Allw. Grant all these beat off
(Which if it be in man to do, you'll do it)
Mammon, in sir Giles Overreach, steps in
With heaps of ill-got gold and so much land,
To make her more remarkable, as would tire
A falcon's wings, in one day to fly over.
q I here release your trust,
[Aside. Tis happiness enough for me to serve you;

SCENE 2.]
585
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
And sometimes, with chaste eyes, to look on her.
Lord L. Why, shall I swear?
Allw. Oh, by no means, my lord!
Lord L. Suspend
Your judgment till the trial. How far is it
To Overreach's house?
Allw. At the most, some half hour's riding;
You'll soon be there.
Lord L. And you the sooner freed
From your jealous fears.
Allw. Oh that I durst but hope it! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Hall in SIR GILES OVERREACH'S House.
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, JUSTICE GREEDY,
and MARRALL.
Sir G. Spare for no cost, let my dressers
crack with the weight
Of curious viands.
Just. G. Store indeed's no sore, sir.
Re-enter MARRALL, with MARGARET.
Alone, and let your women wait without,
Margaret. [Exit Marrall.
Marg. Your pleasure, sir?
Sir G. Ha, this is a neat dressing!
These orient pearls, and diamonds well plac'd
too!
The gown affects me not; it should have been
Embroider'd o'er and o'er with flowers of gold;
But these rich jewels and quaint fashion help it.
How like you your new woman, the lady
Downfall'n?
Marg. Well, for a companion:
Not as a servant.
Sir G. Is she humble, Meg?
And careful too, her ladyship forgotten?
Marg. I pity her fortune.
Sir G. Pity her, trample on her.
I took her up in an old tatter'd gown
(E'en starv'd' for want of food) to serve thee;
And if I understand she but repines
Sir G. That proverb fits your stomach, Mr. To do thee any duty, though ne'er so servile,
Greedy.
Just. G. It does indeed, sir Giles;
I do not like to see a table ill spread,
Poor, meagre, just sprinkled o'er with sallads
Slic'd beef, giblets, and pig's pettitoes,
But the substantials-Oh! sir Giles, the sub-
stantials!
The state of a fat turkey now,
The decorum, the grandeur he marches in with.
O, I declare, I do much honour a chine of
beef!
O, Lord! I do reverence a loin of veal!
Sir G. And let no plate be seen but what's
pure gold,
Or such whose workmanship exceeds the matter
That it is made of; lay my choicest linen;
Perfume the room; and when we wash, the
water
With precious powders mix, to please my lord,
That he may with envy wish to bathe so ever.
Mar. Twill be very chargeable:
Sir G. Avaunt, you drudge.
Now all my labour'd ends are at the stake,
Is't time to think of thrift? Call in my daughter.
[Exit Marrall.
And, master justice, since you love choice
dishes,
And plenty of 'em-
Just. G. As I do indeed, sir,
I'll pack her to her knight, where I have
lodg'd him,
Into the Counter, and there let them howl
together.
Marg. You know your own ways; but for
me, I blush
When I command her, that was once attended
With persons not inferior to myself
In birth.
Sir G. In birth! Why art thou not my
daughter,
1548
The blest child of my industry and wealth?
Part with these humble thoughts, and apt thyself
To the noble state I labour to advance thee;
Or, by my hopes to see thee honourable,
I will adopt a stranger to my heir,
And throw thee from my care; do not pro-
voke me.
Marg. I will not, sir; mould me which way
you please.
Re-enter JUSTICE GREEDY.
Sir G. How, interrupted?
Just. G. 'Tis matter of importance.
The cook, sir, is self-will'd, and will not learn
From my experience. There's a fawn brought
in, sir,
And for my life I cannot make him roast it
With a Norfolk dumpling in the belly of it;
Almost as much as to give thanks for 'em-And, sir, we wise men know, without the
Sir G. I do confer that province, with my
power
Of absolute command to have abundance,
To your best care.
Just. G. I'll punctually discharge it,
And give the best directions. [Sir Giles Over-
reach retires] Now am I,
In mine own conceit a monarch, at the least
Arch-president of the boil'd, the roast, the
baked:
I would not change my empire for the great
mogul's.
I will eat often and give thanks,
When my belly's brac'd up like a drum, and
that's pure justice. [Exit.
Sir G. It must be so. Should the foolish
girl prove modest,
She may spoil all; she had it not from me,
Bnt from her mother: I was ever forward,
As she must be, and therefore I'll prepare her.
dumpling
'Tis not worth threepence.
Sir G. Would it were whole in thy belly,
To stuff it out; cook it any way, pr'ythee,
leave me.
Just. G. Without order for the dumpling?
Sir G. Let it be dumpled
Which way thou wilt; or, tell him I will
scald him
In his own caldron.
Just. G. I had lost my stomach,
Had I lost my dumpling
[Exit.
Sir G. But to our business, Meg; you have
heard who dines here.
Marg. I have, sir.
Sir G. "Tis an honourable man;
A lord, Meg, and commands a regiment
Of soldiers; and what's rare, is one himself;
A bold and understanding one; and to be
A lord and a good leader in one volume,
74

586
[ACT III.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Is granted into few, but such as rise
The kingdom's glory.
Re-enter JUSTICE GREEDY.
Just. G. I'll resign my office
If I he not better obey'd.
up
Sir G. 'Slight, art thou frantic?
Just. G. Frantic! 'twould make me frantic,
and stark mad,
Were I not a justice of peace and quorum too,
Which this rebellious cook cares not a straw for.
There are a dozen of woodcocks-
Sir G. Make thyself thirteen; the baker's
dozen.
Just. G. For which he has found out
A new device for sauce, and will not dish 'em.
With toast and butter.
Sir G. Cook, rogue, obey him.
I have given the word, pray you now
move yourself
To a collar of brawn, and trouble me
further.
Shrunk up, or wither'd? does there live a man
Of that large list I have encounter'd with,
Can truly say I e'er gave inch of ground,
Not purchas'd with his blood that did oppose me?
Forsake thee! he dares not.
Though all his captains, echoes to his will,
Stood arm'd by his side to justify his wrong,
And he himself in the head of his bold troop,
Spite of his lordship, I will make him render
A bloody and a strict account, and force him,
By marrying thee, to cure thy wounded honour.
I have said it.
Re-enter MARRALL.
Mar. Sir, the man of honour's come,
Newly alighted.
Sir G. In, without reply,
And do as I command, or thou art lost.
[Exit Margaret.
re- Is the loud music I gave order for,
Ready to receive him?
no
Mar. "Tis, sir.
Sir G. Let 'em sound
will, and meditate what to eat A princely welcome. [Exit Marrall-Rough-
ness awhile leave me;
for dinner.
[Exit.
Just. G. I
Sir G. And, as I said, Meg, when this gull For fawning now, a stranger to my nature,
Must make way for me.
disturb'd us,
This honourable lord, this colonel,
I would have thy husband.
Marg. There's too much disparity
Between his quality and mine to hope it.
Sir G. I more than hope, and doubt not to
effect it.
Be thou no enemy to thyself; my wealth.
Shall weigh his titles down, and make you
equals,
Now for the means to assure him thine, ob-
serve me:
Remember he's a courtier, and a soldier,
And not to be trifled with; and therefore, when
He comes to woo you, see you do not coy it.
[Loud Music.
Enter LORD LOVELL, ALLWORTH, and MARRALL.
Lord L. Sir, you meet your trouble.
Sir G. What you are pleas'd to style so is
an honour
Above my worth and fortunes.
Allw. Strange! so humble.
Re-enter JUSTICE GREEDY.
Sir G. A justice of peace, my lord.
[Aside.
[Presents Justice Greedy to him.
Lord L. Your hand, good sir.
Just. G. This is a lord, and some think
this a favour;
ling.
[Aside.
This mincing modesty hath spoil'd many a match But I had rather have my hand in my dump-
By a first refusal, in vain after hop'd for.
Marg. You'll have me, sir, preserve the
distance that
Confines a virgin?
Sir G. Virgin me no virgins.
I will have you lose that name, or you lose me;
I will have you private; start not, I say private;
If you are my true daughter, not a bastard,
Thou wilt venture alone with one man, though
be came
Like Jupiter to Semele, and come off too;
And therefore when he kisses you, kiss close.
Marg. I have heard this is the wanton's
fashion, sir,
Which I must never learn.
Sir G. Learn any thing,
Sir G. Room for my lord.
Lord L. I miss, sir, your fair daughter
To crown my welcome.
Sir G. May it please my lord
To taste a glass of Greek wine first; and sud-
denly
She shall attend, my lord.
Lord L. You'll be obey'd, sir.
[Exeunt all but Sir Giles Overreach,
Sir G. 'Tis to my wish; as soon as come,
ask for her!
Why, Meg! Meg Overreach!
Re-enter MARGARET.
How! tears in your eyes?
Ha! dry 'em quickly, or I'll dig 'em out.
And from any creature, to make thee great; Is this a time to whimper? meet that greatness
From the devil himself.
Stand not on form;
Words are no substances,
Marg. Though you can dispense
With your honour, I must guard my own.
This is not the way to make me his wife.
My maiden honour yielded up so soon;
Nay, prostituted, cannot but assure him,
I that am light to him will not hold weight
When tempted by others; so in judgment,
When to his will I have given up my honour,
He must and will forsake me.
Sir G. How, forsake then?
Do I wear a sword for fashion? or is this arm
That flies into thy bosom; think what 'tis
For me to say, my honourable daughter.
No more, but be instructed, or expect-
He comes.
Re-enter LORD LOVELL, JUSTICE GREEDY,
MARRALL, and ALLWORTH.
A black-brow'd girl, my lord.
Lord L. As I live, a rare one!
Allw. He's took already, I am lost.
Sir G. That kiss
Came twanging off, I like it; quit the room.
[Exeunt Allworth, Marrall, and Justice
Greedy.

SCENE 2.]
587
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
A little bashful, my good lord; but you,
I hope, will teach her boldness.
Lord L. I am happy
In such a scholar; but-
Sir G. I am past learning,
And therefore leave you to yourselves; re-
member-
[Apart to Margaret, and exit.
Lord L. You see, fair lady, your father is
solicitous
To have you change the barren name of virgin
Into a hopeful wife.
Marg. His haste, my lord,
Holds no pow'r o'er my will.
Lord L. But o'er your duty-
Marg. Which, forc'd too much, may break.
Lord L. Bend rather, sweetest;
Think of your years.
Marg. Too few to match with yours.
Lord L. I can advance you.
Marg. To a hill of sorrow;
Where every hour I may expect to fall;
But never hope firm footing. You are noble;
I of low descent, however rich.
O my good lord, I could say more, but that
I dare not trust these walls.
Lord L. Pray you trust my ear then.
Re-enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, listening.
Sir G. Close at it! whispering! this is ex-
cellent!
And, by their postures, a consent on both parts.
Re-enter JUSTICE GREEDY.
Just. G. Sir Giles! Sir Giles!
Sir G. The great fiend stop that clapper!
[Apart to Justice Greedy.
Just. G. It must ring out, sir, when my
belly rings noor.
The bak'd meats are run out, the roast turn'd
[Apart.
powder.
Sir G. Stop your insatiate jaws, or
I shall powder you.
Just. G. Beat me to dust, I care
In such a cause as this I'll die a
Sir G. Disturb my lord when he
course?
Just. G. Is't a time to talk
When we should be munching?
Sir G. Peace, villain, peace! shall
a bargain
Almost made up? Vanish, I say.
[Apart.
not;
martyr.
Does your lordship find her?
Lord L. Apt, sir Giles, and coming;
And I like her the better.
Sir G. So do I too.
Lord L. Yet, should we take forts at the
first assault,
'Twere poor in the defendant. I must confirm her
With a love-letter or two, which I must have
Deliver'd by my page, and you give way to't.
Sir G. With all my soul,-A towardly
gentleman!
Your hand, good Mr. Allworth; know, my house
Is ever open to you.
Allw. 'Twas shut till now.
[Aside.
Sir G. Well done, well done, my honour-
able daughter;
Thou'rt so already; know this gentle youth,"
And cherish him, my honourable daughter.
Marg. I shall, with my best care.
Sir G. What noise?
Just G. More stops
[Noise of a Coach.
Before we go to dinner! O my guts!
Enter LADY ALLWORTH and WELLBORN.
Lady A. If I find welcome,
You share in it; if not, I'll back again;
For I come arm'd for all
Can be objected.
Lord L. How! the lady Allworth?
Sir G. And thus attended!
Mar. No, I am a dolt;
The spirit of lies hath enter'd me.
[Lord Lovell salutes Lady Allworth, who
salutes Margaret.
Sir G. Peace, patch;
"Tis more than wonder, an astonishment
That does possess me wholly.
Lord L. Noble lady,
This is a favour, to prevent my visit,
The service of my life can never equal.
Lady A. My lord, I laid wait for you, and
much hop'd
made my poor house your
You would have
first inn:
me,
[Apart. And therefore, doubting that you might forget
is in dis-
[Apart. Or too long dwell here, having such ample cause
In this unequall'd beauty for your stay;
[Apart. And fearing to trust any but myself
we break With the relation of my service to you,
I borrow'd so much from my long restraint,
And took the air in person to invite you.
Lord A. Your bounties are so great, they
rob me, madam,
Of words to give you thanks.
Lady A. Good sir Giles Overreach.
[Apart, and thrusts him off.
Lord L. Lady, I understand you;
And rest most happy in your choice. Believe it,
I'll be a careful pilot to direct
Your yet uncertain bark to a port of safety.
Marg. So shall your honour save two lives,
and bind us
Your slaves for ever.
Lord L. I am in the act rewarded,
Since it is good; howe'er you must put on
An amorous carriage towards me, to delude
Your subtle father.
Marg. I am bound to that.
Salutes him.
How dost thou, Marrall?- lick'd you my
meat so ill,
You'll dine no more with me?
[To Justice Greedy.
Just. G. I will when you please,
And it like your ladyship.
Lady A. When you please, Mr. Greedy:
If meat can do it, you shall be satisfied.
Lord L. Now break we off our conference. And now, my lord, pray take into your
-Sir Giles!
Where is sir Giles?
Re-enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, JUSTICE
GREEDY, ALLWORTH, and MARRALL.
Sir G. My noble lord; and how
knowledge
This gentleman: howe'er his outside's coarse,
[Presents Wellborn.
His inward linings are as fine and fair
As any man's. Wonder not I speak at large:

588
[ACT III.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
And howsoe'er his humour carries him
To be thus accoutred, or what taint soe'er
For his wild life have stuck upon his fame,
He may ere long with boldness rank himself
With some that have contemn'd him. Sir
Giles Overreach,
If I am welcome, bid him so.
Sir G. My nephew!
He hath been too long a stranger; 'faith, you
have.
Pray let it be mended.
[Lord L. confers with Wellborn.
Mar. Why, sir, what do you mean?
This is rogue Wellborn, monster, prodigy,
That should hang or drown himself, no man
of worship,
Much less your nephew. [Apart to Sir Giles.
Sir G. Well, sirrah, we shall reckon
For this hereafter.
Mar. I'll not lose my jeer,
Though I be beaten dead for it.
Well. Let my silence plead
I
Woodcock, and butter'd toasts too.
Just. G. This revives me:
will gorge there sufficiently.
Mar. This is the way, sir.
[Exeunt,
Re-enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, as from
Dinner,
Sir G. She's caught! O woman! she neg-
lects my lord,
And all her compliments apply to Wellborn!
The garments of her widowhood laid by,
She now appears as glorious as the spring.
Her eye's fix'd on him; in the wine she drinks,
He being her pledge, she sends him burning
kisses,
And sits on thorns till she be private with him.
She leaves my meat to feed upon his looks;
And if in our discourse he be but nam'd,
From her a deep sigh follows. But why grieve I
At this? It makes for me; if she prove his,
[Aside. All that is hers is mine, as I will work him.
[Apart.
In my excuse, my lord, till better leisure
Offer itself to hear a full relation
Of my poor fortunes.
Lord L. I would hear and help 'em.
[Bell rings.
Sir G. Your dinner waits you.
Lord L. Pray you lead; we follow.
Lady A. Nay, you are my guest.- Come,
dear Mr. Wellborn.
[Exeunt all but Justice Greedy.
Just. G. Dear Mr. Wellborn! so she said;
heav'n! heaven!
If my belly would give me leave, I could
ruminate
All day on this: I have granted twenty warrants
To have him committed, from all prisons in
the shire,
To Nottingham jail! and now, dear Mr. Well-
born!
And my good nephew!-But I play the fool
To stand here prating, and forget my dinner.
Re-enter MARRALL.
Are they set, Marrall?
Mar. Long since. Pray you a word, sir.
Just. G. No wording now.
Mar. In troth, I must: my master,
Knowing you are his good friend, makes bold
with you, ots
And does entreat you, more guests being
come in
Than he expected, especially his nephew,
The table being too full, you would excuse him,
And sup with him on the cold meat.
Just. G. How! no dinner
After all my care?
Mar. 'Tis but a penance for
A meal; besides you have broke
your fast.
Just. G. That was
Re-enter MARRALL.
Mar. Sir, the whole board is troubled at
your rising.
Sir G. No matter; I'll excuse it. Pr'ythee,
Marrall,
Watch an occasion to invite my nephew
To speak with me in private.
Mar. Who? the rogue
The lady scorn'd to look on?
Sir G. Sirrah! Sirrah!
Re-enter LORD LOVELL, MARGARET, and
ALLWORTH.
My good lord, excuse my manners.
Lord L. There needs none, sir Giles;
I may ere long say father, when it pleases
My dearest mistress to give warrant to it.
Sir G. She shall seal to it, my lord, and
make me happy.
Mar. See, see, she comes, and cannot be
without him.
Sir G. Grosser and grosser.
Re-enter WELLBORN and LADY ALLWORTH.
Lady A. Provide my coach;
I'll instantly away. My thanks, sir Giles,
For my entertainment.
Sir G. 'Tis your nobleness
To think it such.
Lady A. I must do you a further wrong,
In taking away your honourable guest.
Lord L. I wait on you, madam. Farewell,
good sir Giles.
Lady A. Nay, come Mr. Wellborn,
I must not leave you behind, in sooth, I must not.
Sir G. Rob me not, madam, of all joys
at once.
Let my nephew stay behind: he shall have
my coach,
But a bit to stay my stomach. A man in com- And, after some small conference between us,
mission
Give place to a tatterdemalion!
Mar. No big words, sir;
Should his worship hear you-
Just. G. Lose my dumpling too,
And butter'd toasts and woodcocks?
Mar. Come, have patience.
If you will dispense a little with your justiceship,
And sit with the waiting-women, you'll have
dumpling,
Soon overtake your ladyship.
Lady A. Stay not long, sir.
Lord L. This parting kiss. You shall every
day hear from me
By my faithful page.
[To Margaret.
Allw. "Tis a service I am proud of.
[Exeunt Lord Lovell, Lady Allworth,
Allworth, and Marall.
Sir G. Daughter, to your chamber.
[Exit Margaret.

ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
589
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
You may wonder, nephew,
After so long an enmity between us,
I. should desire your friendship.
Well. So I do, sir.
'Tis strange to me.
Sir G. But I'll make it no wonder;
Lord L. You are an early riser,
Sir Giles.
Sir G. And reason, to attend your lordship.
Lord L. And you too, Mr. Greedy, up so
soon?
Just. G. In troth, my lord, after the sun is up
And, what is more, unfold my nature to you. I cannot sleep; for I have a foolish stomach
We worldly men, when we see friends and That croaks for breakfast. With your lord-
kinsmen,
Past hope, sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand
To lift 'em up, but rather set our feet
Upon their heads, to press 'em to the bottom;
As I must yield, with you I practis'd it:
But now I see you in a way to rise,
I can and will assist you. This rich lady
(And I am glad of't) is enamour'd of
Well. No such thing:
Compassion rather, sir.
you.
Sir G. Well, in a word,
Because your stay is short, I'll have you seen
No more in this base shape; nor shall she say
She marry'd you like a beggar, or in debt.
Well. He'll run into the noose, and save my
no labour,
ship's favour,
I have a serious question to demand
Of my worthy friend, sir Giles.
Lord L. Pray you use your pleasure.
Just. G. How far, sir Giles, and pray you
answer me
Upon your credit, hold you it to be
From your manor-house to this of my lady
Allworth's?
Sir G. Why, some four miles.
Just. G. How! four miles, good sir Giles?
Upen your reputation think better;
For four miles riding
Could not have rais'd so huge an appetite
As I feel gnawing on me.
[Aside. Mar. Whether you ride,
Sir G. You have a trunk of rich clothes,
not far hence,
In pawn; I will redeem 'em : and, that no clamour
May taint your credit for your debts,
You shall have a thousand pounds to cut 'em off,
And go a freeman to the wealthy lady.
Well. This done, sir, out of love, and no
Well.
ends else-
Sir G. As it is, nephew.
Well. Binds me still your servant. da
Sir G. No compliments; you are staid for:
ere you've supp'd, bu dav
You shall hear from me. My coach, knaves,
for my nephew:
To-morrow I will visit you.
Well. Here's an uncle
Or go afoot, you are that way still provided,
And it please your worship.
Sir G. How now, sirrah! prating
Before my lord? No deference? Go to my
nephew,
See all his debts discharg'd, and help his worship
To fit on his rich suit.
Mar. I may fit you too. [Aside, and exit.
Lord L. I have writ this morning
A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter.
Sir G. Twill fire her, for she's wholly yours
already.
Street Mr. Allworth, take
carry you
my ring; 'twill
To her presence, I dare warrant you; and
there plead
In a man's extremes! how much they do be- For my good lord, if you shall find occasion.
lie you
That say you are hard-hearted!
Sir G. My deeds, nephew,
Shall speak my love; what men
weigh not.
ACT IV.
That done, pray ride to Nottingham; get a
To licence, b
Still by this token. I'll have it dispatch'd,
report, I And suddenly, my lord: that I may say
[Exeunt. My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter.
Just. G. Take my advice, young gentleman;
get your breakfast.
SCENE I.-A Chamber in LADY ALLWORTH'S 'Tis unwholesome to ride fasting.
House,
LORD LOVELL and ALLWORTH discodered.
Lord L. 'Tis well. Give me my hat. I now
discharge you groot
From further service. Mind your own affairs:
I hope they will prove successful.
Allw. What is bless'de o
With your good wish, my lord, cannot but
prosper.h
Let after-times report, and to your honour,
How much I stand engag'd; for I want language
To speak my debt: yet if a tear or two
with
with you;
And that abundantly.
I'll eat
Sir G. Some fury's in that gut:
Hungry again? Did you not devour, this
morning,
A shield of brawn, and a barrel of Colchester
oysters?
Just. G. Why that was, sir, only to scour
my stomach,
A kind of preparative.
Lord L. Haste your return.
Allw. I will not fail, my lord.
Just. G. Nor I, to line
Of joy, for your much goodness, can supply My Christmas coffer.
My tongue's defects, I could-
Lord L. Nay, do not melt:
[Exeunt Just. G. and Allworth.
Sir G. To my wish, we're private.
This ceremonial of thanks to me's superfluous. I come not to make offer with my daughter
Sir G. [Within] Is my lord stirring?
Lord L. Tis he! Oh, here's your letter! Let
A certain portion; that were poor and trivial:
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,
In lands, or leases, ready coin, or goods,
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, JUSTICE GREEDY, With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall
him in.
and MARRALL.
Sir G. A good day to my lord.
you have
One motive to induce you to believe

590
[ACT IV.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
I live too long, since every year I'll add
Something unto the heap, which shall be yours
too.
Lord L. You are a right kind father.
Sir G. You shall have reason
To think me such. How do you like this seat
Of lady Allworth?
It is well wooded, and well water'd; the acres
Fertile and rich; would it not serve for change,
To entertain your friends in a summer's pro-
gress?
What thinks my noble lord?
Lord L. 'Tis a wholesome air,
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm,
Makes me insensible of remorse or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.
Lord L. I admire
The toughness of your nature.
Sir G. 'Tis for you,
My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble;
Nay, more, if you will have my character
In little, I enjoy more true delight
In my arrival to my wealth through dark
And crooked ways, than you shall e'er take
pleasure
In spending what my industry hath compass'd.
And well built; and she that's mistress of it My haste commands me hence: in one word
Worthy the large revenue.
Sir G. She the mistress?
It may be so for a time; but let my lord
Say only that he but like it, and would have it,
I say ere long 'tis his.
Lord L. Impossible.
Sir G. You do conclude too fast, not know-
ing me,
Nor the engines that I work by. 'Tis not alone
The lady Allworth's lands; for those once
Wellborn's
(As by her dotage on him I know they will be)
Shall soon be mine. But point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient
And useful for your lordship, and once more
I say aloud, they are yours.
Lord L. I dare not own
What's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are more dear to me,
Than to expose 'em to be censur'd by
be ce
The public voice.
Sir G. You run, my lord, no hazard;
Your reputation shall still stand as fair
In all good men's opinions as now;
For though I do contemn report myself,
As a mere sound, I still will be so tender
Of what concerns you in all points of honour,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame
Shall ne'er be sullied with one taint or spot.
All my ambition is to have my daughter
Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young lord Lovell, born by her unto you,
I write nil ultra to my proudest hopes.
As for possessions and annual rents,
Equivalent to maintain you in the port
Your noble birth and present state require,
I do remove that burden from your shoulders,
And take it on mine own; for, though I ruin
The country to supply your riotous waste,
The scourge of prodigals, want, shall never
find you.
Lord L. Are you not moved with the im-
precations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By these practices?
Sir G. Yes as rocks are
When foamy billows split themselves against
Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is mov'd,
When wolves, with hunger pin'd, howl at
her brightness.
I am of a solid temper, and like these
Steer on a constant course:
Nay, when my ears are pierc'd with widow's
therefore,
Is it a match, my lord?
Lord L. I hope that is past doubt now.
Sir G. Then rest secure; not the hate of
all mankind here,
Nor fear of what can fall on me hereafter,
Shall make me study aught but your advancement
One story higher. An earl! if gold can do it.
Dispute not my religion, nor my faith,
Though I am borne thus headlong by my will;
You may make choice of what belief you please,
To me they are equal; so, my lord, good
morrow.
[Exit.
Lord L. He's gone; I wonder how the earth
can bear
Such a portent! I, that have liv'd a soldier,
And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted,
To hear this horrid beast, I'm bath'd all over
In a cold sweat; yet like a mountain he
Is no more shaken, than Olympus is
When angry Boreas loads his double head
With sudden drifts of snow.
Enter LADY ALLWORTH.
Lady A. Save you, my lord,
Disturb I not your privacy?
Lord L. No, good madam;
For your own sake I am glad you came no
sooner,
Since this bold, bad man, sir Giles Overreach,
Made such a plain discovery of himself,
And read this morning such devilish mattins
That I should think a sin, next to his,
But to repeat it.
Lady A. I ne'er press'd, my lord,
On others privacies; yet, against my will,
Walking, for health's sake, in the gallery
Adjoining to our lodgings, I was made
(So loud and vehement he was) partaker
Of his tempting offers. But,
My good lord, if I may use my freedom,
As to an honour'd friend-
Lord L. You lessen else
Your favour to me.
Lady A. I dare then say thus:
However common men
Make sordid wealth the object and sole end
Of their industrious aims, 'twill not agree
With those of noble blood, of fame and honour.
Lord L. Madam, 'tis confessed;
But what infer your from it?
Lady A. This, my lord: I allow
The heir of sir Giles Overreach, Margaret,
A maid well qualified, and the richest match
Our northern part can boast of; yet she cannot,
And undone orphans wash with tears my With all that she brings with her, fill their
cries,
threshold,
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
mouths,
That never will forget who was her father;

SCENE 2.]
591
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Wellborn's
Or that my husband Allworth's lands, and And then his information could not hurt us:
But now he is right worshipful again,"
Who dares but doubt his testimony?
(How wrung from both needs no repetition)
Were real motives, that more work'd your
lordship
To join your families, than her form and
virtues.
You may conceive the rest.
Lady L. I do, sweet madam;
And long since have consider'd it.
And 'tis my resolution ne'er to wed
[Aside.
Tap. Undone, undone; methinks
I see thee, Froth, already in a cart,
And my hand hissing (if 1 'scape the halter)
With the letter R printed upon it.
Froth. Would that were the worst!
That were but nine days wonder: as for credit,
We have none to lose; but we shall lose the
With the rich Margaret, Overreach's daughter. He owes us, and
Lady A. I am glad to hear this.
Why then, my lord, pretend you marriage to
her?
Dissimulation but ties false knots
Tap. He has
money
his custom; there's the pla-
gue on't.
summon'd all his creditors by
the drum,
And they swarm about him like so many soldiers
On that straight line, by which you hitherto On the pay-day; and has found out such a
Have measur'd all your actions.
Lord L. I make answer,
And aptly, with a question. Wherefore have
you,
That since your husband's death have liv'd a
strict
And chaste nun's life, on the sudden given
yourself
To visits and entertainments? Think you,
madam,
'Tis not grown public conference? or the fa-
vours
Which you too prodigally have thrown on
Wellborn,
Incur not censure?
Lady A. I am innocent here, and on my
life I swear
My ends are good.
Lord I. Ou my soul, so are mine
To Margaret; but leave both to the event:
And since this friendly privacy doth serve
But as an offer'd means unto ourselves
To search each other further; you have shown
Your care of me, I my respect to you.
Deny me not, but still in chaste words, madam,
An afternoon's discourse.
Lady A. Affected modesty might deny your
suit,
But such your honour, I accept it, lord.
My tongue unworthy can't belie my heart..
I shall attend your lordship.
Lord L. My heart thanks you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-A Landscape.
Enter TAPWELL and FROTH.
Tap. Undone, undone! this was your coun-
sel, Froth.
Froth. Mine! I defy thee; did not master
Marrall
(He has marr'd all, I am sure) strictly com-
mand us
(On pain of sir Giles Overreach's displeasure).
To turn the gentleman out of doors?
Tap. 'Tis true;
But now he's his uncle's darling, and has got
Master justice Greedy (since he fill'd his belly),
At his commandment to do any thing;
Woe, woe to us!
Froth. He may prove merciful.
Tap. Troth, we do not deserve it at his hands.
Froth. Then he knew all the passages
our house,
new way
To pay his old debts, as, 'tis very likely,
He shall be chronicled for it.
Froth. But are you sure his worship
Comes this way to my lady's?
[A Cry within, Brave Mr. VVellborn.
Tap. Yes, I hear him.
Froth. Be ready with your petition, and
present it
To his good grace.
Enter WELLBORN in a rich Habit, GREEDY,
MARRALL, AMBLE, ORDER, FURNACE, and
three Creditors. TAPWELL kneeling deli-
vers in his Bill of Debt.
Well. How's this! petitioned too?
But note what miracles the payment of
A little trash, and a rich suit of clothes,
Can work upon these rascals. I shall be,
I think, prince Wellborn.
Mar. When your worship's married,
You may be [Aside] I know not what I hope
to see you.
Well. Then look thou for advancement:
Mar. To be known
Your worship's bailiff, is the mark I shoot at.
Well. And thou shalt hit it.
Mar. Pray you, sir, dispatch
These needy followers, and for my admittance
[In the interim, Tapwell and Froth flat-
ter and bribe Justice Greedy.
(Provided you'll defend me from sir Giles,
Whose service I am weary of) I'll say something
You shall give thanks for.
Well. Fear him not.
Just. G. Who, Tapwell? I remember thy
wife brought me,
Last new year's tide, a couple of fat turkeys.
Tap. And shall do every Christmas, let your
worship
But stand my friend now.
I
Just. G. How! with Mr. Wellborn?
can do any thing with him, on such terms-
See you this honest couple? they are good souls
As ever drew out spigot; have they not
A pair of honest faces?
Well. I o'erheard you,
And the bribe he promis'd; you are cozen'd
in 'em;
For of all the scum that grew rich by my riots,
of This for a most unthankful knave, and this
For a base woman, have the worst deserv'd;
And therefore speak not for them. By your place,
When he was rogue Wellborn, no man would You are rather to do me justice; lend me
As the receiving of stolen goods.
believe him;
your ear,

592
[ACT IV.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Forget his turkeys, and call in his license,
And, at the next fair, I'll give you a yoke of oxen
Worth all his poultry.
Just. G. I am changed on the sudden.
In my opinion-Mum! my passion is great!
I fry like a burnt marrowbone. [Aside] Come
nearer, rascal.
And now I view him better, did you e'er see
One look so like an arch knave? his very
countenance,
Should an understanding judge but look on him,
Would hang him, though he were innocent.
Tap. Froth. Worshipful sir.
Just. G. No; though the great Turk came
instead of turkeys.
To beg my favour, I am inexorable:
not consent to.
Mar. Sir, time nor place
Allow me to relate each circumstance;
This only in a word: I know sir Giles!
Will come upon you for security
For his thousand pounds; which you must
As he grows in heat (as I am sure he will),
Be you but rough, and say he's in your debt
Ten times the sum, upon sale of your land:
I had a hand in't (I speak it to my shame)
When you were defeated of it.
Well. That's forgiven.
Mar. I shall deserve then-urge him to
produce
The deed in which you pass'd it over to him,
Which I know he'll have about him, to deliver
Thou hast an ill name; I here do damn thy To the lord Lovell, with many other writings,
licence,
Forbidding thee ever to tap or draw;
For instantly I will, in mine own person,
Command the constable to pull down thy sign;
And do it before I eat.
Froth. No mercy?
Just. G. Vanish.
If I show any, may my promis'd oxen gore me.
Tap. Unthankful knaves are ever so re-
warded.
[Exeunt Tapwell and Froth.
Well, Speak; what are you?
1 Cred. A decay'd vintner, sir,
That might have thriv'd, but that your wor-
ship broke me
With trusting you with muscadine and eggs,
And five-pound suppers, with your after-drink-
ings,
When you lodg'd upon the Bankside.
Well. I remember.
1 Cred. I have not been hasty, nor e'er laid
to arrest you;
And therefore, sir-
Well. Thou art an honest fellow:
I'll set thee up again; see this bill paid.
What are you?
2 Cred. A tailor once, but now mere botcher.
I gave you credit for a suit of clothes,
Which was all my stock; but you failing in
payment,
I was remov'd from the shop-board, and confined
Under a stall.
Well. See him paid; and botch no more.
2 Cred. I ask no interest, sir.
Well. Such tailors need not;
If their bills are paid in one-and-twenty years,
They are seldom losers-See these men dis-
charg'd;
And since old debts are clear'd by a new way,
A little bounty will not misbecome me;
There's something, honest cook, for thy good
breakfasts,
And this for your respect; take't, 'tis good gold,
And I am able to spare it.
Order. You are too munificent.
Fur. He was ever so.
Well. Pray you on before,
I'll attend you at dinner.
And present monies. I'll instruct you further,
As I wait on your worship; ifI play not my part
To your full content, and your uncle's much
vexation,
Hang up Jack Marrall.
Well. I rely upon thee.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A Chamber in SIR GILES OVER-
REACH'S House.
Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET.
Allw. Whether to yield the first praise to
my lord's
Unequall'd temperance, or your constant
sweetness,
I yet rest doubtful.
Marg. Give it to lord Lovell;
For what in him was bounty, in me's duty.
I make but payment of a debt, to which
My vows, in that high office register'd,
Are faithful witnesses.
Allw. 'Tis true, my dearest;
Yet when I call to mind, how many fair ones
Make wilful shipwreck of their faiths and oaths
To God and man, to fill the arms of greatness;
And you, with matchless virtue, thus to hold out
Against the stern authority of a father,
I
And spurn at honour when it comes to court you;
am so tender of your good, that I can hardly
Wish myself that right you are pleas'd to do me.
Marg. To me what's title, when content
is wanting?
And wealth
Of a pleas'd sire, that slaves me to his will?
And so his ravenous humour may be feasted
By my obedience, and he see me great,
Leaves to my soul nor faculties nor power
To make her own election.
Allw. But the dangers
That follow the repulse.
Marg. To me they are nothing:
Let Allworth love, I cannot be unhappy.
Suppose the worst, that in his rage he kill me,
A tear or two by you dropp'd on my hearse,
In sorrow for my fate, will call back life
So far as but to say, that I die yours;
I then shall rest in peace.
Allw. Heaven avert
Such trials of your true affection to me!
Just. G. For heav'n's sake don't stay long; Nor will it unto you, that are all mercy,
It is almost ready.
Mar. At four o'clock, the rest know where
to meet me.
[Exit. Show so much rigour. But since we must run
Such desperate hazards, let us do our best
To steer between 'em.
[Exeunt all but Wellborn and Marrall.
Marg. Lord Lovell is your friend;
Well. Now, Mr. Marrall, what's the weighty And though but a young actor, second me
You promis'd to impart?
[secret In doing to the life what he has plotted.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.] A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
593
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH.
anger.
Marg. I could be contented
The end may yet prove happy. Now, my Were you but by to do a father's part,
Allworth.
And give me in the church.
[Apart to Allworth, Sir G. So my lord have you,
Allw. To your letter, and put on a seeming What do I care who gives you? since my lord
[Apart. Does propose to be private, I'll not cross him.
Marg. I'll pay my lord all debts due to his title; I know not, Mr. Allworth, how my lord
And when with terms not taking from his honour,
He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him;
But in this peremptory, nay, commanding way,
To fix a time and place without my knowledge;
A priest to tie the knot can ne'er be undone
Till death unloose it, is a confidence.
In his lordship that will deceive him.
Allw. I hope better, good lady.
Marg. Hope, sir, what you please; for me,
I must take a safe and secure course; I have
A father, and without his full consent,
May be provided, and therefore there's a purse
Of gold; 'twill serve this night's expense; to-
morrow
I'll furnish him with any sums. In the mean time,
Use my ring to my chaplain; he is benefic'd
At my manor of Gotham, and call'd parson
Welldo;
'Tis no matter for a licence, I'll bear him out
in't.
Marg. With your favour, sir, what warrant
is your ring?
Though all lords of the land kneel'd for my He may suppose I got that twenty ways
favour,
I can grant nothing.
Sir G. I like this obedience.
But whatsoever my lord writes, must and shall
be
Accepted and embrac'd. [Aside]-Sweet Mr.
Allworth,
You show yourself a true and faithful servant
To your good lord, he has a jewel of you.
How! frowning, Meg? are these looks to receive
A messenger from my lord? What's this?
give me it.
Marg. A piece of arrogant paper, like th'
inscriptions.
[Sir Giles reads the Letter.
Fair mistress, from your servant learn,
all joys
That we can hope for, if deferr'd, prove
toys;
Therefore this instant, and in private meet
A husband, that will gladly at your feet
Lay down his honours, tend'ring them
to you
With all content, the church being paid
her due.
Is this the arrogant piece of paper? fool!
Will you still be one? In the name of mad-
ness, what
Could his good honour write more to con-
tent you?
Is there aught else to be wish'd after these two
That are already offered? Marriage first,
And lawful pleasure after: what would you
more?
Marg. Why, sir, I would be married like
your daughter,
Not hurried away i'th night I'kuow not whither,
Without all ceremony; no friends invited,
To honour the solemnity.
Allw. An't please your honour
(For so before to-morrow I must style you),
My lord desires this privacy in respect
His honourable kinsmen are far off,
And his desires to have it done, brook not
So long delay as to expect their coming;
And yet he stands resolv'd, with all due pomp
To have his marriage at court celebrated,
When he has brought your honour up to
London.
Sir G. He tells you true; 'tis the fashion,
on my knowledge;
Yet the good lord, to please your peevishness,
Must put it off, forsooth
Without your knowledge; and then to be
refus'd
Were such a stain upon me--if you please,
sir,
Your presence would do better.
Sir G. Still perverse?
I say again, I will not cross my lord;
Yet I'll prevent you too-Paper and ink there.
Allw. Sir, it's ready here.uus Pos
Sir G. I thank you; I can write then.
[Writes.
Allw. You may, if you please, leave out the
name of my lord,
In respect he would be private, and only write,
Marry her to this gentleman.
Sir G. Well advis'd; [Margaret kneels.
'Tis done; away-my blessing, girl? thou hast it.
Nay, no reply-Be gone, good Mr. Allworth;
This shall be the best night's work ever made.
Allw. I hope so, sir.
[Exeunt Allworth and Margaret.
Sir G. Now all's cock-sure.
Methinks I hear already knights and ladies
Say, sir Giles Overreach, how is it with
Your honourable daughter?
My ends, my ends are compass'd!--Then for
Wellborn
And the lands; were he once married to the
widow-
I have him here-I can scarce contain myself,
I am so full of joy; nay, joy all over. [Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I-A Chamber in LADY ALLWORTH'S
House.
Enter LORD LOVELL and LADY ALLWORTH.
Lady A. By this you know how strong the
motives were
That did, my lord, induce me to dispense
A little with my gravity, to advance
The plots and projects of the down-trod
Wellborn.
Lord L. What you intended, madam,
For the poor gentleman, hath found good
success;
'For, as I understand, his debts are paid,
And he once more furnish'd for fair employment.
But all the arts that I have us'd to raise
The fortunes of your joy and mine, young
Allworth,
Stand yet in supposition, though I hope well.
For the young lovers are in wit more pregnant
75

594
[ACT V.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
Than their years can promise; and for their
desires,
On my knowledge, they are equal.
Lady A. Though my wishes
Are with yours, my lord, yet give me leave to fear
The building, though well grounded. To deceive
Sir Giles (that's both a lion and a fox
In his proceedings) were a work beyond
The strongest undertakers; not the trial
Of two weak innocents.
Lord L. Despair not, madam;
Hard things are compass'd oft by easy means.
The cunning statesman, that believes he fathoms
The counsels of all kingdoms on the earth,
Is by simplicity oft overreach'd.
Lady A. May he be so.
The young ones have my warmest wishes.
Lord L. O, gentle lady, let 'em prove kind
tone;
Let but the seal be broke upon the box,
That has slept in my cabinet these three years,
I'll rack thy soul for't.
Mar. I may yet cry quittance,
Though now I suffer, and dare not resist.
[Aside.
Sir G. Lady, by your leave, did you see my
daughter, lady?
And the lord her husband? Are they in your
house?
If they are, discover, that I may bid 'em joy;
And, as an entrance to her place of honour,
See your ladyship on her left hand, and make
court'sies
When she nods on you; which you must receive
As a special favour.
Lady A. When I know, sir Giles,
Her state requires such ceremony, I shall pay it;
But in the mean time
You've kindly heard - now grant my honest I give you to understand, I neither know
Nor care where her honour is.
suit.
And if you may be won to make me happy,
But join your hand to mine, and that shall be
A solemn contract.
Lady A. I were blind to my own good,
Should I refuse it; yet, my lord, receive me
As such a one, the study of whose whole life
Shall know no other object but to please you.
Lord L. If I return not, with all tenderness,
Equal respect to you, may I die wretched!
Lady A. There needs no protestation, my
lord,
To her that cannot doubt.-You are welcome,
sir.
Enter WELLBORN.
Now you look like yourself.
Well. And will continue
Such in my free acknowledgment, that I am
Your creature, madam, and will never hold
My life mine own, when you please to demand it.
Lord L. It is a thankfulness that well be-
comes you.
Lady A. For me, I am happy,
That my endeavours prosper'd. Saw you of late
Sir Giles, your uncle?
Well. I heard of him, madam,
By his minister, Marrall: he's grown into
strange passions
About his daughter. This last night he look'd for
Your lordship at his house; but missing you,
And she not yet appearing, his wise head
Is much perplex'd and troubled.
Lord L. I hope my project took.
Lady A. I strongly hope.
Sir G. [Without] Ha! find her, booby! thou
huge lump of nothing!
I'll bore thine eyes out else.
Well. May it please your lordship,
For some ends of mine own, but to withdraw
A little out of sight, though not of hearing,
You may perhaps have sport.
Lord L. You shall direct me. [Steps aside.
Enter SIR GILES OVERREACH, with distracted
looks, driving in MARRALL.
Sir G Idiot! booby!
Mar. Sir, for what cause
Do you use me thus?
Sir G. Cause, slave? why I am angry,
And thou a subject only fit for beating;
And so to cool my choler. Look to the writing;
Sir G. When you once see her
Supported, and led by the lord her husband,
You'll be taught better.-Nephew!
Well. Well!
Sir G. No more?
Well. 'Tis all I owe you.
Sir G. Have your redeemed rags
Made you thus insolent?
Well. Insolent to you!
[In Scorn.
Why, what are you, sir, more than myself?
Sir G. His fortune swells him;
'Tis rank; he's married.
Lady A. This is excellent.
[Aside.
Aside.
Sir G. Sir, in calm language (though I sel-
dom use it),
I am familiar with the cause that makes you
Bear up thus bravely; there's a certain buz
Of a stol'n marriage; do you hear? of a stol'n
marriage;
In which 'tis said there's somebody hath been
I
cozen'd.
name no parties. [Lady Allworth turns away.
Well. Well, sir, what follows?
Sir G. Marry, this: since you are peremp-
tory, remember,
Upon mere hope of your great match, I lent
you
you
A thousand pounds; put me in good security,
And suddenly, by mortgage or by statute,
Of some of your new possessions, or I'll have
you
Dragg'd in your lavender robes to the gaol;
you know me,
And therefore do not trifle.
Well. Can you be
So cruel to your nephew, now he's in
The way to rise? Was this the courtesy
You did me in pure love, and no ends else?
Sir G. End me no ends; engage the whole
estate,
And force your spouse to sign it; you shall have
Three or four thousand more to roar and
swagger,
And revel in bawdy taverns.
Well. And beg after.
Mean you not so?
Sir G. My thoughts are mine, and free.
Shall I have security?
Well. No, indeed, you shall not;
Nor bond, nor bill, nor bare acknowledgment.
Your great looks fright not me.

SCENE 1.]
595
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS,
Sir G. But my deeds shall-
Outbray'd?
[They both draw.
Enter AMBLE, ORDER, and FURNACE,
Lady A. Help! murder! murder!
Well. Let him come on,
Is this your precious evidence? is this that
Your interest clear?
makes
Sir G. I am o'erwhelm'd with wonder!
What prodigy is this? what subtle devil
Hath raz'd out the inscription? the wax
Turn'd into dust, the rest of my deeds whole
With all his wrongs and injuries about him;
Arm'd with his cut-throat practices to guard As when they were deliver'd; and this only
Made nothing! do you deal with witches, rascal?
him;
The right that I bring with me will defend me, There is a statute for you, which will bring
And punish his extortion.
Sir G. That I had thee
But single in the field!
Lady A. You may; but make not
My house your quarrelling scene.
Sir G. Wer't in a church,
By heaven and hell I'll do't.
Mar. Now put him to
The showing of the deed.
Well. This rage is vain, sir;
For fighting, fear not, you shall have your
hands full
Upon the least incitement; and whereas
You charge me with a debt of a thousand
Your neck in a hempen circle; yes, there is,
And now 'tis better thought; for, cheater, know
This juggling shall not save you.
Well. To save thee,
Would beggar the stock of mercy.
Sir G. Marrall!
Mar. Sir.
Sir G. Though the witnesses are dead,
[Flatters him.
Your testimony- -
Help with an oath or two; and for thy master,
Thy liberal master, my good honest servant,
I know you will swear any thing to dash
This cunning sleight: the deed being drawn
too
If there be law (howe'er you have no con- By thee, my careful Marrall, and deliver'd
pounds,
science),
Either restore my land, or I'll recover
A debt that's truly due to me from you,
In value ten times more than what you chal-
lenge.
Sir G. I in thy debt? oh impudence! did II
not purchase
The land left by thy father? that rich land
That had continued in VVellborn's name
Twenty descents; which, like a riotous fool.
Enter a Servant, with a Box.
Thou didst make sale of? Is not here enclos'd
The deed that does confirm it mine?
Mar. Now, now!
When thou wert present, will make good my
title
Wilt thou not swear this?
Mar. I! no, I assure you.
I have a conscience, not sear'd up like yours;
know no deeds.
Sir G. Wilt thou betray me?
Mar. Keep him
From using of his hands, I'll use my tongue
To his no little torment.
Sir G. Mine own varlet
Rebel against me?
Mar. Yes, and uncase you too.
The idiot; the patch; the slave; the booby;
[Aside. The property fit only to be beaten
Well. I do acknowledge none; I ne'er For your morning exercise; your football, or
pass'd o'er
Such land; I grant, for a year or two,
You had it in trust; which if you do discharge,
Surrendering the possession, you shall ease
Yourself and me of chargeable suits in law;
Which, if you prove not honest (as I doubt it),
Must of necessity follow.
Lady A. In my judgment,
He does advise you well.
Sir G. Good, good! conspire
With your new husband, lady; second him
In his dishonest practices; but when
This manor is extended to my use,
Th' unprofitable lump of flesh; your drudge
Can now anatomize you, and lay open
All your black plots, level with the earth
Your hill of pride, and shake,
Nay pulverize, the walls you think defend
Lady A. How he foams at the mouth with
rage!
Sir G. O that I had thee in my gripe, I
would tear thee
Joint after joint!
you.
Mar. I know you are a tearer.
But I'll have first your fangs par'd off, and
then
You'll speak in humbler key, and sue for Come nearer to you; when I have discover'd,
favour.
Lady A. Never: do not hope it.
Well. Let despair first seize me.
Sir G. Yet to shut up thy mouth, and make
thee give
Thyself the lie, the loud lie, I draw out
The precious evidence; if thou canst forswear
Thy hand and seal, and make a forfeit of
[Opens the Box.
Thy ears to the pillory; see, here's that will
make
My interest clear-Ha!
Lady A. A fair skin of parchment!
Well. Indented I confess, and labels too;
But neither wax nor words. How! thunder-
struck!
And made it good before the judge, what ways
And devilish practices, you us'd to cozen with.
Sir G. But that I will live, rogue, to torture
thee,
And make thee wish, and kneel in vain to die;
These swords that keep thee from me should
fix here,
Although they made my body but one wound,
But I would reach thee.
I play the fool, and make my anger but ri-
diculous.
There will be a time and place, there will be,
cowards!
When you shall feel what I dare do.
Well. I think so:
You dare do any ill, yet want true valour

596
[ACT V.
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
To be honest and repent.
Sir G. They are words I know not,
Nor e'er will learn. Patience, the beggar's
virtue,
Shall find no harbour here-After these storms,
At length a calm appears,
Enter WELLDO, with a Letter.
Welcome, most welcome:
There's comfort in thy looks; is the deed done?
Is my daughter married? say but so, my chaplain,
And I am tame.
Welldo. Married? yes, I assure you.
Sir G. Then vanish all sad thoughts! there's
more gold for thee.
My doubts and fears are in the titles drown'd
Of my right honourable, right honourable
daughter.
Well. As it appears,
You are so, my grave uncle.
Sir G. Village nurses
Revenge their wrongs with curses; I'll not
waste
A syilable, but thus I take the life.
Which, wretch! I gave to thee.
[Offers to kill Margaret.
Lord L. Hold, for your own sake!
Though charity to your daughter hath quite
left you,
Will you do an act, though in your hopes
lost here,
Can leave no hope for peace or rest hereafter?
Sir G. Lord! thus I spit at thee,
And at thy counsel; and again desire thee,
As thou art a soldier, if thy valour
Dares show itself where multitude and example
Mar. What think you, sir; was it not Lead not the way, let's quit the house, and
wisely done
To turn his wicked arts upon himself?
[To Wellborn.
Sir G. Instantly be here!
[Whispering to Welldo.
To my wish, to my wish. Now you
that plot
against me,
And hop'd to trip my heels up; that con-
temn'd me;
Think on't, and tremble. [Loud Music] They
come, I hear the music.
A lane there for my lord.
Well. This sudden heat
May yet be cool'd, sir.
Sir G. Make way there for my lady and
lord.
Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET.
Marg. Sir, first your pardon, then your
blessing, with
Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
Not to dwell too long on words,
This is my husband.
Sir G. How?
[Kneels.
Allw. So, I assure you; all the rites of
marriage,
With every circumstance, are past.
change
Six words in private.
Lord L. I am ready.
Well. You'll grow like him,
Should you answer his vain challenge.
Sir G. Are you pale?
Borrow his help, though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both, as I am hemm'd in thus.
Say they were a squadron
Of pikes, lin'd through with shot, when I am
mounted
Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge 'em?
No, I'll through the battalia, and that routed,
I'll fall to execution.
[Attempts to draw his Sword.
Ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of't! and my sword
Glu'd to my scabbard with wrong'd orphans'
Will not be drawn.
tears,
[Falls into his Servants' Arms.
Ha! what are these? Sure, hangmen,
That come to bind my hands, and then to
drag me
Before the judgment seat!-Now they are new
shapes,
And for right honourable son-in-law, you may And do appear like furies, with steel whips,
say
Your dutiful daughter.
Sir G. Devil! are they married?
Welldo. Do a father's part, and say, heav'n
give 'em joy!
Sir G. Confusion and ruin! Speak, and speak
quickly,
Or thou art dead.
Welldo. They are married.
Sir G. Thou hadst better
To scourge my ulcerous soul! Shall I then fall
Ingloriously, and yield? No, spite of fate,
I will be forc'd to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you.
[Carried off by Order and Amble.
Mar. Was it not a rare trick,
An't please your worship, to make the deed
nothing?
Certain minerals I us'd,
Have made a contract with the king of fiends Incorporated with the ink and wax.
Than these.-My brain turns!
Welldo. Why this rage to me?
Is not this your letter, sir? and these the words-
"Marry her to this gentleman ?"
Sir G. It cannot;
Nor will I e'er believe it: 'sdeath! I will not.
That I, that in all passages I touch'd
At worldly profit have not left print
Besides he gave me nothing, but still fed me
With hopes and blows; and that was the in-
ducement
To this conundrum.
Well. You are a rascal. He that dares be
false
To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward,
Where I have trod, for the most curious search Or favour from me; I will shun thy sight
To trace my footsteps, should be gull'd by As I would do a basilisk's. Thank my pity,
If thou keep thy ears; howe'er, I will take
children!
Baffled and fool'd, and all my hopes and la-
bours
Defeated and made void.
order
Your practise shall be silenc'd.
Just. G. I'll commit him,

SCENE 1.]
597
A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.
If you will have me, sir.
Well. That were to little purpose;
His conscience be his punishment. Not a
word,
[Exit Marrall.
But instantly be gone.
Marg. Oh, my poor father!
Allw. Nay, weep not, dearest, though it
shows your pity.
What is decreed by heaven we cannot alter:
And heaven here gives a precedent to teach us
That when we leave religion, and turn atheists,
Their own abilities leave them.
Lord L. Pray you take comfort;
I will endeavour you shall be his guardian
In his distraction: and for your land, Mr.
I'll be an umpire
[Wellborn,
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of sir Giles Overreach. For me, here's the
anchor
That I must fix on.
Beside the repossession of my land,
And payment of my debts, that I must practise.
I had a reputation, but 'twas lost
In my loose course; and till I redeem it
Some noble way, I am but half made up.
It is a time of action; if your lordship
Will please to confer a company upon me
In your command, I doubt not, in my service
To my king and country, but I shall do some-
thing
That may make me right again.
Lord L. Your suit is granted,
And you lov'd for the motion.
Well. Nothing wants then
[Addressing himself to the Audience.
But your allowance-and in that our all
Is comprehended; it being known, nor we,
Nor he that wrote the comedy, can be free,
Without your manumission; which if
Grant willingly, as a fair favour due
you
[Takes Lady Allworth's Hand. To the poet's and our labours (as you may).
Allw. What you shall determine,
For we despair not, gentlemen, of the play-
We jointly shall profess, your grace hath
might
My lord, I will allow of.
Well. 'Tis the language
That I speak too; but there is something else, To teach us action, and him how to write.
THOMAS MORTON
WAS born in the county of Durham. His father died when he was very young; and the care of his education and
fortune devolved on his uncle, Mr. Maddison, an eminent stock-broker, who sent him to Soho Square Academy, where
he was a contemporary performer, in the private plays of that seminary, with Mr. Holman. He became afterwards a
member of Lincoln's Inn. This year has added an imperishable leaf to his fame in The School for grown Children.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Comedy by Th. Morton, Acted at Covent-Garden 1797.
any other drama by the same author, or perhaps, of any author.
There is in this comedy more of dramatic art than in
That peculiar part of skill here implied is-the skill of drawing characters which shall exactly please upon the
stage, the sphere alone for which they were formed, boldly defying every other consequence.
A reader unacquainted with the force, the various powers of acting, may gravely inquire, how it was possible this
play could interest an audience? Much, may be answered, was effected by the actors-but still it was the author who
foresaw what might be done in their performance, and who artfully arranged his plan to the purpose of exhibition, and
penetrated farther than any other eye could have discerned, into the probability of success.
His sagacity was rewarded-for never was play better received.
It appears in the acting a pretty rural story, most whimsically embellished by the two heroes of the piece from
town-the Rapids, father and son.
Munden and Lewis, in those two parts, so excellently understood the author; and the audience so well compre-
hended all three, that scarcely a sentence was uttered by either of those performers without being greeted by laughter
or applause. If the influence of St. Vitus was, at times, somewhat too powerful upon Lewis, if his rapidity, now and
then, became extravagant, it only excited still more extravagant mirth.
The author has drawn a delinquent from India, and made an apology to all persons returned from that part of the
globe for having done so.-To persons of fashion, whom he has likewise satirized, he makes no apology-he either
thought they were too hardened to suffer under his censure, or toe innocent to care for it.
There are incidents of most virtuous tendency in this play, and such, on the first view, is that of Frank Oatland
overcoming his temptation to steal. But thieving is, perhaps, the only crime that never assails the human heart with-
out making a conquest-for it seems probable, that an honest man never, upon any occasion, feels the enticement to
purloin from his neighbour.
The title of this comedy is most apt, and gives the author's own estimation of it with a degree of candour that
forbids high expectation in either auditor or reader, and disarms all criticism that is not merely confined to that spe-
cies of entertainment, which, by implication, he has promised-excessive merriment.
In keeping his word with the public, Mr. Morton has likewise added more valuable materials than humour-many
admirable reflections are dispersed throughout the work, and an excellent moral is introduced at the catastrophe.
SIR HUBERT STANLEY.
CHARLES STANLEY.
VORTEX.
YOUNG RAPID.
OLD RAPID.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
FRANK OATLAND.
FARMER OATLAND.
BRONZE.
HEARTLEY.
FIRST WAITER.
SECOND WAITER.
MR. VORTEX'S SERVANT.
SERVANT TO SIR HUBERT.
LANDLORD.
HAIR-DRESSER.
ELLEN.
MISS VORTEX.
JESSY OATLAND.

598
[ACT 1.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
ACT I,
Jessy, at church yesterday, Sir Hubert looking
SCENE 1.-4 Farm Yard.- House on one be there, miss'd feyther, and gave me such a
round, as he always do, to see if his tenants
side, a neat Flower Garden on the other desperate look, that I dropt prayer-book out
-The Bells of a Team jingling.
of my hand; and truly, when feyther do go
Frank. [Without] Worn! Whoh! Smiler. to church, I be always sham'd, he never knows
[Enters] So! Feyther be not come home from where to find the collect-never-I'm sure it
the Nabob's house yet. Eh! bean't that sister be not my fault, he be so full of prodigality
Jessy in her garden, busy among the poseys? -never son set feyther better example than 1
-Sister Jessy!
do's mine; what can I do more for 'un? it
wou'dn't be becoming in me to leather¹) fey-
Enter JESSY from the Garden, a Water-ther, wou'd it, Jessy?
ing-pot in her hand.
Jessy. Here he comes-I'll return to my
Jessy. Ah, Frank, so soon returned from garden-to converse with him is to me dread-
Gloucester? Have you sold the corn?
Frank. Ees.
Jessy. And how did you like the town?
You were never there before?
Frank. Loike it-I doan't know how I loik'd
it, not I; I zomehow cou'dn't zee the town
for the housen: desperate zight of them to be
sure! But, Jessy, you, who went to Lunnun
town to take in your larning, can tell me, be
there as many houses in Lunnun?
Jessy. A hundred times the number.
Frank. And do your 'squires there, like Sir
Hubert Stanley, and the Nabob here, keep fine
coaches?
Jessy. Yes, Frank; there are some thou-
sands round St. James's Gate.
ful; for while my breast rises with indignation
at his conduct as a man, it sinks again in pity
for the misfortunes of a parent.
Frank. Now that's just like I-I feels as if
I shou'd like to lick 2) un, and cry all the
time- but what will be the end on't, Jessy?
Jessy. Ruin, inevitable ruin. [Despondingly.
Frank. Well, don't thee be cast down-
thee knows I be cruel kind to thee; at meals,
I always gi's thee the desperate nice bits, and
if thy lover prove false-hearted, or feyther
shou'd come to decay, I be a terrible strong
lad, I'll work for thee fra sun-rise to down,
and if any one offer to harm thee, I'll fight
for thee till I die.
Jessy. Thanks, my good lad: thanks, dear
brother.
[Kisses him, and exu.
Frank. St. James's Geat! Dong it; it would
be worth a poor man's while to stand and Frank. As nice a bit of a sister that, as in
open that geat-Pray you, where do that geat all country round.
lead to?
Jessy. The road to preferment, Frank.
Frank. Ecod, if your road to preferment
be so cramm'd wi' your coaches and great
folk, no wonder a poor man be run down
when he tries to get a bit.
Jessy. Ha! ha!
Frank. You seem to be in terrible good
spirits, Jessy!
Jessy. I have reason, Frank. I have just
received a letter from my dear Edward, who
has left London on business with his father,
Mr. Rapid, and will be here to-day.
Enter FARMER OATLAND dressed in a com-
pound of rusticity and fashion.
Oat. [Singing] Ba viamo tutti ira.-- Dom
it this be what I call loife! Have you sold
the wheat?
Frank. Ees.
Oat. How much?
Frank Two load.-Six and twenty pound.
Oat. [Yawning] Exactly the trifle I lost
last night.
Frank. What?
Oat. Take it to the Nabob's gentleman.
Frank. I were going, feyther, to the castle
Frank. I suppose it be a desperate long
letter, and cruel sweet. Full of kisses and to gee it to Sir Hubert's steward for rent.
voluntines 1).-Nine sheets I warrant.
Oat. Rent, you boor! That for Sir Hubert,
Jessy. Hardly nine words. The truth is, [Snapping his Fingers] Ah! Nabob's sarvants
that Edward, though handsome, generous, and be the tippy 3)-Every thing be done by them
I hope sincere, is impatient and hasty to a so genteely.
degree, that-
Frank. Ecod, you be done by them gen-
Frank. Hasty? What then? When a man teely enough: I be sure that house have brought
be on the road to do good, he can't go too the country round to ruination. Before this
fast, I say.-Bean't that Feyther coming thro' Nabob come here wi' all his money, and be
Wheat-Ash? He have been drinking and game- domn'd to 'un, every thing were as peaceable
string all good Sunday night wi' Nabob's and deceant as never was; not a lawyer within
sarvants, how whitish and deadly bad he do ten miles; now there be three practizing in
look. He used to be as comely and handsome village; and what's ameast as bad, there be
as either of us, wasn't he now? Do you know, three doctors; and the farmers so consated,
1) Valentines. On the 14th of February, (St. Valentine's drive about in their chay-carts, eat lumpsugar
day) it is the custom in England for young people ev'ry day, and gi' balls 4).
to correspond with one another, by means of the post; Oat. To be sure.
when young ladies are allowed to receive letters va-
lentines from young gentlemen, and to answer them
also. Of course these letters are full of smarts and
darts, loves and doves, etc. This custom is now mostly
confined to country-town swhere the unfavoured swain
is sometimes honoured with a caricature, accompanied
perhaps with the following:
"The rose is red, the viole'ts blue,
The devil's black-and so are you."
cr the favoured one's last line is,
"Carnation's sweet, and so are you."
Frank. And what's the upshot? why that
they jig it away to county jail.
Ŏat. Tezez-vous! Let me see-Great cassino
1) To leather means, to beat.
2) To lick is another word for, to beat.
3) The tip-top of fashion.
4) This extravagance of the English formers, has been
the cause of the ruin of many hundreds of families, and
sent some to gaol, and others to emigrate.

SCENE 2.]
599
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
-
be ten o' diamonds. Well, then, I play-second table is more genteeler than Sir Hubert's
Frank. Play! ecod, if you go on so you own. But I must away, for we expect the
mun work tho'.
rich Miss Vortex - I beg pardon; but your
name and the Nabob's daughter being the
same, we call her the rich, to distinguish-
Oat. Next I mun take care of the speads.
Frank. No, feyther, a spade mun take care
o'you; by gol 1), here be Mr. Heartley, 'Sir
Hubert's steward;-now doan't you be saucy
to 'un, feyther; - now do beheave thyself
now that's a man, feyther, do.
[Clapping him on the Back.
Enter HEARTLEY.
Heart. Good day, Farmer Oatland; how
dost do, honest Frank?
Frank. Desperate pure, thank ye, sur.
Heart. Well, Farmer, once more I have
call'd respecting your arrear of rent. - Three
hundred pound is a long sum.
Frank. Three hundred pound!
Heart. And unless it be immediately dis-
charg'd, Sir Hubert is resolv'd to-
Ellen. And you do wisely. No term of
distinction could possibly be more significant,
or better understood by the world than that
you have adopted.
Bronze. Hope no offence, ma'am.
Ellen. None, Bronze, go in-
but,
Bronze. The last man on earth to offend
a fine woman.
[Exit.
Ellen. The rich Miss Vortex-most true.
But now my dear Charles Stanley is returned,
I claim the superior title of the happy. Oh!
Charles, when we parted last at Spa; how
great the contrast! thy animated form was
prison'd in the icy fetters of disease, thy pale
and quiv'ring lip refus'd a last adieu:
ah! a smile that seem'd borrow'd from a seraph,
Oat. That for Sir Hubert-He shall have his who waited to bear thee up to Heaven, swore
rent-Frank, send your sister Jessy to the for thee everlasting love. That smile sup-
Nabob's, he'll let me have the money.
Frank. No! I won't-What business have now bade adieu; and to be near the lord of
sister at such a desperate prodigal place! Na, my heart, have again enter'd this house, the
na, I'll go myzelf.
palace of ruinous luxury and licentious mad-
ness:-but here comes its whimsical proprietor.
Heart. You are in the right, honest Frank.
Frank. Yes, sur, I always am.
Oat. Ugh! you vulgar mungrel-Well, de-
sire the Nabob's gentleman to desire the Na-
bob to let me have three hundred pounds.
Heart. Sirrah!
Frank. Don't you mind 'un, zur, don't ye,
he be's intoxicated. Dong thee, beheave thy-
self!
[With Sorrow and Vexation.
ported me in solitude, but to solitude I have
Enter MR. VORTEX, with a Paper in his
hand, attended by Black and White
Servants.
Vortex. Sublime!-Oh the fame of this speech
Frank. He won't gi' thee a brass farthing.
Oat. Sir Hubert shall have his money-Ha! will spread to Indostan. Eh! - don't I smell
ha! ha! my notion is, he wants it sad enough, the pure air in this room? Oh! you villains,
ha! ha!
would you destroy me? throw about the per-
fumes. For legislative profundity, for fancy
and decoration-'tis a speech-
Ellen. What speech is it, sir?
Vortex. Ah! Ellen,-why my maiden speech
Oat. Silence, you hound! and obey!-Bon in Parliament. It will alarm all Europe; -
jour, Mr. Steward-I'll to bed-'Pon honour, I'll speak it to you-
I must cut 2) Champaigne, it makes me so
narvous- Sir Hubert shall have his money, let
that satisfy.-Follow me, cur!
I
Ellen. No, my dear uncle, not just now.-
hear you've been ill.
Vortex. Oh! very. A strange agitation at
my heart, and such a whizzing and spinning
[Exit. in my head-
[Exit into the house.
Heart. Sad doings, Frank.
[Frank shakes his Head and follows OATLAND.
SCENE II.-4 Room in the Nabob's House.
Enter ELLEN VORTEX, meeting BRONZE.
Ellen. Good Mr. Bronze, have you been at
Sir Hubert Stanley's!
Bronze. Yes, ma'am.
Ellen. Is Charles Stanley arrived?
Ellen. I hope you've had advice.-
Vortex. Oh, yes, I've had them all. - One
physician told me it was caused by too bril-
liant and effervescent a genius;-the next said,
it was the scurvy;-a third, it proceeded from
not eating pepper to a melon; - another had
the impudence to hint it was only little qualms
that agitated some gentlemen who had made
-
Bronze. No, ma'am, but he is hourly ex- fortunes in India;-one recommended a sea
pected.
voyage, another, a flannel night-cap; one
Ellen. Do they say he is well- quite re- prescribed water, the other brandy; but,
however, they all agreed in this essential point,
Bronze. I don't know, ma'am, upon my that I'm not to be contradicted, but have my
soul. I beg parden, but really the Baronet's way in every thing.
covered?
house is horrid vulgar, compared to your Ellen. An extremely pleasant prescription,
uncle's, the Nabob's here; I peeped through certainly. But under these circumstances do
my glass into an old hall, and beheld fifty you hold it prudent, uncle, to become a par-
paupers at dinner, such wretches!-and the liamentary orator? I believe a little gentle con-
Baronet himself walking round the table to tradiction is usual in that House.
-
see them properly fed.-How damn'd low!- Vortex. I know it but if you will hear
Ugh! I would bet a rump and dozen 3), our my speech, you will see how I manage-I
1) By God.
2) Flash for, leave off.
3) A rump of beef and a dozen of port; a favourite
English wager.
begin-Sir-
Enter Servant.
Ser. Your daughter, Sir, is arrived from town

600
[ACT I.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Ellen. Thank you, cousin, for this relief. Parliament, and the orator himself describing
[Aside. how puppets are managed at the Fantoccini;
Vortex. Zounds, I'm not to be interrupted. we had grandmothers making assignations
Serv. She is here, sir.
Enter MISS VORTEX.
Miss Vor. My dear Nabob, uncommon glad
to see you. Ah, Ellen! what, tired of seclusion
and a cottage?
with boys, and the children of Israel joining
the host of Pharaoh.-Oh! my dear Miss
Vortex, why don't you partake in these charm-
ing scenes.
Ellen. My dear Miss Vortex six suppers
would annihilate my fortune.
Miss Vor. Oh! true; I forgot your uncom-
Ellen. I hope, cousin, I am welcome to you.
Miss Vor. Certainly; you know we are un-mon small fortune: but I don't think it much
common glad to see any body in the country. signifies. I swear people of fashion in town
But, my dear Nabob, you don't enquire seem to do as well without money as with it.
about the opening of our town-house. You might be successful at play there are
Vortex. I was thinking of my speech. points to be learnt which certainly do not give
Miss Vor. The most brilliant house-warm- you the worst of the game. Come, will you
ing 1)-uncommon full, above a thousand be my protégé?
people-every body there.
Ellen. Pray, cousin, do you then visit every
body?
Miss Vor. Certainly they must ask me.
Ellen. Must! I should imagine that wou'd
depend on inclination.
Ellen. Excuse me, cousin, I dare say I ought
to be covered with blushes when I own a
vulgar detestation of the character of a female
gamester; and I must decline the honour of
your introduction to the haut-ton, till at least
they have justice on their side.
Miss Vor. Inclination! Pshaw! I beg your Miss Vor. An uncommon odd girl, Nabob.
pardon, but you are really uncommon igno- Elten. Heavens! to what state of abject de-
rant, my dear. They must ask me, I tell gradation must fashionable society be reduced,
you. Now suppose a Duchess rash enough when officers of police are as much dreaded
to shut me from her parties; - very well.-by ladies in the purlieus of St. James's, as
She names a night-Î name the same, and they are by cutpurses in the wretched haunt
give an entertainment greatly surpassing hers of St. Giles's.
-
in splendour and profusion. What is the Miss Vor. For shame, Ellen, to censure your
consequence? -- why, that her rooms are as own sex.
-
deserted as an ex-minister's levee, and mine Ellen. No, Madam, I am its advocate; and
cramm'd to suffocation with her Grace's most in that sex's name protest an abhorrence of
puissant and noble friends.-Ha! ha! my dear those women who do not consider any thing
Ellen, the court of St. James's run after a shameful but to be ashamed of any thing;
good supper as eagerly as the court of alder-whose resemblance to nature and innocence.
men. Ha! ha! your being in this country, exists but in their nakedness, and to whom
Nabob, was thought quite charming. A host honour is only known as a pledge at a gaming
not being at home to receive his guests is un- table.
common new and elegant, isn't it. Here we
improve, my dear, on ancient hospitality-
those little memorandums, Nabob, will give
you an idea of the sort of thing.
I
[Exit.
Miss Vor. Did you ever hear, Nabob?
Vortex. I did not hear a word she said;
was thinking of my speech.
Miss Vor. A pert, Gothic, low-bred crea-
Vortex. [Reads] "March"-Oh! that's a ture! But her contemptible fortune suits un-
delightful month, when nature produces nothing, common well with her grovelling ideas.
and every thing is forc'd.-Let me see 2)- Vortex. Don't you talk of her fortune, it
"50 quarts of green pease, at five guineas a always makes my poor head worse. You know
quart," that was pretty well:-"500 peaches" at the time I gave her five thousand pounds
at what? "a guinea each."-Oh! too cheap. in lieu of what I called her expectations, I
Miss Vor. 'Tis very true; but I assure you had in my hands an enormous sum of hers.
I tried every where to get them dearer, but O dear! I'm afraid the doctor was right-ah!
cou'd not.
mine are certainly East India qualms-I wonder
if giving her fifty thousand back again wou'd
do my heart any good?
Vortex. And I suppose the new white satin
furniture was all spoil'd.
Miss Vor. Oh! entirely-and the pier glasses
shivered to pieces so delightfully.
Vortex. Well, I hope you had the whole
account put in the papers?
Miss Vor What! my dear Nabob? I de-
clare you quite shock me.
Vortex. Oh, conscience!
Miss Vor. Conscience! he! he! a thing so
uncommon vulgar, a thing so completely chas-
seed; besides, you know very well it is ab-
solutely impossible to exist under 20,0001. a year.
Vortex. That's very true.
Miss Vor. Certainly, else what would have
been the use of giving the fête. Then the
company; such charming eccentricity, such
characters out of character. We had a noble
peer bowing for custom to his shop, and an Miss Vor. Some people certainly do con-
alderman turning over the music leaves for trive to grub on with ten thousand, but how
the celebrated Soprano; an orator's lady de- they do it is to me miraculous; then think of
tailing her husband's three hours speech in your intention of marrying me to the son of
1) Upon entering a new-built house, it is customary to your great rival the Baronet; think of his
warm it in the manner here described, among the ex-
travagant.
borough.
Vortex. Ah! very true.-Conscience, avaunt!
2) Now for the extravagance of Covent-Garden Market, I have made a motion on matrimony to Sir
This is altogether an excellent picture of Life in
London
Hubert.

SCENE 3.]
601
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Miss Vor. And young Stanley's arrival; oh!
what a sweet youth!
some of your election bills remain unliquid-
ated, and I fear without a further mortgage-
Sir Hub. Don't torture. Pardon me, good
old man.
Vortex. Oh! what a sweet borough interest!
But I'm glad your heart is interested.
Miss Vor. Heart interested! Lud, how can Heart. Truly, Sir Hubert, what might have
you suspect me of so uncommon vulgar a been effected with 50001. some years ago, will
sensation. I trust my joy is occasioned by now require ten-you must retrench your
ideas more becoming a woman of fashion.-hospitable benevolence.
I am charmed because his fortune is large, Sir Hub. My worthy steward, my head has
his family ancient; and because my marriage long acknowledg'd the truth of your arith-
will render all my female friends so uncom-metic --but my head could never teach it to
mon miserable; and because I suspect that my heart.
Ellen met young Stanley at Spa, and that she Heart. And, sir, you may raise your rents.
dares aspire to-
Vortex. I wish she were out of the house.
Miss Vor. No-she shall stay to witness my
triumph.
Sir Hub. Never, Heartley-never.-What!
shall the many suffer that I may be at ease!-
But away with care-this is a moment de-
voted to extasy-this is the hour a doating
Vortex. Shall stay.-I'm not to be contra- father is to clasp an only child, who, after
dicted, you know-my physicians-
combating with disease and death, returns
Miss Vor. Certainly not, my dear Nabob; triumphant to his arms in lusty health and
but I may recommend; I'm sure no physician manhood.-Ah! he approaches; 'tis my boy-
would object to your taking advice. Ah! does Dost thou not see him in the beechen avenue.-
Ellen love you as I do? - will she listen to Dull old man, advance thine hand thus-[Put-
your speech as I intend to do? would she ting his Hand over his Forehead.]-See how
throw away thousands for you in a night, his eyes wander with delight, and renovate
as I do?
the pictures of his youth.-Ah! now he sees
Vortex. Very true! very true! [Exeunt. his father, and flies like lightning.
SCENE III.-A Pleasure Ground, and a View
of an Ancient Castle.
Enter Four Servants, dressed in old-fa-
shioned Liveries, then SIR HUBERT STAN-
LEY and HEARTLEY.
Enter CHARLES STANLEY-[Kneels.]
Charles. My honour'd-my lov'd father!
Sir Hub. Rise to my heart.-Stand off, and
let my eyes gloat upon thee-thou art well.--
Thy arm, good Heartley.-Nay, do not weep,
old Honesty, twill infect me.
Sir Hub. Good Heartley, is all prepared for
my boy's reception, his favourite study on the Charles. Ah! my excellent old friend-in
southern battlement? Are his dogs train'd-health, I hope?
his hunters well condition'd?
Heart. Aye, good master, and this day will
make me young again.
Heart. To say, truth, Sir Hubert, the castle
has been all day in quarrel, each servant claim- Charles. Dear father, already must I become
ing the right of exclusive attendance on his a suitor to you. - Passing Oatland's farm, I
dear young master.
found his lovely daughter Jessy in tears, oc-
Sir Hub. I thank their honest loves. He casion'd by her father's inability to pay his
writes me he is well, good Heartley; quite rent. I dried them with a promise-[Heart-
well. Ha! the village bells proclaim my boy's ley shakes his Head, and Sir Hubert averts
arrival. Dost thou hear the people's shouts? his Face.] - Ha! your brow is clouded with
Heart. Aye, and it revives my old heart. unhappiness; pray, sir-
Sir Hub. These welcomes are the genuine.
effusions of love and gratitude - Spite of this
Nabob's arts, you see how my loving neigh-
bours respect me.
Enter Servant.
Where is my boy?
Serv. Not yet arriv'd, sir.
Sir Hub. No!
Sir Hub. Good Heartley, leave us-[Exeunt
Heartley and Servants]- Charles, so mixed
is the cup of life, that this day, the happiest
thy old father can e'er hope to see, is dash'd
with bitterness and sorrow, boy. I have been
a very unthrift to thee.
Charles. Oh, sir.
Sir Hub. Listen to me. You have heard
how my father kept alive the benevolent hospi-
Sere. These rejoicings are for the Nabob's tality that once distinguished Old England,
daughter, who is just come from London. and I not finding in modern ethics aught likely
Sir Hub. Indeed! [peevishly] Well, well. to improve either the morals or happiness of
Sero. My young master will alight privately mankind, determined to persevere in the ways
at Oatland's farm, and walk through the park. of my fathers. Soon after you went abroad,
[Exit. the adjoining estate was purchased by an East
Sir Hub. The Nabob's daughter!-Well, let Indian, groaning under wealth produc'd by
it pass.-Heartley, what said farmer Oatland? groans. Like the viper, after collecting in the
Heart. Nothing but what profligacy and in- warm sunshine his bag of venom, he came to
solence dictated-he defied your power, and the abode of peace and innocence, and dis-
sent to the Nabob.
seminated his poison. But mark me-think
Sir Hub. Ungrateful man! let a distress be me not so unjust, boy, as with random slander
issued.-Hold; no, no.
Heart. Indeed, Sir Hubert, he is undeserving
your lenity. Besides, sir, your mortgagee, Mr.
Rapid, the wealthy taylor, will be here to-day
-the interest on the mortgage must be paid-
to censure any body of men. No, thank heaven!
there are numbers whom Providence, in ad-
dition to the power, has added the will, to
render wealth a blessing to all around them.
Charles. You are ever just and liberal.
76

602
[ACT II.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Frank. If your honour be so gracious.
Charles. Nay, wear your hat.
Frank. O dear! O dear! what a pity no-
body do see I.
Sir Hugh. But for this vile exception, this
Mr. Vortex, I tell thee, riot, contention, in-
dolence, and vice, succeeded. I struggled against
this mischief, which spurr'd him on to oppose
me in my election. This contest (I trust,
Charles, you think the dignity of our family
demanded it) this contest, I say, oblig'd me o' I.
to mortgage my estate to a considerable amount;
and I fear, boy, even that will not suffice.
Dost thou not blame thy father?
Charles. Come, brother student, your hand.
Frank. My hand! Lord dong it, only think
[Exeunt Hand in Hand.
ACT II.
SCENE I-A Room in an Inn.
Charles. Blame, sir? my fortune, nay, my Enter Two WAITERS, with Luggage, meeting
ife is held but to promote your happiness.
Sir Hub. Glorious boy! then all will be well
again-thy estate restor'd, thy wealth enlarg'd.
Charles. How?
Sir Hub. By marriage, Charles.
BRONZE.
1st. Wait. Coming, sir.
Young R. [Without] Zounds, why don't
you come? Why don't all of you come, eh?
[Charles averts his Face with dejection. Bronze. Waiter who are these people?
Charles. Marriage, sir! - To conceal the 1st. Wait. I don't know, Mr. Bronze.-The
passion that triumphs here were but to deceive young one seems a queer one-he jump'd out
a father, and injure the bright excellence of the mail, ran into the kitchen, whipp'd the
love. When I was ill at Spa, the votaries of turnspit into a gallop, and made him keep
pleasure avoided me as the harbinger of me- moving; and tho' not a minute in the house,
lancholy, and I was despis'd as a thing pas- he has been in every room, from the garret
sing into oblivion by all but one fair creature, to the cellar.
I obtained an opportunity to thank her for 2d. Wait. Father and son, I understand.-
the charitable pity her eye had beam'd on me. The name on the luggage, I see, is Rapid.
Love soon kindled his torch at Pity's altar, Bronze. Rapid! [Aside] Perhaps it is my
for I found in Miss Vortex such excellence-old master, the great tailor, and his harum-
Sir Hub. Who?
scarum son-I'll observe.
Charles. Miss Vortex, sir.
Sir Hub. From India?
Charles. The same.
Sir Hub. She that is now propos'd for your
Charles. Is it possible?
[alliance?
1st. Wait. Here he comes full dash, and the
old man trotting after him like a terrier.
[Exeunt.
Enter OLD and YOUNG RAPID.
Young R. Come along, dad-push on, my
Sir Hub. And awaits your arrival in the dear dad. Well, here we are-keep moving.
neighbourhood.
Old R. Moving! Zounds, haven't I been
Charles. Oh! let me haste to her. Yet moving all night in the mail-coach to please you?
hold! Frank Oatland attends to hear your de-
termination.
Young R. Mail! famous thing, isn't? Je up!
whip over counties in a hop, step, and jump
Sir Hub. At present, Charles, I cannot grant-dash along.
your suit.- [Charles beckons in Frank.] Old R. Od rot such hurry-scurry doings, I
Young man, tell your father the law must take say. Here have I ground my old bones all
its course. When I see in him symptoms of night in the mail, to be eight hours before
contrition and amendment, I may restore him. my appointment with Sir Hubert Stanley; and
Frank. Thank ye,-thank ye, sur.
now I must sit biting my fingers.
Charles. How came this distress to fall Young R. Biting your fingers! No, no, I'll
on him?
find you something to do. Come, we'll keep
moving!
Frank. Why, sur, he went on farming pretty
tightish, didn't he, sur? till he keept company
wi' Nabob's sarvants; then all of a sudden he
took to the gentleman line. I conceats, sur,
he didn't much understand the trim on't, for
the gentleman line didn't answer at all. I hope
your honour bean't angry wi' I for speaking
to young 'squire; your worship do know I
were a bit of a playfellow wi'un, and we fol-
lowed our studies together.
Sir Hub. Indeed!
Frank. Ees, sur, we went through our let-
lers-and a-b, ab-e-b, eb-there somehow I
stuck, and 'squire went clean away into abre-
viation and abomination ¹); and then I never
cou'd take much to your pens, they be so
cruel small; now a pitchfork do fit my hand
so desperate kindly as never was.
Sir Hub. Ha! ha! Come, my boy, you'll
want refreshment.
[Exit-Frank bows, and is going.
Charles. What, honest Frank, will you not
walk with me to the castle!
1) These are the first words of 5 syllables that children are
taught to learn in their spelling-books.
[Takes his Father by the Arm, who resists.
Enter LANDLORD.
Land. Gentlemen, I beg leave-
Young R. No prosing-to the point.
Old R. For shame-don't interrupt the gen-
tleman.
Young R. Gently, dad-dash away, sir.
Land. A servant of Sir Hubert Stanley has
been inquiring for Mr. Rapid.
Young R. Push on!
Land. And expects him at the castle.
Young R. That will do-push off-brush-
run!
[Exit Landlord, running.
That's the thing-keep moving.-I say, dad!
Old R. What do you say, Neddy?
Young R. Neddy! damn it, don't call me
Neddy. I hate to he called Neddy.
Old R. Well, I won't.
Young R. That's settled-I say-what's your
business with Sir Hubert?-Some secret, eh?
Old R. [Aside] I won't tell you. Oh no-
a bill he owes me for making his clothes and
liveries.

SCENE 1.]
603
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Young R. Pugh! he's a ready-money man. [needles now for? - [Searches the Pocket).
I never made a bill out for him in my life.-Sure enough, here it is-one end stuck into
It won't do.
a letter, and the other into my back, I believe.
Old R. Well then sit down, and I'll tell -Curse it?-Eh!-what's this? [Reads] "To
you. [They sit] Can you sit still a moment? Mr. Rapid-Free-Hubert Stanley." Ha, ha,
Young R. [Jumping up] To be sure I can ha! here's dad's secret-Now for it! [Reads
now tell me, briefly-briefly. [Sits again. very quick] "Sir Hubert Stanley will ex-
Old R. [Aside] Indeed I will not. You pect to see Mr. Rapid at the Castle, and
must know-
wou'd be glad to extend the mortgage, which
is now 50,000l." What's this?-[Reads again]
"Extend the mortgage, which is now 50,0007
Young R. Aye-
Old R. You must know-
Young R. Zounds! you have said that twice to seventy." Fifty thousand! huzza!-'tis so-
now don't say it again.
my old dad worth fifty thousand-perhaps
Old R. Well, I won't-You must know-seventy-perhaps-I'll-no-I'll-
'tis a very long story.
Young R. [Rising] Then I'll not trouble you.
Old R. [Aside] I thought so. And pray what
might induce you to come with me?
Enter WAITER.
Wait. The buggy's ready sir.
Young R. Dare to talk to me of a buggy,
Young R. [Aside] Won't tell him of Jessy. and I'll-
Oh, as we had given up trade, left off stitching Wait. Perhaps you would prefer a chaise
you know my way-I like to push on-and pair?
change the scene, that's all-keep moving.
Young R. No, I'll have a chaise and twelve.
Old R. Moving! [Yawns] Oh, my poor Abscond! [Exit Waiter] I must-I must keep
old bones! Waiter, bring me a night-gown. moving.-1 must travel for improvement. First
[Waiter helps him on with a Night-I'll see the whole of my native country, its
gown-he lays his Coat on a Chair agriculture and manufactories. That, I think,
Young R. What are you at, dad?
will take me full four days and a half. Next
Old R. Going to take a nap on that sofa.
I'll make the tour of Europe; which, to do
Young R. A nap-pugh!
properly, will, I dare say, employ three weeks
or a month. Then, returning as completely
versed in foreign manners and language as
the best of them, I'll make a push at high
life. In the first circles I'll keep moving.
Fifty thousand! perhaps more-perhaps-oh!
Waiter. [Without] You can't come in.
Bronze. [Without] I tell you I will come in.
Young R. Will come in!-that's right-
push on, whoever you are.
Old R. Zounds! I've no comfort of my life
with you.
Young R. Say no more.
Old R. But I will, tho'-hurry, hurry-od
rabbit it, I never get a dinner that's half dress-
ed; and as for a comfortable sleep, I'm sure-
Young R. You sleep so slow.
Old R. Sleep slow! I'll sleep as slow as I
please; so at your peril disturb me. Sleep
slow indeed!
[Yawning. Exit.
Young R. Now to visit Jessy. Waiter!
Wait. Sar! [With great quickness.
Young R. That's right-sir-short-you're a
fine fellow.
Wait. Yes, sar.
Enter BRONZE.
come
Bronze. I thought so. How do you do,
Mr. Rapid? Don't you remember Bronze, your
father's foreman, when you were a boy?
Young R. Ah, Bronze! how do
Young R. Does Farmer Oatland live here- Bronze? Any thing to say, Bronze? Keep
abouts?
Wait. Yes, sar.
Young R. How far?
Wait. Three miles.
Young R. Which way.
Wait. West.
Young R. That will do-get me a buggy.
Wait. Yes, sar.
Young R. Oh, if my old dad had left off
business as some of your flashy tailors do, I
might have kept a curricle, and lived like a
man.-Is the buggy ready?
Wait. No, sar.
Young R. But to cut the shop with paltry
five thousand. Is the buggy ready?
Wait. No, sar.
Young R. Or to have dashed to Jessy in a
curricle.-Is the buggy ready?
Wait. No, sar.
[Exit.
you do,
moving. Do you know, Bronze, by this letter
I have discover'd that my father is worth-
how much, think you?
Bronze. Perhaps ten thousand,
Young R. Push on.
Bronze. Twenty.
Young R. Push on.
Bronze. Thirty.
Young R. Keep moving.
Bronze. Forty.
Young R. Fifty-perhaps-sixty-seventy
oh! I'll tell you. He has lent 50,000, on
mortgage, to an old baronet,
Bronze, Sir Hubert St-
Young R. [Stopping him] I know his name
as well as you do.
Bronze. [Aside] Here's news for my master!
--Well, sir, what do you mean to do?
Young R. Do! Push on-become a man of
fashion, to be sure.
Young R. A Nabob! oh! some flash-in-the-
pan chap.
Young R. To have flanked along a pair of
blood things at sixteen miles an hour. [Puts Bronze. What would you say, if I were
himself in the act of driving, and sits on to get you introduced to a Nabob?
the Chair where Old Rapid left his Coat-
springs from it again]- What the devil's
that?-Zounds! something has run into my
back. I'll bet a hundred 'tis a needle in father's Young R. What, one of your real, genuine,
pocket. Confound it! what does he carry neat as imported, Nabobs?
Bronze. Oh, no!

604
[ACT II.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
hear of him?
Bronze. Yes, Mr. Vortex - Did you never mously.-It's my business to reduce it. [Aside]
-Now, my dear dad, in the first place, never
call me Neddy.
Young R. To be sure I have. But will you?
Bronze. Yes.
Young R. Ah! but will you do it directly?
Bronze. I will.
Old R. Why, what must I call you?
Young R. Ned-short-Ned.
Old R. Ned! O, Ned!
Young R. That will do. And in the next
place, sink the tailor. Whatever you do, sink
Young R. Then push off-Stop-stop-I beg
your pardon-it cuts me to the heart to stop
any man, because I wish every body to keep the tailor.
moving. But won't dad's being a tailor make
an objection?
Bronze. No; as you never went out with
the pattern-books.
Young R. [Sighing] Oh yes, I did.
Bronze. That's awkward. But you never
operated?
Young R. [With Melancholy] What do
you say?
Bronze. I say you never-
[Describes in action the act of sewing.
Young R. [Sighing deeper] Oh! yes, I did.
Bronze. That's unlucky.
Young R. Very melancholy, indeed!
Bronze. I have it. Suppose I say you are
merchants.
Young R. My dear fellow, sink the tailor,
and I'll give you a hundred.
Bronze. Will you? Thank you.
Young R. Now push off.
Bronze. But don't be out of the way.
Young R. Me; Bless you, I'm always
the way.
Bronze. Don't move.
Old R. Sink the tailor! What do you mean?
Young R. I've news for you. We are going
to be introduced to Mr. Vortex, the rich Nabob.
Old R. You don't say so! Huzza; it will be
the making of us.
Young R. To be sure. Such fashion! Such
style!
Old R. Aye, and such a quantity of liveries,
and-Oh dear me! [With great dejection.
Young R. What's the matter?
Old R. [Sighing] I forgot I had left off
business.
Young R. Business! Confound it! Now,
pray keep the tailor under, will you? I'll-
send an express to London. [Runs to the Table.
Old R. An express! for what?.
Young R. I don't know.-
Enter WAITER.
Waiter. The bill of fare, gentlemen.
Young R. Bring it here.-[Reads]-"Tur-
bots-Salmon-Soles-Haddock-Beef-Mut-
in ton-Veal -Lamb-Pork-Chickens-Ducks-
Turkies-Puddings-Pies." Dress it all-that's
the short way.
Waiter. All!
Young R. Yes, I must move a little, away
you go-[Pushes Bronze off]-Huzza! now
to awake old dad.-[Exit, and returns with
Old Rapid - Come along, dad.
Young R. Every bit.
Old R. No, no, nonsense.-The short way
indeed! Come here, sir.-Let me see-[Reads]
sir--Um-Um-"Ribs of beef."-That's a good
thing;-I'll have that.
Young R. What?
Old R. [Half asleep] Yes, sir-yes,
I'll measure you directly I'll measure you
directly.
Young R. He's asleep.-Awake!
Old R. What's the matter, eh! What's the
matter.
Young R. What's the matter! I have found
fifty thousand in that letter?
Old R. Indeed! [Opens the Letter eagerly
Ah! Neddy, have you found out-
Young R. I have-that you are worth how
much.
Old R. Why, since what's past-
Young R. Never mind what's past.
Old R. I've been a fortunate man, My old
partner us'd to say, "Ah! you are lucky, Rapid;
your needle always sticks in the right place."
Young R. No, not always. [Shrugging]-
But how much?
Old R. Why, as it must out, there are fifty
thousand lent on mortgage.-Item, fifteen
thousand in the consols-Item-
Young R. Never mind the items.-The total,
my dear dad-the total.
Old R. What do you think of a plumb!
Young R. A plum! Oh, sweet, agreeable,
little, short word!
Old R. Besides seven hundred and ninety-
Young R. Never mind the odd money-that
will do. But how came you so rich, dad?
Dam'me, you must have kept moving.
Waiter. Ribs of beef, sir.
Young R. Are they the short ribs?
Waiter. Yes, sir.
Young R. That's right.
Waiter. What liquor wou'd your honour
like?
Young R. [Jumping up.] Spruce-beer.
Waiter. Very well, sir.
Young R. I must have some clothes.
Old R. I'm sure that's a very good coat.
Young R. Waiter!-I must have a dashing
coat for the Nabob.-Is there a rascally tailor
any where near you?
Waiter. Yes, sir;-there are two close by.
[Father and Son look at each other.
Young R. Umph! then tell one of them to
send me some clothes.
Waiter. Sir, he must take your measure.
Old R. To be sure he must.
Young R. Oh, true! I remember the fellows
do measure you somehow with long bits of
-Well-send for the scoundrel. [Exit Waiter.
Old R. Oh, for shame of yourself! I've no
patience.
Old R. Ah! I am too
Young R. Like you the better.-Hate pa-
tience as much as you do, ha! ha! - Must
swagger a little.
fond of you, I am,
Old R. Why, my father, forty years ago, Ned. Take my fortune; but only remember
left me five thousand pounds; which, at com- this-By the faith of a man I came by it
pound interest, if you multiply—
honestly, and all I ask is, that it may go as
Young R. No; you have multiplied it fa- it came.
-

SCENE 1.]
605
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Young R. Certainly. But we must keep
moving, you know.
Old R. Well, I don't care if I do take a
bit of a walk with you.
Miss V. The matter! won't you resent this?
Vortex. Oh dear! not I.
Miss V. Will you bear an insult?
Vortex. My physicians order me not to
Young R. Bit of a walk! Dam'me, we'll mind being insulted at all: nothing is to pro-
have a gallop together. Come, along, dad-voke me.
Push on, dad.
[Exeunt.
SEENE II-A Room in MR. VORTEX'S House.
Enter MR. VORTEX, ELLEN, and MISS VORTEX.
Ellen. Married to Charles Stanley; You,
madam!
Miss V. Yes, I.
Ellen. I'll not believe it.
Miss V. Well, I vow that's uncommon co-
mic.. And why not, my forsaken cousin?
Miss V. Provoke you!-If I were a man,
I would-Oh!
Vortex. I don't like his looks, he seems a
desperate-
Miss V. What do you mean to do?
Vortex. Why, as this is a very extraordinary
case-
Miss V. Certainly.
Vortex. I think it best to-adjourn.
[Goes up the Stage, Miss Vortex follows.
Ellen. First, madam, I know Charles Stan-
ley would only form so sacred an alliance
STANLEY and ELLEN come forward.
where his affections pointed out the object. Charles. I perceive the mistake; but my
Secondly, I feel those affections to be mine. heart confess'd but one Miss Vortex.-I thought
Vortex. Thirdly, an inconstant swain was the name, like the superior virtues you adorn
a thing never heard of; and, to conclude, it with, attached alone to Ellen. The embar-
pray peruse that letter-
rassments of my paternal estate demanded a
marriage with a woman of fortune-
Ellen. What do I hear?
Charles. Why this alarm?
Ellen. [Reads.]- Sir Hubert Stanley in-
forms Mr. Vortex that his son embraces,
with eager joy, the proposals for his mar-
riage with Mr. Vortex's daughter.-[Drops
the letter.]-Then every thing is possible. Oh,
love!-
Vortex. Nay, don't you abuse poor Cupid
-his conduct has been perfectly parliamentary.
Self-interest has made the little gentleman
move over to the other side, that's all.
[Knocking at the Door.
Ellen. Heavens! should this be-
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Young Mr. Stanley, sir,
Ellen. My soul sinks within me.
Miss V.[With affected Tenderness] Upon
my honour, my dear, you had better retire,
Your agitation-
Ellen. I thank you, madam. [Going] Hold.
-No;- with your permission, I'll remain.
Ellen. Alarm! Must not those words terrify
which separate me from you for ever?
Charles. What means my Ellen?
Ellen. Oh, Stanley, hear me. On my re-
turn to England, Mr. Vortex, to whom the
care of my property was entrusted, was ever
pressing on my mind the difficulty of reco-
vering my father's India possessions. Each
messenger that arrived from you confirmed
the melancholy tale, that my Stanley was
sinking into an early grave. Oh! what then
was fortune, or the world, to me? I sought
out solitude, and willingly assigned to Mr.
Vortex what he called my expectations, for
five thousand pounds.
Charles. Yet you shall be mine.
Ellen. No, Charles, I will not bring you
[Returns. poverty. I'll return to solitude, and endea-
Miss V. Just as you please. What a triumph; vour to teach this lesson to my heart, "That
Oh, how uncommon delicious!
it will be joy enough to know that Stanley
Ellen. Now, heart, be firm!
is well and happy."
[Retires from the Front of the Stage.
[Going.
Charles. Stay, Ellen-think deeply before
you consign the man that loves you to cer-
Enter CHARLES STANLEY with eagerness-tain misery.
Starts.
Miss V. How he's struck!
Vortex. Exceedingly.
Charles. What can this mean [Aside]
Madam-madam- the confusion that-that
that-
Miss V. I must cheer him with a smile.
[During this Ellen advances to the
Front of the Stage, so as to leave
Miss Vortex between her and Stanley.
Charles. [Seeing Ellen] Ah! what hea-
ven of brightness breaks in upon me! Lovely
Miss Vortex, can I believe my happiness!
Will those arms receive me! [Miss Vortex,
thinking this addressed to her, opens her
Arms; Stanley rushes past her to Ellen]
My Ellen!
Ellen. Oh, Charles, the sufferings my heart
underwent this moment, and the joy it now
feels, is such, I cannot speak. [They retire.
Miss V. Nabob! Nabob!
Vortex. What's the matter?
Ellen. True-in a few hours let me see
you again. The opposing agitations my mind
has suffered unfit me for further conversation.
Charles. In a few hours, then, you'll allow
me to see you?
Ellen. Allow you to see me!-Oh! Stanley,
farewell!
[Exit.
MR. and MISS VORTEX come forward.
Miss V. Now speak.
Vortex. We had better pair off.
Miss V. No-speak with spirit.
Vortex. I will.-Sir, I cannot help saying
that every man, that is, every man of honour-
Miss V. That's right!-say that again.
Vortex. That every man of honour-
[Raising his Voice.
Charles. Well, sir?
Vortex. Is-is-the-the-best judge of his
own actions.
Charles. I perfectly agree with you-and
wish you a good morning.
[Exit.

606
[ACT II.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Miss V. So then I'm to be insulted, despis'd, Frank. Should you, sur? Why, if I may
and laugh'd at, and no duel is to take place be so bold as to ax, why, sur?
-nobody is to be kill'd-my tender heart is
to feel no satisfaction-
Vortex. Because-because-she is-a-Far-
[Weeps. mer Oatland's child.
Vortex. I fight!-do you consider the pre-
ciousness of a legislator's life?
"A county suffers when a Member bleeds."
Enter BRONze.
Bronze. Oh, sir, such news!
Vortex. What! is parliament convened!
Bronze. No, sir; but I have found out that
the baronet is-
Vortex. What of him?
Bronze. Ruin'd!
Miss V. [Drying her Eyes] Well! that's
some satisfaction.
Bronze. I met at the inn the Mr. Rapids,
merchants, I formerly liv'd with, who have a
large mortgage on his estate, and he wants
to borrow more-So, sir, I told them I was
sure my master would be proud to see them
at Bangalore Hall, because I thought, sir-
Vortex. I know-I have it. I'll show them
every attention; and if I can but get hold of
the mortgage, I'll—
Miss V. Oh! uncommon charming!
Frank. So be I, sur. How comes it, then,
that you never axes I to your balls and osten-
tations? I can dance twice as long as sister
can.
Vortex. Cunning fellow this!-I must buy
him.-Well, Frank, what are your commands?
Frank. Why, sur, feyther do command
you to lend him three hundred pounds-no,
sur, I mean he supplicates.
Vortex. Three hundred pounds!
Frank. I'll tell you, sur, all about it.--You
knaw, sur, feyther have been knuckled out of
a most cruel sight of money by you at wea-
gering and cards.
Vortex. By me, fellow! Do you think I
associate with such reptiles?
Frank. Ecod, it was either you or t'other
gentleman.
Vortex. Tother gentleman!
Frank. I dan't knaw which be which, not
I.-There be two of you.
Vortex. Two of us!
Frank. Ees; there be you-that be one;
Vortex. [To Miss Vortex] Now do you and there be your gentleman-he do make
go, and write a note, and say we will wait the pair.
on them-Ah! use policy instead of pistols, Vortex. The pair?-And have I been buy-
and I would fight any man-for, as I say in ing a hundred thousand pounds worth of
my speech. "Policy, Mr. Speaker, is"- respect for this? Have I become a member
to pair off with my valet?
Miss V. Exactly, Nabob-but I must write
the letter, you know. Is the young merchant
handsome?
Bronze. Yes, madam.
Frank. Ecod, and a comical pair you be!
-T'other gentleman be's a tightish; conceited
sort of a chap enough:-but you be a little
Miss V. So much the better.
[Exit.-he! he!
[Smothering a Laugh.
Vortex. You see, Bronze, the turn I give Vortex. Upon my soul, this is very plea-
it is this-"Policy, Mr. Speaker," says I- sant-You are quite free and easy.
Bronze. Very true, sir; but I believe my Frank. Quite, sur; quite. Feyther do tell
mistress calls-I attend you, madam. [Exit. I it be all the fashion.
Vortex. Confound it! Will nobody hear Vortex. He does! then you may tell
my speech? then I'll speak it to myself.-feyther, that if he has lost his money at play,
"Policy, Mr. Speaker"-
the winners won't give him sixpence to save
him from starving, and that be all the fashion.
-By their distress, the pretty Jessy will be
Frank. How do you do, sur?
more in my power, and then I can reinstate
Vortex. What! interrupted again!-Ap-them in a farm upon terms. [Aside]-Go,
proach, don't be afraid.
Enter FRANK.
fellow! I shall not send your father sixpence..
Frank. Lord, sur, I bean't afeard: why Frank. The words I told um-the very
shou'd I?--I defies the devil and all his works. words I told um-Says I-"Feyther, he bean't
Vortex. If this be what is called rough the man will gi' thee a brass farthing. Dong
honesty, give me a little smooth-tongu'd ro- it, he hasn't it here," says I.
guery. I don't know you, fellow!
Frank. Ees, sur, you do -I be's Frank
Oatland.
Vortex. Begone! I know nothing of you.
Frank. Ees, sur, you do-I've a bit of
sister, call'd Jessy.
Vortex. Eh! ah!
a
Frank. [Aside] Dom um, he knaws me
well enough now.
[Laying his Hand upon. his Heart.
Vortex. You said so, did you?
Frank. Ees-so you see, sur, what a des-
perate cute 1) lad I be.
Vortex. [Aside] I'll set a trap for you,
you dog-I'll have you in my power, how-
ever; I'll drop my purse-he'll take it-and
then-[Drops his Purse] A pair of us! I'll
lay you by the heels, desperate cute as you
[Exit.
Frank. Poor feyther, poor sister, and poor
I! Feyther will go broken-hearted for sartain;
Vortex. Aye, that she is, lovely and charm--and then sister Jessy's coming to labour.-
ing, indeed! [Aside]
[Aside] And how are you, I can't bear the thought on't.-Od dom thee!
Vortex. Oh! very true-Frank Oatland, are.
aye! Well, good Frank, how is Jessy?
Frank. Charming, sur! charming!
Frank?
Frank. I be's charming too, sur!
if I could but get hold of some of thy money
I'd teak care thee should not get it again.-
Vortex. But why don't Jessy visit my-Eh! [Sees the Purse, walks round it]-
people here? I should be always happy to Well, now, I declare that do look for all the
see her.
1) Clever.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
607
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
world like a purse. How happy it would Nabob!-dear me, where is Neddy? - Make
make poor feyther and sister! I conceats there my humble duty to your master; proud to
would be no harm just to touch it;-[Takes serve him-no-very proud to see him;-
it up with caution] it be cruel tempting. grateful for the honour of his custom-no-
Nobody do see I.-I wonder how it would no-for his company.-I wish you a pleasant
feel in my pocket.-[Puts it with fear into walk home, sir.-The Nabob coming here di-
his Pocket-Wouns! how hot I be! Cruel rectly! Oh, dear me! where's Neddy?-Wai-
warm to be sure.-Who's that?-Nobody.-ter?-
[Exit Servant.
Oh! 1-1-1-u-d, lud! and I ha' gotten such a
desperate ague all of a sudden, and my heart
-
Enter WAITER.
do keep j-jump-jumping. I believe I be Do you know where my boy is?
going to die. [Falls into a Chair] Eh!-
Eh!-Mayhap it be this terrible purse. Dom fighting in a field behind the house.
Waiter. Not a minute ago, I saw him
thee, come out. [Throws it down.-After a
Pause] Ees, now I is better.-Dear me, quite
an alteration. My head doan't spin about soa,
and my heart do feel as light, and do so keep
tittuping, tittuping, I cnt't help crying.
Enter VORTEX.
-
Enter YOUNG RAPID-his Coat torn.
Old Rap. Fighting!-Oh, dear! where is he?
Young Rap. Here am I, dad-
Old Rap. What has been the matter?
Young Rap. Only a small rumpus; went
Vortex. Now I have him.-[Sees the Purse] to peep at the castle, pushing home,—the
-Wha, he has not stole it, tho' his own road had a bit of a circumbendibus;-hate
father's in want-Here's a precious rascal for you! corners, so I jumped the hedge,-cut right
Frank. Mr. Nabob, you have left your across,-you know my way,-kept moving,-
purse behind you; [Sobbing] and you ought up came a farmer,-wanted to turn me back,
to be asheamed of yourself, so you ought, to-would not do,-bussled a bit,-carried my
leave a purse in a poor lad's way, who has point, came straight as an arrow.
a feyther and a sister coming to starving.
Vortex. My purse! true; reach it me.
Frank. Noa, thank you, for nothing. - I've
had it in my hand once.-Ecod, if having other
people's money do make a man so hot, how
desperate warm some folks mun be!
Vortex. Warm-foolish fellow! [Wiping
his Forehead, and fanning himself with his
Hat.] Fugh! quite a Bengal day, I declare.
Frank. Od dang it! how their wicked
heads mun spin round.
Vortex. Spin round! I never heard such
a simpleton-Spin, indeed! ha! ha! God bless
my soul I'm quite giddy! Oh Lord! Oh dear
me! Help! help!
Enter BRONZE.
Bronze. What's the matter, sir?
Vortex. Only a little touch of my old
complaint.-Send that fellow away.
[Bronze goes up to Frank.
Frank. Oh, this be t'other gentleman.-Sur,
I ha' gotten twenty-six pound that feyther
lost to you at gamestering.
Bronze. Where is it?
Frank. In my pocket.
Bronze. That's lucky! give it me.
Frank. Gi' it thee! Ees, dom thee, come
out, and I'll gi' it thee. [Clenching his Fist.
Vortex. Begone!
Old Rap. Fie, fie!-but read that letter.
Young Rap. What! the Nabob coming here
directly, and I in this pickle. - Waiter, are
my clothes come home?
Waiter. No, sir.
Young Rap. Why, the fellow gave his
word-
Waiter. Yes, sir; but what can you expect
from a tailor?
Young Rap. That's very true.
Old Rap. Impudent rascal!
[Exit.
Young Rap. What the devil shall I do?
-The most important moment of my life.
Old Rap. 'Tis unlucky.
Young Rap. Unlucky!-'tis perdition
nihilation-a misfortune, that-
Old Rap. I can mend.
Young Rap. How?
an-
Old Rap. By mending the coat.
Young Rap. An excellent thought.-Come,
help me off,-quick,-quick!
Old Rap. I always have a needle in my
pocket.
Young Rap. [Rubbing his Back] I know
you have.
Old Rap. Now give it me.
Young Rap. What! suffer my father to
mend my coat?-No,-no;- not so bad as
that neither.-As the coat must be mended,-
Frank. Gentlemen, I wish you both a good damn it, I'll mend it.
morning.
[Exit. Old Rap. Will you tho'?-Ecod, I should like
Vortex. [Getting up] What a dunderhead to see you;-here's a needle ready threaded-
that is! To suppose that a little tenderness and a thimble;-you can't think how I shall
of conscience wou'd make a man's head turn like to see you;-now don't hurry, that's a
round.--Pugh! 'tis impossible;-or how the dear boy. [Young Rapid sits down, gathers
devil would the lawyers find their way from his Legs under him- Old Rapid puts his
Westminster Hall? Giddy, indeed! Ha! ha! Spectacles on, and sits close to him, look-
-Bronze, take care I don't fall.
ing on.]
Young Rap. Now mind, dad, when-Damn
the needle!
[Wounds his Fingers.
Old Rap. That's because you are in such
a hurry.
[Exit, leaning on Bronze.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-A Room in an Inn.
Enter OLD RAPID with a Letter and a
Servant following.
Young Rap. When the Nabob comes---
sink the tailor.-
Old Rap. I will;-but that's a long stitch.
O. Rap. What! a real letter from the real Young Rap. Be sure you sink the tailor;

608
Sheep [ACT III.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
-a great deal depends on the first impres-
sion;-yon shall be reading a grave book,
with a melancholy air.
Old Rap. Then I wish I had brought down
my
book of bad debts;-that would have made
me melancholy enough.
Enter MR. and MISS VORTEX, who advance
slowly, the NABOB the side where YOUNG
RAPID is, MISS VORTEX to the other side.
Young Rap. I,-ha! ha! I say, dad, if the
Nabob was to see us now,-ha! ha!
Old Rap. Ha! ha! true;-but mind what
you're about.
Young Rap. I'll be discovered in a situa-
tion that will surprise-a striking situation,
and in some damn'd elegant attitude.
[Looks up and sees the Nabob.
Old Rap. Why don't you finish the job;-
why don't you?
[Sees the Nabob. They look round the
other way, and see Miss Vortex; they
both appear ashamed and dejected;
Young Rapid draws his legs from un-
der him.]
Vortex. Gentlemen, -I and my daughter,
Miss Vortex, have done ourselves the honour
of waiting upon you, to-
[Vortex and Daughter in amazement.
Young Rap. Oh, the devil!-The fact is,
ma'am, my father is the most particular man
on earth about dress-the beau of his time-
Beau Rapid. - You know, father, they always
called you Beau Rapid. I dare say he's had
more suits of clothes in his house than any
man in England.
Miss V. An uncommon expensive whim!
Young Rap. I don't think his fortune has
suffered by it.
Miss V [To Old Rapid] Shall I have the
honour of driving you.
Old Rap. Oh, madam, I can't think of giv-
ing you so much trouble as to drive me.
Miss V. My dear sir, I shall be uncommon
happy!
Old Rap. Oh, madam!
[Simpers and titters to his son, then takes
Miss Vortex's hand and trots off.]
Vortex. Well follow.
Young Rap. If you please:-not that I par-
ticularly like to follow.
Vortex. I suppose, sir, now summer ap-
proaches, London begins to fill for the winter.
Young Rap. Yes, sir.
Vortex. Any thing new in high life?-
what is the present rage with ladies of fashion.
Miss V. But I beg we may not interrupt Young Rap. Why, sir, as to the ladies;-
your amusement!-'tis uncommon whimsical! [Aside] What shall I say?-Oh! the ladies,
Young Rap. [Recovering himself] Yes, sir,-why, heaven bless them, sir! they keep
ma'am, very whimsical.-I must keep moving moving!-but, to confess the truth, sir,--my
[Laughs] Ha! ha! You see, dad, I've won-fashionable education has been very much
I've won-ha! ha!
neglected.
Miss V. He says he has won,-
Old Rap. [With amazement] Oh! he has
won, has he?
Young Rap. Yes, you know, I've won, he!
he! why don't you laugh?
Vortex. That's a pity.
Young Rap. Very great pity, sir.
Vortex. Suppose I become your preceptor.
Young Rap. If you would be so kind-I
wou'd treasure any little short rule.
Vortex. Why, there is a short rule ne-
cessary for every man of fashion to attend to.
Young Rap. What is it?
Vortex. Never to reflect.
[Aside to Old Rapid.
Old Rap. [With difficulty] Ha! he!
Young Rap. You see, ma'am, the fact is,-
I had torn my coat; so says I to my father,
I'll bet my bays against your opera-box that I
mend it: and so-ha! ha! [To Old Rapid]-keep
Laugh again.
Old Rap. I can't.-Indeed, I can't.
Young Rap. And so I-I won-upon my
soul I was doing it very well.
Old Rap. No, you were not,- you were
doing it a shame to be seen.
Young Rap. [Apart] Hush!-Ah, father,
you don't like to lose.
Vortex. Well, gentlemen, now this very
extraordinary frolic is over-
Young Rap. Yes, sir, it is quite over,-
[Aside] thank heaven!
Vortex. Suppose we adjourn to Bangalore
Hall?
Young Rap. Sir, I'll go with you directly
with all the pleasure in life. [Running.
Miss V. I believe my curricle is the first
carriage.
Old Rap. Dear me!
[Looking at Miss Vortex.
Vortex. My daughter seems to please you, sir.
Old Rap. What a shape!
Miss V. Oh, sir, you're uncommon polite!
Young Rap. He's remarkable gallant, ma'am.
Old Rap. What elegance!-what fashion!
upon the whole, it's the best made little spen-
cer, I've seen for some time.
Young Rap. Never reflect!-what push on
moving? my dear sir-that's my way
-suits me exactly.
Vortex. Then you must be known.
Young Rap. To be sure;- I'll give away
thousands in charities.
Vortex. Charities! You would be forgot
in a week.-To be known, you must be mis-
chievous;-malice has a much better memory
than gratitude; - and then you must be gal-
lant.-Are there no pretty girls you should
like to be well with, eh?
Young Rap. A very extensive assortment, sir.
Vortex. And perhaps there may be a mar-
ried woman you would like to intrigue with.
Young Rap. A very large quantity.-Oh!
how I long to begin!-Are you married, sir?
Vortex. Why, no!
Enter Servant.
Serv. The carriage is ready.
Young Rap. So am I; come, sir,-four hor-
ses, I hope.
Vortex. No, sir.
Young Rap. That's a great pity. Pray, sir,
will you have the goodness to tell your coach-
man to drive like the devil?
Vortex. Sir, to oblige you.
Young Rap. Sir, I'll be very much oblig'd
to you.

SCENE 2.]
609
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Enter WAITER.
Waiter. Your clothes are come, sir.
Young Rap. That's lucky.
Vortex. Then I'll wait for you.
Frank. Do'st thou hear? Dom it, dan't
thee take it!
[Exit.
Enter MISS VORTEX.
Miss V. Oh! my new attendant I suppose!
Jessy. Jessy Oatland, madam.
Young Rap. Wait for me!-nobody need-What's your name, child?
wait for me I'll be with you in a crack.-
Do you push on-I'll keep moving - I'll take Miss V. Well, Oatland, [Taking out her
care nobody waits for me. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-4 Room in the NABOB's House,
Enter OATLAND dejected, FRANK and JESSY
leading him.
Jessy. Be comforted, father.
Oat. To see thee brought to service! [Sighs]
-I've done this:-I that have-
Frank. Never mind-we be young and
healthy, and don't heed it-do us, Jessy?
Glass] look at me.-Umph-not at all con-
temptible. That's a charming nosegay-[Jessy
presents it]-all exotics, I declare.
Jessy. No, madam, neglected wild flowers
-I took them from their bed of weeds, bestow-
ed care on their culture, and by transplanting
them to a more genial soil, they have flourished
with luxuriant strength and beauty.
Miss V. A pretty amusement.
Jessy. And it seem'd, madam, to convey
Oat. To be asham'd to look my own chil- this lesson-Not to despise the lowly mind, but
dren in the face!-I, who ought to have been rather, with fostering hand, to draw it from
the forehorse of the team, to be pull'd along its chill obscurity, that like these humble
through life by this young tender thing! flowers, it might grow rich in worth and na-
Jessy. Don't despond, father-Sir Hubert tive energy.
will see your contrition, and restore you to
his favour.
Oat. When the hen sees the hawk ready
to pounce, she gathers her young ones under
her wing-when misfortune hovers over my
sweet chicken here, I leave her to shift for
herself!
Jessy. Come, no more of this.
Oat. Even the savage hawk takes care of
its nestlings-what then am I?-Children, do
you hate me?
Miss V Oh! [Aside]-mind-energy!
What's the matter with the poor girl, I won-
der! uncommon odd! I hear, Oatland, you
are reduced in your circumstances.
Jessy. Yes, madam.
Miss V. That's very lucky, because it will
make you humble, child!-Well, and what
are your qualifications?
Jessy. Cheerful industry, madam. I can
read to you, write for you, or converse-
Miss V. Converse with me! I dare say you
can. - No, thank you, child-instead of my
listening to your voice, you will be polite
enough to be as silent as convenient, and do
me the honour of listening to mine.-Oh!
Frank. Hate thee! pugh, feyther, dan't thee
talk so-good bye to thee-cheer up-thee
has long been a feyther to me, now it is my
turn, and I'll be a feyther to thee.
Oat. I cannot speak-take care of my girl, here comes Mr. Rapid.
Frank.
[Exit. Jessy. Ah! [In great agitation] May I
retire, madam?
Frank. Care of her?-though she be a
servant, let me catch any body striking her, Miss V. Yes; I shall follow to dress.-No
that's all. Well, Jessy, we mun not be sheam'd stay.-Yes, you may go.
-I know poverty be no sin, because parson Jessy. Oh, thank you! thank you, dear
said so last Sunday.-Talk of that-I do hear madam!
[Exit with rapidity.
that your sweetheart, Mr. Rapid, be worth Miss V. That poor girl appears to me rather
such a desperate sight of money as never was! crazy.
Jessy. [Sighs] Ifhis fortunes are so prosper-Enter OLD and YOUNG RAPID, and VORTEX.
ous, brother, he is exalted above my hopes-
If his heart be mercenary, he is sunk below
my wishes.-Heigh, ho! yet he might have men.
sent to know if I were well, he might-no
matter!
Frank. He be coming to Neabob's here, on
a visitation.
Jessy. Ah! coming here!
Frank. Ees-and Mr. Bronze do say while
he be here I am to be his sarving-man.
Jessy. You his servant!
[Weeps.
-
Miss V. Welcome to Bangalore Hall, gentle-
Young R. Charming house! plenty of room.
[Runs about and looks at every thing.
Old R. A very spacious apartment, indeed.
Vortex. Yes, sir; but I declare I forgot the
dimensions of this room.
Old R. Sir, if you please, I'll measure it-
my cane is exactly a yard, good honest mea-
sure-'tis handy-and that mark is the half
yard, and-
Miss V. Do you like pictures.
Frank. Don't thee cry, Jessy!
Jessy. [Recovering herself] I won't; it Young R. [Overhears and snatches the
was weak, it was wrong. - Frank, be sure Canef rom him] Confound it!-The pictures,
you conceal from Mr. Rapid who you are- father-look at the pictures. [Pointing with
I have reasons for it.-Edward here!-when the Cane] Did you ever see such charming-
we meet it will be a hard trial. Yet why
should I dread it?-let perfidy and pride shrink
abash'd, virtuous integrity will support me.
Frank. That's right, Jessy, shew a proper a little.
spirit-Ecod, if he were to pull out his purse
Miss V. Ha! ha! I must retire to dress-
and to offer to make thee a present of five till dinner, gentlemen, adieu.
guineas, dan't thee take it.-Jessy smiles Young R. [To his father] Zounds! you'll
dejectedly]-Here be thy new mistress. ruin every thing! can't you keep the tailor
Jessy. Leave me.
Young R. Exceedingly, ma'am; but I should
like them a great deal better if they just moved
under.
[Exit.
77

610
[ACT III.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Vortex. Your son seems rather impatient.
Old R. Very, sir-always was.-I remember
a certain Duke-
Young R. That's right, lay the scene high-
push the Duke-push him as far as he'll go.
Old R. I will, I will.-I remember a certain
Duke used to say, Mr. Rapid, your son is as
sharp as a needle.
Young R. At it again!
Old R. As a needle.-
Young R. [Interrupting him] Is true to
the pole. As a needle is true to the pole,
says the Duke; so will your son, says the
Duke, be to every thing spirited and fashion-
able, says the Duke.-Am I always to be tor-
tured with your infernal needles?
Old R. I never get a comfortable nap, never!
Young R. You have a devilish good chance
now-Confound all speeches-Oh!-
Vortex. Pray be seated-[They sit on each
side Vortex]-Now we'll suppose that the
chair-
[Pointing to a Chair.
Old R. Suppose it the chair! why it is a
chair, an't it?
Vortex. Pshaw! I mean-
Young R. He knows what you mean-'tis
his humour.
Vortex. Oh, he's witty!
Young R. Oh, remarkably brilliant, indeed!
[Significantly to his Father.
Vortex. What, you are a wit, sir!
Old R. A what? Yes I am-I am a wil.
Vortex. Well, now I'll begin-Oh, what a
Vortex. Now to sound them. I hear, gentle- delicious moment!-The house when they ap-
men, your business in this part of the country prove cry, "Hear him! hear him!"-I only
is with Sir Hubert Stanley, respecting some give you a hint, in case any thing should
money transactions.
Old R. 'Tis a secret.
[Aside to Old Rapid.
Vortex. Oh! no-the Baronet avows his
wish to sell his estate.
-
strike-
Young R. Push on.-I can never stand it.
[Aside.
Vortex. Now I shall charm them-[Ad-
Old R. Oh! that alters the case.
dresses the chair]-"Sir, had I met your
Vortex. I think it would be a desirable eye at an earlier hour, I should not have
purchase for you-I should be happy in such blink'd the present question--but having caught
neighbours and if you should want forty or what has fallen from the other side, I shall
fifty thousand, ready money, I'll supply it with scout the idea of going over the usual ground."
pleasure.
-What, no applause yet? [Aside. - During
Old R. Oh, sir, how kind!-If my son this Old Rapid has fallen asleep, and Young
wishes to purchase, I would rather leave it Rapid, after shewing great fretfulness and
entirely to him.
impatience, runs to the back scene, throws
Young R. And I would rather leave it en- up the Window, and looks out]-"But I
tirely to you.
shall proceed, and, I trust, without interrup-
Vortex. Very well, I'll propose for it.-tion."[Turns round, and sees Old Rapid
[Aside] This will cut Sir Hubert to the soul. asleep]-Upon my soul, this is-What do
There is a very desirable borough interest you mean, sir?
-
[Rapid awakes.
Old R. What's the matter?-Hear him!
hear him!
Vortex. Pray, sir, don't you blush?-[Sees
Young Rapid at the Window]-What the
devil!--
Yaung R. [Looking round] Hear him!
hear him!
-then you could sit in parliament.
Young R. I in parliament! ha! ha!
Old R. No; that would be a botch.
Young R. No, no, I was once in the gallery
-crammed in-no moving-expected to hear
the great guns-up got a little fellow, nobody
knew who, gave us a three hours' speech-I
got devilish fidgetty-the house called for the
question, I join'd the cry-"The question, the much.
question," says I.-A member spied me- Old R. Oh, Neddy, for shame of yourself
clear'd the gallery-got hustl'd by my brother to fall asleep!-I mean to look out of the
spectators-obliged to scud-Oh! it would window I am very sorry, sir, any thing
never do for me.
should go across the grain.-I say, Ned,
Vortex. But you must learn patience.
Young R. Then make me speaker-if that
wou'dn't teach me patience, nothing would.
Vortex. Do you dislike, sir, parliamentary
eloquence?
Old R. Sir, I never heard one of your real
downright parliament speeches in my life-
[Yawns.
Young R. By your yawning I shou'd think
you had heard a great many.
never.
Vortex. Oh, how lucky!--At last I shall
get my dear speech spoken.-Sir, I am a
member, and I mean to-
Young R. Keep moving.
Vortex. Why, I mean to speak, I assure
you; and
Young R. Push on, then.
Vortex. What, speak my speech?-That I
will-I'll speak it.
Young R. Oh, the devil!-Don't yawn so.
[To Old Rapid.
Vortex. By the soul of Cicero, 'tis too
smooth him down!
Young R. I will-What the devil shall I
say-The fact is, sir, I heard a cry of fire-
upon-the-the-the water, and---
Vortex. Well, well-But do you wish to
hear the end of my speech?
Young R. Upon my honour, I do.
Vortex. Then we'll only suppose this little
interruption a message from the Lords, or
something of that sort.-[They sit, Young
Rapid fretful]-Where did I leave off?
Young R. Oh! I recollect; at-"I therefore
briefly conclude with moving-an adjourn-
[Rising.
ment.
Vortex. Nonsense! no such thing-Putting
him down in a Chair]-Oh! I remember!
"I shall therefore proceed, and, I trust, with-
out interruption-
Enter Servant.
Serv. Dinner's on the table, sir.

SCENE 3.]
611
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Vortex. Get out of the room, you villain!
"Without interruption-"
Serv. I say, sir-
Young R. Hear him! hear him!
Serv. Dinner is waiting.
Charles. Ah?
Frank. And I've been fighting-
Charles. Hush!
Sir Hub. What's his business?
Charles. Oh, sir! [Concealing his Agitation]
Young R. [Jumping up.] Dinner waiting! -My friend, Frank, consults me on a love
Come along, sir.
Vortex. Never mind the dinner.
Young R. But I like it smoking.
Old R. So do I-Be it ever so little, let me
have it hot.
Vortex. Won't you hear my speech?
Young R. To be sure we will-but now to
dinner-Come, we'll move together - Capital
speech!-Push on, sir-Come along, dad-Push
him on, dad. [Exeunt, forcing Vortex out.
SCENE III.-An Ancient Hall.
Enter SIR HUBERT, leaning on CHARLES
STANLEY.
Charles. Take comfort, sir.
affair; and I must not betray his confidence.
-In his hurry he fell.-Wasn't it so?
Frank. Ees, sur, ees.
[Significantly
Sir Hub. You are not hurt, young man?
Frank. No, sur.-Thank heaven! my head
be a pure hard one.
Charles. Within! [Enter two Servants
Attend my father.
Sir Hub. My boy, don't stay from me long.
[Exit, leaning on Servants.
Charles. Now, good Frank, ease my tor-
tur'd mind. What of my father?
Frank. Why, your honour, Mr. Bronze
came laughing out of dining-room, and says,
Sir Hub. Where shall I find it, boy? To "Dom'me, how the old Baronet has been
live on my estate, is ruin--to part with it, roasted." So, sur, I not knowing what they
death. My heart is twin'd round it.-I've been could mean by roasting a Christian, axed.
the patriarch of my tribe-the scourge of the "Why," says he, grinning, "they voted, that
aggressor-the protector of the injur'd! Can it was a pity the dignity of the bloody hand
I forego these dignities?-My old grey-headed interfer'd, or the old beggar might set up a
servants, too, whose only remaining hope is shop."
to lay their bones near their lov'd master, how
shall I part with them?-I prate, boy, 'tis the
privilege of these white hairs.
Charles. Oh! say on, sir.
Sir Hub. All! all is dear to me! these
warlike trophies of my ancestors! - Charles,
Charles. What!
Frank. The old beggar might set up a shop.
Charles. Unmanner'd, cowardly babblers!
Frank. And that you, sur, would make a
dapper 'prentice.
Charles. I heed no! that.-But, when I for-
thou see'st that goodly oak, 'twas planted at give a father's wrongs-
I doat-
my birth-Would'st thou think it? In the late Frank. So says I, dom'me, if young 'squire
hurricane, when the tempest humbled with had been among them, he would have knocked
the dust the proudest of the forest, it bravely all their heads together. Now, wouldn't you,
met the driving blast--my people, with shouts sur, have knock'd their heads together? Then
of joy, hail'd the auspicious omen, and augur'd they all laugh'd at me; which somehow made
from it prosperity to me and mine. - Fondly all the blood in my body come into my knuckles.
I believ'd it-fondly I thought it. Fie! Fie! So says I, "Mr. Bronze, suppose a case-
suppose me young 'squire Stanley-now say
Charles. My father, I doubt not but they that again about his honour'd father."-So he
augur'd truly. I must to the active world. did; and I lent him such a drive o'the face-
Why should I fear that the virtue and in- and I was knocking all their heads together
dependence you have inspir'd-
pretty tightish-till the cook laid me flat wi'
Sir Hub. Ah, boy! but while licentiousness the poker: then they all fell upon me; and
and party zeal command the choicest gifts of when I could fight no longer, I fell a crying,
fortune, virtue and genius must be content and ran to tell your honour.
with their leavings.
Enter Servant-delivers a Letter to SIR HU-
BERT, who reads it with great agitation.
Charles. Ah! what is it shakes you, sir?-
That letter!
Sir Hub. Nothing, my dear boy!-'tis infirm-
ity! I shall soon be better.
Charles. Thanks, my affectionate lad!-Re-
turn to the Nabob's to-day.
Frank. I be sartain I shall never do any
good there.
Charles. To-morrow you shall live with
me. I shall dismiss all my servants-my cir-
cumstances require it.
Frank. What! all but me!-What! I do
Charles. Fxcuse me, dear sir-[Takes the all the work?-Lord, Lord, how glad I be,
Letter and reads] "Mr. Vortex, at the request sur, you can't afford to keep any body but I.
of Mr. Rapid, informs Sir Hubert Stanley it Charles. Good Frank, farewell! Hold-
is inconvenient for him to advance more money here.
[Presenting a Purse.
on mortgage. Mr. Vortex laments Sir Hubert's Frank. [Refusing] Nay, pray 'ee, sur, dan't
pecuniary embarrassments"-damnation!--"to you beheave unkind to me-I be a poor lad,
relieve which he will purchase the castle and that do worship and love you-not a spy for
estate."-Sooner shall its massy ruins crumble the lucre of gain-pray use me kindly, and
me to dust. Don't despond, my father! don't gi' me a farding.
bear up!
Enter FRANK, running-his Face bloody.
Frank. Oh, sur!-at Neabob's table they've
been so abusing your father!
Charles. Frank, I beg your pardon.-Fare-
well.
Frank. Lord, how glad I be he can only
afford to keep I.
[Exit.
Charles. Insult my father!-unmanly vil-

612
[ACT IV.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
it!
lain!-whoe'er thou art, thy life shall answer-how the newspapers would teem with-
[Exit. "The elegant Charles Stanley was called out
by the dashing Young Rapid, about some trifle."
Young R. Bravo!
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Vortex. Any thing does for a duel now-a-
Enter VORTEX, in great Terror, reading a days-the length of a dancer's great toe-an
election leg of mutton and trimmings ¹).
Letter.
Vortex. Dear me!-here's a terrible affair! Young R. Say no more-I'll do it. By heavens
[Reads] "Give me up the author of the no man of fashion shall be more infamous-I
slander on my father"-that was myself-I mean more famous. I'll go write to him di-
never can find in my heart to give myself rectly.
up-"or personally answer the consequen- Vortex. First take another bottle of Cham-
CHARLES STANLEY." paigne. You can't think what a free dashing
-Oh, dear! since I find my words are taken style it will give you.
ces.
down, I must be more parliamentary in my Young R. I will [Going-returns] No, I
language. What shall I do?-I can't fight-can't take up this quarrel.
my poor head won't bear it-it might be the
death of me.
Vortex. Oh dear-Why not? [Alarmed.
Young R. Because I'm sure I'm depriving
Young R. [Without] Huzza, my fine fel- you of a pleasure.
lows bravo!
Vortex. Oh don't mind me! I give it you,
Vortex. Eh! egad, a fine thought.-Young to shew my regard for you.-Indeed, I've had
Rapid is loaded muzzle high with Champaigne so much fighting in my time, that with me it
-I'll tell him he said the words, and make really ceases to be a pleasure-the sweetest
him own them. I've persuaded him into a things will cloy
things will cloy-so the quarrel's your's-I
marriage with my daughter: after that, the wash my hands of it.
devil's in't if I can't persuade him into a duel.
Enter YOUNG RAPID-tipsy.
Young R. Here I am, tip-top spirits-ripe
for any thing.
Young R. You're a damn'd good-hearted,
generous fellow!
Vortex. Then you'll return triumphant, and
marry my daughter.
Young R. To be sure-keep moving [Go-
Vortex. How did you like my Champaigne? ing] I hope he'll fight directly. Like a sailor,
Young R. Oh! it suits me exactly; a man I hate a calm, particularly when an enemy's
is such a damn'd long while getting tipsy with in sight.-Hold-what must we fight with? I
other wine-Champaigne settles the business can fence.
directly-it has made me-
Vortex. You have no objection to pistols
and bullets?
Vortex. Lively, I see.
Young R. Lively-it has made me like a Young R. I like bullets-they come so quick.
skyrocket. Well, how did I behave?-Quite But I must push on-the other bottle and then
easy, wasn't I?-Push'd on-at every thing--I'm a first-rate fellow. -Champaigne for
barr'd prosing.-Jolly dogs within the fat ever!
parson's a fine fellow-kept the bottle moving
said a nice short grace.
Vortex. Well, and did you lose at play
the five hundred pounds I lent you?
Young R. As easy as could be.
Vortex. That was lucky.
[Exit.
Vortex. You shall have my pistols-they've
never been used.
Enter MISS VORTEX.
Here's policy. "Crown me, shadow me with
laurels."-Oh, my dear, I've achiev'd two such
Young R. Very-particularly for those who difficult points!
won it.-
Vortex. Well, now you'll do.
Young R. Huzza! I'm a finish'd man.
[Staggering and strutting about.
Vortex. You only want a quarrel to make
you-
Young R. A what?-A quarrel.-Dam'me,
I'll settle that in two minutes. [Runnig off.
Vortex. Stop.-You need not go out of the
room for that.
Young R. What! will you quarrel with me,
eh! With all my heart.
Vortex. Me! oh no! I say I could get
you such fame-
Young R. How, my dear fellow?-Dash on.
Vortex. Why, at dinner you reflected on
the Baronet.
Young R. No, it was you.
Vortex. No, not I.
Young R. Yes, it was you.
Vortex. Well, it might be I; but I don't
say it was-
Young R. I do,-push on.
Vortex. Young Stanley has demanded the
author.-Now, if you were to own the words
Miss V. How, my dear Nabob?
Vortex. In the first place, I've persuaded
young Rapid to marry you.
Miss V. Was that so difficult?
Vortex. No, no, certainly. But the next
will delight you.-Rapid is going to have an
affair of honour with young Stanley.
Miss V. A duel! and about me?
Vortex. Yes.-[Aside] I may as well tell
her so.
Miss V. Charming!
Vortex. Now an't I a kind father to set
two young men fighting about you?
Miss V. Ah! that is, indeed acting like a
parent!
Vortex. Egad, I must look after Rapid, though.
Miss V. But how did you manage it?
Vortex. By policy to be sure; for as I ob-
serve in my speech -"Policy is-"
Miss V. And a very good observation it is.
Vortex. How do you know, till you hear
it?" Policy-"
1) The trimmings are all the expences attendant upon
eating said leg of mutton, such as a dozen of part, a
few bottles of Champagne, etc.

SCENE 2.]
613
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Vortex. "Policy-"
Miss V. But pray go to Mr. Rapid.
[Pushing him off.
Miss V. Nay, I must insist-[Exit Vortex]
Oh, delightful!-Oatland!
Enter JESSY.
I'm in such uncommon spirits, Oatland!
Jessy. May I inquire the cause, madam?
Miss V. Certainly. A duel is going to be
fought about me.
it.
Jessy. A duel!-horrible thought!
the oppression of our common grief, thou,
sweet girl, must bear the agonizing weight of
disappointed love.-Come, rest on my arm.
Jessy. Oh, such kindness!-I cannot speak
-but indeed my heart feels it.
[Exeunt, Ellen supporting Jessy.
SCENE II.-Another Apartment in VORTEX'S
House.
Enter YOUNG RAPID, followed by FRANK,
a Sword, and
who carries Pistols,
Champaigne
Young R. Got the pistols, eh?
Frank. Here they be. [Lays them down]
Your feyther were axing for you, sur.
Miss V. Sensibility, I vow!-Too comic, a
vast deal! Ha! ha! cottage pathos must pro-
ceed from a source unknown to me, I'm sure!
Jessy. It proceeds, madam, from the heart. Young R. My father!- Should any thing
Miss V. Umph.-Let me have no more of happen-when I reflect-Reflect-Zounds, that
[Sharply. won't do. Some Champaigne! [Singing] "If
Jessy. I beg your pardon-I forgot the ex- a man can then die much bolder with brandy."
tent of a servant's duty.-I forgot that servants [Drinks] I'll write to him, however;-a few
have no right to feel pleasure or pain, but as words on a scrap of paper may cheer him.
their employers please; and that suppressing [Takes a letter out of his Pocket, and is
the sensibilities of nature is considered in their about to tear a Piece of it off]- What!
wages.
[Sarcastically. [Reads] "Dear Edward, your faithful Jessy
Miss V. No doubt of it.-That's so very Oatland." [Strikes his Head]-Jessy Oatland!
sensibly observed, that I'll forgive you, Oat--What a scoundrel I am! [Kisses the Let-
land. The pride of young Stanley will be so ter]-Oh, Jessy, what an infernal pain at my
humbled.
heart!-More Champaigne !
Jessy. Is the safety of that noble youth im-
plicated?
Enter Servant.
Miss V. What!-a lover, I suppose-came
Serv. A letter, sir, from young Stanley.
to the farm, I warraut-attended Miss Jessy Young R. Then the die is cast.-[Reads]
in the dairy-ruffled the cream with his sighs "You are a scoundrel-meet me immediately,
-talked of Arcadia, and sipped butter-milk. or,"-Um, um, a short decisive letter enough.
-Ha! ha! I should not wonder, after what I Damn this pain.- Quick! my pistols! Take
have seen of his taste.-Yes, he is implicated them to Stanley park: there wait for me.-Oh
-I dare say Mr. Rapid will.- [Going. Jessy!
Jessy. Heavens! Is Edward--[Catching hold
of a Chair for support.]
Miss V. Edward!
Jessy. I mean, madam, [Trembling, and
curtseying] is Mr. Rapid's life involved?
Miss V. Upon my honour, you seem to have
an uncommon sensibility for all mankind!-
Do you mean to sit down in my presence?
[Exit Miss Vortex.
Jessy. No, madam! [Sinks down in the
Chair] Oh, Edward: unkind as thou art, how
gladly would I resign my life, to save thee!
[Weeps.
Enter ELLEN.
Ellen. In tears, Jessy?--Sweet girl, tell me-
Jessy. Oh, madam! the most dreadful event
is about to take place. Mr. Stanley is engaged
in a duel with-
Ellen. Forbid it, Heaven.-Let us fly to his
father:-he may prevent it.
Jessy. Alas, madam! I fear he regards not
his father's injunctions.
Ellen. Not regard his father!-Who, child?
Jessy. Mr. Rapid, madam.
Ellen. Mr. Rapid!
Jessy. Oh!
[Hiding her Face.
Ellen. Is it so, sweet Jessy?-But has he
deserved thy love?-Is he not unkind?
Jessy. Oh! true, madam!-But is not his
life in danger?
Ellen. We will not lose a moment. - Let
us seek Sir Hubert.
Jessy. I'm very faint.
Ellen. I'll support thee; for in addition to
Enter OLD RAPID, at the back Scene.
Frank. Ecod, he'll kill thee.-I'll lay half-
a-crown 'Squire Stanley hits thee the first shot.
[Exit Frank, with the Pistols.
Old R. [Coming forward] Pistols-kill-
Stanley-Ned, tell me-
Young R. [Aside] My father here. Oh,
sir, nothing.-Come, drink.
Old R. Look at me.-Ah! that agitation!
Tell me the cause!-A parent commands you.
Your old doating father entreats it!
Young R. [Aside] I must deceive him.-
Sir, I've received an insult that no gentleman
of fashion can submit to.
Old R. Gentleman of fashion! Need a man
resent it?
Young R. Read that letter, and judge.
Old R. Lack-a-day!-consider, you're only
taylor's son,-[Reads] "You're a scoundrel."
-That's a hard word-
a
Young R. Would you have me submit to
be call'd a scoundrel?
Old R. No, I wou'dn't-[with Tears]-Yes,
I wou'd.
Young R. Sir, you don't feel like a man.
Old R. I'm sure I feel like a father.
Young R. Read on, sir.
Old R. [Reads] "And unless" [Wipes the
Tears away] "unless"-I can't-
Young R. [Takes the Letter and reads]
"And unless you immediately give me the sa-
tisfaction of a gentleman, expect the chastise-
ment due to a coward."
Old R. Chastisement!
-
Chastisement!

614
[ACT IV.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Coward! [With irritation] We are flesh and
blood, Ned.
Young R. Wou'd you see me spurn'd?
Old R. [Emphatically, and running into
his son's arms] No!
Young R. Pray leave me, sir.
Old R. Where shall I go? What shall I
do? What will become of me? Oh, boy, try
to avoid it. Remember your old father; re-
member his life hangs on your's. But, Ned,
don't forget you're a man!
Young R. Pray leave me, sir.
Old R. I will.-Farewell, my dear boy, twill
break my old heart.-But remember you're a
man, Ned.
All. Who?
Frank. 'Squire Charles,-'Squire Charles,-
Huzza! [Exit.-Sir Hubert folds his hands
on his breast in silent gratitude.
Jessy. Ah, my poor Edward!
Ellen. Your son is safe; -heard you the words?
Sir Hub. They have shot life through me.
Ellen. Jessy! rejoice with me. [Seeing her
dejected] Wretch that I am, to forget thy
sorrows! Take comfort, sweet girl!-perhaps-
Enter OLD RAPID capering.
Old R. Tol de rol lol-Safe and sound-tol
de rol lol.-
Jessy. Who?
Old R. My boy, Neddy,-my darling, Neddy,
safe and sound,-tol de rol lol.
[Sees Sir Hubert, and bows respectfully.
Jessy and Ellen talk apart.
Sir Hub. So, Mr. Rapid! How happened
Young R. [Alone] So, I'm proceeding full
tilt to murder; have planted a dagger in a
kind father's heart. But here goes. Fills wine
throws away the bottle and glass] Its
power is gone. Oh-this infernal pain! Could
I with honour avoid?-but [Looking at the this, sir?
letter] Chastisement! Coward-Damnation! I
must push on. Fool! Dolt! Villain that I am!
SCENE III.-Aretired place in Stanley Park
Old R. Really, Sir Hubert, I don't under-
stand the cut of it; all I can say is, your son's
[Exit. behaviour was-oh-superfine; when they had
and your son disarm'd Neddy, and then he
fired their pistols they drew out their swords,
Enter SIR HUBERT STANLEY.
generously gave him his sword again, which
Sir Hub. What can it mean? Charles parted was extremely genteel; for it was a brand
from me in an agony the ingenuousness of new silver-hilted sword, and I suppose, by the
his nature had not art to conceal; he grasp'd laws of honour, he might have kept it.
my hand, bade me farewell, as if it were for
ever; then broke away, leaving me a prey to
wild conjecture and despair; soon shall I be
at peace. Infirmity, when goaded on by sor-
row, presses to the goal of life with doubled
speed. Surely through that laurel grove I see
two female figures glide along; my eyes are I
not of the best, and the sorrow I have felt
for my dear boy has not strengthened them-few
they approach-
Enter ELLEN and JESSY.
Sir Hub. Mr. Rapid, why did you break
your appointment.
Old R. Mr. Vortex, sir-
Sir Hub. Mr. Vortex. I fear your son has
selected an imprudent preceptor.
Old R. Chose a bad pattern, you think, sir?
am afraid he has.
Sir Hub. Will you, sir, favour me with a
minutes conversation?
Old R. You know, Sir Hubert, I'm your
faithful servant to command.
Sir Hub. [To Ellen] Come, let us to our
Ellen. Pardon, Sir Hubert, this intrusion! hero. Will you, fair creature, condescend to
My name, sir, is Ellen Vortex.
Sir H. Madam, I welcome you as my daughter.
Ellen. Oh, sir! the urgency of the moment
will not allow me to thank such goodness as
I ought;-your son, sir-
Sir Hub. Ah! What of him?
Ellen. I saw him pass along,-he fled from
my outstretch'd arms,- he was deaf to my
cries; e'en now he's engaged in a duel..
be a crutch to an old man? [Takes Ellen's
arm] I shall expect you, sir.
Ellen. Jessy!
Jessy. I follow, madam. [Exeunt Sir Hu-
bert and Ellen] Do I address the father of
Mr. Rapid?
Old R. You do, pretty one!
Jessy. [Taking his hand and kissing it]
I beg your pardon; but are you sure your
son's life is safe-quite safe?
Sir Hub. Ha! [Draws his sword, and is
running out, staggers, drops his sword, El- Old R. Yes. A very charming girl, I declare!
len and Jessy support him] My functions I'm very much obliged to you for taking no-
are suspended!-Oh nature! dost thou desert tice of my Neddy! Poor fellow! nobody
me at this moment-Who is the villain that seem'd to care what became of him. I'm very
has caused it?
Jessy. Ah, my poor Edward!
Sir Hub. Oh that I could rush before my
child, and receive the fatal ball in this old
broken heart! Perhaps-dreadful thought! e'en
now the deadly tube is levelled at his manly
breast. [The report of a pistol is heard.
Ellen sinks into his arms] Bear up, I can-
not support thee. [Another pistol is discharg-
ed] Horrible suspense! - what a death-like
silence!
much oblig'd to you. A sweet pretty-spoken
creature as ever I saw! But I must away to
the Nabob's, or I shall be too late for the
wedding.
Jessy. Wedding! whose, sir?
Old R. Whose? why, my boy Neddy's, with
Miss Vortex, to be sure!
Jessy, Married! Edward married! 'Tis too
much. [Leans on Old Rapid for support.
Old R. Eh! what! speak-tell me!
Jessy. Oh, Edward! is this the return for
my love? Have I merited this cruel desertion?
Old R. Desertion!-What!-has the rascal!
[Enters]-I shall choke myself-Has he behaved ill to
so sweet a creature? Your tears tell me so.
Ellen. Death!-Oh, my adored Charles!
Jessy. Ah, my poor Edward!
Frank. [Without] Huzza! Huzza!
Huzza!-he's safe-he's safe.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
615
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
I'll kill him. He's my own son, and I have a
right to do it. Your name, your name! pretty
soul!
Frank. Why did not you tell I so?
[Exit and returns with Pens and Ink.
Young R. Oh, this infernal pain!--A candle
Jessy. Jessy Oatland. The indiscretion of to seal a letter. [Exit Frank, and returns
my father has made me a servant-
with a Candie] Zounds, it is not lighted!
Frank. You didn't tell I to light it.
Young R. Was ever man plagu'd with such
hollow-headed ninny-hammer.
Frank. [Aside] Maybe, that be better than
Old R. And the discretion of his father has
made him a gentleman. But I'll make the
rascal know you are not humbled by your a
father's conduct, nor is he exalted by his, a
villain! Can he hope to be call'd a man of a hollow-hearted one!
honour for opposing his head to a pistol, while
himself levels the shaft of anguish at an in-
nocent woman's heart? But I'll kill him, that's
one comfort. Come with me, sweet one!
Jessy. Sir, I must attend my mistress. I am
servant to his bride.
[Weeps.
Enter Servant.
Young R. [Jumps up] Well!
Serv. My master has sent you those parch-
ments to peruse.
Young R [Throwing them down] I wouldn't
Old R. I shall go mad! Don't cry. If he, by read them for his estate.
marriage, won't make you my daughter, I, Serv. He will wait on you, sir directly.
by adoption, will. Good bye, sweet Jessy! Young R. Begone all of you!-Stop! [To
Oh, the rascal!-Cheer up!-The scoundrel!- Frank] Give me my coat! [Frank helps him
Pretty creature! The dog!-What a shape! on with one Arm]-Bring the glass!-[Frank
-I'll kill him.
[Exeunt severally. leaves him so, and brings down a Dress-
ing-glass]-Leave me, dunder-head!
ACT V.
SCENE I.
YOUNG RAPID discovered, and HAIR DRESSER.
Young R. Dispatch! Why don't you dis-
patch?
Hair Dress. Done in a moment, sir,-pray
keep your head still.is
Young R. [Jumping up] Oh, Jessy Oat-
land!-S'death, have not you done?
Hair Dress. Sit down, sir, done in a mo-
ment.
Enter VORTEX.
[Exit Frank.
Vortex. Bravo, my fine fellow! You fought
nobly;-I say, who fir'd first.
a
Young R. Never mind, that's past!
Vortex. Well, now I must intrust you with
little secret.
[They sit.
Young R. I have no objection to a little secret.
Vortex. In the first place, then, I'll read
this paper.
Young R. No; I'll read it-I shall read it
much quicker. [Reads]-"Receiv'd of Mr. Vor-
Young R. Well, well; I'm as patient as-tex, the sum of five thousand pounds, in con-
[Sits. Enter Frank at the Door, Rapid sideration of which I assign over all my right
jumps up, and runs to him] Well!-Speak and title to-hum, hum, hum-Signed, ELLEN
-quick!
VORTEX." I understand-
Vortex. Now you must know the father of
Frank. Sur-I-that is-she-no, I-went-
Young R. You tedious blockhead is she my niece-
gone! Is Jessy gone?
Frank. Ees, sur.
Young R. What! left her father's? Where
is she?
Frank. I don't know-that is, I won't tell.
[Aside.
Young R. What must she think me? what
I am a rascal.
Hair Dress. Sit down, sir; - done
moment.
in a
Young R. Yes, yes; I am as calm- [Sits.
Enter Servant.
What do you want? [Jumps up again.
Serv. Sir, my master and Miss Vortex wait
Young R. Jessy Oatland [In reverie.
Vortex. No, her name is Ellen.
Young R. I know it, I know it-I know it.
[Fretfully.
Vortex. Her father died in India.
Young R. With all my heart.
Vortex. With all your heart!
Young R. Zounds! keep moving, will you?
Vortex. Yes, if you'll keep still.
Young R. Then be quick.
Vortex. Why I am quick, an't I?- Died
in India, and left her to my care. All was in-
Young R. Confusion.
Vortex. You are right, all was in confu-
sion. So I prevail'd on-
[Exit. Young R. Jessy Oatland!
for you.
Young R. Aye, to fulfil that infernal mar- Vortex. No, no, Ellen-to sign that paper;
riage-promise. Oh, Jessy! [To Frank] What since which, indeed, her affairs have turn'd
out pretty lucky. I purchas'd this estate with
Frank. Sur, I were only twiddling about her fortune, which will be your's, any boy!-
my thumbs.
It was a very snug bargain.
are you at?
Young R. You are always twiddling about
your thumbs. What shall I do? Go to them.
-No, I'll write,-I want to write.
Frank. Oh, you do?
Young R. I tell you I want to write.
Frank. I'm sure I don't hinder you.
Young R. S'death! then don't stand there.
Frank. It be all the same to I where I stands.
[Moving to another Place.
Young R. Thickhead, bring pen and ink.
Young R. What a horrible thing is the gift
of speech.
Vortex. Speech!-Did you say any thing
about a speech? Ah! had you heard mine out..
-Do you remember how it began?-"Had I
met your eye at an earlier hour, I should"
-
[During Vortex's Narration, Rapid, in-
fluenced by the most fretful Impatience,
has unconsciously bit, and torn to
pieces, the Paper given him by Vortex.

616
[ACT V.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Joung R. [Yumping up] 'Sdeath and fire!
Is this a time for speeches! Is not your daughter
waiting?-Is not?-Oh, Jessy!
Vortex. True, another opportunity! But,
oh! 'tis a pretty speech.-Well, now give me
back the paper.
Young R. The paper!
Vortex. Yes, now you have thoroughly di-
gested the contents of the paper, give it me again.
Young R. Oh! the-the-the paper!
[Sees it torn on the ground.
Vortex. Yes; that precious scrap, that se-
cures us a hundred thousand pounds, you
dog!-Come, give it me.
Young R. My dear fellow! you gave me no
paper.co
Vortex. But I did, though.
Young R. Yes, you certainly did; but then
-you-you-did not-
Young R. Madam!
Miss V. [To Jessy] Leave the room!
Jessy [Apart] Now poor heart! having
pass'd thy pride's probation, retire to a corner,
and break with weeping.
[Exit.
Miss V. Sir, what am I to understand?
Young R. That I'm crazy.
Miss V. Have I deserv'd insult?
Young R. Upon my soul, I don't mean to
insult you-I ask your pardon-upon my knees.
Jossig
[Kneels.
Enter FRANK.
Frank. You, sur!
Young R. [Jumping up] What's the matter?
Miss V. Well, I'll forgive you, if you'll
come directly. [Rapid nods, and she exit.
Young R. What do you want?
Frank. You be's a desperate villain! [Rapid
Vortex. But I'll take my oath I did!-Come, going to strike] Come, dan't you do that-
give it me directly!-You-[Sees the frag- it wont do-Poor sister! If you had drawn
ments on the ground] Eh!-what!-No;-an harrow across her heart, you could not
Yes. I'm undone, I'm ruined.-Oh, my head! have hurt her so.
I'm going, I'm going!
Young R. Upon my soul I'm very sorry,
but-
Vortex. But what?
Young R. That infernal speech!
Vortex. Oh! [Looking at the scraps of
paper]-Eh, but hold!-When he marries my
daughter he'll keep the secret for his own sake.
Gh, dear! I must lose no time.
Young R. I'm very sorry! I'm sure if hear-
ing your speech will be any compensation-
[Sits down.
Vortex. No, no, not now-come with me,
all the lawyers are waiting.-Oh, pray come.
Young R. I'm coming, but you're always
in such a hurry.
Young R. Damn't-I know nothing of your
sister! Who the devil is your sister? you-
Frank. Why, Jessy Oatland!
Young R. What! your sister-the brother
of Jessy my servant?-Damnation! why did not
you tell me so? To raise my hand against the
brother of Jessy! I shall go mad!- Frank,
will you forgive me? I love Jessy-by my
soul I do!-And may heaven desert me, if-
[Kneels.
Enter VORTEX.
Vortex. Hey-day!
Young R. [Jumping up] What's the matter?
Vortex. [To Frank] Leave the room!
[Exit Frank] Insult upon insult!-What sa-
him-Itisfaction-
Young R. I know what you want. Come
along; I'll fight you directly.
Vortex. Fight! Nonsense!
Vortex. I'll send my daughter to
must push him. Pray come directly.
[Exit, in a hurry.
Young R. Upon my soul you'll break your
neck, if you hurry so. Am I always to have
this infernal pain? [Goes up to the glass]
Behold a highfinished rascal at full length.of all this?
Curse me, if I can look myself in the face.
Enter JESSY.
Jessy. [Apart] There he stands! - Now,
heart, be firm-Virtuous indignation, support
me!-Sir, my mistress waits for you.
Young R. Don't plague me about your mis-
tress. I'll come by and by.-[Turns round]
Heaven and hell! Jessy Oatland!
Jessy. My mistress, sir, waits for you.
Young R. Your mistress!-A servant! Jessy
Oatland a servant!-A servant to And 1-
Jessy! my life!-my soul!-will you forgive-?
Jessy. Wretch!
-
Young R. I am.-I despise myself.-On my
knees-only listen to me.
Enter Miss VORTEX.
Miss V. Mr. Rapid!
matter?
Young R. Then I'll ask your pardon.
Vortex. But what the devil's the meaning
Young R. Why, don't you see I'm mad?
-Stark staring mad!
Enter YOUNG STANLEY.
Stanley. Mr. Rapid!
[want?
Young R. [Jumping round] What do you
Vortex. Oh, Lord! how fierce Stanley looks
at me. Pray come, Mr. Rapid.-[To Stanley]
Sir, your most obedient! [Exit, running.
Young R. That little fellow will break his
neck, to a certainty.
Stan. I have just seen a lovely girl that
you have wrong'd.
Young R. I know I have, and I'll fight you
again, if you like it.
Stan. Could the result benefit Jessy Oat-
land, I would accept your invitation.
Young R. The fact is, I'm the most un-
happy-the-What do you charge for shoot-
Young R. [Jumping up] What is the ing a man? I'll give you a thousand to blow
my brains out. I'm the most miserable dog.
Miss V. How can you debase yourself-to--Pray, sir, will you tell me one thing!-Are
Jessy. How dare he debase me, madam, by you a man of fashion?
offering to an honest heart the affections of a
villain?
Miss V. Sir!
Stan. I trust I'm a gentleman.
Young R. That's pretty much the same thing
-an't it, sir?

SCENE 2.1
617
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Stan. It ought to be.
Miss V. I vow I feel uncommon discom-
Young R. Pray, sir, how did you become posed-Oatland? your arm, child!
a gentleman?
Stan. Simply, by never committing an ac-
tion that would not bear reflection.
Young R. Can I be a gentleman, and an
honest man?
Stan. Can you be a gentleman, and not an
honest man?
Young R. Pray, sir, have you always an
infernal pain at your heart?
Stan. No, sir.
[Leans on Jessy.
Enter YOUNG RAPID.
Young R. Heavens, how interesting! the
languor of those lovely eyes-
Miss V. Flattering creature!
Young R. My senses are restor'd. Oh, will
you pardon-will you again receive a heart
full of love and adoration?
Miss V. What shall I do?-I must pardon
Young R. No! Huzza! Thank you!-By hea- him. [Miss Vortex is preparing to speak.
ven I'll-Now don't hurry yourself.-If I don't, Jessy. Edward! what shall I say?-your
may I
[Walks about. love has been too long my joy, my pride,-
Stan. Ah! Mr. Rapid, how different are to be torn from my heart without many a
our situations! You, possessing the love of a bitter wound;-[Miss Vortex with surprise
most charming and fascinating girl, dash the and chagrin withdraws her arm from Jes-
cup of happiness away.
sy;]-but your late conduct has been-
Young R. Detestable! - But I'm pardon'd;
your eyes tell me so. Thanks, my angel!
Stan. I, possessing the heart of my dear [Running to her and kneeling] I'm so op-
Ellen, am miserable; because, on account of press'd with joy.-Ma'am will you have the
the narrowness of her fortune, she compels goodness to help me up?
me to abandon her.
Young R. May be not, my dear fellow-
push on.
Young R. What! the narrowness of her
fortune compels-
Stan. Yes, I say-
Miss V. Help you up!-
Frank. He! he! he! Gi' me a buss, Jessy!
he! he! thee be's a domn'd honest fellow!
[Shaking Rapid's hand] I'll run and tell
Young R. No! Don't say it again. Don't poor Feyther. Now I shall have a farm of
despair, that's all.
[Nodding. my own! [Capering and snapping his fin-
Stan. She has given a fatal paper.
gers]-Dong it, how I will work. He! he!
Young R. A paper!-Yes, I know, I know. he!
[Exit.
Stan. And I'm come to take leave of her. Miss V. To be used so twice in one day!
Young R. No, you are not!-I'll shew you-it is not to be borne,-Nabob, won't you
such a scene.-Nay, don't ask me any ques-fight him?
tions-follow me, that's all.-Wait at the door;
and when I cry, hem! come in. But don't
be in such a hurry. By heavens, the pain in
my side is better already! Huzza!-Come along!
[Going, returns, and runs to the glass,
Miss V. He! he! I declare it is so uncom-
and nods] How do you do?-How do you monly ridiculous!-so comic!-He! he !-I'm
do? What! you rascal! you can grin again, quite faint with laughing.
can you? Come along; but don't hurry; be-
cause, my dear fellow, 'tis impossible to do
Vortex. No, not I.
Miss V. Coward!
Vortex. You'd better be quiet, or I'll con-
vince you I'm none, however.
Jessy. Shall I assist you?
Miss V. No! [Resentfully] I must retire,
any thing well in a hurry. Come along! but, or I shall expire with laughing!-he! he! -
zounds! never hurry.
[Exeunt, Young Rapid speaking very quick,
SCENE II. Another Apartment in VORTEX's
House.
Enter JESSY and FRANK.
Frank. How bee'st thee now, Jessy?
Jessy. Better. Quite recover'd. What pass'd
between you and Edward?
Frank. Why, at first he were in a despe-
rate passion; but when I told him I were thy
brother, he were so humble, and did ax I so
to forgive un, that I could say no more to un.
Dom it, I could not hit him when he were
down; and I've a notion his conscience was
pegging him about pretty tightish. He swear'd
he did love thee!
Jessy. Did he, Frank? Did he say he lov'd
me?
Oh !
Enter ELLEN.
Exit, crying.
Ellen. Heaven! what's the matter?
Young R. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Ra-
pid, madam.-
Ellen. Sweet Jessy!-Sir, I thank you for
giving my heart a pleasurable sensation, which
thought it had for ever taken leave of.
I
Young R. Bless your heart! perhaps I may
tickle it up a little more. - [To Vortex]-
Now, stand out of the way, will you?
Vortex. You're quite free and easy.
Young R. My way.
Vortex. You forget 'tis my house.
Young R. No, I don't!-you bought it with
her money you know.
Vortex. Umph!
Young R. Mum, now for Young Stanley's
cue. [To Ellen] 'Pon my honour, ma'am,
any man might be proud to-Hem-He does'nt
hear me-Such beauty! Such a shape!-such
hot-a-Hem-
Enter Mr. and MISS VORTEX,
Miss V. What! torn the paper!-A
headed-only wait till he's my husband-
Vortex. Egad, I wish he would come though-
Miss V. Oh, here he is.
Jessy. How my poor frame trembles.
Enter CHARLES STANLEY.
Vortex. Zounds! he's here again [Getting
behind Young Rapid] What does he want?
78

618
[ACT V.
A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.
Young R. Shall I ask him?
Young R. I say he's justly punished for the
Vortex. Do.-I'll be very much obliged to length of the story he told.
you.
Young R. I will.--I'll manage.
[Winking and nodding to Vortex.
Vortex. Oh, thank you.
y
Charles. Once more, my Ellen! supported
by an indulgent parent's blessing on our union,
I entreat-
Ellen. Oh, Charles! shall I then return your
father's goodness by destroying his hopes for
ever? Shall I repay my Stanley's love by in-
flicting on him penury and sorrow? In pity,
no more! Illede ber has h
Young R. [To Charles Stanley] What
may be your business here, Sir?
-
Charles. Mr. Rapid, in expressing my obli-
gations, allow me to be-
Young R. Not more than a minute, I intreat.
[Old Rapid and Sir Hubert without.
Old R. Where is he?
Sir Hub. Be patient.
Old R. I won't.-Let me come at him.
Enter OLD RAPID and SIR HUBERT.
Jessy. [Young Rapid and Jessy kneel]
Your blessing, sir!
Old R. What? Oh! [Falls down on his
Knees, and embraces them both.]
Young R. Approbation from Sir Hubert
Stanley is praise indeed.
Charles. I came to take leave-
Sir Hub. [After talking a part to his Son]
Young R. Hush! [Apart]-To enquire re- Mr. Rapid, by asserting your character as a
specting that Lady's fortune. We'll soon ans- man of honour, in rewarding the affections of
wer all that, won't we? [Nodding to Vortex. this amiable woman, you command my praise;
Charles. I say, Sir--
for bestowing happiness on my dear Charles,
Young R. [Stopping him] We grant it, receive an old man's blessing.
we grant Mr. Vortex has recovered property
to a considerable amount, but what signifies
that! She assigned it for five thousand pounds!
-You see how I'm going on. [To Nabob. for you!
Vortex. Oh, thank you, my dear friend!
Young R. I've seen the paper, haven't I? Old R. Yes! and let me tell you, that one
[To Vortex. guinea honestly gotten by blood drawn from
Charles. And I should be satisfied- the finger, is sweeter than a million obtained
Young R. You would be satisfied if you by blood drawn from the heart!-So, take
saw it.-Certainly-Very proper-Nothing in that.
Old R. Dam'me, there's the son of a taylor
Vortex. What, a taylor?
nature can be more reasonable; so, Nabob, Young R. Well, Nabob, how do you feel?
shew him the paper, and settle the business Vortex. Egad, 'tis very odd;-but I declare
at once [Walks about, Vortex following I feel light and comfortable since Ellen has
him] Shew him the paper!--Don't keep the got her estate, and I somehow breathe more
gentleman waiting all day- Shew him the free, I've a notion the last line of my speech
paper.-My dear fellow! what's the use of is true.
walking after me! Shew him the paper.
-
Vortex. [Taking advantage of the Pauses
in the foregoing Speech] I say my dear
friend-Hush!-Be quiet!-I want to speak to
you-You forget you destroyed it!
Young R. I destroyed it!
Vortex. Hush!
Yonng R. He says I destroyed it!
Young R. Come, I'll hear the last line.
Vortex. Why, "that the first step towards
securing the esteem of others, is to secure
your own."
Young R. Stick to the last line.
Ellen. And, dear uncle, take Sir Hubert
Stanley for your physician. Follow his pre-
scription of justice and benevolence, and, my
Vortex. I did not-I'll take my oath I did life on it, you will soon thank me for my re-
not.
Young R. And it is true. Inav
Charles and Ellen. VVhat!
Young R. True, upon my honour! he has
no more hold on your estates, madam, than
I have.
aldiatorsley, inced for
Charles. [Kneeling to Ellen] Will you
now allow the humble Stanley to destroy the
hopes of the wealthy Ellen? Will you permit
me to repay your love with penury and sor
row? repay your love
Ellen. Oh, chide on! [Raising him] Dear
Stanley, my happiness is now complete.
-I
Young R. This is your house, ma'am.
give you joy!-Sir, I give you joy! Nabob, I
give you joy.
Vortex. Oh, my head; you villain!
Young R. Don't talk about villany,-it will
make you worse. Sit down, my dear fellow!
Charles. He's justly punished for the false-
hood of the story he told.
commendation.
Vortex. Well, to shew the sincerity of my
intentions, allow me, Ellen, to present you
these parchments, the title-deeds of this estate.
[Presents Parchments.
Old R. I say, Ned, what nice measures they
would make.
Ellen. And Sir, allow me to shew you the
true value of riches-[Giving the Parchments
to Stanley]-Convert them into happiness.
Old R. Well, I've only one observation to
make.
b
Young R. I hope it is a short one.
Jessy. What, impatient again?
Young R. I am, and if I err,
Tis you, my generous Patrons, are the
cause,
My heart's impatient for your kind ap-
plause,

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
619
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
This comedy appeared at Covent-Garden in the beginning of the present year, 1827, and was hailed with the marks
of the greatest satisfaction by the delighted Londoners. Old Revel's manner of bringing his son to a right knowledge of
his faults, descends rather to the farcical; but there are some excellent hits at character throughout the whole piece,
and from Bobby Buttercup to Sir Arthur Stanmore, we have some good sketches of nature. May Sir Arthurs never
more be obliged to apply such severe remedies with Lady Stanmores, and no Miss Raven's gentle counsel tempt a wife
to abuse her privileges. The scenes between Sir Arthur and Lady Stanmore, are well deserving of a first place in real
comedy, and have the sterling stamp of real life upon them. The author of the best comedy in the English language
(School for scandal) seems to have lent his pen; and, but that we know he is "gathered to his fathers," we should
have been inclined to have thought them the production of his genius. Good old Dame Ryeland, honest Frank and Fanny
Bloomly, by their native simplicity, interest us highly in their favour. Poor Frank's heart-breaking situation at having
lost his money, is rendered tender to a degree, by the reception the good old Dame gives him at his return to the
cottage; that was indeed a school for him; and title Fanny's vanity is well humbled by reflecting, that she was the
cause of Frank's desperation, the loss of his money, and consequently the author of his as well as her own misfortune.
Young Revel's reformation, and determinations are very well drawn: he'll "rise at ten," form plans of economy, and
a thousand other things; in fact the lessons given to every one in this comedy, may well entitle it to be called "A
School for grown children " The word "School" seems to have become quite in vogue lately, for titles to good co
medies we have the "School for Scandal," "Ecole des Vieillards," "A School for grown children."
90 912
SIR ARTHUR STANMORE.
OLD REVEL.
YOUNG REVEL.
FRANK RYELAND.
DEXTER (Gentleman to
Young Revel).
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
BUTTERCUP (Servant
to Old Revel).
RANDAL (Servant to
Sir Arthur).
SERVANT TO SIR AR-
THUR.
ACT I.
SERVANT TO YOUNG
REVEL.
BOATSWAIN. Food
SAILOR.
PEASANT.
LADY STANMORE.
MRS. REVEL.
DAME RYELAND,
FANNY BLOOMLY.
MISS RAVEN.
Domestics, Sailors etc. HANNAH.
-no, no-all my pride, all my joy; for thou
SCENE I.-The interior of a farm-house.- wouldst do credit to the best lady of the land.
Frank. Be quiet, mother, or you will make
Dame Ryeland in widow's weeds working
a patch quilt, a spinning-wheel near her me as conceited as my poor father was. Had
Frank Ryeland writing, with account-not we better see what stock we have left?
books before him.-A large open window,
displaying a sea view.
Dame. Well, Frank, have you almost
finished?
Frank. Only two or three more items,
mother, and then-
Dame. [Rising] Aye, and then I hope to
meet your father's creditors with a cheerful
look, a good conscience, and twenty shillings
in the pound: it will be the proudest day of
my life; and all owing to thy labour and care,
my dear boy!
[Returns to the table.
[Fanny sings without.]
Was not that my Fanny's voice?
[Runs to the window, nods,
and kisses his hand.
Dame. Here's the schedule. [Sits] First, my
favourite blind mare. [Reading the schedule.
Frank. How handsome she is!?
Dame. No! nothing to brag about. What
had we best do with her, eh, Frank?
Frank. To part with her would be my death.
Dame. [Rising] Your death! what's the
20boy talking about? [Looking over his shoulder]
Frank. Don't talk of that, mother, it puts Oh! that's it. Sit down, you silly child!
me out; nine and seven, sixteen-
[Fanny Bloomly appears at the window.
Fanny. Good morning, Dame. The like to
you, Frank. Do you want me this morning,
Dame?
Dame. Your poor dead father was ruined
by vanity: he must dress himself like a jackan-
apes, and keep company with your gentry
and boxing-men, and such like; would have Frank. Oh yes, Fanny, my mother wants
made me a polite fine lady, if he could; but you very much indeed. Is she not beautiful?
I defied him. [Wrapping up her work.
Frank. Be happy, mother; all's right, [brings
down the account-book]-father's debts, seven
hundred and ninety pounds.
Dame. Shame, shame!
Frank. Value of corn and stock wipes out
the debt, and leaves a small balance we can
honestly call our own.
Dame. And this done in twelve months!
Frank. To be sure we have left the farm
cruel bare.
Dame. Never mind, Frank, if only a blade
of straw is left, I shall be the happiest woman
in the Hundred, for no one can say, that by
Martha Ryeland's family they have been wrong-
ed of a penny; and that is worth the rent
of the whole parish.
Frank. So it is, mother.
Dame. [Placing her hand on his shoulder]
Ah! here is placed all my cares, all my fears
[To Dame R.
Dame. Why if she prove as good as she's
well-looking, she'll make an excellent wife;
but I wish she would away with those flaunt-
ing ribbons and flowers; they don't become
her humble station.
Frank. But they become her complexion.
Dame. Vanity, vanity! Has she not me for
a model to dress by?
Fanny. Frank, see, see your landlord, Mr.
Revel, is coming. Oh such grand coaches and
stylish liveries! Gemini, how genteel!
Dame. Genteel! I hate that word.
Fanny, Come, or you'll lose the sight.
[Leaves the window.
Frank. I can't come, Fanny, I am very
busy. Plague on't, I've split up my pen, and
there is not another in the house.
Dame. Go thy ways-go thy ways. There's
no more good to be done now I'm sure.

620
[ACT I.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Frank. Good bye, mother, good bye.
Fanny. Thank you, Sir. Gemini, how
[Smiling, curtseys to Revel, and
exit into the Inn.
[Shakes her Hand, snatches his Hat genteel!
from the Peg, and runs out.
Dame. Heaven bless them, and spare my
life to see a few little brats toddle about me, Dex. I'm astonished that a gentleman, who
mislay my crutch, and break my spectacles! possesses so amiable and beautiful a lady,
But now to tell the creditors to come and should even talk to such gawky, ignorant-
receive all their money. Hannah! my bonnet Y. Rev. I see your policy, you sly poacher!
and cloak. Happy, blessed day! What says But is all prepared for my reception at the
the church clock? Why, there's Frank has Hall? I glory in a magnificent stone mansion.
got hold of a pedlar, and I'll lay my life is Dex. Yours is brick.
buying that girl a brooch, or ear-bobs, or some-
thing genteel. Oh vanity, vanity! But I'll
be after them.
[Exit.
Y. Rev. Brick is warmer. Placed on an
eminence-
Dex. Yours is in a valley.
Y. Rev. All the better-snug, eh, Dexter?
SCENE II.-The exterior of a country Inn.-And are the horses trained? - the hounds
A marine View in the distance, with a staunch?
pleasure Yacht moored.-Jonathan and
Dexter meeting.
Jonathan. Mr. Dexter! Mr. Dexter! Where's
our master?
Dexter. Our master! Don't be vulgar, Jo-
nathan. Ask where Mr. Revel is, and I'll give
you a satisfactory answer.
Jon. Well! Where is Mr. Revel?
Dex. I don't know.
Jon. Because Sir Arthur Stanmore is waiting
our master's-Mr. Revel's-arrival; so, when
my master
Dex. There are no hounds.
Y. Rev. There'll be less damage done to
the fences, my dear fellow!
Dex. [Aside] Nothing can cross him.
Y. Rev. Go along and pay every thing, and
every body.
Dex. "Iis easy to say-pay every body-
but without money-
Y. Rev. Don't spare money.
Dex. Where am I to get it?
Y.Rev. Wherever you like-I have no choice.
Dex. I'm sure I've used my honest endea-
Dex. Master again! begone, thou dishonour vours to raise it. I've bragged of the splendid
to worsted-lace 1)! [Exit Jonathan] Master presents of your father, the nabob; that he
indeed! A pretty time servants would have of serves out gold moors by the gallon, and
it if our employers were our masters! [Enter brilliants by the bushel; when the truth is, he
Fanny Bloomly with a Basket under her won't post another rupee.
Arm; she curtseys to Dexter] Ah, my divine
Fanny! whither in such haste?
Fanny. An errand to the inn to oblige
Dame Ryeland.
Y. Rev. Then there'll be more when the old
boy retires, you know.
Dex. I have urged your great expectations
when your grandfather dies, who has been
Dex. To oblige Frank Ryeland you mean. dead these ten years; and swore you were
But there'll be no wedding, Miss Fanny; no, heir to five existing aunts, who never existed
no-I'll be a match for him. They can't pay
their rent, and will be turned out of the farm
to-morrow. Here comes Mr. Revel; he shall
not see my pretty Bloomly if I can help it.
Enter YOUNG REVEL, and two Sailors.
Y. Rev. Is that my yacht in the Bay?
Sai. Snug at her moorings, your honour!
where she rides like a duck in a mill-pond.
Y. Rev. [Pointing to the Inn] In there,
and refit; and let all be snug and trim for the
regatta to-morrow. Do you think she'll carry
the prize?
Sai. No fear, your honour! [Exeunt Sailors.
Y. Rev. Dexter! What's the fellow about?
[Dexter attempting to conceal Fanny] Move
this way if you please, for you appear to
shut out the sweetest prospect. What a lovely
creature! Your name is-
Fanny. Fanny Bloomly.
Y. Rev. And you live-
Dex. Yes, Sir, she does; she is very busy
just now. The expenses of your journey-
[Presenting Paper.
Y, Reo. All quite right.
Dex. You have got it the wrong end up-
permost.
at all.
Y. Rev. Go, Sir, I'll not be trifled with.
Dex. The very words your creditors use.
Y. Rev. Dexter! have I not charged you
never to let me hear of the existence of such
people?
Dex. Make him unhappy who can! [Aside]
Here is Sir Arthur Stanmore.
[Bows to Sir Arthur, and exit.
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE, with Peasants.
Sir Arth. My friends, I will devote to-mor-
row to your service. Mr. Revel, I rejoice to
see you.
[Taking Hands.
Y. Rev. Et vous, mon Chevalier!
Sir Arth. Excuse me a moment. My good
Dame, here is an order for the admission of
your husband into the infirmary: my worthy
fellow, this is the amount of your deposits in
the saving-bank: and, my veteran, here is a
certificate for the receipt of your pension; the
rest will come to-morrow at the usual hour-
and remember to be punctual.
Peasants. Bless your kind honour!
[Exeunt Peasants.
Y. Rev. He does not show much blood-
one of the useful sort, may be.
-
Y. Rev, 'Tis the same thing; take it to my Sir Arth. Mr. Revel, pardon me: but with
wife; she arranges these matters; I only ar- the children of labour time may be considered
range these matters - [To Fanny] you are as their only property, and it were unpardon-
an angel.
able in me to dissipate it. You left town,
no doubt, prepared-
1) The footmen wear shoulder knots of worsted lace,

SCENE 2.]
621
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Y. Rev. Prepared for the country-Oh, cer- Hod Enter FANNY BLOOMLY.
tainly!-filled a portfolio with caricatures; sent Ah! Flora and Pomona united! fragrant blos-
down a turning-lathe; packed up some battle-soms, and honied fruits, on the same lovely
dores and shuttlecocks; and set my watch by stem. And so you have been at the inn with-
the Horse-Guards 1). [Showing the Time to Fanny. Butter for Dame Ryeland, your
Sir Arthur] I believe that's all that's required; honour's tenant.
but I fear time will hang confoundedly.
Y. Reo. Now you must tell me, who is the
Sir Arth. I hope not; for there is no being happiest fellow in the world?
who has more active employment than a rich Fanny. La! your honour! how should I
good man. 'Tis idleness, that nurse of vice!-know?
Y. Rev. Vice! O fie! that term is exclusive-
ly confined to cattle; there's nothing vicious
now but a horse.
Sir Arth. I stand corrected, and own my-
self lamentably deficient in the vocabulary of
fashionable diction.
Y. Rev. That's a pity: nothing so simple;
as thus: what you call night, we call day; for
supper, we say dinner; modesty is, with us,
ill-breeding; impudence, ease; wicked rascal,
irresistible fellow; troublesome creditors, ne-
cessary evils; play, business; ruin, style; and
sudden death, high life 2).fin
Sir Arth. I thank you for my first lesson,
and, in return, as your friend-d
Y. Rev. Friend! I did not know you had a
turn for that sort of thing. I had no idea I
should want a friend in the country.
Sir Arth. A turn for! not want a friend?
I believe we had better go back to the voca-
bulary.
Y. Rev. If you please. A man's friend is
his second in a duel; a lady's friend is the
gentleman who is so fortunate as to protect
her in style.
Y. Rev. You know who your favoured sweet-
heart is?
Fanny. Frank Ryeland keeps me company.
Y. Rev. A handsome smart fellow, eh?
Fanny. Not so smart as you, Sir.
Y. Reo. Come, there's hope in that. You
know, Fanny, there is a fête at the hall this
evening, and you must be there, and bring
your Corydon.
Fanny. Nan!
Y. Reo. Your lover, Frank Thingumerry.
And you, my pretty Fanny! shall be Queen
of the Revels.
Fanny. I Queen of the Revels? there now!
Oh gemini, how genteel!
Y. Rev. What a smile! 'sdeath, resistance
is impossible; [going to salute her. Enter
Mrs. Revel; she stops, and is about to re-
tire]-Constance, my love!
Mrs. Rev. I assure you, Edward, my pre-
sences was occasioned by what I understood
to be your commands.
Y. Rev. Don't apologise for your presence;
indeed it is particularly apropos; I ask your
protection for this young creature; I suspect.
she has admirers.
Sir Arth. Mercy on us! I own, Sir, I have
not a turn for that sort of thing: 'sdeath, he'll Mrs. Rev. I think it very probable.
corrupt the county in a week. Mr. Revel, I Y. Rev. And I was exemplifying the dangers-
hope I may, without being included in either Fanny. Indeed, Madam, I-
of your definitions, prove my rustic friend- Mrs. Rev. No more poor innocent! you
ship, by stating that your expenditure appears must come and see me; and, if you
wish it,
to be ruinous. The waste in your establish- I'll employ you.
ment is-
Y. Rev. Shocking. But, I dare say, if you
would arrange matters-
Sir Arth. I arrange? I am your wife's
brother, Sir! not your servant.
Y. Rev. Don't agitate yourself.
Sir Arth. Your people are incorrigible.
Y. Rev. Then there's no use in finding fault,
you know.
Fanny. I thank you, Madam; but I believe
I am going to be very busy; I'm going to be
married, Madam.
Mrs. Reo. Well, be a good girl, and rely
on my protection. [Exit Fanny Bloomly.
Y. Rev. [Aside] Amiable, generous Con-
stance!
Mrs. Rev. You look grave, my dear!
Y. Rev. Teased about money, that's all: for
Sir Arth. I must command my temper. One luxuries have become such absolute neces-
word more, before I finish an interview so saries, and voluntary contributions so com-
little contributory to profit or pleasure. I hope pulsory, that one must get in debt to keep up
your present residence will prove a furtherance one's respectability, and you know my foible
of your domestic happiness, and. a benefit to is charity.
your respectable tenantry. But you must not
Mrs. Rev. Which luckily, Edward, covers a
aim to transplant London habits here; 'tis multitude of transgressions.
throwing artificial flowers on the bosom of Y. Rev. Ha! ha! keen and moral; but I'
nature, which are gaudy without sweetness, thought you were too notable a housewife to
and choke the healthful produce of the soil. throw any thing good away.
And do me the favour to respect the results Mrs. Rev. Then you think my moral good?
of my experience, which assures you, that thank you for that, my dear! Neglect it, I
rural happiness can only be obtained by health- know you will; forget it, I think you cannot:
ful exertion, exemplary demeanour, and active and the time may come when its impression
utility. Good morning!
[Exit. will be felt, and its truth acknowledged. In
Y. Rev. Upon my word, a remarkably good the mean time, as the pleasures of hope are
sort of man! and he took so much pleasure said to be the greatest, I am sure my dear
in finding fault, it would have been absolutely husband will secure me abundant enjoyment
savage to have interrupted him.
of that sort of happiness.-[Fondly] You are
not angry with me, Edward?
1) The clock at the Horse Guards in London.
2) There is no untruth in this.
Y. Rev. Angry? yon are an angel; and, in

622
[ACT I.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
future, my excellent Constance! you shall find Miss Rav. To make a conquest is easy, but
I will act much more cunningly-I mean more to secure it proves the tactilian; you must
guardedly-that is, more honourably.
not, therefore, lay down the weapons by which
Mrs. Rev. To be sure; I perfectly under- you gained it: you must study the art of at-
stand you, my dear!
[Exeunt. tack and retreat; practise the artillery of the
SCENE III.- An Apartment of SIR ARTHUR tongue, the sharp shooting of the eye, and be
STANMORE'S-An open Door-way, leading amply stored with the materiel of sighs,
smiles, and tears, to defend the supremacy of
to a Pleasure-ground.
your empire.
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE. Gate Bell
rings.
Sir Arth. So, visitors! Randal!
Enter RANDAL.
Mr. and Mrs. Revel, I suppose.
Lady Stan. That's very true, and very rea-
sonable; but my dear Arthur is so kind and
so indulgent, I would not for the world
tease him.
Miss Rev. By no means; only keep his at-
tentions awake. Love's lethargy is soon fol-
Ran. No such luck, Sir Arthur. 'Tis Miss lowed by its death. Now, last evening, while
Raven.
Sir Arth. Well!
S
Ran. It is not well, my dear master! that
Miss Raven is a walking mildew: her very
shadow in the garden blights the roses and
honey-suckles; and if she pops her head into
the dairy, the cream turns sour. Why that
Miss Raven-
Sir Arth. Has infected you; for you croak
most abominably.
Ran. Were Lady Stanmore my wife-
Sir Arth. Ha! ha! your wife! Well, old
Truepenny! suppose it.
740
Ran. Then I would forbid Miss Raven-
Sir Arth. And can you imagine that my
dear wife-nay, I may say, my bride, whose
love is as sincere as her mind is ingenuous,
will be influenced by Miss Raven's ill-boding
absurdities?
Ran. But she owes you a grudge.
you were singing, he yawned three times.
Lady Stan. Did he indeed?
Miss Rav. Those three yawns would have
cost me three thousand sighs; - but don't let
what I say make you look grave.
Lady Stan. [Vexed] Oh no. Yawned, did
he? I think I can prevent that. My dear Miss
Raven, how can I sufficiently thank you? for
I vow I was so ridiculously happy, and so
unthinkingly comfortable, it was quite shocking.
He shan't yawn, however. Oh here is Sir
Arthur: how delighted he seems!
Miss Rav. I wonder what could have made
him so in your absence.
Lady Stan. True-in my absence: now I
should not have thought of that. My dear
friend, how very kind you are!
Enter SIR ARTHUR and RANDAL.
Sir Arth. [Takes Lady Stanmore's Hand
Sir Arth. Egad, that's true; I know my-bows to Miss Raven] Good morning, ma-
marriage mortified her: for, without vanity, I dam! I fear your partiality to Lady Stanmore
may say, no lady ever adored a gentleman's may deprive your numerous friends of their
estates more than she did mine.
just share of your well-meant attentions.
Miss Rav. I understand him. How hand-
some the wretch looks!
[Aside.
Lady Stan. Your countenance, my dear
Arthur! bespeaks a cheerfulness-
Ran. She's coming this way in earnest con-
versation with Lady Stanmore.
Sir Arth. Look at my Harriet! youth, beauty,
polished manners, and a cheerful temper, are
too healthy symptoms of the longevity of hap-
piness to fear its decay; but I'll have an eye
on Miss Raven.
Sir Arth. Love forbid it should be other-
wise, when I approach my Harriet.
Miss Rav. [Sighing] Ah! Love forbid,
indeed!
Ran. Do, Sir Arthur! do, my good master!
Sir Arth. When these papers are arranged Sir Arth. [Sharply] Madam! Randal, had
I'll join them. Follow me to my book room. not you some message from Miss Raven's
[Exeunt. servants?
Enter LADY STANMORE and MISS RAVEN.
Lady Stanmore. My dear Miss Raver, how
kind these frequent visits are!
Ran. Yes, madam! they wish to know if
the horses are to be unharnessed, as the cold-
Sir Arth. I should not wonder if we had a
storm here soon.
[Aside.
Miss Rav. Lady Stanmore, you over value Miss Rav. [Looking spitefully at Sir
my wellmeaning attentions: having no matri- Arth. and Lady] Nor I. Au revoir, my
monial cares of my own, I live for those who sweet friend! keep up your spirits. Good
have; and as your honeymoon is just waned, morning, Sir Arthur-brute!
I thought my advice might be useful in case Ran. This way, madam!
any disappointment-eid as wond
Lady Stan. You are very kind; but no wo-
man was ever happier than I have been this
month.
Miss Rav. This month! ah, my young friend,
'tis Cupid's carnival, where every thing is in
masquerade; you must now descend into your
real characters.
Lady Stan. Real characters!
Miss Rao. Don't let what I say alarm you;
my object is your happiness.
Lady Stan. I know it, my kind friend!
[Bowing with his hand advanced.
Miss Kav. [Striking it away with her
parasol] Call my servants, fellow!
Exeunt Miss Raven and Randal.
Lady Stan.
Lady Stan. [Aside] I should like to ven-
ture on a little tiny bit of caprice, just to try;
but no teasing. O lud! no.
Sir Arth. [Turning to Lady Stan. having
watched the departure of Miss Raven]
Harriet, my love! I have news for you.
Lady Stan. It must be good news that is
ushered in by your smiles.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.] A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
623
Sir Arth. My sister is arrived.
Lady Stan. Now why did you not let me
guess what the news was?
Sir Arth. I did not know you were fond
of guessing.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-Interior of a Farm House.
Enter FRANK RYELAND and FANNY.
Fanny. And you've no notion how grand
Lady Stan. Well, how does she do? what the Hall will be-and how grand we shall be
Sir Arth. Guess.
[does she say? at the Hall, with the tip-top gentry.
Lady Stan. How should I know? how pro- Frank. But I don't know how to behave
voking you are, my dear! [Poutingly. before these quality. I sha'n't be civil enough.
Fanny. Oh you must not be civil, mun!
you must talk loud, as you do to the horses!
and laugh at every thing they say.
Frank. That mayn't be very difficult.
Fanny. And you must shake your head about.
Frank. Why, if their ways be like what
Sir Arth. I won't retort the compliment-
rather odd! I have thoughts of transferring to
Mr. Revel my interest in the county: he is
fonder of public life, and younger than I am.
Lady Stan. True.
Sir Arth. Eh!
[Sighs.
176
Lady Stan. [With affected Simplicity] Is we hear of-I may shake my head, naturally
he not younger?
enough. Fanny, do you think these hand-
Sir Arth. Oh yes, certainly-very odd! And some?
[Showing ear-rings.
you, Harriet, will have an invaluable acqui- Fanny. Ear-rings for me! Gemini, how
sition in the society of Mrs. Revel; for, with genteel! what bangers! how they'll go bibbity-
all due allowance for a brother's partiality, I bob 1), when we dance at the Hall!
think her the most amiable of her sex.
Lady Stan. Does her husband think so?
Sir Arth. Undoubtedly.
Lady Stan. Happy Mrs. Revel, to have a
husband who thinks you the most amiable of
women!
Sir Arth. Nay, my dear Harriet! don't ima-
gine that in doing justice to a sister's virtues,
fine that in doing justice
Frank. And here, dear girl, is a trinket
worth, to me, all the jewels in the king's
crown; this simple hoop of gold: come, let
me try it on.
[He puts it on, and kisses her hand.
Fanny. La! Frank, you make a body so
ashamed-hide it, hide it,-here comes Dame.
Enter DAME RYELAND.
Dame. Genteel-again! I hate that word.
Fanny. You'll go, Dame?
Lady Stan. No apology, Sir! I shall not Oh such grand genteel doings at the squire's!
presume to rival her even in my own hus-
band's opinion. [Sighs] Pray, Sir Arthur,
when may we expect the honour of a visit?
Sir Arth. I think her note says this after-
noon; [Takes out a Letter, looks at it, and
returns it] yes, this evening.
Lady Stan. [Advances her Hand to read
the Letter] I beg pardon, I thought I might
have been permitted to see a sister's letter.
Dame. I go, quotha! no, child.
Frank. Fanny and I are invited - and I
don't often make an idle day.
Dame. No, nor an idle hour. But I don't
quite like your going among folk above your
station.
Fanny. Nay, now, Dame!
Sir Arth. By all means, love! [Offering it. Dame. No good comes on't: 'tis transplant-
Lady Stan. Not now, Sir! A wife is un-ing you into a hot-bed, where pride and vanity
worthy a husband's confidence and friendship. may strike root, and choke the humble growth
Sir Arth. You know you are my dearest of contentment. Yet, as Mr. Revel's tenants,
friend.
you must in duty pay him respect. But, boy!
don't forget to receive the money of the dro-
ver and mealman.
Lady Stan. [Sighs] Friend? Ah you used
to employ a more endearing term!
Sir Arth. Nay, now, Harriet! O this is some
jest; but I shall not humour it. [Aside] I
have walked till I am absolutely weary.
Lady Stan. [Taking his Arm] Shall we
go into the music room? and I'll practise the
song I sang last evening.
Sir Arth. [Yawning] With all my heart.
Lady Stan. What do I see? yawning again!
'tis too much.
[Bursts into tears.
Sir Arth. Harriet, for heaven's sake, my
love! don't agonize me. Can I have caused
those precious tears?
Lady Stan. Ah, who but you? - 'tis too
plain-you are weary of me.
Frank. I can take it in my road, and the
rent is safe in this bag.
Dame. Well, go your ways. Why don't
you go?
Frank. [Bashfully] I had thought, mother,
of asking you to take a ride behind me to
our county-town.
Dame. Why, it is not market-day.
Frank. No, mother! but,-come here, Fanny.
[Places her Arm under his] Only they make
out wedding licenses there, mother.
Dame. Wedding licenses?
Frank. Ah, you used to make the plough
go merrily, by telling me if things turned up
Sir Arth. Weary! have I an existence but right and according, and father's debts paid,-
in your presence? is not the hope, the effort, that Fanny and I might look at her, mother!
the joy of my life, to make you happy? if I could but light on some clever dictionary
Lady Stan. [Faintly] Is it?-Ah! I'm too words to tell her how I love her; but I can't.
susceptible--too anxious-too fond.
I can only say, the best of mothers can make
Sir Arth. No, no-but let me see you smile her son the happiest man in the world.
again! [She leans on his Shoulder smiling] Dame. You're so hasty. Consider, Frank,
Thanks, my angel! Oh! be ever thus kind-how poor we are!
this is the happiest moment of my life.
Lady Stan. Indeed! Oh, Miss Raven was farming gentry come round to view it, I hope
right-it will do. [Apart.] [Exeunt. 1) A word describing the motion of the ear-rings.
Frank. Poor! Look at the land: when the

624
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN. Dance [ACT II.
Frank. I'll attend you, sir, to the door.
Dex. I'm not going to steal any thing, you
jackanapes!
[Exit.
I need not skulk behind the hedge! Show me
cleaner stubbles-show me two hundred acres
of arable in better heart and tilth! Shall I
work the less cheerily because I have her to
support? Will my labour be more toilsome,
when I have those smiles to sweeten it?
Dame. Envious hypocrite!
Frank. 'Tis hard to be in a state of de-
pendence, and bow to such a fellow.
Dame. Ah, I can't refuse yon: take my Dame. Frank, be content with your station;
consent and my blessing.
a state of dependence, boy, is more abused
Frank. [Wiping his eyes] Thank her, than it deserves to be. How often do you see
Fanny, that's a good girl. My dear mother! your little independent man-idle, proud, and
my dear wife! Fanny my wife! I shall go poor!-heedless of the good opinion of others,
out of my wits.-[With quickness] Mother, he becomes careless of securing his own: while
the accounts are made up-taxes paid-credi- the dependent farmer, knowing that by his
tors' receipts ready for signing-the rent safe-character he must stand or fall, obtains by
I'll saddle the old mare in a minute.
skill and diligence the respect of his superiors;
[A Knocking at the Door: Frank opens it. and so becomes a pattern of sobriety to his
neighbours, and an example of duty and good
conduct to his children.
Enter DEXTER.
Frank. Servant, Mr. Dexter! glad to see
you, sir.
Dex. Very polite; and what do you expect
in return?
Frank. What, I dare say, I sha'n't get-a
civil answer. [Goes up the Stage to Fanny.
Dex. Confound him! a high-spirited, amo-
rous young dog! And you are glad to see
me, too, I suppose?
Dame. Why not, Mr. Steward?
Frank. Bravo, mother! and had I sense
enough to write a larned print book, Dame
Ryeland's speech should stand at the head of
the chapter. So now for the old blind mare,
and the wedding license.
Fanny. And then for the genteel assembly
at the Hall,
Dame. Genteel again! oh vanity-vanity!
[Exeunt.
Dex. Because I am Mr. Steward, and come SCENE II.-A Hall of SIR ARTHUR STAN-
to remind you of rent day.
Dame. Thank you, sir! but it is not a day
a poor widow is likely to forget.
Dex. Sorry you can't stay in the farm, for
it looks in excellent condition.
Dame. Frank is never idle.
Dex. [Looking at Frank and Fanny]
Why, he seems very busy just now. Hard
times for you, Dame!
Dame. Hard times, indeed?-the times are
good enough for farmers to be farmers, but
not to be fine gentlemen. Why, but yester-
day, neighbour Plump was railing against
taxes, and grinding landlords, so loud - that
his daughter's music-master vowed Miss Plump
could not tell a crotchet from a quaver. Oh
vanity-vanity!
Dex. Why your rent is pretty heavy, is
not it?
Frank. Convince yourself, sir! 'tis in this
bag.
[Tossing it up.
Dex. Can you pay it? Dear me, how plea-
sant! But then what's to become of your hus-
band's creditors?
Frank. I hope twenty shillings in the pound
will content them.
Dex. Twenty shillings! - dear me, how
pleasant!
Dame. Mind, Frank, you carry it to the
Hall. - Excuse us, Mr. Dexter, we are going
about a little ceremony - about the children's
wedding.
Dex. Wedding?
Frank
and Yes, sir, our wedding.
Fanny.
MORE'S.
Enter RANDAL and BUTTERCUP; BUTTERCUP
dressed in an old fashioned Livery, booted,
with Whip, etc.
Ran. You wish to speak with Sir Arthur?
[Buttercup nods]-your name?
Butter. Bobby Buttercup: 'tis a_prattyish
name, bean't it?"
[Smiling.
Ran. What may your business be with
my master?
Butter. [Putting his Finger to his Nose]
That's the puzzle.
Ran. Oh! you don't wish to tell me.
Butter. Yes, I do wish to tell you very
much; but, bless you, I munnot.-I say, can
you keep a secret?
Ran. No. Can you?
Butter. Oh yes!
Ran. Then I'll tell you one.-Those who
are most eager to know secrets are generally
those who most eagerly betray them.
Butter. Don't be too cutting, sir. I is only
a simple lad-I may tell you that.
Ran. Yes; for that certainly is no secret.
Butter. But I has a good heart, and that
you know is a great matter.
[Whistles, and examines the apartment.
Ran. Certainly. Ha! ha! Mr. Bobby But-
tercup, a word: it is the fashion in this house
for servants to be uncovered.
Butter. Uncovered [knowingly]. I say, per-
haps you would not suspect that I had got
something clever in the inside of my hat?
Ran. Indeed, I should not.
Butter. Time will show. So, if you'll be
Dex. Dear me, how pleasant! The most so good as to tell Sir Arthur to wait upon
agreeable morning I have had for some time. me-not that I require him to hurry himself
Frank. You need not say so; your looks-that's what I call polite.
show it.
Ran. I'll mention your indulgent kindness,
[Aside.
Dex. I dare say. You'll be at the Hall in Ha! ha!
the evening. Sorry to leave such merry faces, Butter. Nay, nay, it beant brotherly to
but [Aside] I may contrive to mar your mirth, laugh at me. I has a good heart. [Exit Ran-

SCENE 3.]
625
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
dal) Old master is coming here upon the Lady Stan. Oh, delightful! he said he was
sly, to watch his son's pranks, who, they say, the happiest of men; and, showing one's
is kicking up mag's diversion 1), and playing power is so irresistibly tempting!
at chuckies 2) with old man's rupees and pa- Miss Rav. And if your youth and beauty,
godas. Ecod these consated Lunnon sarvants joined to his doting fondness, don't secure
think we west-country lads don't know how to your sway, blame only yourself. Pray, is Sir
behave; but I'll show them what breeding is. Arthur in the habit of breaking his appoint-
[Sits down, adjusting his boot leahers, ments?
and sings.
"Don't you see that little turtle dove, that
sits on yonder tree?
He's wooing of his love,
And cooing for his mate;
As I now do for thee, my dear!
As I now do for thee."
During this SIR ARTHUR and RANDAL enter,
and stand on each Side of the Chair.
BUTTERCUP starts up.
I
Lady Stan. Oh, never!
Miss Rav. I perceive 'tis past the hour he
promised to join us.
Lady Stan. So it is, I declare.
Miss R. Ah, my love! you must learn to
bear these neglects.
Lady Stan. Must I?
[Sighing
Miss Rav. Indeed, I wish it may be only
neglect.
Lady Stan. Only neglect?
[Alarmed.
Miss R. Pray don't let what I fear make
you uneasy! I hope no accident has happened!
saw his servant cleaning pistols.
Lady Stan. Pistols?
Sir Arth. At your desire, I wait upon you;
but I don't require you to hurry yourself
ha! ha! And now, being at par in point of
politeness, I ask the favour of your commands.
Butter. Come, that's quite genteel and sa- Miss Rav. Had not he a dispute with Lord
tisfactory. Sir Arthur, I have the honour-Stallfeel about the prize ox?
but-
[Points to Randal.
Lady Stan. Not that I know of: besides, I
Sir Arth. Oh! you wish him to leave the room? saw him just now by the side of the lake.
Butter. No, I don't; but he must, because- Miss Rav. The lake? don't be agitated! I
Sir Arth. Randal- [Points to the Door. suppose you have drag-nets?-Poor Sir Arthur!
Butter. I means no affront, Mr. fellow-sar-
vant! I has a good heart. [Exit Randal]
Now for it. [Takes off his Hat, containing
Enter SIR ARTHUR.
Sir Arthur. Drag-nets!-poor Sir Arthur!
a Handkerchief, which he unfolds, and -ha! ha! My love, what is all this?
produces a Letter, which he delivers to Sir
Miss R. Not very feeling, sir, to laugh at
Arthur] There! that's what I call being rather your wife's fears.
clever. And now, your honour! as we are
Lady Stan. Nor very polite to keep her
by ourselves, and sociable-like, we can con- waiting.
versation a bit about-
Sir Arth. My dear Harriet! I beg your par-
Sir Arth. Silence! A very extraordinary don. I really thought I was within the-
epistle-'Son-dog-doting father-discarded
Scoundrel-break my heart-break his bones.'
-Rather a fierce style!
Butter. He! he! bean't it?-
[Looking at the Letter.
Sir Arth. Fellow! [puts him away] will
wait privately on Sir Arthur Stanmore-build
an hospital-cut off with a shilling;' ha! ha!
Butter. Old master, you understand, made
all his money in the Inge) spice islands;
and, dang it! there's no getting the pepper
out of him; and raps out such naughty im-
mortal 4) words! calls me every thing but a
gentleman.
Sir Arth. Where is your master?
Butter. Oh! snug! he's invisible at the inn,
if you want to see him. [Gate-bell rings.
Sir Arth. Should this be young Revel, their
meeting must be prevented.
Enter RANDAL.
[Looking at his watch] Oh, yes! I am right:
look here, my dear! [Showing his Watch.
Lady Stan. You are wrong: look here, my
dear!
[Producing her Watch.
Sir Arth. I've just set my watch by the sun.
Lady Stan. Then the sun is wrong.
Enter JOHN.
[Exit.
John, look at the turret-clock.
John. It does not go, my lady!
Lady Stan. How provoking!
Sir Arth. My dear love! why give impor-
tance to such an absurd trifle? come, let it rest.
Lady Stan. You'll own then you are wrong?
Sir Arth. No, madam: for, insignificant as
the object is, I cannot purchase even your
smiles at the expense of a deliberate falsehood.
Lady Stan. [Indignantly] Indeed!
Miss Rac. Now, my dear injured friend,
assert your rights, or you are lost: but I must
retire to conceal my tears-I pity you! [Exit.
Lady Stan. Do you think it more becoming
than that I wore yesterday?
Sir Arth. Infinitely!
Ran. Here's Miss Raven, again, sir.
Sir Arth. She seems distressed; I'll change
Sir Arth. More annoyance! well, well; I'll the subject. Really, Harriet, you have arran-
be on the alert, depend on't. Randal, you ged your dress to-day with admirable taste;
must take a note to the inn; this blockhead it is extremely handsome.
may make some blunder: follow me, sir.
Butter. Don't you be cross with me; I is
no but a simple lad, but I has a good heart.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A Pleasure-ground-view of
Conservatory-Lake-Pavilion, etc.
Enter LADY STANMORE and MISS RAVEN.
Miss Rav. Well, my dear, and what were
the effects of my advice?
1) Playing the devil. 2) A child's game. 5) India. 4) Immoral,
Lady Stan. Ah! I know I looked ill yester-
day; but I hoped it might have escaped the
partial eyes of a husband,
Sir Arth. Nay, nay; my affection does not
rest on the foreign aid of ornament, or the
light frivolities of fashion, but on the solid
basis of esteem.
79

626
[Act III.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Lady Stan. When a husband talks of es-me shake off this unworthy weakness,-Yes,
teem, there is an end of love.
I will resist this attack on my happiness, and
Sir Arth. Ha! ha! come, come; you can't assert the honour and rights of the husband.
be serious. Ha! ha!
Attend me to Mr. Revel.
Lady Stan. Do you laugh, Sir? Is the sen-
sibility of my heart an object of mirth?
Sir Arth. No, on my honour!
Lady Stan. Are tears of affection to be
rewarded by smiles of contempt?
[Weeps.
Sir Arth. You mistake,- on my soul you
do! Harriet! dear Harriet!
Enter Servant.
Serv. Mr. and Mrs. Revel are arrived.
Sir Arth. So soon? why, it is not yet-
[About to look at his Watch.
Ran. The old gentleman is coming.
Sir Arth. He desires to be kept apart from
his son. Give me notice if young Revel leave
the house.
[Goes up the stage.
Enter OLD REVEL.
Old Rev. So I must run after you, must I?
Ran. You sent me to inform Sir Arthur,
and accordingly-
Old Rev. I must run after him myself.
Ran. You are pleased to be pleasant, Sir.
Old Rev. No, Sir, I'm never pleased when
Lady Stan. With quickness] What, Sir? I'm pleasant.-You might have the civility to
Sir Arth. Nothing. We'll attend them; offer a seat to an old man. [Randal brings
serve refreshments. [Exit Servant] Come, Ia garden-chair] Phew! and did your master
long to secure you the friendship of my amiable teach you these manners?
Ran. He is here to answer that question
[Sir Arthur advances.
Old Reo. [Remaining seated] Oh! Sir
Arthur Stanmore, I suppose?
sister.
Lady Stan. [Meekly] Excuse me; I am himself.
unfit for company. Say I am ill. Indeed you
may say so with truth.
Sir Arth. [Affectionately] Ill are you?
my heart aches to think so.
Lady Stan. Go and be happy; don't think
of me.
Sir Arth. Not think of you, Harriet? Well,
I'll not control your wishes;-adieu.
[Tenderly kissing her Hand.
Lady Stan. [Snatching it away] And will
you leave me, Sir?
Sir Arth. Why 'sdeath, madam, did not
you desire-
Lady Stan. All company is to be preferred
to mine; ungrateful man!
Sir Arth. I shall go distracted!
[Walks up the Stage.
Lady Stan. Ob, dear! I fear I've gone too
far; I had better make it up; luckily, one
kind look will suffice for that. Sir Arthur,
here's my hand. [Smiling-he joyfully ad-
vances to take it] I forgive-
Sir Arth. [Suddenly stops] Forgive? I've
not the good fortune, madam, to understand.
[Bows.
Sir Arth. At Mr. Revel's service.
Old Rev. You brute, why don't you hand
your master a chair? Be seated, Sir.
Sir Arth. Thank you. [Sits]-[To Randal]
-Go.
[Exit Randal
Old Rev. No ceremony; you are at your
own house, you know.
Sir Arth. I'faith, I began to doubt it! [Aside.
Old Reo. I'm your guest.
Sir Arth. Much flattered,
Old Reo. But no spunger. I've made a large
India fortune;- not by cutting throats;-no,
Sir, I made it in the civil line. [Striking the
ground with his cane] So my reprobate son
has, it seems, married your sister. I say, an
imprudent match, Sir Arthur!
Sir Arth. And I say, I quite agree with
you, Mr. Revel..
Old Rev. [Aside] Agree with me!-rather
taking a liberty at first sight. It was not sanc-
tioned by my consent, sir Arthur.
Sir Arth. Nor by mine, Mr. Revel.
Old Reo. But there's no necessity to fly
Lady Stan. Does he refuse? does he dare into a passion, Sir Arthur.
-? Oh, lud! what shall I do now?-I must Sir Arth. None in the least, Mr. Revel.
find Miss Raven. Sir Arthur, you shall se- Old Rev. A terrible hot-headed fellow, I
verely repent this.
[Exit. see; I must smooth him down. I believe,
Sir Arth. Phew! I'm in a high fever! So, Sir Arthur, you have got into the same scrape.
so; all's over! prospects of increasing love, Sir Arth. [Sighing] I am married, Sir.
of domestic joy fled; gone for ever. Old Rev. Aye, you look so; the old luck,
[Wipes his eyes] How lovely she looked, even I suppose ;-as maidens, fluttering their pinions
in her anger!-she's very young. I might like doves; married, flapping away like dra-
have taken her hand; I wish I had. I'll fol-gons. I've had experience-been married twice;
low her, and-what! record myself a doting my first wife hated and obeyed me-the se-
driveller? ask to become her slave?
cond adored and thumped me.
Enter RANDAL.
[Indignantly.
Ran. Mr. Revel, senior, is arrived.
Sir Arth. But to what may I owe the ho-
nour of your present visit?
Old Rev. Don't you know? How should
you? I'll tell you. I wish to be convinced
Sir Arth. Pshaw! intruded on at this mo- of the extent of Ned's extravagance, before I
ment, when my mind is agonized!
Ran. I hope I am not to blame, Sir?
Sir Arth. No, good fellow! I am to blame:
but Lady Stanmore's behaviour.-Ah, Randal!
what will remove this misery from my heart?
discharge his debts; I mean, before I disin-
herit the villain. I suppose you have shut
your door against the poor fellow.
Sir Arth. He is now in my house.
Old Rev. What, my Ned here? [Joyfully
Ran. Your old receipt, Sir; removing mi--then relapsing into anger] I should like
sery from the hearts of others.
to see him just for the pleasure of knocking
Sir Arth. You are right, old Honesty! Let him down.

ACT III. SCENE 1.]
627
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Lady Stan. Hear me, Sir Arthur.
Sir Arth. Certainly, my angel. I am a
Sir Arth. One word. The happiness of an
amiable and beloved sister gives me a strong
interest in your son's social and moral con- lucky fellow, Mr. Revel.
duct. To-day he gives a splendid entertain-
ment. Suppose you are introduced as my
friend; you may then estimate the extent of per sense of obedience.
his prodigal expenditure without being known.
Old Rev. An excellent thought!
[Shaking him heartily by the hand.
Lady Stan. I hope I have acquired a pro-
Sir Arth. A proper sense of your own
happiness, Harriet; don't talk of obedience.
Lady Stan. 'Tis my duty, Sir.
Sir Arth. Your long residence abroad will
prevent your person being recognised.
Sir Arth. Duty!-nay, you'll distress me
Old Rev. What, you think I may be a I don't require duty; I wish my wife to be
little altered? Why, I've only been in India my equal-my monitress-the partner of my
nineteen years and a half. Bless me-what heart, and all its interests: no more of duty.
altered-eh?
Lady Stan. I am sorry that an entire sub-
mission to your will won't satisfy you. [To
Old Revel] What can I do more?
Old Rev. In the same submissive Tone]Aye,
what can she do more?
Sir Arth. I think it possible.
Old Rev. Indeed! And is this my reward
for baking my brains under a vertical sun-
for bearing stings of conscience and musqui-
toes, and changing into the yellow leaf the
roses and lilies that bloomed on these cheeks?
Sir Arth. If any effort of mine can assist
you in producing reformation-
Old Rev. And would you help
to-to save the poor devil?
bless you!
Sir Arth. And I am sure his wife
Old Rev. Don't she hate Ned?
Sir Arth. Sincerely loves him.
Sir Arth. [Rather irritated] Sir, your kind
interference is, I dare say, well meant, but
not required. Harriet, you won't understand me.
Lady Stan. 'Tis my misfortune that my un-
me to-try derstanding is so weak: in future, I'll not
Bless you! pretend to judge at all.
[Affected.
would join.
Old Rev. There! Surely that humiliation-
Sir Arth. Sir, I don't require humiliation.
[With quickness
Old Rev. Don't be too tyrannical!
Old Rev. Bless her! bless her! I'm an old Sir Arth. Tyrannical-ha! ha! Absurd. Sir,
fool, Sir Arthur; but he's my flesh and blood, I defy you or any man to prove-I tyranni-
-and without him, you see, I have not much cal? truly ridiculous! -ha! ha! Is it not,
of those articles left. [Showing hiss pare Fi-Harriet?
gure] I dare say now the profligate has got
a dozen or twenty people to entertain.
Sir Arth. The whole county, Sir.
Lady Stan. Very, Sir. May I laugh?
Sir Arth. May you laugh? Why, 'sdeath,
madam!
Lady Stan. You've dropt your handkerchief,
husband!
[Presents it.
Old Reo. There's a lovely hand, to strew
the path of life with flowers! Oh, you happy
fellow! Come, let's away!
Old Rev. The what? Let me have only one
blow at him; but alas, the expense is incurred,
-the feast prepared,-so my killing him be-
fore dinner would not save much, I suppose?
-Eh, who comes here?
Sir Arth. 'Sdeath, how mal-apropos ! 'Tis Lady Stan. Sir-Sir! May I follow you,
Lady Stanmore, Sir.
v
Sir?
Old Rev. Your wife!-egad you're a judge. Sir Arth. May you follow? Now that is
Happy fellow! for if ever Nature stamped the so provoking, Harriet! you know I am only
impress of an angelic temper and cheerful happy when you are by my side.
obedience on that lovely form the seal was Lady Stan. Which side, Sir?
placed. [Striking his stick on the ground. Sir Arth. Plagues!-torments!
Sir Arth. [Embarrassed] I feel highly flat-
tered-much gratified,
Enter LADY STANMORE.
Lady Stan. I've got such a nice lesson from
Miss Raven! [Aside]-Sir Arthur, when I
reflect on what has passed,-
[With affected Meekness.
Sir Arth. Madam, the presence of a stranger
Lady Stan. I hope a friend-Mr. Revel, I
believe. [Presenting her Hand, which old
Revel kisses.
Old Rev. Charming creature! what a mur-
muring zephyr-like tone! You're a lucky dog,
[To Sir Arthur.
Lady Stan. And I wish that friend to wit-
ness my contrition; and, I hope, your indul-
gent forgiveness,-
Sir Arth. Forgiveness?
[Walks about agitated.
Old Rev. Oh fie, Sir Arthur.
Lady Stan. What can I do more?
Old Rev. Very true-what can she do more?
Sir Arth. Oh! I shall choke.
[Rushes out-they follow.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-An Apartment draped with Silk
Hangings, forming an elegant Tent; light-
ed and decorated.-The back of the Tent
to be open, and displaying an illumina-
ted Temple Cascade, and Grove.-Music.
-Servants in handsome Liveries pass
bearing Refreshments.
Enter DEXTER.
Dex. More ices and champagne! Egad,
these amphibious country squires should have
[With joyful Surprise. gills, for they drink like fishes! [to Servant]
Lady Stan. While I express my sorrow. what have you there? [Passing the Bottle
Sir Arth. Sorrow? banish that feeling for under his Nose]-the elegant aroma of Bur-
ever from that dear bosom? I fear I was too gundy. No. 1; Carry that to my party: the
harsh; how could I refuse this hand? first wines to the second table-that's the rule,
[Taking it tenderly. my fine fellow! [Exit Servant] - Now, to

628
[ACT III.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
get that young farmer, that Frank Ryeland, Lady Stanmore's behaviour to me I might
into my power: his intoxication is achieved; forgive; but rudeness to you! a marked ne-
and if I can tempt him to throw a merry-glect-
main ¹)-no wedding for you, Miss Fanny. Mrs. Reo. I own I regret my inability to
Is not that she? and with her my graceless conciliate Lady Stanmore's friendship; but the
lord and master? I must instantly stop these fault may be mine.
profligate proceedings. What impertinence, Sir Arth. No, excellent Constance! How
to dare to interfere with my pleasures! [Exit. her eyes sparkled at the admiration she ex-
cited!
Enter BUTTERCUP tipsy, singing. Mrs. Rev. So did yours, brother!
"Father, I am your bonny boy,
Str Arth. Did they?-a husband's admira-
And stealing corn is all my joy."-[Hiccups, tion should have satisfied her. Then her af-
Ecod, I feel so agreeable and so vicious, I fected and provoking care of my health-
could love any body, or fight any body.
Well, after all, 'tis very pleasant to be quite
comfortable; at least, that's my sentiment.
Dex. [Without] More ice-ice, I say!
Butter. Ice!-aye that's what makes this
place so mortal slippery.
Enter YOUNG REVEL.-[BUTTERCUP runs
against him,]
Y. Rev. How came you in this apartment,
fellow?
Butter. In rather a roundabout way.
Y. Rev. Who are you?
Butter. Why, if you'll stand still, and not
keep twirling round and round-I'll tell you:
I'm Bobby Buttercup, a Sober pastoral swain
from the Cornish tin mines, and vallaty sham 1)
to your ancient, venerable paternal father, old
Mr. Revel, the elder, senior.
Y. Rev. Zounds-My father! what here?
Butter. No-there.
Y. Rev. What a critical discovery! so the
old boy came incog?
Butter. No, he came in a coach.
"Don't eat that, Sir Arthur! you know the
least acidity destroys you;" "Shut down that
window;" or, "My dear man will have his
rheumatism again." Then the whisper went
round-"Amiable creature! she don't wish
her quiz of a husband to die."-I begin to
think they are mistaken.
Y. Rev. [Without] Ha! ha! Bravo! bravo!
Sir Arth. Aye! there's your precious mate.
Mrs. Rev. 'Tis the hour of festivity.
Sir Arth. Of brutal intemperance!
Mrs. Rev. Surely my husband's hospitality
cannot displease.
Sir Arth. Hospitality? a rank libel, madam,
on that noble English word:-"its characters
are regulated liberality, not undistinguished
profusion; innocent cheerfulness, not licen-
tious riot; virtuous encouragement! not pro-
fligate example." Look into that room, and
see the tenantry, madly intoxicated with fo-
reign wines, insulting their superiors: the next
apartment presents a scene that wrings my
heart. I there saw a young farmer, Frank
Ryeland, the worthy son of a worthy widow,
Y. Rev. I've hit my man! With Sir Arthur in a state of frenzy at dice, with a heap of
Stanmore? O
Butter. Baronet.
Y. Reo. Your worthy master is a starch,
strait, thin, gray-?
Butter. As a badger.
Y. Reo. And so I was not to be let into
the joke?-Ha, ha!
Butter. No, that was the fun on't.-He! he!
Y. Rev. My sober, sensible little fellow,
your discretion I value-
Buiter. At how much?
[Holding out his hand.
Y. Rev. Oh! there. [Gives money] Reckon
on my gratitude.
Butter. I will; one, two, three.
Y. Reo. [Heroically] Now to find a father
by the infallible attraction of all-powerful in-
stinct. Ha! ha! ilere's company away to the
butler's room! you must be thirsty.
Butter. I am-parched.
gold before him: win or lose, 'tis equal ruin.
Poor fellow! bitter will be his repentance!
Mrs. Rev. How can you prevent?
Sir Arth. How can I remain a tame spec-
tator? What excuse can I offer, as a ma-
gistrate, for not giving the vice of gaming
its due castigation, when the laws have pro-
vided houses of correction for the express
purpose?
Enter OLD REVEL, unobserved.
Old Rev. Phew! the Black Hole's an ice-
house to this. Oh for a Punka to fan and
cool me! There's his wife! a precious pair,
no doubt!eres his wi
[Listens.
Mrs. Rev. I own my husband's conduct is
unthinking.
Sir Arth. Unthinking was his marked at-
tention to that young creature, Fanny Bloomly?
Mrs. Rev. Oh! spare me!
Y. Rev. That's a dangerous symptom; so Sir Arth. Was that unthinkingness? was it
drink, and be careful of your health, Bobby! not a deliberate plan of poisonous flattery
and now my old dad, you shall pay for peeping! and base seduction?- and I must add, Con-
[Exit. stance! your insensibility-
broke!
Butter. Thirst is a shocking disease, and Mrs. Rev. Insensibility! [Bursting into an
makes the tongue stick so, one can't pronounce Agony of Tears] Oh, brother, my heart is
legibly. I've been too abstemious. I'll reform
that error forthwith, and drink till I
get rid
of this dizziness. How bad my head is! but
has, a good heart.
[Exit, reeling.
[Apart.
Old Rev. And so is mine!
Mrs. Reo. You have wrung from me
confession I hoped to have confined a sad
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE and MRS. inmate in this wretched bosom.
REVEL.
Sir Arth. I never will pardon it! never!
1) To play at dice.
2) Valet de chambre.
Sir Arth. Why suffer thus? leave the pro-
digal to his fate.
Mrs. Rev. [Firmly] Leave my husband?

SCENE 1.]
629
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
leave that that man whom I have sworn for Y. Rev. Oh, no! for he is affluent--sensible
my life and with my life to cherish?-Never! -handsome--generous!
Old Rev. [Rushing forward and em-
bracing her she alarmed] Bless you! bless
you!
Sir Arth. His father.
Old Rev. Your father-your adorer-your
guardian angel.
Sir Arth. But a due regard to your own
interest-
Mrs. Rev. I despise that wretched deity of
man's worship. Shall I on its grovelling al-
tar sacrifice my own estimation and my so-
lemn vows to heaven? I may become the
victim of selfishness, but I scorn to be its
votary.
Old Rev. Charming!
Sir Arth. Such treason to love!
I
Old Rev. [Aside] He's my own boy,
Y. Reo. Ah, Sir! why do I press this hand
with filial fondness? why hang upon your
neck with infant tenderness? can you tell me?
Old Rev. [Fondly] I can tell you.
Y. Reo. Why do I fancy I behold that
father?
Old Reo. Because you do behold that father!
[They embrace] Infallible instinct!
Y. Rev. Triumphant nature!
Old Rev, Divine inspiration!
Y. Rev. [Aside] Ha! ha! Tolerably acted,
flatter myself,
Old Rev. Why the dog's grinning! Phew!
If the rascal knew me-if he has been cajol-
ing! Tigers and crocodiles! I fume enough
Mrs. Rev. Oh! I hate the treason; but then to turn a steam-engine; am hot enough to
I love the traitor.
括
​Old Rev. She loves the traitor!
Sir Arth. But what can you hope?
Old Rev. Ah! true, what can you hope?
Mrs. Rev. To reclaim him.
Old Rev. She says to reclaim him.
Sir Arth. By what magical agency?
Old Rev. Aye, by what magical-
Mrs. Rev. By the natural magic of good
humour.
Old Rev. That's the true way; good hu-
mour is my system.
Sir Arth. It will fail.
Old Rev. [Sharply] How do you know it
will fail?-a hot-headed impatient-take a
lesson here, Sir Arthur! [Pointing to Mrs.
Revel] There's a smile! I'll forgive him-I
will-I'll pay his debts-I'll-
Mrs. Rev. Pardon me, sir, that must not
be. The sooner he feels the bitterness of ad-
versity, the sooner will my hopes of happiness
be realized; his fault is improvidence, not
prodigality.
explode a detonator!
Y. Reo. My father! I hope this meeting will
repay [Aside] all I owe. And how is your
health, Sir?
Old Rev. Sadly pinched by this climate,
Ned! and I've the tic-douloureux so bad in
my right-hand, I don't think I could manage
to sign a draft.
Y. Rev. My dear sir, exercise your hand,
by all means.
Old Rev. No, I believe 'tis safer to be close-
fisted, Ned!
Y. Rev. But, my dear dad! why not enjoy
life like me, and with me? what pleasure in
amassing gold?
Old Rev. Not much, I own.
[Aside.
Y. Rev. Consider you have not long to live,
my dear father!
Old Rev. Kind monitor!
Y. Rev. Then enjoy while you may. Vive
l'esprit! Vive Londres! That is the city of
enchantment-the spirits elastic-the wit elec-
tric-the taste refined-the senses in ecstasy.
Sir Arth. Hush! he comes! let us away. Old Rev. By Jove, Ned! your painting is
Mrs. Rev. Remember-good humour- so seducing, your colouring so brilliant, that
Old Rev. To be sure-as if there was any I could almost find in my heart to-[Aside]
merit in that!
[Exeunt Sir Arthur and Mrs. Revel.
Enter YOUNG REVEL.
Y. Rec. He don't know me,-Now for the
effect of instinct!
Old Rev. Now to carry my point.
[They bow ceremoniously.
Now to carry my plan into execution. Sup-
pose-he! he!-I shall make myself confound-
edly ridiculous-but no matter-'tis to save
an only son. Here goes! [To him] You dog,
you've inspired me-fired me-
Y. Rec. Bravo!
Old Rev. I'll no longer be an old moiling
Y. Rev. Delightful!
Y Rev. A friend of Sir Arthur Stanmore-mopus-all morals and mumps.
Old Rev. Who has been delighted and
dazzled with the splendid hospitality of the
fortunate Mr. Revel.
Y. Rev. Fortunate? Ah, Sir, trust not to
appearances!
Old Rev. [Aside] I won't.
Y. Rev. How oft, under the semblance of
wreathed smiles, is concealed a tortured heart!
Heigho! Pardon the freedom I take, but I
feel a sort of magnetic attraction-an irresis-
tible impulse to impart-
Old Rev. Poor fellow! Unbosom your griefs:
here's a living echo, [Striking his Breast]
that will return sigh for sigh, and groan for
groan.
Old Rev. No, Vive la folie! is my motto.
So now for fun and revelry-luxurious feast,
and generous wine. Ecod. I'll have a skin-
full! [Aside] for the proverb says, as the
house is on fire, one may as well warm one-
self. So have with you, Ned!
Y. Rev. Allons, father!
Old Rev. Father? no, bacchanalian brothers
dashing dogs-graceless gallants Viva
Baccho!
[Exeunt singing
SCENE II.-A Gala Apartment.
Enter LADY STANMORE.
Y. Rev. Know then, interesting stranger! I Heigho! I'm very miserable. Is it not heart-
have a father alive.
breaking tu see a circle of elegant young
Old Reo. And that makes you miserable. men offering their homage, and my own hus-
Unnatural scoundrel!
[Aside. band to presume to frown, and absolutely

630
[ACT III.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
leave the room, at the crisis of my triumph? |
Miss Raven says, I must threaten to leave him
-insist on parchments-separate maintenance;
but I flatter myself I can conquer without
opposing such desperate weapons. He's here.
mer days
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE.
So, Sir Arthur!
Sir Arth. So, Lady Stanmore!
Lady Stan. How could you leave me to be
suffocated by the oppressing attentions of the
men?
Sir Arth. They seemed very distressing,
indeed!
Lady Stan. You could not persuade the
assembly to follow your example, and bow to
the shrine of Mrs. Revel.
Sir Arth. Madam! my attentions to my
sister were occasioned by an endeavour to
atone for your indelicate rudeness.
Lady Stan. I owe her no homage.
Sero. Your commands, sir?
Sir Arth. [After a struggle] Home!
[Exit.-Servant following.
Lady Stan. I'm petrified!-Gone!-Am I
awake? Yes, to vexation; to misery! What
have I done? what shall I do? Cruel tyrant!
[Weeps.
Entor MRS. REVEL.
Mrs. Rev. Lady Stanmore in tears! Pardon
me, you must allow me to offer my atten-
tions. [Taking her Hand] Nay, nay, I won't
be shook off. As your hostess, your relation,
as one who wishes to love you,-receive me
in your heart.
Lady Stan. Your words are kind-
Mrs. Rev. Do not trust them; prove their
Do not
truth.
Lady Stan. I fear-
Mrs. Rev. My sincerity? eer
Lady Stan. My own unworthiness.
Sir Arth. She requires none: she seeks your
Mrs. Rev. Hear me, Lady Stanmore! I can
friendship -she asks a sister's love. Come, feel as keenly as another the wrongs the heart
Harriet, go to her-say you are sorry for the of woman is doomed to suffer; but I do not
uneasiness I am sure you have caused. weep, for I am too proud to accept a hus-
Lady Stan. I ask her pardon? Insufferable band's pity. I do not coquette, for I am too
idea! Now I'll strike him into marble. Sir cunning to afford him the least hope of ex-
Arthur, after what has passed, I must inform cuse by recrimination. I do not scold or
you there is a subject which, though you can- storm; for, dearly as I prize his love, I own
not have even thought of, I have parting, I am vain enough to value more my own
[Emphatically. estimation.
sir!
Sir Arth. I beg your pardon, madam! I Lady Stan. But [forcing a laugh] I vow
have thought of it very seriously.
I quite forgot: your kind advice is superflu-
Lady Stan. Indeed! I'm glad to hear it-ous: we are going to part.
very glad. Dear me! the room is so oppres- Mrs. Rev. Part?
sive! will you have the humanity to unclasp
my necklace?
Sir Arth. [Greatly moved] C-c-cer-cer-
C-c-cer-cer-
tainly.
Lady Stan. Thank you, sir.
Lady Stan. Dear me, what alarms you?
What can be more common?
Mrs. Rev. The frequency of the occurrence
is a poor voucher for its propriety. Can you
expose your fair fame to encounter the hor-
Sir Arth. [Agitated] You are very wel-rid insinuations of the licentious, the smile of
come, Harriet. Madam, perhaps the air may the envious, and the pity of the prude?
revive; lean on my arm. [She places her Lady Stan. [Greatly moved] Such pictures
Arm in his: he seems inclined to press it, are shocking.
but forbears] Are you better, Harriet?te
Lady Stan. Somewhat: rather cold. [Folds
his arm round her; she smiles triumphantly.
Sir Arth. Cold? you are indeed! we had
better go home.
Lady Stan. Oh, no: I promised to return
to the dance. Shall we astonish the natives,
by waltzing together? and en
Sir Arth. You know I never waltz; besides,
'tis late, and I've ordered the carriage.
Lady Stan. [Suddenly leaving his Arm]
What then, sir? But 'tis no matter, as we
are to part, the present time will do as well
as any other.
Mrs. Reo. Very; but if like, what are they
who sit for those pictures? not associates for
my innocent, but mistaken friend. We are
interrupted: retire to my boudoir, and I'll in-
terpose my good offices with Sir Arthur.
Lady Stan. No, no! I'll leave him, and
never see human being more. [Exit.
Mrs. Rev. Here's my eccentric father-in-
law. How whimsical his conduct! he pro-
mised to explain.
Enter OLD REVEL.
Old Rev. Keep it up! keep it up! [In an
exhausted voice, and leaning against the
Sir Arth. [Indignantly aside] Parting again! pilaster] Keep it up! I'll show your husband
Lady Stan. Will you come? if not, good what it is to be jolly, and prodigal, and idle:
bye.-
devilish hard work though!
how man
Enter Servant.
Serv. The carriage is ready, sir.
[Smiling.
Mrs. Rev. I guess your scheme, my dear
sir! it is new and admirable.
Old Rev. But, like some other new schemes,
Sir Arth. [Irresolute] Not quite ready, is it? rather difficult to execute.
Sero. Yes, sir..
Mrs. Rev. I'll risk my life on its success.
Sir Arth. He says 'tis quite ready.
Old Rev. No, my dear! 'tis I shall risk my
Lady Stan. I hear! Well, sir! am I to be life; but I'll never say die. Keep it up! What
honoured with your hand? [Exultingly. a scene of profligacy! This house was lost
Hesitating. and won a dozen times; forests were laid
Lady Stan. [Sarcastically] Don't keep both low, and flourished again; and on a single
me and the horses in the cold.
throw was staked the happiness of a respect-
Sir Arth. Eh? o al

SCENE III.]
631
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
able tenantry
whom deuce or ace would Enter FRANK RYELAND pale and disordered,
have consigned to the gripe of a scoundrel:
looks about with caution.
then, out-topping their betters, the second table So I've ventured home. I've heard that guilt
out-heroded the first: for there I detected that makes men cowards; it has made me bold,
rascal Dexter ruining a young farmer with or how dare I meet a mother's frown, or,
false dice. I'll have both in my power; both what is worse, her tears? What can I say?
shall be punished.
What excuse? excuse! no-no, the truth,
terrible as it is; the truth! she's here.
Mrs. Rev. And that young innocent-
Old Rev. What, the lovely Fanny? have
her snug under my wing [Nods and winks]:
let fly one of my assassinating glances. I mean
to-ha! ha! I won't tell you what I mean-
ha! ha!
[Sinks into a Chair, and breathes with
difficulty.
Enter DAME RYELAND.
Dame. Why, you sad rake, an't you ash-
father?-amed of yourself?"
amed of yourself? [Snatching his Hat play-
fully] Well, I suppose you had brave merry
doings?
Y. Rev. [Without] Where's my father?-
where's the jolly old boy?
Old Reo. I'm with you, Ned! A jackanapes,
to dare to match himself against me in the
race of folly! I'll show him who has the foot
[Hobbling-I'll double-distance the cock-tail
rascal-so clear the course, for here I start,
helter skelter. Be sure you back me up. [Put-
ting both Hands to to his Loins]-Ugh!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A parlour of DAME RYELAND'S.
B04, as 610
Enter DAME RYELAND, her Dress changed
from her Widow's Weeds. HANNAH fol-
lowing, with a small Basket containing
Bride-favours.
Frank. [With a Smile of Anguish] Very.
Dame. How pale you are, you young
scape-grace!
Frank. Am I?
Dame. [Who has heen arranging a Fa-
vour in his Hat] But I'll make the colour
come into your cheeks. Look here!
Frank. What's that?
[Starts up.
Dame. The church bells will soon tell
what it is.
Frank. Oh, oh!
[Sobs convulsively.
Dame. Frank, my child! are you ill? Frank
Ryeland, I say, speak!
Frank. [Falling on his knees] I am a
villain!
Dame. Now Hannah, give me the bride Dame. No, 'tis impossible; I'll not believe
favours-there's one for you: this I'll pin here: it. What has happened? tell me, I command
no, no, I'll surprise Frank: he does not know you; tell me, dear Frank! while I have
that to-day he's to become a bridegroom. But strength and sense.
how late he stays! the sun up, and not come Frank. [Rises] I will. At the Hall Fanny
was parted from me, and seated next to that
Han. La, missus! how glad I be you are steward-that Dexter! Oh, mother! his looks,
out of your dismal weeds ¹)! I vow you looks his words, tore my heart to pieces; and Í
so young and gaysome, I should not wonder thought (I hope I was mistaken) Fanny seemed
to see you a bride yourself.
pleased by his attention.
home!
Dame. [With severity] Hannah! has my
conduct as a mistress, or a mother, authorised
that insult?
Dame. Oh, vanity-vanity!
Frank. He challenged me to drink bumpers:
had they been poison, I would have swallowed
them; I could not eat; and the strange wines
overturned my poor brain: at last dice were
brought in: I was terrified, but they laughed
at me-sneered-insulted - dared me--I gained
-I lost.
Dame. [Faintly] Had you the money with
you that was to pay the-
Frank. I had.
Dame. And the rent?
Frank. And the rent.
Dame. Did you lose all?
Frank. [Scarcely articulate] All!
Dame. Poor fellow! poor fellow!-come,
come to thy fond mother's heart.
Han. Insult! what harm?
Dame. What harm, girl?
Han. I'm sure I would not scold any body
for saying I was likely to be a bride. [Sobbing.
Dame. Well, don't cry, Hannah! you
meant no harm; go take the bride-cake to
the oven, and run to the garden for the po-
sies; come, be alive, girl! [Exit Hannah]
So the day is come at last,-the happy day
that returns to my neighbours their just and
full demands, and gives to my dear boy the
girl of his heart. How his eyes will sparkle
when he sees this! [Displays a Favour]
But where is he? Sure no accident has hap-
pened! he has not fallen into danger, or bad
company! [Weeps] Had any one told me I
should have shed any tears, but those of joy
to-day-but I will not. No-no, the road is Dame. Hate thee? Frank, listen to me;-
safe, and my boy that travels it is prudent obediently, calmly listen. [With Serenity]
and virtuous. Weep, indeed! [Sings a few The only atonement we can make to Provi-
notes of "Haste to the wedding, my friends!" dence, for offending against its laws, is a pa-
etc. then relapses into tears] But where can tient submission to the punishment our mis-
he be? Ah, bless him, here he comes! Han- deeds have brought upon us. This house and
nah! go and order the bells to be set ringing, what it contains is no longer ours. Ah! in
and send for the bride. Dear'ee me, I shall that church-yard I hoped to lay my aged
go out of my poor wits! Envy me, mothers! bones in peace and respect. Farewell home!
[Exit with basket of favours. farewell to the grave of my husband! Come,
my dear!
envy me!
1) A widow's mourning-dress is called her weeds.
Frank. Starting from her] No, no: scold
me, mother, if you have any pity; scold,
spurn, hate-

632
[ACT IV.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Frank. Where? [4 knocking] Hush! some Old Rev. Very humble ones, I own; only
of the creditors.
[Agitated. the claims of a father.
Dame. Well, Frank, we must face them.
Admit them directly; they have waited long
and patiently.
[Frank exit, returns with a Letter.
Frank. [Giving the letter] From Old Mr.
Revel.
Butter. Ha, ha! Only his father;-that's all.
Dex. [Alarmed,, and wiping his Fore-
head] The old nabob, by all that's sudorific!
[Advances with Humility.
Butter. I say, Sir, we have taken the stiff-
ness out of his back, however.
Dame. To me? I don't know the gentle- Dex. What blindness! but that my facul--
man. Bless me, I'm in such a twitter! [Reads] ties were absorbed in your amiable son's in-
"The punishment that awaits a wicked and terests, the likeness must have struck me. The
profligate son"-I can read no more.
piercing eye, the commanding front, the fas-
cinating smile, the condescending bow; and
[seeing Buttercup] this interesting youth-
Butter. I'm his humble servant, that's all.
-
Frank. [Taking the Letter] Let me think
-try to recall last night,-last fatal night.
Did he not interpose?-speak of foul play?-
brain! brain! all is confusion-madness,
What's this? "Let your son not fail to at-
tend me; perhaps a mother's credit may be
saved." Ah! don't despond; perhaps I may
obtain a loan of the money.
Dame. [Looking up] Indeed.
[Conceitedly.
Dex. Then, Sir, I'm your humble servant.
Permit the privilege. [Offering Snuff.
Butter. Sir, to oblige you.
Dex. What an interesting figure!
Butter. And I has a good heart.
Old Rev. Now for my plan. You are my
Dex. Proud, if so estimated by his respected
Frank. I hope I can. [She smiles] I'm
sure I can. Ah, she revives! now misery son's faithful confidant!
gnaw my heart, and welcome. "A mother's
credit saved!" [Kisses the Letter] Blessed sire.
hope!-cheerly, cheerly!-all may yet be well.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I-A Saloon at YOUNG REVEL's, de-
corated with flowers.-An open Viranda.
-A marine View in the distance.
Enter OLD REVEL and BUTTERCUP.
Old Rev. How reviving is the breath of the
morning! After night's feverish orgies, nature
exhales her freshest odours, and bestows on
unthankful man her animating blessings.
Butter. Now I finds it mortal raw and
chilly, and should like to mix nature's odours
with a drop of brandy.
Old Rev. Drunkard! to lose your senses-
Butter. Ah, worse than that! I lost nine
halfcrowns at putt. ¹)
Dex. [Without Where are you all? Jo-
nathan! Peter!
Old Rev. Here's my son's crafty confidant;
a precious pair!-like master, like man.
Butter. Yes, that's what every body says of
us two.
Old Rec. Then I'll tell you, Sir; last night's
scene disgusted. What a mean, demi-for-
tune set out! Pah! Where was the orchestra;
the corps de ballet; the fire-works? Here's no
style; no train of servants! Oh, I must legis-
late here, and with such an executive as Mr.
Dexter-[Dexter bows] May I ask the a-
mount of your stipend?
Dex. I serve from attachment: four hundred
a-year.
Old Rev. Infamous! I discharge you from
my son's service.
Dex. [Alarmed] Sir!
Old R. And install in mine at a thousand.
Dex. [Elated] I'll serve you with the fi-
delity-
Old Rev. You serve my son: nothing can
be more satisfactory.
Butter. A thousand! oh, oh, then my nine
pounds a-year shall be made guineas.
Old Reo. And, Dexter, take this raw ma-
terial, [pointing to Buttercup] and manu-
facture him into something human and useable.
Dex. Fear not. [Eyeing him] There are
capabilities. By the aid of tailors-
Butter. Sir, you talked of having this coat
Enter DEXTER and JONATHAN.
turned!
[Aside.
Dex. Breakfast immediately! Any thing Old R. Silence, mognrel! But are we not
simple, for I feel rather damaged. A grilled to have a fête champêtre and regatta? [Dex-
woodcock; kipper salmon; eggs; café au lait; ter bows] Bravo! that for expense!
Leman's rusks; Sauterne and Noyau: nothing
more! [Exit Jonathan] Eh, who are these
people? [Eyeing them with his glass] Last
night I saw that old quiz. Ha, ha! A Bir-
mingham copy of the Anatomie Vivant2).
Your business, Sir?
Old Rev. Is with your master, Sir.
Dex. [Aside] The true croak of a creditor.
You can't see him; he's asleep.
Old Rev. I must talk to him.
Dex. He don't talk in his sleep. What are
your claims?
1) A vulgar game of cards.
2) The Anatomie Vivant, from France, is still to be seen
in London, presenting one of the most horrible spec-
tacles that can be imagined, a human being, alive, and
nothing but skin and bone A Brummagem (Birmingham)
shilling is a counterfeit one.
[Snapping his Fingers.
Dex. Your son's prime yacht will carry the
prize triumphant.
Old Rev. [Apart] Not if I can help it.
Dex. [To Buttercup] Come, cousin!o
[Exit Dex.
Butter. [To Old Rev.] La! I declare he's
cozening me 1).
Old Rev. Trying at it, no doubt! stick to
him, honest Bob!
Butter. I will, for he has a good heart.
[Exit Butt.
Enter MRS. REVEL.
Old Rev. Oh, my dear daughter! I can't
stand it: this asthma-this sciatica-
1) Cousin and cozen are pronounced in the same way;
their different meanings produce the pun only in reading.

SCENE 1.]
633
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Mrs. Rev. Courage, my dear Sir!
but a few hours.
persevere
Old Rev. A few hours? I'll live fifty years
to spite him: I'll sip panada: I'll munch wa-
ter-cresses: I'll rise with the lark, fly up with
the hens: [Coughs] I'll smoke stramonium ¹).
Y. Rev. What a treasure have I in such a
parent! let me be grateful for it.
[Goes up to Table, and sits.
Enter FRANK RYELAND.
Frank. I ask pardon, sir, for thus intru-
A father may submit to play the fool for a ding; but authorized by this letter-
day, if it prevent his son from doing so all Y. Rev. From my father. He has requested
his life. Here comes Ned, jaded and blue-me to talk with you: don't agitate yourself,
devilled; and yet that head-ache cost the fool but proceed, young man!
a thousand pounds.
Enter YOUNG REVEL in an elegant Morn-
ing-dress.
Frank. The large sum I last night lost by
gaming, was the product of a year's anxious
toil, and devoted to the payment of my fa-
ther's debts.
Y. Rev. Very wrong to risk so sacred a fund!
Frank. True, sir, but I was intoxicated.
Y. Rev. A poor excuse!
Y. Rev. [Reading newspaper] County ball
-music meeting-hounds thrown off-the old,
dull, miserable routine! I've dosed myself with
every stimulant the dispensatory of dissipation Frank. I own an aggravation. This letter
prescribes; tried the joys of the table-nausea gives me hopes that a mother's credit-nay,
and plethora - handled the four-in-hand rib- her life, may be preserved by-by-you best
bons, and got damaged by a dislocation: next, know your benevolent intentions. [Bowing.
gaming; played up to my knees in cards; Y. Rev. Why, I may be induced to ad-
waded out of them to shoot the scoundrel vance the sum, large as it is.
that cheated me: but courage! the arrival of Frank. [With fervour] If the blessings of
my old dad may vivify, and, like the electric a wretched, but grateful heart-if the unceas-
shock-
ing labour of these hands-if a life of obe-
dience and devotion to your will-
Old Rev. [Slapping him violently on the
Back] Ned, my boy! what moralising, while
your wife is arranging a public breakfast to
add splendour to your regatta?
Y. Rev. I shall require no obedience, which
has not your interest for its object; for in-
stance, embarrassed as your circumstances are,
prudence would not justify your thinking of
Y. Rev. What! you, Constance! you?
Mrs. Reo. Yes, I! I! Are you displeased as marriage.
well as surprised?
Y. Rev. Delighted! charmed!
Enter JONATHAN.
Jon. [To Old Revel apart] Young Farmer
Ryeland says he comes by your appointment.
[Exit Jonathan.
Old Rev. I know. [He motions Mrs. Revel
to leave the Room. She kisses her Hand to
him, and exit] Ned! send your wife away.
Y. Rev. She's gone, Sir.
Old Rev. That's lucky. I say, Fanny Bloomly
-sly rogue!-I saw you-pugh!-all's right-
snug: blushing-tempting little rose-bud. Her
lout of a lover's here. He must not wear such
a gem.
Y. Rev. Oh no, it would be gilding a hob-
nail.
Old Rev. Setting a diamond in pewter.
Y. Rev. Last night Dexter cleaned him out.
Old Rev. I know; capital fellow that Dexter!
Y. Rev. Invaluable!
Frank. [Starting] Prudence would not
justify it!
[Sighs.
Y. Rev. And as your landlord and creditor,
you would, perhaps, consider my approbation
necessary before you formed an alliance?
Frank. [Bowing] I certainly should think
it my duty to ask it.
Y. Rev. Very sensible and prudent! then
we'll just say so on paper.
Frank. [Alarmed] Do you require me to
sign?
Y. Rev. I think it will be more satisfactory.
[Writes.
Frank. What! abandon my heart's dearest
hope? resign my love, my bride? 'tis a bitter
moment!
Y.Reo. Sorry to hasten your determination,
but the day wears.
Frank. True: and the creditors may have
met. Dear mother! [Firmly] Sir, I am ready.
[Writes,-delivers the Paper to Young
Revel.
Old Rev. Young Clod wants to borrow the Y. Rev. [Reading] "Resign all claims-so-
money he lost to pay his dead father's debts lemnly promising-without consent of"-very
-more fool he, I say: ha, ha! you shall lend well-there's the money. [Gives a pocket-
it him-there it is-[giving Pocket-book] on book, which Frank presses to his heart]
condition he gives up the girl. Eh, don't you Good morning.
see?
Y. Rev. Ah, sir, you have a tact!
Old Rev. Yes, I've had practice: I'll leave
you to manage: mind the promise-signed:
Ah, Ned! don't I act like a father?
[Smiles significantly.
Frank. What meant that smile? It shot
through my heart.
Y.Rev. [Smiling again] You may go.
Frank. Again! distraction! can he mean?-
Sir, one moment. To save the life of her
Y.Rev. Oh, sir, I shall never know the ex- that gave me being, I have resigned all the
tent of my obligations.
fond hopes that sustained my youth-all the
Old Rev. [Aside] Yes you shall, to a far- promised joys of wedded love; and true to
thing! He's here: secure the delicate darling, that resolve, would, if my Fanny's good re-
the-oh! [kisses his Hand in ecstasy, and quired it, lead her this moment to the church,
and bless her union with a happier man. The
lover is no more-but the friend survives! and
he who aims to raise a blush upon her virgin
exit.
1) Famous remedies for asthma, consumption, etc.
80

634
[ACT IV.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
cheek-who dares, by flattery, to corrupt her
innocent heart-dares it with his life! no
rank shall shelter, no place protect him.
Mrs. Rev. I'm delighted to hear it;- we
know 'tis the only happiness life affords.
Y. Rev. He's mad. That casket is for a vulgar
Y. Reo. And this threat is meant to fall-giggling chit. 'Tis a bulse for a princess; he'll
Frank. Wherever justly it may light. ruin us, my dear!
Y. Rev. Insolent! make way!
[Pushes him Back.
Frank. A blow, that makes us equal! and,
by the rights of manhood, thus I repel--
Enter OLD REVEL.
Old Rev. Hold! is this your gratitude? Has
he not saved your parent?
Frank. Need I say how I venerate that title?
Old Rev. I am a parent.
Mrs Reo. Then you ought to be much ob-
liged to him, my dear! for it will save you a
great deal of trouble.
Y. Rev. And you think it a good joke?-
she's as mad as he is!
Enter DEXTER and a Servant, with a Letter,
which he gives to MRS. REVEL.
Dex. Sir, your crew are singing out for
you: the good ship Rover and the rest of the
fleet are getting under weigh: all tight and
trim for the race.
Y. Rev. I wish they were all in the Dead
[Aside.
Frank. Sir, I will remove the cause of your
alarm! Yet,-a blow!-Pardon my distraction
-pity the desolation of this heart-indeed, it
is a broken one! Mother, I come! [Exit. Sea.
Old Rev. Poor fellow! he shall not suffer Y. Rev. Five thousand to four I name the
long, for mercy shall temper justice. [Wi-winner.
ping away a Tear, then suddenly recovering
his Vivacity] Well, my boy, have you got him.
the promise?
Y.Rev. Safe.
Old Rev. Where?
Y. Rev. Here!
[Producing it.
Old Rev. Thank you. [T'aking it suddenly]
And now I may own, (spare the soft effusion)
-that I love-I adore the fascinating Fanny!
-Oh, I could mousel her like an old tiger;
hug her like a boa constrictor!
Y. Rev. [Astonished] You, Sir!-you love?
-'sdeath, have I been catering for my old
dad's dainty palate?
Old Rev. Five thousand to four! I blush for
Dex. Sir, they wait.
Y. Reo. Well, I must commit this last act
of folly. Come, my faithful fellow, attend
your master.
Dex. [Bowing to Old Revel] I will, Sir.
Old Rev. Do you want my servant, Ned?
Y. Rev. Your servant? What have you de-
serted me, you ungrateful-?
Old Rev. Oh fie!-should serving the father
offend the son?
Y. Rev. Sir, I-I-plagues! torments!
[Rushes out.
Old Rev. Oh, that ruffles you!-at him again! Old Rev. Ha! ha! I'll be after you, my boy
[Aside] Look here, Ned! [Displaying a a-"pursue the triumph, and partake the gale."
splendid casket of Jewels] you are a judge I mean to carry the prize: have procured the
of diamonds-a simple offering to the girl of fleetest boat: have not doubled the Cape for
my heart!
nothing. I'll show these duckpond dandies ¹)
how to hand, reef, and steer. But hey-day
child, you look agitated?
Y. Rev. By all that's splendid, a dower for
à duchess!
Old R. That frightens you!--at him again!
Mrs. Rev. Dear Sir, my brother's domestic
[Aside. sorrows weigh on my heart. By this letter I
Y. Rev. Surely, my dear father, such a pre-learn that Lady Stanmore threatens a separa-
tion. I hope that may be prevented.
finish him.
sent to a mere rustic-
Old Rev. Would be preposterous !-but to Old Rev. And I hope she'll put her threats
your father's wife, Ned!-[Aside] That will into execution. I'll go directly and brew mis-
chief. I'll out-croak Miss Raven: they shall
Y. Rev. Wife!-furies! ruin! your wife?-part.
[Firmly.
marry at your years?
Mrs. Rev. And destroy my brother!
Old Rev. I've been a sad fellow, I own; Old Rev. Save him! secure his felicity! Lady
but having now arrived at years of discretion-Stanmore will never know the value of do-
[Examining the Diamonds. mestic happiness till she has lost it: she will
Y. Rev. Consider, venerable Sir, you are of then find that female domination is wretched
an age-
Old Rev. [Still looking at the Jewels] Oh!
I don't deny I'm of age.
Y. Rev. She is very young.
Old Rev. I hope so.
slavery; und that the silken tie-the silver links
that chain the heart of woman to a worthy
husband, is her noblest ornament-her crown
of triumph.
[Going.
Dex. [Advancing] I beg pardon, Sir, but
the artists and ministers of the toilet wait your
I've commands. I left them in congress; for the
yet reigning fashions are threatened with a sudden
Y. Rev. And may refuse-be cruel!
Old Rev. Cruel? don't libel the sex.
heard indeed of cruel beauties, but never
found the icy bosom I could not melt, or the
irresistible that could resist me.
Enter MRS. REVEL.
Y. Rev. Oh my dear wife, here's the devil
pay!
Old Rev. [Aside] That is, I'm to pay.
Y. Reo. Such an event! he is going to marry.
revolution; and a council of tailors is now
determining the legitimate length of the pan-
taloon.
Old Reo. [With mock dignity] Say to the
1) Dandy, a Gentleman, who, when once got into his fa-
shionable cloathes, can neither bend, move, nor walk,
without being in an exact perpendicular, on account
of his stays, so that he must trust to the philanthropy
of his fellow-creatures for picking any thing up from
the ground if he wants it.

SCENE 2.]
635
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
tailors, I attend their board; and take care,| Old Rev. There let him stay: [Bluntly] ah,
Dexter, that my drapery is exquisitely fitted. madam, I see the effects of last night's agi-
Let the anatomy of my figure be fully dis- tation,-am grieved-but not surprised. Õh
played; the bust ample; and the swell of the these husbands! these husbands! but I am ta-
lower muscles well defined.
king an unwarrantable liberty,
Dex. Rely on my care.
[Exit.
Old Rev. For do you hear; if I can get into
my clothes, I certainly won't have them.
Mrs. Rev. Ha! ha!
In
Lady Stan. Dear sir, your feelings do you
honour: your soothing sympathy-
Old Reo. Lady Stanmore, I am a man, al-
most ashamed of being one: we are all ty-
Old Reo. Oh dear! Oh dear! But while all rants and bullies! but if women will not em-
is artificial, why not transform me into some- ploy those irresistible weapons nature has
thing young and stylish? Have we not pearl armed them with, (and which are most puis-
powder for the pimpled, and cosmetics for the sant in Lady Stanmore) [Bowing] they must
cadaverous? Have we not unguents, for re- be content to remain the slaves of these bo-
moving beards from the chins of dowagers, badil bashaws.
and Macassar oil for placing them on the lips
of boys? Have we not stockings for legs with-
out calves, stays for calves without heads, and
wigs for heads without brains? and is not the
mind as artificial as the body? Have we not Lady Stan. In her absence, sir, may I re-
ladies' lips, that can smile or pout at com- quest the honour of your confidence? the be-
mand? necks that can bend without humility? nefit of your experience? You have been more
arms that can embrace without sincerity? and than once married?
false bosoms that conceal falser hearts?
Lady Stan. The very words my dear Miss
Raven has used.
Old Rev. Then she must be an amiable,
well-meaning woman.
Old Rev. Two wives, madam: killed them
[Exeunt, both: no spirit, or they might have led me
SCENE II.-4 Breakfast-room at SIR AR-like a muzzled bear; but they adored, drooped,
THUR STANMORE's; on one side the Stage,
a Table with tea Equipage.
Enter LADY STANMORE.
Lady Stan. Sir Arthur not here yet? Heigho!
what a miserable woman I am! I've kept my
room till noon to make him suppose I've slept
profoundly, though I have not closed my
weary eyes. Oh, there's his servant. Randal!
Enter RANDAL.
Does Sir Arthur know breakfast waits?
Ran. Sir Arthur has breakfasted.
Lady Stan. Indeed!
Ran. [Aside] Alas! he tasted nothing.
Lady Stan. Then why don't you order
coffee? stay! where is your master?
Ran. In his library, madam.
and died.
Lady Stan. I own I love Sir Arthur.
Old Rev. Then prove it.
Lady Stan. How?
Old Rev. By curing him of his tyranny.
Lady Stan. In what way?
Old Rev. By leaving him.
Lady Stan. [Elated] 'Tis my fixed deter-
mination-I'm delighted you approve my plan.
Yes, I will leave him.
Old Rev. [Smiling] No
Lady Stan. Why?
you won't.
Old Reo, He won't let you.
Lady Stan. Do you think not? what a tri-
umph! [Exulting] I'll put him to the test
directly.
Old Rev. The sooner the better. Adieu!
Lady Stan. But, sir, if he should-'tis a
Lady Stan. [With anxiety] Is he much foolish fear, perhaps-but-if-he-should not
agitated, Randal?
Ran. [Surprised] Agitated, madam?
Lady Stan. [Sharply] What is he doing?
Ran. Reading, my lady.
Lady Stan. How long has he been reading?
Ran. All the morning.
Lady Stan. Impossible! What did you say
when he inquired for me?
Ran. He did not inquire for you, my lady.
Lady Stan. [With vexation] Oh, very
well!-Not inquire for me? Take away those
things.
Ran. I thought you ordered coffee.
Lady Stan. You thought? [Pettishly] Take
them away. [Exit Randal, removing tea
Equipage] The world combines to torment
me: Miss Raven promised to be here, but she
deserts me.
[Gate-bell rings.]
prevent-my-leaving him.
Old Rev. Then, madam, honour my house
by your residence-my equipage by your em-
ployment-my fortune by your acceptance.
Lady Stan. Kind, true friend!
Old Rev. That I am!
Lady Stan. My trunks are corded.
Old Rev. Bravo!
[Aside.
Lady Stan. They shall he brought here:
then-
Old Rev. [Aside] Out you go. [Gun fired
at a distance] A signal for me to crowd sail
and get aboard-"then seize the helm, and steer
to victory."
[Exit.
Enter RANDAL.
Lady Stan. Randal! come hither; accept
this token of my respect. I may not see you
again, old man. [Giving Purse] In a few
minutes I leave this house for ever.
Ran. Leave the house!-no-no, indeed-
Ah! here she is! how apropos!-[Running
towards the Entrance] Oh my kind friend! no such thing.
Enter OLD REVEL.
Old Reo. May I hope to be honoured by
that envied title?
Lady Stan.
his library, sir.
[Curtseying] Sir Arthur is
in
Lady Stan. How dare you take that liberty?
Ran. Indeed, lady, you take more liberty
with me: you have no right to make me mi-
serable.
Lady Stan. Silence! and tell
must speak with him instantly.
your master I

636
[ACT IV.
A SCHOOL FOE GROWN CHILDREN.
Ran, Ah, lady, where will yon find hap-
piness?
Lady Stan. Any where but here.
Ran. I'm sure I would rather cry here than
laugh any where else.
Lady Stan. Obey me, Sir, and order those
trunks to be brought in. [Randal beckons
Servants, who enter with Trunks] Now, Ob-
stinacy, dear tutelary spirit of my sex, sup-
port me through this trial!-He's coming.
In the Pavilions are Tables luxuriously
furnished.-The Back of the Scene is a
marine View.-A Band of Music is play-
ing.-Company are seated in the Pavili-
ons.-Servants attending with Refresh-
ments.- MRS. REVEL doing the Honours
of the Fête.-Huzzas behind.-A Gun is
fired.
Enter JONATHAN.
Jon. Madam, the fleet has doubled the point,
[Collecting her Fortitude. the yachts are in sight.
Enter SIR ARTHUR.
(A dressed Ship is at anchor, towards
lage which are steering the prize Yachts, attended
Sir Arth. Randal! return that book to its by Steamers and numerous Boats gaily
proper shelf. [Seeing the Trunks, starts-looks equipped; when the first passes the Ship
anxiously at Lady Stanmore, but recovers at anchor- Guns are fired-Cheers are
his Composure] Why do these trunks en- heard-The Band plays "Rule Britannia.")
cumber this apartment?
Lady Stan. Neither the trunks nor their pro-
prietor will long encumber it: put them to
the carriage.
Sir Arth. [Aside] Indeed! Manhood, be firm.
Ran. To the carriage, my lady? Master-
not-not to the-
Sir Arth. [Calmly] Don't you hear your
lady's orders? [Trunks are borne out. Exit
Randal, following.
Lady Stan. Is it possible? [4 ide] Oh, dear,
he'll let me go.
Sir Arth. My servant, madam, informed me,
you wish to see me. I instantly obeyed your
summons, and now wait your commands.
Lady Stan, My commands! Don't insult me,
Sir Arthur. I have borne insults enough: one
more I must bear; that of being turned out
of your house, a beggar.
Sir Arth. Lady Stanmore! as this may be
our last conference, it would be but decent to
let truth preside at it. You turn yourself out.
As to maintenance-name your wishes, and,
on my honour, my signature shall follow the
demand.
Enter DEXTER out of Breath.
Dex. Madam! Madam! your husband is
defeated, distanced, obliged to give in: he is
come on shore in a terrible storm; but as I
don't fancy these land breezes, I'll run into
harbour.
[Exit.
Enter YOUNG REVEL.
Y. Rev. Beat! disgraced! Bungling black-
head! dolt! idiot! What, to be last, when
even to be first is a folly, a gewgaw, a toy!
but if ever again I-Ah, Constance! you've
heard, I suppose? but, hey day! here's a dis-
play, to celebrate my defeat, no doubt.
Mrs. Rev. 'Tis very stylish, is it not?
Y. Rev. Why, wife, have you lost all sense
of prudence? Such an expense!
Mrs. Rev, Never mind the expense; but
welcome the guests, my dear!
Y. Rev. But they are not welcome, my dear!
Mrs. Reo, Nonsense! Come, my jolly tar¹),
in, in, and refit; there's every thing in pro-
fusion.
I
Y. Rev. I dare say there is.
Lady Stan. I dare say you will grudge no Mrs. Rev. Oh! the fortunate victor is landed,
expense to get rid of me; but I won't accept see. Do you know who he is?
a farthing. I have friends that are not weary Y. Rev. I don't know the fellow: some ex-
of me. I must go, or I shall faint. [Aside] travagant puppy heedlessly sailing into the
Sir Arthur Stanmore, if you have any thing vortex of ruin!
Y. Rev. [Sullenly] I suppose you must.
to add, this is the moment. [Pause] Nothing? Mrs. Reo. Whoever he is, I, as patroness
Sir Arth. Only, Harriet, a sincere and heart-of your fête, must receive him with polite re-
felt wish that you may find that happiness spect.
it has not been my good fortune to secure to
you.
[Bows.
Lady Stan. Barbarian! I-Farewell!
[Rushes out.
Sir Arth. [Walking about agitated] She
will not-must not go. Randal! Randal! re-
call-
Enter RANDAL.
What noise is that?
Ran, The carriage driving off.
Sir Arth. Are you certain?
Ran. You may see it leaving the avenue.
Sir Arth. I cannot see it. [Covering his
Face] 'Tis done! My wife, gone?
Ran. Dear master, be comforted.
Sir Arth. Do not speak, old man; follow me
to my room. Hush! I thought I heard-
[Strikes his Forehead and exit, Randal
following.
SCENE III.-The Stage is occupied by Pa-
vilions with silk Draperies and Flags. -
Enter in Procession-Sailors bearing Flags
Peasants in their holyday Clothes, deco-
rated with blue Ribbons-the Crew of the
Yacht handsomely equipped-Girls dress-
ed with Garlands, bearing a small Plat-
form decorated with miniature Flags, on
which is placed the Prize-cup-the Pro-
cession closed by OLD REVEL in a dandy
naval Costume-the Company bow-he
salutes them in passing-Shouts.
the pleasure to congratulate you on your vic-
Mrs. Rev. [Takes the Prize-cup] I have
tory, and to present its splendid reward.
[Presenting the Cup, which Old Revel
receives, and hands it to his Boatswain.
Y. Reo, Though a stranger and a rival, I
must express my admiration of your skill, and
Eh-your-Why-No, it can't-
Old Rev. Yes it can. Vy, Eddard! don't
1) Sailor.

[ACT V. SCENE 1. 2.] A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
637
you know your own natural father, because
he's new rigged, and has hoisted a caxon?¹)
Y. Rev. You, Sir, pretend-
Old Rev. And you pretend to sail a boat
against me, that can steer into a musquito's
eye?
Y. Rev. And so I am indebted to you for
my defeat?
Frank. [Faintly smiling] Broke! only my
own heart, mother.
Dame, Your heart? [Commandingly] Frank
Ryeland, how came you by that money?
Frank. Our landlord, Mr. Revel, was kind
enough to advance it.
Dame. Bless him! bless him! [Frank stri-
kes his Forehead] Why do you sigh so hea-
Old Reo. I'm sure I'm indebted to you for vily? Why start so?
my_victory.
Y. Rev. A dear victory!-if I may judge by
the extravagant-
Enter FANNY BLOOMLY.
Fanny. Oh cruel forsworn man! He has
Old Rev. Oh! cost lots of shiners; 2) hardly basely deserted me.
got a shotleft in the locker; 3)-but 'tis whole- Frank. Nay, Fanny.
and who knows but I may live twenty
years the longer for't? So you would grudge
the expense, Ned?
some;
Fanny. You can't deny it. The wicked pa-
per is signed by your barbarous hand. Yes,
Dame, he has forsaken me for the lucre of
Y. Rev. Certainly not; I begin to feel what gain.
an inconsiderate ass I've been.
Dame. What! were these the terms? Give
Old Reo. [Aside] Ha! ha! Brought him on her up to save me? Cruel boy! to suppose a
his beam-ends 4). But I say, messmate, why mother's happiness could be built on her child's
so molancholy? You seem as much out of misery.
your element as a grampus on a gravel walk. Frank. Never mind me; think of yourself.
Rouse up, my hearty! and take a bit of backy. Dame. Myself? you are myself; Oh, ten
[Opening a large Tobacco-box] No? then thousand times dearer than myself!
[Throws herself into a Chair.
Fanny. [Sobbing] I'm sure, Mr. Ryeland,
I wanted lovers, I need not cry about that.
Dame. [Rising] What's to be done?
Fanny. I forgot: Old Mr. Revel ordered us
to be at the Hall.
you don't know the staff of life. But avast!
avast! tho': while we are sarving out this pa-
laver, the sports are taken aback. Ya! hoy! if
Boatswain! pipe all hands, and clear decks
for a dance; and do you hear? let it be elegant.
Boats. A reel, my commander?
Frank. Submissive! He struck me.
Old Rev. A reel, you lubber? You can dance Dame. Come, then, my children, we must
that when you are drunk; which we must obey; and Frank, mind you are submissive
soon be, as in duty bound. No; get ready to your landlord.
your grapplers; make prize of a full comple-
ment of pretty wenches; form two lines a-
head, and manoeuvre a country dance; and
then, to do the genteel thing, finish with a
hornpipe.
A Country dance; after which a Girl dan-
ces a Hornpipe. Old Revel enjoys it;
fidgets about; at last joins her in the
Dance. Scene drops.
ACT V.
SCENE I-DAME RYELAND'S Cottage.-DAME
RYELAND discovered at the Window.-She
curtseys and nods.
Enter HANNAH.
Dame. Well, Hannah! are our neighbours
assembled? Are they impatient?
Han. Oh no, they said they were sure you
would not wrong them of a penny.
Dame. [Endeavouring to contain her Rage]
Struck you! well!
Frank. His father interposed. I respected
his presence, and left the house.
Dame. [Calmly] Good boy, you did right.
Yes, yes, I'm thankful it ended so. A blow?
Insulted my broken-hearted son? Then I'll
face him, and see if he'll strike me. Come,
my dears! I hope my poor wits will hold.
Struck you? I'll go to him. [Exeunt.
SCENE II-A Saloon at YOUNG REVEL'S.
Enter BUTTERCUP in a splendid Livery.
Butter. [Admiring his Person] If this don't
beat cock-fighting, I'll be shot. But what's be-
come of old master? However, that's no affair
of mine; for if he wants me, 'tis his business
to look for me.
Dame. Heaven knows I would not But
Enter OLD REVEL, fashionably dressed.
what will they say, if Frank fail in getting Old Rev. So, this is fashionable ease! Was
the money? And how can he succeed?-where ever unfortunate old gentleman so trussed up
raise such a sum? 'Tis impossible. I had better and spitted! But if the father's follies can teach
go and own the truth. 'Tis a sharp trial, but the son wisdom, I'd become emperor of the
I must meet it.
I
Enter FRANK.
Frank. [Exultingly] My father's debts are
paid; my mother's mind is at peace.
Dame. No, Frank! Nor can it be, till she
knows more. Look at me! you have not used
dishonest means? You have not broke-
1) A wig. Our readers will remember the old barber in
Walter Scott's Antiquary.
2) Silver pieces.
3) Hardly got any money left.
4) A vessel laying on her side, is said to be on her beam-
ends.
dandies. I should like a pinch of snuff if I
could get at it. [Endeavours to find his Pockets.
Butter. A stranger! Now to show my sha-
pes.
[Bows.
Old Rev. [They approach] Why Bobby?
ha! ha!
Butter. Why, is it master? He! he! What
a comical concern they have made of him!
Drabbit it, Squire, if we were to go home in
these clothes, how old Blucher 1) would sa-
vage us, and the turkey-cock gobble at us!
Old Rev. How do you like this sort of life, eh?
1) The name of a dog.

638
[ACT V.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Butter. Hugely. Swinging on a gate all day more divorces than conjugal fidelity.
is nothing to it.
Old Rev. And have you thrown about your
money?
Butter. Sown it broadcast.
In a
word, nations are indebted to it for peace,
and refined society for its existence !
Y. Reo. You are an able advocate, madam.
Mrs. Rev. Your insincere praise proves, at
least, I have gained a convert.
Y. Rev. I love sincerity.
Old Rev. Bravo! away! for here's my con-
federate. Waste your time how you like.
Butter. I will, with all diligence. He! he! Mrs. Rev. So do I, but it is not a garment
He'd be worth his weight in gold stuck up in for everyday's wear and tear, being formal,
a cherry orchard; but, bless him, he has a starch, and plebeian.
good, heart.
Enter MRS. REVEL.
[Exit.
Mrs. Rec. [Walking round Old Revel]
Exquisite! the concentrated essence of supreme
bon ton
Old Rev. Nay, don't laugh. Where's Ned?
Mrs. Rev. Studying the multiplication-table,
and projecting plans of economy, more absurd,
Old Rev. When do you put it on?
Mrs. Rev. In the solemn hour of devotion-
in the privacy of wedded love-for the re-
ception of real friendship-[bowing to Old Re-
vel] I wear it now.
Old Rev. But, zounds, we are becoming
moral!
Y. Rev. And very becoming it is.
Old Rev. That's more than your coat is:
if possible, than his schemes of extravagance: the collar is too low, my dear boy! there,
he's coming, most dutifully, to admonish his [arranging it] that's better.
father.
Old Reo. Hush! he's here.
Enter YOUNG REVEL and JONATHAN, with
Books,
Y. Rec. Jonathan, where's the book I or-
dered? [Taking a Book] Dr. Franklin! great
political economist! [Reads] "Early to bed,
and early to rise, makes a man healthy, weal-
thy, and wise." I'll get that by heart. "Take
care of your shillings-guineas take care of
themselves." That golden rule I'll double down
for my improvident father. I must look into
his afffairs.
[Returns Jonathan the Book, who goes off.
Did Rev. [To Mrs. Revel] How kind, to
do for me, what he never did for himself!
Y.Rev. [Looking at Old Revel] My father,
in that dress!
Y. Reo. My dear sir, I have left off the
fancy for these-
Old Rev. Left off the fancy! but you've got
the gloves ¹), I hope? [Sparring at him.
Enter JONATHAN.
Jon. One of your honour's tenants waits,
Y. Rev. Indeed! [with importance] nobody
must wait for me: I'll go immediately.
Old Rev. Their time is valuable.
Y. Rev. Not more than mine, I assure you.
Pardon my leaving you, sir,--but business must
be minded. [Exeunt Y. Rev. and Jonathan.
Old Rev. Ha! ha!
Mrs. Rev. 'Tis the mother of young Rye-
land: she will not spare him.
Old Rev. I hope not; for nothing will cure
him but his sounding the bass string of hu-
mility, and draining the chalice to its bitterest
Old Reo. [Alarmed] What's the matter dregs, But here comes my blushing darling,
with it? If any thing is out of taste I shall Fanny! Now to rouse her vanity-try her fi-
faint! Call back the tailors!
Y. Rec. Oh no, they have done quite enough.
[With Solemnity] I have been reflecting on
my past life, my father!
Old Rec. [In the same Tone] You have
done quite right, my son! take a pinch.-
[Presenting Snuff-box.
Y. Reo And 'tis high time for me to have
done with levity.
Old Rev. It is indeed, Ned! La, la, la, la!
[Attempts waltzing with Mrs. Revel.
Y. Reo. How can you, Constance, lend
yourself to such absurdity? I thought you a
reasonable woman.
Mrs. Rev. A reasonable woman! My love,
don't propagate such a report, or I shall be
supposed to have lost my senses.
Y. Rev. Come-this folly is assumed! I de-
test dissimulation!
delity-and if she comes pure from the ordeal,
then bless her with the man of her heart. See
how I'll play the young lover.
so-
Enter FANNY BLOOMLY.
Fanny. Oh! good venerable old gentleman!
Mrs. Rev. Rather, an awkward beginning!
[To Old Revel
Fanny. I would beg, but my poor heart beats
Old Rec. So does mine. You were no doubt
thinking of my passion-my sighs- [you.
Fanny. Indeed, sir, I was not thinking about
Old Reo. You'll make me wretched, Fanny!
Fanny. Never mind that, sir.
Old Rev. And, then, I must leave you.
Fanny. Thank you, sir. Oh, madam!
[Running to Mrs. Revel.
Mrs. Rev. Be comforted: I'll love you.
Mrs. Rev. Detest disssimulation? Would Fanny. Will you, lady? ah, but then what
you, with Gothic sternness, break the bonds signifies your love compared to my dear Frank's?
of civilized society? 'Tis the school of mutual Old Rev. Bless her constant heart! I can
instruction, where faithless husbands learn pru- withhold no longer: I'll give her the promise.
dence and uxoriousness, and vixen wives to -[Takes out paper] Fanny, I here offer you
lisp my duck and my deary: where lawyers a settlement that will make you as happy as
pretend to quarrel, and doctors to agree. Dis- a princess.
simulation is the cementer of new friendships, Fanny. I won't have it-I had rather not
and the tinker) of old ones: it makes more be as happy as a princess.
matches than mutual attachment, and prevents 1) Boxers are called gentlemen of the Fancy; and old
1) Mender.
Revel is thus made guilty of a miserable pun.

SCENE 2.]
639
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Old Rev Nay, but look at it. Y
abuse, scold, insult, or, with stones, sticks,
[Giving the Paper. or staves, assault, beat, or batter, the aforesaid
Fanny. [Seeing Frank's Writing, runs Sir Arthur--"
into Old Revel's Arms, and kisses him] How
I love you!
Old Rev. Do you? [Delighted] I almost
wish I had the paper again!
Fanny. I'm the happiest young girl!
Old Rev. And I'm the happiest old boy!
Fanny. Now to show this to dear Frank!
Old Rev. Not till I give you leave, remember.
Fanny. Oh, you dear man!
Lady Stan. May I inquire what those parch-
ments are?
Old Rev. [Chucking her under the Chin]
Your articles of separation, my dear! No fear
of your husband's troubling you when this is
executed.
Lady Stan. I'm sick at heart.
[Aside.
Old Rev. I'll tell the lawyer to wait on you
at home.
Lady Stan. [Hanging her head] Sir, I-I
no home.
[Extending her Arms.
Old Reo. Prudence! not to be again ventur--have
ed, or the consequences might be.-Out of my
sight, you tempting, teasing, tickling-
[Exit Fanny. He goes up the Stage in
Ecstasy.
Mrs. Rev. My brother!
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE.
Sir Arth. Constance, she is gone -lost to
me for ever!
Old Ree. Another couple to make happy!
-I've as much hammering together as the
Scotch blacksmith 1).
Sir Arth. She must have been the victim of
some envious meddling adviser-some insi-
dious serpent-
Old Rev. That was me.
Old Rev. True: then at Miss Raven's.
Lady Stan. [Shuddering] Don't name her.
Old Rev. Not your friend?
Lady Stan. Friend! she has caused all my
misery; and when I flew to her with open
arms to seek the shelter of her heart and home,
she insulted-refused to see me.
Old Rev. That's always the way with these
meddling advisers; but you'll find
very different.
Lady Stan. I'm sure I shall.
my conduct
Old Rev. So, whenever you happen to come
this way, and will call in and take a lunch-
[Lady Stanmore starts] And I'm sure, Con-
stance, you'll make Lady Stanmore welcome,
as far as a cup of tea and a muffin goes.
Lady Stan. Insupportable humiliation! Sir,
[Indignantly. I hope I feel, as I ought, your protecting
Old Rev. To be sure you are! now here's courtesy, and have the honour to wish you a
gratitude! and but that I am the sweetest-good morning.
tempered-
Sir Arth. And am I indebted to you for the
loss of my wife?
Mrs. Rev. [To Old Revel] Come, sir, this
is too distressing.
Mrs. Rev. Where are you going, my dear
sister?
Lady Stan. I know not-farewell!
Mrs. Rev. Stay and hear me: I insist.
Lady Stan. Excuse me--
[Going.
Old Reo. Not a bit: do him good. I have
seen Lady Stanmore: she loves you, and when
I mentioned your name, she blessed you, and Mrs. Rev. I entreat. [Lady Stanmore curt-
a tear of repentant love fell upon this hand. seys, and remains] There is an asylum I
Sir Arth. [Eagerly taking it] What! on would propose, [beckoning to Sir Arthur,
this hand? you have raised me from despair! who enters,] where the world's malice could
-a precious drop! and on this hand? never reach you, where tranquil happiness
would beam around you, and peace enshrine
in its lovely temple.
Old Rev. I beg your pardon; I just want
my hand for a minute, to take a pinch of
snuff: upon my hononr you shall have it again.
Mrs. Rev. Ah! Lady Stanmore's carriage!
Sir Arth. Let me fly to her!
Old Reo. [Holding him] Fly to her you
may; but go to her you shall not. Retire!
Mrs. Rev. Dear brother! all is concerted
for your happiness; pray retire, and watch
my signal.
Sir Arth. [To Old Revel] Restore but my
Harriet to these arms, and I am your debtor
beyond what gratitude can pay!
[Exit.
Lady Stan. Is there such a haven for a
wretch like me to shelter in?
Mrs. Rev. Yes, dearest sister; its gates are
now open: I will lead you to your sanctuary.
[Leads her towards Sir Arthur.
Lady Stan. [Seeing Sir Arthur, with Arms
extended, rushes to his Feet] My husband!
Sir Arth. Rise to my heart! [Raising her]
'tis your home, my Harriet!
Lady Stan. I can only offer tears.
Sir Arth. Then let mine, which spring from
Old Rev. Within there! those old parch-joy's purest fountain, change their bitterness
ments quick! [Servant brings in Parch-to balmy sweetness, to connubial joy.
ments, and exit] What have we here? an Old Rev. [Throwing away parchment,
old cancelled deed: it will do. "I must be
cruel only to be kind."
Enter LADY STANMORE.
Lady Stan. Good morning, madam. [Bow-
ing to Mrs. Revel] My dear Sir, I have taken
the freedom-
Old Rev. Ah! is it you? [Nods, pretend-
ing to read, but secretly observing Lady
Stanmore] "And further, that the aforesaid
Harriet Stanmore shall not, by tumult of tongue,
1) Marrying at Gretna Green.
and wiping his eyes] This snuff is always
getting into my eyes! That's finished; and now
for Ned, and then my task is done. Come,
come, time enough for raptures: to business!
to business. I shall want you all;-you, Sir
Arthur, must become a black-leg, and your
ladyship a a blue-stocking ¹). Hollo, Dexter!
1) The blue stockings or blues are the femmes savantes
of England, a most formidable party in Literature at
the present day. They are called blues, from their
affected negligence of dress, so far as to wear (horri-
ble for a lady) a blue stocking.

640
[ACT V.
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
take cards and dice to the drawing-room.
Mind, you are to win all my estates!
Sir Arth. With all my heart.
Old Rev. Absolutely ruin me!
Sir Arth. With the greatest pleasure.
Old Reo. Not leave me a Bank-note!
Sir Arth. Ha! ha! nor a rag to make one.
[Exeunt.
SCENE LAST.-4 Library to YOUNG REVEL.
YOUNG REVEL seated at a Table covered with
Papers and accompt Books: a Pen behind
his Ear.
Eleven and seven-eighteen; and eleven-
twenty-nine:-twenty pence is one and eight-
pence:-two and five-pence-right:-two and
aught is two-certainly-[Noise of Dice]
What rattling noise is that?- My father and
wife playing at sixpenny backgammon! what
a waste of precious time!
Enter DEXTER-he runs to a Drawer.
Why am I disturbed?-What do you want?
Dex. Dice, sir; Mr. Revel and Sir Arthur
are at deep play; your father has lost thou-
sands. In his fury he swallowed the dice,
and wants more.
Old Rev. [Without] Dice! I say.
Dex. They are here, sir. [Exit running.
Y. Rev. Losing thousands!-dreadful depra-
vity! Ah! my father, what would become of
you, if you had not such a son as I am!
[Enter Jonathan] Again my studies inter-
rupted?
Jon. Your tenant, Dame Ryeland.
Y. Reo. What, would you bait me with her
maudlin woes? Why did not you deny me?
Jon. Sir, you did not say-
Y. Rev. Was it necessary to say I did not
want to see an old woman? Say, that abstruse
calculations engross my mind, as you see,
Jonathan! [Exit Jonathan] I must begin again.
Enter DAME RYELAND.
Dame. [Speaking as she enters] Don't
jabber your nonsense to me-I will be heard.
Y. Rev. [Rising] Will be heard?
Dame. You the lover of women!-Oh no.
He that can admire the sparkling eye, yet
smile at the tear which dims it; he that can
gaze on the heaving bosom, yet be insensible
to the agony it throbs with;-is woman's worst
foe, and can only expect the comtempt of the
virtuous, and the curses of the unfortunate.
Y. Rev. Plagues! but I have deserved it.
refuse me my revenge?
Old Rev. [Without] One more throw: what
Sir Arth. [Without] Well, double or quits!
Old Rev. Without All or nothing!
[Dice thrown.
Sir Arth. [Without] Huzza, 'tis mine! [a
Noise of broken Glass.]
Enter BUTTERCUP.
Butter. Oh my poor master-a beggar'd
gamester! he has lost all his treasures, except
me.
Y. Rev. What noise was that?
Butter. In desperation, he jumped through
the window, and ran to the fish-pond.
Y. Rev. You followed?
Butter. No.
Y. Rev. Fool! follow him! within there! fly,
pursue! [to Dame Ryeland] in mercy assist.
Dame. That I will. [Exeunt Dame Rye-
land, Buttercup, and Servant.
Y. Rev. Ah! but here comes his honourable
plunderer!
Enter SIR ARTHUR STANMORE, his Hands
full of Banknotes, which he is pocketing.
Sir Arth. Ha! Ha! What glorious sport! I'm
a made man.
Y. Rev. Sir, this intrusion into my room of
business is irregular and offensive.
Sir Arth. Indeed! I have not left him land
enough to fill a bowpot; nor timber, to make
the old boy a crutch.
Y. Rev. To add insult to ruin is the act of
a coward.
Sir Arth. I understand, but I'm not to be
bounced out of my property.
Y. Rev. Follow me.
Sir Arth. No-I sha'n't fight to day! deep
Dame. Your patience, sir. I beg with all play has shattered my nerves-I'm fatigued by
humility to state, that lowly as my station is, the oppression of wealth-I really could not
I have feelings and affections that are very depend on my aim: [Looking along his Fin-
dear to me, and possessing little else makes ger towards Young Revel] but to-morrow,
them cling more closely round my heart.
Y. Reo. What favour do you solicit?
Dame. None: I would receive with grati-
breakfast and bullets are at your service.
Y. Rev. I heard some one lamenting.
Sir Arth. It would be rather awkward if the
tude the favours of a kind considerate land-old boy has been desperate.
lord; but from him who does me wrong, I Butter. [Without] I've cut him down! I've
will accept nothing but justice, and I demand-cut him down!
Y. Rev. Your language is impertinent: con- Sir Arth. Surely he could not be so vulgar
sider your situation.
as to hang himself!
Dame. A mother struggling for her child's
happiness; and surely the cause of nature
ought to be supported by the language of
truth. As you cannot have forgot insulting
my son by an unworthy blow, I trust you can
have no objection to making him a due apo-
logy.
Y. Rev. [Scornfully] He requires it, does he?
Dame. No, 'tis the mother asks for peace
-my son demands blow for blow. It would
be kind to grant my request-perhaps prudent.
Y. Rev. Insolent! and, but that I am a lo-
ver of your sex.-
Enter BUTTERCUP. MRS. REVEL and LADY
STANMORE enter, supporting OLD REVEL,
his Dress disordered. They place him in
a Chair; following them, enter DAME
RYELAND, FRANK, and FANNY.
Butter. Oh, that ever I should live to save
my old master from killing himself!
Old Reo. Where am I? [Looking at Sir
Arthur and Young Revel] Among fiends!
[Looking at the Ladies]-No-angels!
Y. Rev. Look up, my father, see your re-
pentant, broken-hearted son.

SCENE 3.]
641
A SCHOOL FOR GROWN CHILDREN.
Old Res. Ah, Ned, is that you? I have done Fanny. Dear sir, may I-[Showing a Pa-
my best to follow my dear son's example: you per, Old Revel nods, and chucks her under
see what it has ended in-ruin!
the chin] Here, dear Frank! look, Dame!
[They come forward.
Y. Rev. Mr. Ryeland, I have wronged, in-
sulted-
Y. Rev. Be comforted, sir, all I have is yours.
Old Reo. All he has-[Aside]-not a guinea!
Y. Reo, I'll labour for you: no obstacle shall
deter: I'll rise every morning at ten-
Old Rev. Rise with the lark at ten! hear
that, ye ploughmen.
Y. Rec. I'll part with my billiard table!
Old Rev. Mark that, ye markers!
[A Noise of several Voices without.]
Enter DEXTER.
Dex. [Aside] My new master ruined!
must rat ¹).
I
Frank. Enough! I perceive, sir, you are
sorry for what you have done; but one blow
demands another; 'twas this hand that
gave it
-thus I return it!
[Takes Young Revel's hand, and bows.
Y. Rev. Generous fellow! be my friend, my
companion!
Dame. Excuse him there. It would be a
pity to spoil an excellent farmer by making
him a shabby sort of gentleman. No: we'll
keep as we are; and while agriculture affords
Old Reo. What's the matter, my dear Dexter? health aud competence to the cultivator, and
Dex. Ugly reports have reached your cre- good subjects to the state, I trust its efforts
ditors: they clamously demand their money, will be justly estimated, and its children re-
or your person.
Old Rev. My person! Why, as I feel pretty
comfortable here, you had better pay them.
spected.
Enter DEXTER.
Der. I've cleared the house of the scoun-
[Rises.
Dex. 'Tis the hest way when it happens to drels.
[Significantly.
be convenient.
Old Rec. Here are a few thousands. [Pull-
ing out notes] Will these do, Dexter?
Old Rev. What, all gone?
Dex. All.
Old Rev. With emphasis] But one. Did
Dex. Not ruined? Oh! about ship again! you ever see these dice before? Refund [Point-
[Aside] No, Sir; I'll not pay the scoundrels ing to Frank] or go. Bob, see your friend
a farthing! to dare to molest a noble gentle- out.-Embrace him at parting. [Apart to him]
man with their insolent demands! I'll ride the Give him a Cornish hug¹).
honse of the rascals.
enormous amount.
[Exit.
Y. Rev. Sir, you have dropt notes to an
[Picking up notes.
Old Rev. Never mind, Ned, put them in
your pocket.
Y. Rev. Ah! hopes dawn! light flashes! Sir
Arthur, you are not the scoundrel I took you
for. Dear father, you are not ruined!
Old Rev. [With Emphasis] What! could
I, in one day, shamefully dissipate the product
of fifty years' honourable industry? Could I,
at my age, seriously practise the profligacy I
wept to behold at yours?
Y. Rev. I kiss the rod! Your discipline has
been severe; but the cure is radical. The fa-
ther has, indeed, at heart the son's interest.
Old Rev. Then let the son have at heart the
father's principle: you are restored to afflu-
ence-how will you use it?
Y. Rev. In proving myself worthy the for-
giveness of such a wife!-in fully estimating
the blessing of such a father!
Old Rec. Then my plan has triumphed, and
I feel a giant refreshed.
1) Desert my party.
Butter. Iwill. [Exeunt Dexter and Butter.
Lady Stan. Dear sir, to your correcting dis-
cipline I owe my happiness.
Y. Rev. And I-
Frank. And I-
Sir Arth. And all.
Old Reo. Then am I pedagogue of our
School for Grown Children.
Enter BUTTERCUP.
Pupils, stand in a row! and let me hope
that we shall find indulgent and encouraging
patrons, while our lessons inculcate that we
should avoid-
Y. Rev. Profligacy-
Lady Stan. Pettishness-
Frank. Intemperance-
Fanny. Vanity.
Old Rev. That we should cherish -
Sir Arth. Honourable occupation-
Mrs. Rev. Cheerful obedience-
Dame. Inflexible integrity-
Butter. And a good heart.
1) Signifies a good beating
ARTHUR MURPHY
Was born near Elphin, in the county of Roscommon, Ireland, December 27, 1750. His father was a merchant in.
Dublin; and his mother, whose maiden name was French, was the daughter of Arthur French, of Tyrone, in the county
of Galway. When young, our author was brought to London by his mother; whence he was sent to an aunt, (Mrs.
Plunket) then residing at Boulogne, who entered her nephew at the College of St. Omers, in 1740 Here he remained
near seven years, and on his return spent two years in the counting-house of Mr. Hanold, an eminent merchant in
Cork. Leaving this place in consequence of a theatrical dispute, in which he had taken too active a part, he came to
town, and obtained admission into the counting-house of Ironside and Belchier, bankers. How long Mr. Murphy con-
tinued in this situation we are not informed; but when he relinquished it, having cultivated a taste for literature, and
81

642
[ACT I.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
conceived a disgust to trade, he commenced author. In the year 1752, he published The Gray's Inn Journal, which
continued until October 1754. His next attempt was on the stage, where he appeared at Covent Garden Theatre, in
the character of Othello, October 18, 1754; but though he possessed figure, voice, genius, and an accurate conception of
the parts he acted; yet he soon found that he was not likely to add to his fame in a situation where excellence is very
seldom to be met with. At the end of the first year he removed to Drury Lane, where he remained only until the
season closed, at the conclusion of which he renounced the theatres as an actor, and resumed his former employment of
a writer. The violence of parties at this juncture running very high, our author undertook the defence of the unpopular
side, and began a periodical paper, 6th November 1756, called The Test, which was answered by the late Owen Ruff-
head, Esquire, in another, under the title of The Contest. To prevent his being obliged to rely solely on the precarious
state of an author, he now determined to study the law; but, on his first application to the societies of both the
Temples and Gray's Inn, he had the mortification to be refused admission, on the illiberal ground of his having acted
on the stage. He was, however, received as a member of Lincoln's Inn, and in due time called to the bar; after which
he gradually withdrew himself from the public as a writer. At the beginning of the reign of King George III. he was employed
to write against the famous North Briton, and for a considerable sum published a weekly paper, called The Auditor;
but being disgusted, as is supposed, at some improper behaviour among his party, he from that time gave up all at-
tention to politics, and devoted himself wholly to the study of his profession as a lawyer. He published an edition of
Henry Fieldings works, with a life of the author, in 1762. His translation of Tacitus, his poems, prologues, etc. are well
known, and have been justly admired. His Life of David Garrick, however, did him no credit. He was many years
a commissioner of bankrupts, in which office he continued to his death, which happened at Knightsbridge, the 18th of
June 1805.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Comedy of two acts, by Arthur Murphy, Performed at Covent Garden. 1776. This piece affords a very striking
proof of the capriciousness of public taste, and the injustice of some public determinations. It is no other than the
What we must all come to, of the same author, with a new title. On its first appearance it was condemned almost
without a hearing, and lay dormant for several years, until Mr. Lewis ventured to produce it again at his benefit; when
it met with universal applause, and still continues to be frequently acted and favourably received. The following anec-
dote is related by Mr. Ryley (in his entertaining work called The Itinerant) of a country manager, named Davies: When
Mr. Ross, formerly the Edinburgh Roscius, was at Lyme, in Dorsetshire. in a very infirm state of health, being a ge-
neral favourite among the visitors, Manager Davies applied to him, and he bespoke Three Weeks after Marriage. Da-
vies undertook the part of Sir Charles; and Miss Stanley was quite at home in Lady Racket, having often played it
with Mr. Dimond, of the Bath Theatre, whose business she wrote down for Davies's instruction. One thing, which
she particularly desired. was, that when they are parting after the first quarrel, and she says, "Won't you go to bed?"
he should reply, "No, Madam, I'll never go to bed with a woman who does not know what's trumps. It is supposed
that he had taken particular pains to be correct; but not being at all easy in the part, and seeing the eyes of the great
actor Ross intently fixed upon him from the stage-box, when the fatal question was put, "Come, Sir Charles, won'
you go to bed?" he replied, "No, Madam, I'll never go to bed with a woman that trumps!" The house was in a
roar. Davies, perceiving his mistake, made it worse by hawling out, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not mean any such
thing; 1 meant trumps at cards-diamonds, spades, clubs-that is, I-" and off she stage he ran, and was with great
difficulty persuaded to appear again that evening.
SIR CHARLES RACKET.
DRUGGET.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
LOVELACE.
WOODLEY.
LADY RACKET:
MRS. DRUGGET.
NANCY.
DIMITY.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Enter WOODLEY and DIMITY.
Dim. Po! po!-no such thing-I tell you,
Mr. Woodley, you are a mere novice in these
affairs.
Dim. Attention! to be sure you did not
fall asleep in their company; but what then?
-You should have entered into their charac-
ters, play'd with their humours, and sacrificed
to their absurdities.
Wood. But if my temper is too frank-
Dim. Frank, indeed! yes, you have been
Wood. Nay, but listen to reason, Mrs. Di- frank enough to ruin yourself.-Have not you
mity-has not your master, Mr. Drugget, in- to do with a rich old shopkeeper, retired
vited me down to his country seat, in order from business with an hundred thousand pounds
to give me his daughter Nancy in marriage; in his pocket, to enjoy the dust of the Lon-
and with what pretence can he now break off? don road, which he calls living in the count-
Dim. What pretence!-you put a body ry-and yet you must find fault with his si-
out of all patience-But go on your own way, tuation!-What if he has made a ridiculous
sir; my advice is all lost upon you.
gimcrack of his house and gardens, you know
Wood. You do me injustice, Mrs. Dimity his heart is set upon it; and could not you
--your advice has governed my whole con- have commended his taste? But you must
duct Have not I fixed an interest in the be too frank!-Those walks and alleys are
young lady's heart?
too regular-those evergreens should not be
cut into such fantastic shapes.-And thus you
advise a poor old mechanic, who delights in
every thing that's monstrous, to follow nature
-Oh, you're likely to be a successful lover!
Dim. An interest in a fiddlestick! - you
ought to have made love to the father and
mother-what, do you think the way to get
a wife, at this time of day, is by speaking
fine things to the lady you have a fancy for? Wood. But, why should I not save a fa-
-That was the practice, indeed; but things ther-in-law from being a laughing-stock?
are alter'd now-you must address the old Dim. Make him your father-in-law first-
people, sir; and never trouble your head
about your mistress-that's the way of the
world now.
And then the mother; how have you play'd
your cards in that quarter?-She wants a tin-
sel man of fashion for her second daughter-
Wood. But you know, my dear Dimity, "Don't you see," says she, "how happy my
the old couple have received every mark of eldest girl is made by marrying sir Charles
attention from me.
Racket? She has been married three entire

SCRNE 1.]
643
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
weeks, and not so much as one angry word
has pass'd between them-Nancy shall have a
man of quality too."
Dim. And then, Mr. Lovelace, I reckon-
Nan. Pshaw! I don't like him; he talks to
me as if he was the most miserable man in
Wood. And yet I know sir Charles Racket the world, and the confident thing looks so
perfectly-well.
pleas'd with himself all the while. I want to
Dim. Yes, so do I; and I know he'll make marry for love, and not for card-playing-I
his lady wretched at last-But what then? should not he able to bear the life my sister
You should have humour'd the old folks-you leads with sir Charles Racket-and I'll forfeit
should have been a talking empty fop to the my new cap, if they don't quarrel soon.
good old lady, and to the old gentleman an Dim. Oh! fie! no! they won't quarrel yet
admirer of his taste in gardening. But you awhile.-A quarrel in three weeks after mar-
have lost him he is grown fond of his beau riage, would be somewhat of the quickest-
Lovelace, who is here in the house with him; By-and-by we shall hear of their whims and
the coxcomb ingratiates himself by flattery, their humours-Well, but if you don't like
and you're undone by frankness.
Mr. Lovelace, what say you to Mr. Woodley?
Nan. I don't know what to say.
Re-enter WOODLEY.
Wood. And yet, Dimity, I won't despair.
Dim. And yet you have reason to despair;
a million of reasons-To-morrow is fix'd for
the wedding-day; sir Charles and his lady Wood. My sweetest angel! I have heard
are to be here this very night-they are en- all, and my heart overflows with love and
gag'd, indeed, at a great rout in town but gratitude.
they take a bed here, notwithstanding.-The Nan. Ah! but I did not know you was
family is sitting up for them; Mr. Drugget listening. You should not have betray'd me
will keep you all up in the next room there, so, Dimity; I shall be angry with you.
till they arrive -- and to-morrow the business Dim. Well, I'll take my chance for that-
is over-and yet you don't despair!-hush!-Run both into my room, and say all your
hold your tongue; here comes Lovelace.- pretty things to one another there, for here
Step in, and I'll devise something, I warrant comes the old gentleman-make haste away.
you. [Exit Woodley] The old folks shall
not have their own way-'tis enough to vex
a body, to see an old father and mother mar-
rying their daughter as they please, in spite
of all I can do. So, here comes our Nancy.
Enter NANCY.
[Exeunt Woodley and Nancy.
Enter DRUGGET.
Drug. A forward presuming coxcomb!-
Dimity, do you step to Mrs. Drugget, and send
her hither.
Dim. Yes, sir-It works upon him. I see.
[Aside, and exit.
Nan. Well, Dimity, what's to become of me? Drug. The yew-trees ought not to be cut,
Dim. My stars! what makes you up, miss? because they'll help to keep off the dust, and
I thought you were gone to bed!
I am too near the road already- -a sorry,
Nan. What should I go to bed for? Only ignorant fop!-When I am in so fine a si-
to tumble and toss, and fret and be uneasy-tuation, and can see every carriage that goes
they are going to marry me, and I am fright- by. And then to abuse the nurseryman's
ened out of my wits.
rarities! A finer sucking pig in lavender,
Dim. Why then you're the only young with sage growing in his helly, was never
lady within fifty miles round, that would be
frighten'd at such a thing.
Nan. Ah! if they would let me choose for
myself.
Dim. Don't you like Mr. Lovelace?
Nan. My mamma does, but I don't; I don't
mind his being a man of fashion, not I.
seen! And yet he wants me not to have it
-But have it I will.-There's a fine tree
of knowledge too, with Adam and Eve in
juniper; Eve's nose not quite grown, but it's
thought in the spring it will be very forward
-I'll have that too, with the serpent in ground-
ivy-two poets in wormwood-I'll have them
both. Ay, and there's a lord mayor's feast in
honeysuckle, and the whole court of alder-
Nan. Ah! I know there's a fashion for new men in hornbeam; with the dragon of Want-
bonnets, and a fashion for dressing the hair-ley in box-all-all-I'll have 'em all, let my
but I never heard of a fashion for the heart. wife and Mr. Lovelace say what they will.
Dim. Why then, my dear, the heart mostly
follows the fashion now.
Dim. And, pray, can you do better than
follow the fashion?
Nan. Does it?-pray who sets the fashion
of the heart?
Dim. All the fine ladies in London, o'my
conscience.
Enter MRS. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D. Did you send for me, lovey?
Drug. The yew-trees shall be cut into the
giants of Guildhall, whether you will or not.
Mrs. D. Sure my own dear will do as he
Nan. And what's the last new fashion, pleases.
pray?
Mrs. D. My sweet, who hinders you?
Drug. Yes, and I'll buy the nurseryman's
Drug. And the pond, though you praise
Dim. Why, to marry any fop that has a the green banks, shall be wall'd round, and
few, deceitful, agreeable appearances about I'll have a little fat boy in marble, spouting
him; something of a pert phrase, a good ope- up water in the middle.
rator for the teeth, and a tolerable tailor.
Nan. And do they marry without loving?
Dim. Oh! marrying for love has been a whole catalogue-Do you think, after retiring
great while out of fashion.
to live all the way here, almost four miles
Nan. Why, then I'll wait till that fashion from London, that I won't do as I please in
comes up again.
my own garden?

644
[ACT I.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Mrs. D. My dear, but why are you in such of girls; our tempers accord like unisons in
a passion?
music.
Drug. I'll have the lavender pig, and the Drug. Ah! that's what makes me happy in
Adam and Eve, and the dragon of Wantley, my old days; my children and my garden
and all of 'em-and there shan't be a more are all my care.
romantic spot on the London road than mine.
Mrs. D. I'm sure it's as pretty as hands
can make it.
Sir C. And my friend Lovelace-he is to
have our sister Nancy, I find.
Drug. Why my wife is so minded.
Drug. I did it all myself, aud I'll do more Sir C. Oh, by all means, let her be made
-And Mr. Lovelace shan't have my daughter. happy-A very pretty fellow Lovelace-And
Mrs. D. No! what's the matter now, Mr.
Drugget?
Drug. He shall learn better manners than
to abuse my house and gardens. You put
him in the head of it, but I'll dissappoint ye
both-And so you may go and tell Mr. Love-
lace that the match is quite off.
Mrs. D. I can't comprehend all this, not I
-but I'll tell him so, if you please, my dear
-I am willing to give myself pain, if it will
give you pleasure: must I give myself pain?
-Don't ask me, pray don't-I don't like pain.
Drug. I am resolv'd, and it shall be so.
Mrs. D. Let it be so then. [Cries] Oh! oh!
cruel man! I shall break my heart if the match
is broke off-if it is not concluded to-morrow,
send for an undertaker, and bury me the
next day.
Drug. How! I don't want that neither-
Mrs. D. Oh! oh!-
Drug. I am your lord and master, my dear,
but not your executioner-Before George, it
must never be said that my wife died of too
much compliance-Cheer up, my love-and
this affair shall be settled as soon as sir Char-
les and lady Racket arrive.
Mrs. D. You bring me to life again-You
know, my sweet, what an happy couple sir
Charles and his lady are -- Why should not
we make our Nancy as happy?
Re-enter DIMITY.
Dim. Sir Charles and his lady, ma'am.
Mrs. D. Oh! charming! I'm transported
with joy-Where are they? I long to see
[Exit.
'em!
Dim. Well, sir; the couple are arriv'd.
Drug. Yes, they do live happy indeed.
Dim. But how long will it last?
Drug. How long! don't forbode any ill,
you jade-don't, I say-It will last during
their lives, I hope.
Dim. Well, mark the end of it-Sir Char-
les, I know, is gay and good humour'd-but
he can't bear the least contradiction, no, not
in the merest trifle.
as to that Mr.Woodley I think you call
him-he is but a plain, underbred, ill-fashioned
sort of a-nobody knows him; he is not one
of us-Oh, by all means marry her to one
of us.
Drug. I believe it must be so-Would you
take any refreshment?
Sir C. Nothing in nature-it is time to re-
tire.
Drug. Well, well! good night then, sir
Charles-Ha! here comes my daughter-Good
night, sir Charles.
Sir C. Bon repos.
Drug [Going out] My lady Racket, I'm
glad to hear how happy you are, I won't de-
tain you now-there's your good man waiting
for you-good night, my girl. [Exit.
Sir C. I must humour this old putt, in or-
der to be remember'd in his will.
Enter LADY RACKET.
Lady R. O la!-I'm quite fatigu'd-I can
hardly move-why don't you help me, you
barbarous man?
Sir C. There, take my arm-Was ever
thing so pretty made to walk?
Lady R. But I won't be laugh'd at-I don't
love you.
Sir C. Don't you?
Lady R. No. Dear me! this glove! why
don't you help me off with my glove? pshaw!
-You awkward thing, let it alone; you an't
fit to be about me, I might as well not be
married, for any use you are of-reach me a
chair-you have no compassion for me-I am
so glad to sit down-why do you drag me
to routs?-You know I hate 'em.
Sir C. Oh! there's no existing, no breathing,
unless one does as other people of fashion do.
Lady R. But I'm out of humour; I lost all
my money.
Sir C. How much.
Lady R. Three hundred..
Sir C. Never fret for that-- I don't value
three hundred pounds to contribute to your
happiness.
Lady R. Don't you?-Not value three hund-
red pounds to please me?
Sir C. You know I don't.
Drug. Hold your tongue-hold your tongue.
Dim. Yes, sir, I have done-and yet there
is in the composition of sir Charles a certain
humour, which, like the flying gout, gives no Lady R. Ah! you fond fool! - But I hate
disturbance to the family till it settles in the gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman
head-When once it fixes there, mercy on into a fury-Do you know that I was frigh-
every body about him! but here he comes. tened at myself several times to-night-I had
[Exit. an huge oath at the very tip of my tongue.
Sir C. Had ye?
Enter SIR CHARLES RACKET.
Lady R. I caught myself at it and so I
Sir C. My dear sir, I kiss your hand-but bit my lips-and then I was cramm'd up in
why stand on ceremony? To find you up a corner of the room with such a strange
thus late, mortifies me beyond expression. party at a whist-table, looking at black and
Drug. "Tis but once in a way, sir Charles. red spots-did you mind 'em?
Sir C. My obligations to you are inexpress-
ible; you have given me the most amiable
Sir C. You know I was busy elsewhere.
Lady R. There was that strange, unaccount-

SCENE 1.]
645
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
-
Lady R. Well, sir! ha, ha, ha!
able woman, Mrs. Nightshade-She behav'd it's the clearest case in the world, I'll make it
so strangely to her husband, a poor, inoffen- plain in a moment.
sive, good-natur'd, good sort of a good-for-
nothing kind of man-but she so te az'd him
"How could you play that card? Ah, you've
a head, and so has a pin-You're a numscull,
you know you are-Ma'am, he has the poor-
est head in the world, he does not know what
he is about; you know you don't-Ah, fie!
I'm asham'd of you!"
[With a sneering Laugh.
Sir C. I had four cards left-a trump was
led-they were six-no, no, no, they were
seven, and we nine-then, you know-the
beauty of the play was to-
Lady R. And sure the play for the odd
Sir C. Death and fury! can't you hear me?
Lady R. Go on, sir.
Sir C. Zoons! hear me, I say-Will you
Lady R. Well, now it's amazing to me,
that you can't see it - give me leave, sir
Sir C. She has serv'd to divert you, I see. Charles- your left hand adversary had led
Lady R. And then, to crown all-there was his last trump-and he had before finess'd
my lady Clackit, who runs on with an eter- the club, and rough'd the diamond-now if
nal volubility of nothing, out of all season, you had put on your diamond-
time, and place-In the very midst of the Sir C. Zoons! madam, but we play'd for
game she begins-"Lard, ma'am, I was ap- the odd trick.
prehensive I should not be able to wait on
your la'ship-my poor little dog, Pompey-trick-
the sweetest thing in the world-a spade led!
-there's the knave - I was fetching a walk,
me'm, the other morning in the Park-a fine
frosty morning it was-I love frosty weather hear me?
of all things-let me look at the last trick- Lady R. I never heard the like in my life.
and so, me'm, little Pompey-and if your la'- [Hums a Tune, and walks about fretfully.
ship was to see the dear creature pinch'd Sir C. Why then you are enough to pro-
with the frost, and mincing his steps along voke the patience of a stoic. [Looks at her;
the Mall with his pretty, little, innocent face she walks about, and laughs uneasily Very
-I vow I don't know what to play-and so, well, madam-you know no more of the game
me'em, while I was talking to captain Flim- than your father's leaden Hercules on the top
sey- your la'ship knows captain Flimsey-of the house-you know no more of whist
nothing but rubbish in my hand-I can't help than he does of gardening.
it ¹)-and so, me'm, five odious frights of dogs Lady R. Ha, ha, ha!
beset my poor little Pompey-the dear crea-
ture has the heart of a lion, but who can
resist five at once?-And so Pompey barked
for assistance-the hurt he received was upon
his chest-the doctor would not advise him Sir C. Madam, it shall be as I please-I'll
to venture out till the wound is heal'd, for order my chariot this moment. [Going] I
fear of an ir flammation-Pray what's trumps?" know how the cards should be play'd as well
Sir C. My dear, you'd make a most excel- as any man in England, that let me tell you.
lent actress.
[Going] And when your family were stand-
Lady R. Well, now let's go to rest-but, ing behind counters, measuring out tape, and
sir Charles, how shockingly you play'd that bartering for Whitechapel needles, my an-
last rubber, when I stood looking over you! cestors, my ancestors, madam, were squan-
Sir C. My love, I play'd the truth of the game. dering away whole estates at cards; whole
Lady R. No, indeed, my dear, you play'd estates, my lady Racket. [She hums a Tune,
it wrong.
Sir C. Po! nonsense! you don't
stand it.
Lady R. I beg your pardon, I'm
to play better than you.
[Takes out a Glass, and settles her Hair.
Sir C. You're a vile woman, and I'll not
sleep another night under one roof with you.
Lady R. As you please, sir.
and he looks at her] Why then, by all that's
under- dear to me, I'll never exchange another word
with you, good, bad, or indifferent-Lookye,
allowed my lady Racket-thus it stood-the trump
being led, it was then my business.-
Sir C. All conceit, my dear; I was perfect-
ly right.
Lady R. No such thing, sir Charles; the
diamond was the play.
Sir C. Po! po! ridiculous! the club was
the card, against the world.
Lady R. Oh! no, no, no, I say it was the
diamond.
Sir C. Zounds! madam, I say it was the club.
Lady R. What do you fly into such a pas-
sion for?
I
Sir C. 'Sdeath and fury! do you think
don't know what I'm about? I tell you once
more the club was the judgment of it.
Lady R. May be so-have it your own way,
[Walks about and sings.
Sir C. Vexation! you're the strangest wo-
man that ever liv'd; there's no conversing
with you-Look'ye here, my lady Racket-
Lady R. To play the diamond, to be sure.
Sir C. Damn it, I have done with you for
ever, and so you may tell your father. [Exit.
Lady R. What a passion the gentleman's
in! ha, ha! [Laughs in a peevish Manner]
I promise him I'll not give up my judgment.
Re-enter SIR CHARLES RACKET.
Sir C. My lady Racket, lookye, ma'am-
once more, out of pure good nature-
Lady R. Sir, I am convinc'd of your good
nature.
Sir C. That, and that only, prevails with
me to tell you the club was the play.
Lady R. Well, be it so-I have no ob-
jection.
Sir C. It's the clearest point in the world
we were nine, and-
Lady R. And for that very reason-you
1) This is said in reply to a look of astonishment from know the club was the best in the house.
her partner at her playing such bad cards.
Sir C. There is no such thing as talking to

646
[ACT II.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
you-You're a base woman-I'll part from you -to disturb the serenity of my temper-Don't
for ever; you may live here with your father, imagine that I'm in a passion-I'm not so easily
and admire his fantastical evergreens, till you ruffled as you may imagine-But quietly and
grow as fantastical yourself- I'll set out for deliberately I can repay the injuries done me
London this instant-[Stops at the Door] by a false, ungrateful, deceitful wife.
The club was not the best in the house.
Drug. The injuries done you by a false,
Lady R. How calm you are! Well! I'll ungrateful wife! My daughter, I hope-
go to bed-will you come? You had better Sir C. Her character is now fully known to
-come then-you shall come to bed-not me-she's a vile woman! that's all I have to
come to bed when I ask you!-Poor sir Char-say, sir.
les!
[Looks and laughs; then exit. Drug. Hey! how!-a vile woman - what
Sir C. That ease is provoking. [Crosses to has she done-I hope she is not capable-
the opposite Door where she went out] I Sir C. I shall enter into no detail, Mr.
tell you the diamond was not the play, and Drugget; the time and circumstances won't
I here take my final leave of you. [Walks allow it a present-But depend upon it I have
back as fast as he can] I am resolv'd upon done with her-a low, unpolish'd, uneducated,
it, and I know the club was not the best in false, imposing-See if the horses are put to.
the house.
[Exit. Drug. Mercy on me! in my old days to
hear this.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter DIMITY.
Enter MRS. DRUGGET.
Mrs. D. Deliver me! I am all over in such
Dim. Ha, ha, ha! oh, heavens! I shall ex- a tremble-Sir Charles, I shall break my heart
pire in a fit of laughing-this is the modish if there's any thing amiss-
couple that were so happy-such a quarrel as Sir C. Madam, I am very sorry, for your
they have had the whole house is in an sake-but there is no possibility of living
uproar-ha, ha! a rare proof of the happiness with her.
they enjoy in high life. I shall never hear
people of fashion mentioned again but I shall
be ready to die in a fit of laughter-ho, ho,
ho! this is three weeks after marriage, I think.
Enter DRUGGET.
Mrs. D. My poor dear girl! What can she
have done?
Sir C. What all her sex can do; the very
spirit of them all.
Drug. Ay, ay, ay!-She's bringing foul dis-
grace upon us-This comes of her marrying
Drug. Hey! how! what's the matter, Di- a man of fashion.
mity? What am I call'd down stairs for? Sir C. Fashion, sir! that should have in-
Dim. Why, there's two people of fashion-structed her better-she might have been sen-
[Stifles a laugh. sible of her happiness - Whatever you may
Drug. Why, you saucy minx!-Explain this think of the fortune you gave her, my rank
in life claims respect claims obedience, at-
Dim. The fond couple have been together tention, truth, and love, from one raised in the
by the ears this half hour-Are you satis- world, as she has been by an alliance with me.
fied now?
Drug. And let me tell you, however you
may estimate your quality, my daughter is
moment.
Drug. Ay!-what, have they quarrell'd-
what was it about?
Dim. Something above my comprehension,
and yours too, I believe - People in high life
understand their own forms best-And here
comes one that can unriddle the whole affair.
[Exit.
Enter SIR CHARLES RACKET.
Sir C. [To the People within] I say let
the horses be put to this moment-So, Mr.
Drugget.
Drug. Sir Charles, here's a terrible bustle-
I did not expect this-what can be the matter?
Sir C. I have been us'd by your daughter
in so base, so contemptuous a manner, that II
am determined not to stay in this house to-
night.
dear to me.
Sir C. And, sir, any character is dear to me.
Drug. Yet you must give me leave to tell
you-
Sir C. I won't hear a word.
-
Drug. Not in behalf of my own daughter?
Sir C. Nothing can excuse her- 'tis to no
purpose she has married above her; and if
that circumstance makes the lady forget her-
self, she at least shall see that I can, and will
support my own dignity.
Drug. But, sir, I have a right to ask-
Mrs. D. Patience, my dear; be a little calm.
Drug. Mrs. Drugget, do you have patience;
must and will inquire.
Mrs. D. Don't be so hasty, my love; have
some respect for sir Charles's rank; don't be
Drug. This is a thunderbolt to me! After violent with a man of his fashion.
seeing how elegantly and fashionably you liv'd Drug. Hold your tongue, woman, I say-
together, to find now all sunshine vanish'd-you're not a person of fashion at least-My
Do, sir Charles, let me heal this breach, if daughter was ever a good girl.
possible.
Sir C. I have found her out.
Sir C. Sir, 'tis impossible--I'll not live with
her a day longer.
Drug. Nay, nay, don't be over hasty-let
me entreat you, go to bed and sleep upon it-
in the morning, when you're cool-
Drug. Oh! then it is all over-and it does
not signify arguing about it.
Mrs. D. That ever I should live to see this
hour! how the unfortunate girl could take
such wickedness in her head, I can't imagine
Sir C. Oh, sir, I am very cool, I assure--I'll go and speak to the unhappy creature
ha, ha!-it is not in her power, sir, to-a-a this moment.
[Exit.

SCENE 1.]
647
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Sir C. She stands detected now-detected inf
her truest colours.
Sir C. She can have nothing to say-no ex-
cuse can palliate such bohaviour.
Drug. Don't be too positive-there may be
some mistake.
Drug. Well, grievous as it may be, let me
hear the circumstances of this unhappy business,
Sir C. Mr. Drugget, I have not leisure now Sir C. No mistake-did not I see her, hear
-but her behaviour has been so exasperating, her myself?
that I shall make the best of my way to town Drug. Lack-a-day! then I am an unfortu-
-My mind is fixed-She sees me no more; nate man!
and so, your servant, sir.
[Exit. Sir C. She will be unfortunate too-with all
Drug. What a calamity has here befallen my heart-she may thank herself-she might
us! a good girl, and so well dispos'd, till the have been happy, had she been so dispos'd.
evil communication of high life, and fashion- Drug. Why truly I think she might.
able vices, turn'd her to folly.
LADY RACKET.
[Exit.
Re-enter MRS. DRUGGET.
Re-enter MRS. DRUGGET and DIMITY, with Mrs. D. I wish you'd moderate your anger
a little and let us talk over this affair with
Lady R. A cruel, barbarous man! to quar-temper-my daughter denies every tittle of
rel in this unaccountable manner, to alarm your charge.
the whole house, and expose me and him-
self too.
Mrs. D. Oh, child! I never thought I would
have come to this- your shame won't end
here! it will be all over St. James's parish by in
to-morrow morning.
Dim. As I'm a sinner, and so it will, ma-
dam. He deserves what he has met with,
I
Sir C. Denies it! denies it!
Mrs. D. She does indeed.
Sir C. And that aggravates her fault.
Mrs. D. She vows you never found her out
any thing that was wrong.
Sir C. So! she does not allow it to be wrong
Lady R. Well, if it must be so, there's one then!-Madam, I tell you again, I know her
comfort, the story will tell more to his dis- thoroughly; I say, I have found her out, and
grace than mine.
am now acquainted with her character.
Mrs. D. Then you are in opposite stories-
I she swears, my dear Mr. Drugget, the poor
girl swears she never was guilty of the small-
Mrs. D. Dimity, don't you encourage her- est infidelity to her husband in her born days.
you shock me to hear you speak so
Sir C. And what then?-What if she does
not think you had been so harden'd.
say so?
Lady R. Harden'd do you call it? I have Mrs. D. And if she says truly, it is hard
liv'd in the world to very little purpose, if such her character should be blown upon without
trifles as these are to disturb my rest.
think.
-
I did
Mrs. D. You wicked girl!-Do you call it
a trifle to be guilty of falsehood to your husband.
Lady R. How! [Turns short and stares
at her] Well, I protest and vow I don't com-
prehend all this has sir Charles accus'd me
of any impropriety in my conduct?
Mrs. D. Oh! too true, he has he has found
you out, and you have behav'd basely, he says.
Lady R. Madam!
Mrs. D. You have fallen into frailty, like
many others of your sex, he says; and he is
resolv'd to come to a separation directly.
just cause.
Sir C. And is she therefore to behave ill in
other respects? I never charg'd her with infi-
delity to me, madam-there I allow her innocent.
Drug. And did not you charge her then?
Sir C. No, sir, I never dreamt of such a
thing.
Drug. Why then, if she's innocent, let me
tell you, you're a scandalous person.
Mrs. D. Pr'ythee, my dear-
Drug. Be quiet-though he is a man of
quality, I will tell him of it-did not I fine
for sheriff?-Yes, you are a scandalous person
Lady R. Why then, if he is so base a to defame an honest man's daughter.
wretch as to dishono:ir me in that manner,
Sir C. What have you taken into your
his heart shall ache before I live with him again. head now?
Dim, Hold to that, ma'am, and let his head
ache into the bargain.
Lady R. Then let your doors be open'd for
him this very moment-let him return to Lon-
don-if he does not, I'll lock myself up, and
the false one shan't approach me, though he
beg on his knees at my very door- a base,
injurious man!
[Exit.
Mrs. D. Dimity, do let us follow, and hear
what she has to say for herself.
[Exit.
Dim. She has excuse enough, I warrant
her-What a noise is here indeed!-I have
liv'd in polite families, where there was no
such bustle made about nothing. [Exit.
Re-enter SIR CHARLES RACKET and DRUGGET.
Sir C. 'Tis in vain, sir; my resolution
taken-
is
Drug. Well, but consider, I am her father
-indulge me only till we hear what the girl
has to say in her defence.
Drug. You charg'd her with falsehood to
your bed.
your-
Sir C. No-never-never.
Drug. But I say you did-you call'd
self a cuckold-did not he, wife?
Mrs. D. Yes, lovey, I'm witness.
Sir C. Absurd! I said no such thing.
Drug. But I aver you did.
Mrs. D. You did indeed, sir.
Sir C. But I tell you no-positively no.
Drug. Mrs. D. And I say yes-positively yes.
Sir C. 'Sdeath, this is all madness-
Drug. You said she follow'd the ways of
most of her sex.
Sir C. I said so-and what then?
Drug. There he owns it-owns that he call'd
himself a cuckold-and without rhyme or rea-
son into the bargain.
Sir C. I never own'd any such thing.
Drug. You own'd it even now-now-
now-now.

648
[ACT II.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Re-enter DIMITY, in a fit of Laughing.
Sir C. Madam, it shall be my fault if ever
Dim. What do you think it was all about-I am treated so again - I'll have nothing to
ha, ha! the whole secret is come out, ha, ha!-say to her-[Going, stops] Does she give up
It was all about a game of cards-ha, ha!-the point?
Drug. A game of cards!
Mrs. D. She does, she agrees to any thing.
Sir C. Does she allow that the club was
Mrs. D. Just as you please-she's all sub-
Dim. [Laughing] It was all about a club
and a diamond. [Runs out Laughing. the play?
Drug. And was that all, sir Charles?
Sir C. And enough too, sir.
Drug. And was that what you found her
out in?
Sir C. I can't bear to be contradicted when
I'm clear that I'm in the right.
mission.
Sir C. Does she own that the club was not
the best in the house?
Mrs. D. She does-she does.
Sir C. Then I'll step and speak to her - I
[Exit.
Drug. I never heard such a heap of non-never was clearer in any thing in my life.
sense in all my life. Why does not he go
and beg her pardon, then?
Sir C. I beg her pardon! I won't debase
myself to any of you- I shan't forgive her,
you may rest assur'd.
[Exit.
Drug. Now there-there's a pretty fellow
for you.
Mrs. D. Lord love 'em, they'll make it up
now- and then they'll be as
and then they'll be as happy as ever.
[Exit.
Enter DRUGGET and LOVELACE.
Drug. So, Mr. Lovelace! any news from
Mrs. D. I'll step and prevail on my lady above stairs? Is this absurd quarrel at an end
Racket to speak to him-then all will be well.-Have they made it up?
[Exit. Love. Oh! a mere bagatelle, sir-these little
Drug. A ridiculous fop! I'm glad it's no fracas among the better sort of people never
worse, however.
Enter NANCY.
So, Nancy-you seem in confusion, my girl!
Nan. How can one help it?-With all this
noise in the house, and you're going to marry
me as ill as my sister-I hate Mr. Lovelace.
Drug. Why so, child?
Nan. I know these people of quality des-
pise us all out of pride, and would be
to marry us out of avarice.
Drug. The girl's right.
glad
Nan. They marry one woman, live with
another, and love only themselves.
Drug. And then quarrel about a card.
Nan. I don't want to be a gay lady--I want
to be happy.
last long-elegant trifles cause elegant disputes,
and we come together elegantly again-as you
see-for here they come, in perfect good
humour.
Re-enter SIR CHARLES RACKET and MRS.
DRUGGET, with LADY RACKET.
Sir C. Mr. Drugget, I embrace you; sir,
you see me now in the most perfect harmony
of spirits.
Drug. What, all reconcil'd again?
Lady R. All made up, sir-I knew how to
bring him to my lure This is the first dif-
ference, I think, we ever had, sir Charles?
Sir C. And I'll be sworn it shall be the last.
Drug. I am happy at last-Sir Charles, I
can spare you an image to put on the
your ho in London.
Drug. And so you shall-don't fright your-of
self, child-step to your sister, bid her make
herself easy-go, and comfort her, go.
Nan. Yes, sir.
top
Sir C. Infinitely obliged to you.
Drug. Well, well!-It's time to retire now
[Exit. -I am glad to see you reconciled-and now
Drug. I'll step and settle the matter with I'll wish you a good night, sir Charles - Mr.
Mr. Woodley this moment.
[Exit. Lovelace, this is your way-fare ye well both
-I am glad your quarrels are at an end-
This way, Mr. Lovelace.
SCENE II.-Another Apartment.
SIR CHARLES RACKET discovered with a Pack
of Cards in his Hand.
[Exeunt Drugget, Mrs. Drugget,
and Lovelace.
Sir C. My dear, I grant it- and such an
absurd quarrel too-ha, ha!
Sir C. Never was any thing like her be- Lady R. Ah! you're a sad man, sir Charles,
haviour-I can pick out the very cards I had to behave to me as you have done.
in my hand, and then 'tis as plain as the sun-
there-now-there-no-damn it-no-there
it was-now let's see-they had four by ho- Lady R. Yes-ha, ha!-about such a trifle.
nours-and we play'd for the odd trick-dam- Sir C. It's pleasant how we could both fall
nation!-honours were divided-ay! honours into such an error-ha, ha!
were divided-and then a trump was led-and Lady R. Ridiculous, beyond expression-
the other side had the-confusion!-this pre-ha, ha!
posterous woman has put it all out of my Sir C. And then the mistake your father and
head-[Puts the Cards into his Pocket mother fell into-ha, ha!
Mighty well, madam; I have done with you.
Enter MRS. DRUGGET.
Mrs D. Come, sir Charles, let me
Come with me and speak to her.
Lady R. That too is a diverting part of the
story-ha, ha!-But, sir Charles, must 1 stay
and live with my father till I grow as fan-
prevail-tastical as his own evergreens?
Sir C. I don't desire to see her face.
Mrs. D. If you were to see her all bath'd
in tears, I am sure it would melt your very
heart.
Sir C. No, no, pr'ythee-don't remind me
of my folly.
Lady R. Ah! my relations were all standing
behind counters, selling Whitechapel needles,
while your family were spending great estates.

SCENE 2.1
649
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Sir C. Nay, nay, spare my blushes.
Lady R. How could you say so harsh a
thing?-I don't love you.
Sir C. It was indelicate, I grant it.
Lady R. Am I a vile woman?
Sir C. How can you, my angel?
Sir C. Stay a moment, can't ye?
Lady R. No-my head begins to ache-
[Affectedly.
Sir C. Why then, damn the cards-there-
there [Throwing the Cards about] and there,
and there- You may go to bed by yourself;
Lady R. I shan't forgive you!-I'll have you and confusion seize me if I live a moment
on your knees for this. [Sings, and plays
with him]-Go, naughty man. Ah! sir
Charles!
-
Sir C. The rest of my life shall aim at con-
vincing you how sincerely I love-
Lady R. [Sings] Go, naughty man, I can't
abide you. Well! come let us go to rest.
[Going] Ah, sir Charles!-now it is all over,
the diamond was the play.
Sir C. Oh no, no, no,-my dear! ha, ha!-
it was the club indeed.
Lady R. Indeed, my love, you're mistaken.
Sir C. Oh, no, no, no.
Lady R. But I say, yes, yes, yes-
[Both Laughing.
Sir C. Pshaw! no such thing-ha, ha!
Lady R. 'Tis so, indeed-ha, ha!
Sir G. No, no, no-you'll make me die with
laughing.
longer with you-[Putting on his Shoes
again] No, never, madam.
Lady R. Take your own way, sir.
Sir C. Now then, I tell you once more you
are a vile woman.
Lady R. Ha, ha! don't make me laugh again,
sir Charles.
Sir C. I wish I had never seen your face-
I wish I was a thousand miles off; will you
sit down quietly and let me convince you?
[Sits down.
Lady R. I'm disposed to walk about, sir,
I thank you.
Sir C. Why then, may I perish if ever-a
blockhead-an idiot I was to marry [Walks
about] such a provoking-impertinent-[She
sits down]-Damnation! -I am so clear in
the thing-she is not worth my notice-[Sits
down, turns his Back, and looks uneasy]
Lady R. Ay, and you make me laugh too-I'll take no more pains about it-[Pauses for
ha, ha!
[Toying with him.
Enter Footman.
Footm. Your honour's cap and slippers.
Sir C. Ay, lay down my nightcap-and here,
take these shoes off. [He takes them off, and
leaves them at a distance] Indeed, my lady
Racket, you make me ready to expire with
laughing-ha, ha!
Lady R. You may laugh- but I'm right,
notwithstanding.
Sir C. How can you say so?
Lady R. How can you say otherwise?
Sir C. Well now mind me, my lady Racket-
We can now talk of this matter in good hu-
mour-We can discuss it coolly.
Lady R. So we can-and it's for that rea-
son I venture to speak to you-are these the
ruffles I bought for you?
some time, then looks at her] Is not it very
strange that you won't hear me?
Lady R. Sir, I am very ready to hear you.
Sir C. Very well then-very well-my dear
you remember how the game stood.
Lady R. I wish you'd untie my necklace, it
hurts me.
Sir C. Why can't you listen?
Lady R. I tell you it hurts me terribly.
Sir C. Why thus-you may be as wroug
as you please, and may I never hold four by
honours, if I ever endeavour to set you right
again.
[Exit.
Re-enter DRUGGET, MRS. DRUGGET, and LOVE-
LACE; with WOODLEY and NANCY.
Drug. What's here to do now?
Lady R. Never was such a man born-I
did not say a word to the gentleman and
Lady R. They are very pretty-but indeed yet he has been raving about the room like
you played the card wrong.
Sir C. They are, my dear.
Str C. How can you talk so?-
[Somewhat peevish.
Lady R. See there now-
Sir G. Listen to me-this was the affair-
Lady R. Pshaw! fiddlestick! hear me first,
Sir C. Po-no-damn it, let me speak.
Lady R. Very well, sir! fly out again.
Sir C. Look here now-here's a pack of
cards-now you shall be convinced-
Lady R. You may talk till to-morrow; I
know I'm right.
[Walks about,
Sir G. Why then, by all that's perverse,
you are the most headstrong-Can't you look
here now-here are the very cards.
a madman.
-
Drug. And about a club again, I suppose.-
Come hither, Nancy; Mr. Woodley, she is
yours for life.
Mrs. D. My dear, how can you be so-
Drug. It shall be so-take her for life, Mr.
Woodley.
Wood. My whole life shall be devoted to
her happiness.
Love. The devil! and so I am to be left in
the lurch in this manner, am I?
Lady R. Oh! this is only one of those po-
lite disputes which people of quality, who have
nothing else to differ about, must always be
liable to-This will all be made up.
Lady R. Go on; you'll find it out at last. Drug. Never tell me it's too late now-
Sir C. Damn it! will you let a man show Mr. Woodley, I recommend my girl to your
you. Po! it's all nonsense-I'll talk no more care-I shall have nothing now to think of
about it-[Puts up the Cards] Come, we'll but my greens, and my images, and my shrub-
go to bed. [Going] Now only stay a mo- bery though, mercy on all married folks, say
ment-[Takes out the Cards] Now, mind I! for these wranglings are, I am afraid, what
me-see here-
we must all come to.
Lady R. [Advancing] What we must all
come to? What?-Come to what?
Lady R. No, it does not signify-your head
will be clearer in the morning-I'll go to bed.
82

650
[ACT V.
THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Must broils and quarrels be the marriage lot? To form a plan so trivial, false, and low?
If that's the wise, deep meaning of our poet, As if a belle could quarrel with a beau.
The man's a fool! a blockhead! and I'll show it. Shun strife, ye fair, and once a contest o'er,
What could induce him in an age so nice, Wake to a blaze the dying flame no more.
So fam'd for virtue, so refin'd from vice,
[Exeunt.
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN,
WHO has been with great propriety styled the Congreve of the present day, was born at Quilca, near Dublin,
about the year 1752; and at the age of six years was brought to England, and placed at Harrow school, where he re-
ceived his education, under the care of Dr. Sumner. After having finished his studies at that seminary, he entered
himself of the Middle Temple society, with a view to the profession of the law; but the attractions of dramatic poe-
try seem to have suspended his ardour in that pursuit. At the age of eighteen, he joined with another gentleman in
translating the epistles of Aristaenetus from the Greek; and, before he arrived at the age of twenty-two, his first play,
The Rivals, was acted. In the year 1776, Mr. Garrick, having resolved to quit all his theatrical connexions, entered
into a treaty with Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Linley, and Mr. Ford, for the sale of his share and interest in the patent, which
agreement was soon afterwards finished, and our author became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre. On the
13th of April 1773, he was married to Miss Elizabeth Linley, an accomplished lady of exquisite musical talents. Amidst
the cares of a theatre, Mr. Sheridan had not kept clear of the concerns of the political drama. Among the connexions
that he had formed in this way was the late Right Hon. Charles James Fox. To that great man, then at the height
of his talents, we may most probably attribute Mr. Sheridan's commencement of senatorial honours.
After a variety
of expectations from parliamentary interests, he offered himself a candidate for the independent borough of Stafford,
in the election of 1780, against the gentleman who had for some years represented it, and succeeded. His connexion
with Mr. Fox naturally led him to the support of his party, at that time in opposition. His first effort in parliament
was on the subject of the employment of the military during the riots arising from the Protestant petition. On the
accession to power of the second administration formed under the Marquis of Rockingham, in 1782, when Lord Shel-
burne and Mr. Fox were principal secretaries of state, and Burke was paymaster of the forces, Mr. Sheridan became
under-secretary to his friend, and with him resigned, when the death of that Noble Marquis again changed the dispo-
sition of power. Again Mr. Sheridan returned to his former exertions with new vigour, and, in conjunction with other
persons, set up a periodical paper, called The Jesuit, which had not been long established, when its authors rendered
themselves liable to a prosecution. This was not long delayed; for Mr. Pitt, then just twenty-three years old, was at
the head of the administration, Mr. Dundas was the treasurer of the navy, etc., and Lord Shelburne at the head of the
treasury-board. The powerful party under Lord North was now in opposition as well as that of Mr. Fox. A coali-
tion was therefore brought about by means of Edmund Burke, the mutual friend of both, for the purpose of creating
a majority against administration. This was that celebrated coalition, against which every party joined in mutual re-
crimination. On the debate of the preliminary articles of peace, (February 17, 1783.) Mr. Sheridan had warmly se-
conded Lord John Cavendish, in an amendment of the address, which went to omit the approval of the treaty. Mr.
Pitt, in answer to him, thought proper to commence his speech with the following exordium: "No man (he said) ad-
mired more than he did, the abilities of that Honourable Gentleman, the elegant sallies of his thought, the gay effu-
sions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, and his epigrammatic points: and if they were reserved for the proper stage,
they would no doubt receive, what the Honourable Gentleman's abilities always did receive, the plaudits of the au-
dience and it would be his fortune, Sui plausu gaudere theatri:' But this was not the proper scene for these ele-
gancies; and he therefore called the attention of the House to the question," etc. In his reply to this, Mr. Sheridan
said, that "On the particular sort of personality which the Right Honourable Gentleman had thought proper to make
use of, he need not make any comment; the propriety-the taste-the gentlemanly point of it, must have been obvious
to the House. But (continued he), let me assure the Right Honourable Gentleman, that I do now, and will at any
time, when he chooses to repeat this sort of allusion, meet it with the most sincere good humour. Nay, I will say
more-flattered and encouraged by the Right Honourable Gentleman's panegyric on my talents, if ever I again engage
in the compositions to which he alludes, I may be tempted to an act of presumption-to attempt an improvement on
one of Ben Jonson's best characters-that of the Angry Boy in The Alchymist." The Coalition triumphed for a time,
and Mr. Sheridan again returned to place (April 1783), as secretary to the treasury, of which the Duke of Portland
was first Lord. Mr. Fox, at the same time, was secretary for foreign affairs, and Lord North for the home depart-
ment, while Mr. Burke, as before, was paymaster. In defence of the Bill for the Government of India, of his friend
Mr. Fox, Sheridan evinced powers which appeared to astonish equally his auditors and the public.
The time was.
however, arrived when the whole men and measures of the English government were to experience a change, and Mr
Sheridan, with his friends, receded into a long exile from power, on Mr. Pit's more general assumption of it. The
latter gentleman now became rst lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer, with a number of new cha-
racters in the highest departments of the state. This did not, however, interrupt Mr. Sheridan's career to excellence
and importance as a parliamentary orator; for, on the trial of Mr. Hastings, arising out of the disorders in the govern-
ment of India, on which he had already distinguished himself, he was appointed a manager. The great estimation in
which he then stood, may be readily conceived by the following enlogium, pronounced on him by Burke, upon his
exertions in the above business: "He has this day surprised the thousands, who hung with rapture on his accents, by
such an array of talents, such an exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are unparalleled in the annals of
oratory; a display that reflected the highest honour upon himself-lustre upon letters-renown upon parliament-glory
upon the country. Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been witnessed or recorded, either
in ancient or modern times; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, the solidity of the judgment-
seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished nothing has surpassed, nothing has equalled, what
we have heard this day in Westminster Hall. No holy seer of religion, no sage, no statesman, no orator, no man of
any description whatever, has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality; or in the other, to
that variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of diction,
trength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublimity of conception, to which we have this day listened with ardour
and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence there is not a species of composition, of which a complete and perfect
specimen might not from that single speech be culled and collected "-Mr. Fox said, that all he had ever heard or read,
when compared with it, dwindled into nothing.-Mr. Pitt acknowledged, "that he had surpassed all the eloquence of
ancient or modern times, and that his speech (on the third charge against Mr. Hastings) possessed every thing that ge-
nius or art could furnish, to agitate and control the human mind." The next great occasion in which the powers of
his cloquence were called forth, was the question of regency; in which he supported with great dignity the rights of
his Royal Patron. Throughout the whole of this important period, the Prince of Wales honoured Mr. Sheridan with
his confdence, and which has since remained with a steady constancy. About the same time he also lost his father,
who died at Margate, August 14, 1788. The true friend of liberty, he always displayed himself as a genuine loyalist.
During the melancholy period of the naval mutiny, he said- Whatever difference in political sentiments might pre-
vail in the country, the moment was come when His Majesty had an undoubted right to call upon all his subjects for
their jealous co-operation in maintaining the due execution of the laws, and in giving every possible efficiency to the
measures of Government." In all questions that regard the liberty of the subject, Mr. Sheridan has ever been promi-
nent and active and in questions of commerce and finance, as well as military affairs, he has surprised his most in-
limate friends, Mr. Sheridan had, previous to his entering into Parliament, increased his property in the Theatre

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
651
THE RIVALS.
Royal, Drury Lane, by the purchase of Mr. Lacy's share in the patent, in addition to his own; yet the increased ex-
penses of an establishment calculated for all that was great and gay, rendered the increase of fortune unequal to their
support, and produced embarrassments, of which, however they may, on some occasions, delight in the recital, we
should not feel warranted in the insertion. In 1792, he lost his lady, who died of a lingering decline. Mr. Wilkes
said of her, she was "the most modest, pleasing, and delicate flower" he had seen. Once more be lent his aid to the
interests of Drury Lane Theatre, as well as the drama at large. In the latter end of the season of 1799, appeared the
tragedy of Pizarro, translated from the German of Kotzebue; but translated with such freedom and additional beauties
that it might be said to be his own. It was most happily adapted to the times and to the genius of the British nation,
with all the graces and combinations of dramatic interest; hence the applause it met with was unbounded. Notwith-
standing the success of the establishment, for which Mr. Sheridan's talents were so ably exerted, its finances were in a
state that required the frequent interference of the Lord Chancellor; the decisions of whom were, however, always
to the honour of Mr. Sheridan. It was about this time that he purchased the pleasant villa of Polesden, near Leather-
head, in Surrey, formerly the residence of Admiral Geary; soon after which he was appointed receiver-general of the
Dutchy of Cornwall, to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. On the retirement of Mr. Pitt, Mr. Sheridan acted
as usual in accordance with Mr. Fox; and on the return of Mr. Pitt, to office, he did not fail of his wonted rigour
against him. On the death of that great statesman, Mr. Fox, after an absence from power of twenty-three years, was,
by the unnanimous voice of the Sovereign and the people, called into office, and Mr. Sheridan was invited to share the
honours of his friend. He became a member of the privy council, and treasurer of the navy, and applied himself to
the important duties of his situation with great diligence. But an event soon took place that checked the apparent se-
renity of his progress, as well as that of his co-partners: this was the death of Mr. Fox, The pleasing prospects
which honour, popularity, and power, might have given to the view of Mr. Sheridan, now soon faded before him. On
the subject of the Roman Catholic question a difference in the cabinet took place, which occasioned a sudden dissolu-
tion of Parliament; in consequence of which Mr. Sheridan again was found in opposition, in which he continued. We
decline stating the wretchedness of his latter end, as that is now known to all the world.
THE RIVALS.
Comedy by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent-Garden, 1775. This was the first dramatie piece of an
author, who has since reached the highest point of excellence in the least easy and most hazardous species of writing.
The present play is formed on a plot unborrowed from any former drama, and contains wit, humour, character, inci-
dent, and the principle requisites to constitute a perfect comedy. It, notwithstanding, met with very harsh treatment
the first night, and was with difficulty allowed a second representation. It has, however, of late years been always
received with great applanse.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE.
SIR LUCIUS o'
COACHMAN.
LUCY.
CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.
FAULKLAND.
ACRES.
TRIGGER.
FAG
DAVID.
MRS. MALAPROP.
LYDIA LANGUISH.
JULIA.
Maid, Boy, Ser-
vants, etc.
SCENE.Bath. Time of Action- Five Hours.
ACT I.
Fag. No. Well, honest Thomas, I must
SCENE I. 4 Street in BATH. COACHMAN puzzle you no farther:-briefly then-Captain
crosses the stage.
Enter FAG, looking after him.
Fag. WHAT! Thomas! Sure 'tis he?-
What! Thomas! Thomas!
Coach. Hey!-Odd's life! Mr. Fag!-give us
your hand, my old fellow-servant.
Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas:-I'm de-
vilish glad to see you, my lad: why, my prince
of charioteers, you look as hearty!-but who
the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?
Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry,
Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all come.
Fag. Indeed!
Coach. Ay! master thought another fit of
the gout was coming to make him a visit;-
so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we
were all off at an hour's warning.
Fag. Ay, ay! hasty in every thing, or it
would not be Sir Anthony Absolute!
Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does
young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare
to see the captain here!
Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.
Coach. Why sure!
Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign
Beverley.
Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed
for the better.
Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the
same person.
Coach. The devil they are!
Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the en-
sign half of my master being on guard at
present-the captain has nothing to do with me.
Coach. So, so!-what, this is some freak, I
warrant!- Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning
o't-you know I ha' trusted you.
Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas?
Coach. As a coach-horse.
Fag. Why then the cause of all this is-
Love, Love, Thomas, who (as you may get
read to you) has been a masquerader ever
since the days of Jupiter.
Coach. Ay, ay!-I guess'd there was a lady
in the case:-but pray, why does your master
pass only for ensign?-now if he had shamm'd
general indeed-
Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery
o'the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is
in love with a lady of a very singular taste:
a lady who likes him better as a half-pay
ensign than if she knew he was son and heir
to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three
thousand a year.
Coach. That is an odd taste indeed! but
has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, hey?
Fag. Rich! why, I believe she owns half
the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the
Coach. No! why didn't you say you had national debt as easily as I could my washer-
left young master?"
Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.
woman!- She has a lap-dog that eats out of

652
[ACT I
THE RIVALS.
gold, she feeds her parrot with small pearls,-SCENE II.4 Dressing-room in MRS. MA-
and all her thread-papers are made of bank-
LAPROP'S Lodgings.
noes!
Coach. Bravo, faith!-Odd! I warrant she LYDIA sitting on a Sofa, with a book in her
has a set of thousands at least:-but does she
Hand. Lucy, as just returned from a
draw kindly with the captain?
Message.
Fag. As fond as pigeons.
Coach. May one hear her name?
Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.-But there is an
old tough aunt in the way;-though, by the
by, she has never seen my master--for we got
acquainted with miss while on a visit in
Gloucestershire.
Coach. Well-I wish they were once har-
nessed together in matrimony.-But pray, Mr.
Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath?-I ha'
heard a deal of it-here's a mort o'merry-
making, hey?
Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the
town in search of it: I don't believe there's
a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at.
Lydia. And could not you get "The Reward
of Constancy?"
Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am.
Lydia. Nor "The Fatal Connexion?"
Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am.
Lydia. Nor "The Mistakes of the Heart?"
Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr.
Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched
it away.
Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well-'tis Lydia. Heigh-ho?- Did you inquire for
a good lounge; in the morning we go to the "The Delicate Distress?"
pump-room (though neither my master nor I Lucy. Or, "The Memoirs of Lady Wood-
drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter ford?" Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked every
on the parades, or play a game at billiards; where for it; and I might have brought it
at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger,
tired of it: their regular hours stupefy me- who had just sent it home, had so soiled and
not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!-how- dog's-ear'd it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read.
ever, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep Lydia. Heigh-ho!-Yes, I always know when
it up a little in private parties; -P'll in- Lady Slattern has been before me. She has
troduce you there, Thomas-- you'll like him a most observing thumb; and, I believe, che-
rishes her nails for the convenience of making
Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne - marginal notes.-Well, child, what have you
you know his master is to marry Madam brought me?
Julia.
much.
Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. [Taking books
Fag. I had forgot.-But, Thomas, you must from under her cloak, and from her pockets.]
polish a little-indeed you must - Here now-This is "The Gordian Knot,"-and this "Pere-
this wig!-what the devil do you do with a grine Pickle" Here are "The Tears of Sen-
wig, Thomas?-none of the London whips of sibility," and "Humphrey Clinker." This is
any degree of ton wear wigs now.
"The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written
Coach. More's the pity! more's the pity, I by herself," and here the second volume of
say-Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers "The Sentimental Journey."
and doctors had took to their own hair, I Lydia. Heigh-ho!-What are those books
thought how 'twould go next:-Odd rabbit it! by the glass?
92
when the fashion had got foot on the Bar, I Lucy. The great one is only "The Whole
guess'd 'twould mount to the Box!-but 'tis Duty of Man," where I press a few blonds,
all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and
look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine- the lawyers
and doctors may do as they will.
Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel
about that.
Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of
they professions ben't all of a mind-for in
our village now, thoff Jack Gauge the excise-
man has ta'en to his carrots 1), there's little
Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his
bob, tho' all the college should appear with
their own heads!
Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! but hold-
mark! mark! Thomas.
Coach, Zooks! 'tis the captain-Is that the
lady with him?
Fag. No! no! that is Madam Lucy - my
master's mistress's maid. They lodge at that
house-but I must after him to tell him the
news.
Coach. Odd! he's giving her money!-well,
Mr. Fag-
Fag. Good bye,
pointment in Gyde's
eight; meet me there,
party.
1) Red hair.
ma'am.
Lydia. Very well-give me the sal volatile.
Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am?
Lydia. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton!
Lucy. O, the drops!-here ma'am.
Lydia. Hold!-here's some one coming-
quick, see who it is-[Exit Lucy] Surely I
heard my cousin Julia's voice! [Re-enter Lucy.
Lucy. Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville.
Lydia. Is it possible!-
Enter JULIA.
Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am
I! [Embrace] How unexpected was this hap-
piness!
Julia. True, Lydia-and our pleasure is the
greater;- but what has been the matter? -
you were denied to me at first!
-
-
Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things
to tell you!-but first inform me what has
conjured you to Bath?-Is Sir Anthony here?
Julia. He is we are arrived within this
Thomas. I have an ap-hour-and I suppose he will be here to wait
Porch this evening at on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dress'd.
and we'll make a little Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let
[Exeunt severally. me impart to you some of my distress!-I
know your gentle nature will sympathize with
me, though your prudence may condemn me

SCENE 2.]
653
THE RIVALS.
-My letters have informed you of my whole Anthony), yet have you, for this long year,
connexion with Beverley; but I have lost been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the
him, Julia!-my aunt has discovered our inter- jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will
course by a note she intercepted, and has con- ever delay assuming the right of a husband,
fined me ever since!--Yet, would you believe while you suffer him to be equally imperious
it? she has fallen absolutely in love with a as a lover.
tall Irish baronet she met one night since we Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We
have been here at Lady Macshuffle's rout. were contracted before my father's death.
Julia. You jest, Lydia!
That, and some consequent embarrassments,
Lydia. No, upon my word!-She really have delayed what I know to be my Faulk-
carries on a kind of correspondence with him, land's most ardent wish. He is too generous
under a feigned name though, till she chooses to trifle on such a point. And for his cha-
to be known to him;-but it is a Delia or a racter, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia,
Celia, I assure you.
he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if
Julia. Then, surely, she is now more in- he is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fret-
dulgent to her niece.
ful, without rudeness. Unused to the fop-
Lydia. Quite the contrary. Since she has peries of love, he is negligent of the little
discovered her own frailty, she is become more duties expected from a lover-but being un-
suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you hackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent
of another plague! - That odious Acres is to and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole
be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be soul, he expects every thought and emotion
teased out of all spirits!
of his mistress to move in unison with his.
Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the Yet, though his pride calls for this full return,
best-Sir Anthony shall use his interest with his humility makes him undervalue those qua-
Mrs. Malaprop.
lities in him which would entitle him to it;
Lydia. But you have not heard the worst. and not feeling why he should be loved to
Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he
Beverley, just before my aunt made the dis- is not loved enough: This temper, I must
covery, and I have not seen him since, to own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but
make it up.
I have learned to think myself his debtor, for
those imperfections which arise from the ar-
dour of his attachment.
Julia. What was his offence?
Lydia. Nothing at all!-But, I don't know
how it was, as often as we had been together, Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for de-
we had never had a quarrel!-And, somehow, fending him. But tell me candidly, Julia, had
I was afraid he would never give me an op- he never saved your life, do you think you
portunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter should have been attached to him as you are?-
to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was Believe me, the rude blast that overset your
at that time paying his addresses to another boat was a prosperous gale of love to him.
woman. I signed it "your friend unknown,' Julia. Gratitude may have strengthened my
showed it to Beverley, charged him with his
falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and
vowed I'd never see him more.
Julia. And you let him depart so, and have
not seen him since?
Lydia. Twas the next day my aunt found
the matter out. I intended only to have tea-
sed him three days and a half, and now I've
lost him for ever.
Julia. If he is as deserving and sincere as
you have represented him to me, he will never
give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia, you tell
me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty
thousand pounds!
Lydia. But you know I lose most of my
fortune if I marry without my aunt's consent,
till of age; and that is what I have determined
to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor
could I love the man, who would wish to
wait a day for the alternative.
Julia. Nay, this is caprice!
Lydia. What, does Julia tax me with
price? I thought her lover Faulkland
inured her to it.
attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him
before he had preserved me; yet surely that
alone were an obligation sufficient-
Lydia. Obligation!- Why a water-spaniel
would have done as much!-Well, I should
never think of giving my heart to a man be-
cause he could swim!
Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too ncon-
siderate.
Lydia. Nay, I do but jest.-What's here?
Enter Lucy in a hurry.
Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Abso-
lute just come home with your aunt.
Lydia. They'll not come here. - Lucy, do
you watch.
[Exit Lucy.
Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does
not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll
detain me, to show me the town. I'll take
another opportunity of paying my respects to
Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as
ca-long as she chooses, with her select words so
had ingeniously misapplied, without being mis-
Je pronounced.
Julia. I do not love even his faults.
Lydia. But à propos--you have sent to him,
I suppose?
Re-enter LUCY.
Lucy. O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming
Julia. Not yet, upon my word-nor has he up stairs.
the least idea of my being in Bath. Sir An-
thony's resolution was so sudden, I could not
inform him of it
Lydia. Well, Julia, you are your own
mistress (though under the protection of Sir
Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz.-
Adieu, my dear Julia, I'm sure you are in
haste to send to Faulkland. There-through
my room you'll find another staircase.
-
Julia. Adieu!- [Embrace. Exit Julia.

654
[ACT I.
THE RIVALS.
Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these fore marriage as if he'd been a black-a-moor
books. Quick, quick.-Fling "Peregrine Pickle" -and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife
under the toilet-throw "Roderick Random" I made!-and when it pleased Heaven to re-
into the closet-put "The innocent Adultery" lease me from him, 'tis unknown what tears
into "The Whole Duty of Man"-thrust "Lord I shed!-But suppose we were going to give
Aimworth" under the sofa-cram "Ovid" be- you another choice, will you promise us to
hind the bolster-there-put "The Man of give up this Beverley?
Feeling" into your pocket-so, so-now lay Lydia. Could I belie my thoughts so far
"Mrs. Chapone" 1) in sight, and leave "For-as to give that promise, my actions would
dyce's Sermons" open on the table.
certainly as far belie my words.
Lucy. O burn it, ma'am, the hairdresser
has torn away as far as "Proper Pride."
Lydia. Never mind-open at "Sobriety."-
Fling me "Lord Chesterfield's Letters."-Now
for 'em.
-
Mrs. Mal. Take yourself to your room.-
You are fit company for nothing but your
own ill-humours.
Lydia. Willingly, ma'am-I cannot change
for the worse.
[Exit Lydia.
Mrs. Mal. There's a little intricate hussy
Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY for you!
ABSOLUTE.
Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at,
Mrs. Mal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits ma'am,-all this is the natural consequence of
the deliberate simpleton, who wants to dis-teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand
grace her family, and lavish 2) herself on a daughters, by heaven! I'd as soon have them
fellow not worth a shilling.
taught the black art as their alphabet!
Lydia. Madam, I thought you once-
Mrs. Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know an absolute misanthropy 1).
any business you have to think at all-thought
Mrs. Mal. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you are
Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop,
does not become a young woman. But the I observed your niece's maid coming forth
point we would request of you is, that you from a circulating library! She had a book
will promise to forget this fellow-to illite- in each hand-they were half-bound volumes,
rate 3) him, I say, quite from your memory. with marble covers! From that moment I
Lydia. Ah, madam! our memories are in- guessed how full of duty I should see her
dependent of our wills. It is not so easy to mistress!
forget.
-
Mrs. Mal. Those are vile places, indeed!
Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in
town is, as an evergreen tree of diabolical
Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is
nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a a
person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I knowledge! It blossoms through the year!-
have as much forgot your poor dear uncle, as And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they
if he had never existed-and I thought it my who are so fond of handling the leaves, will
duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, long for the fruit at last.
these violent memories don't become a young
woman.
Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to
remember what she's ordered not!ay, this
comes of her reading!
Lydia. What crime, madam, have I com-
mitted, to be treated thus?
Mrs. Mal. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony, you surely
speak laconically 2).
Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in mode-
ration, now, what would you have a woman
know?
Mrs. Mal. Observe me, Sir Anthony. - I
would by no means wish a daughter of mine
Mrs. Mal. Now don't attempt to extirpate 4) to be a progeny 3) of learning; I don't think
yourself from the matter; you know I have so much learning becomes a young woman;
proof controvertible 5) of it.-But tell me, will for instance, I would never let her meddle
you promise to do as you're bid? Will you with Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Si-
take a husband of your friend's choosing? mony, or Fluxions, or Paradoxes, or such in-
Lydia. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that flammatory branches of learning-neither would
had I no preference for any one else, the it be necessary for her to handle any of your
choice you have made would be my aversion. mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instru-
Mrs. Mal. What business have you, miss, ments 4):- But, Sir Anthony, I would send
with preference and aversion? They don't her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school,
become a young woman; and you ought to in order to learn a little ingenuity 5) and arti-
know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest fice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious 6)
in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. knowledge in accounts;--and as she grew up,
I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle be- I would have her instructed in geometry 7),
1) These books are introduced in such a manner, that that she might know something of the con-
they produce either a very whimsical contrast, or an tagious 8) countries; - but above all, Sir An-
aptness of allusion; for instance, Peregrine Pickle, as thony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy 9),
a lady's man, can have no better place than the toilet; that she might not mis-spell, and mispronounce
Roderick Random's peregrinations are confined to the
closet; the innocent Adultery is not the most proper words so shamefully as girls usually do; and
thing in the whole duty of man; Lord Aimworth (see likewise that she might reprehend 10) the true
Maid of the Mill) has debased himself by a més-
alliance; Ovid is to attend the dreams of the love meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir
sick maid; and the Man of Feeling is to direct our Anthony, is what I would have a woman
charities. Mrs. Chapone has written advice to young know; and I don't think there is a super-
women upon marriage, etc.
stitious 11) article in it.
2) New for Mrs. Malaprop's "words so ingeniously mis-
applied, without being mispronounced." We can be
lavish of any thing, but we must throw away ourselves.
3) Obliterate. 4) Extricate. 5) Incontrovertible.
2)
1) Misanthropist. 9) Ironically. 5) Prodigy. 4) Here
the old lady is completely out of her depth. 5) Inge-
nuousness. 6) Superficial. 7) Geography. ) Contiguous.
9) Orthography. 10) Comprehend. 11) Superfluous.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
655
THE RIVALS.
Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will mind, Lucy-if ever you betray what you
dispute the point no further with you; though are intrusted with (unless it be other people's
I must confess, that you are a truly moderate secrets to me), you forfeit my malevolence¹)
and polite arguer, for almost every third word for ever; and your being a simpleton shall
you say is on my side of the question. But, be no excuse for your locality 2).
Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point
[Exit Mrs. Mal.
in debate, you say, you have no objection Lucy. Ha! ha! ha!-So, my dear simpli-
to my proposal.
city, let me give you a little respite-[alter-
Mrs. Mal. None, I assure you. I am under ing her manner]-let girls in my station
no positive engagement with Mr. Acres, and be as fond as they please of appearing expert,
as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps and knowing in their trusts; commend me to
your son may have better success.
a mask of silliness, and a pair of sharp eyes
-
-
Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for for my own interest under it!-Let me see to
the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of what account have I turned my simplicity la-
this yet, though I have for some time had the tely-[Looks at a paper]. For abetting
proposal in my head. He is at present with Miss Lydia Languish in a design of run-
his regiment.
ning away with an ensign!-in money,
Mrs. Mal. We have never seen your son, sundry times, twelve pound twelve; gowns,
Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on five; hats, ruffles, caps, etc. etc. number-
his side.
less!-From the said ensign, within this
Sir Anth. Objection!-let him object if he last month, six guineas and a half.-About
dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows a quarter's pay!-Item, from Mrs. Malaprop,
that the least demur puts me in a phrensy for betraying the young people to her-
directly. My process was always very simple when I found matters were likely to be dis-
-in their younger days, 'twas "Jack, do this;" covered-two guineas, and a black padusoy.
if he demurred, I knocked him down-and if -Item, from Mr. Acres, for carrying di-
he grumbled at that, I always sent him out vers letters-which I never delivered-two
of the room.
guineas, and a pair of buckles.-Item, from
Mrs. Mal. Ay, and the properest way, o'my Sir Lucius O'Trigger, three crowns, two
conscience! - nothing is so conciliating to gold pocket-pieces, and a silver snuff-box!
young people as severity.-Well, Sir Anthony, Well done, simplicity!-yet I was forced
I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and pre- to make my Hibernian believe, that he was
pare Lydia to receive your son's invocations); corresponding, not with the aunt, but with
and I hope you will represent her to the the niece: for though not over rich, I found
captain as an object not altogether illegible 2). he had too much pride and delicacy to sacri-
Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject fice the feelings of a gentleman to the neces-
prudently. Well, I must leave you; and let sities of his fortune.
me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this
matter roundly to the girl;-take my advice-
keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal,
clap her under lock and key; and if you were
just to let the servants forget to bring her din-
ner for three or four days, you can't conceive
how she'd come about. [Exit Sir Anth.
Mrs. Mal. Well, at any rate I shall be glad
to get her from under my intuition 3). She
has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir
Lucius O'Trigger-sure, Lucy can't have be-
trayed me!-No, the girl is such a simpleton,
I should have made her confess it.-Lucy!-
Lucy![Calls] Had she been one of your
artificial ones, I should never have trusted her.
Enter LUCY.
Lucy. Did you call, ma'am?
Mrs. Mal. Yes, girl.-Did you see Sir Lu-
cius while you was out?
Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am, not a glimpse of
ACT II.
SCENE I.
CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE'S Lodgings.
CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE and FAG.
[Exit.
Fag. Sir, while I was there Sir Anthony
came in: I told him, you had sent me to in-
quire after his health, and to know if he was
at leisure to see you.
Abs. And what did he say, on hearing I
was at Bath?
Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elder-
ly gentleman more astonished! He started
back two or three paces, rapt out a dozen
interjectural oaths, and asked, what the devil
had brought you here?
Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say?
Fag. O, I lied, sir-I forget the precise lie;
but you may depend on't, he got no truth
from me. Yet, with submission, for fear of
Mrs. Mal. You are sure, Lucy, that you blunders in future, I should be glad to fix
him.
never mentioned-
Lucy. O Gemini! I'd sooner cut my ton-
gue out.
Mrs. Mal. Well, don't let your simplicity
be imposed on.
Lucy. No, ma'am.
what has brought us to Bath; in order that
we may lie a little consistently.-Sir Anthony's
servants were curious, sir, very curious in-
deed.
Abs. You have said nothing to them-?
Fag. O, not a word, sir,-not a word. Mr.
Mrs. Mal. So, come to me presently, and Thomas, indeed, the coachman (whom I take
I'll give you another letter to Sir Lucius; but to be the discreetest of whips)-
1) We invoke the deity. - Adorations would not have
been so much too high for her style.
2) Ineligible.
3) If we leave out the particle in in this word, we shall
have the lady's meaning.
Abs. 'Sdeath!-you rascal!-you have not
trusted him!
Fag. O, no, sir-no-no-not a syllable,
1) Benevolence.
2) Venality,

656
[ACT II.
THE RIVALS.
upon my veracity!-He was, indeed, a little Abs. Softly, softly; for though I am con-
inquisitive; but I was sly, sir-devilish sly! vinced my little Lydia would elope with ine
My master, (said I) honest Thomas, (you know, as Ensign Beverley, yet am I by no means
sir, one says honest to one's inferiors), is certain that she would take me with the im-
come to Bath to recruit-Yes, sir, I said to pediment of our friends' consent, a regular
recruit¹)-and whether for men, money, or humdrum wedding, and the reversion of a
constitution, you know, sir, is nothing to him, good fortune on my side: no, no; I must
nor any one else.
prepare her gradually for the discovery, and
Abs. Well, recruit will do-let it be so. make myself necessary to her, before I risk
Fag. O, sir, recruit will do surprisingly-it.-Well, but Faulkland, you'll dine with us
indeed, to give the thing an air, I told Tho- to-day at the Hotel?
mas, that your Honour had already inlisted
five disbanded chairmen, seven minority waiters,
and thirteen billiard-markers.
Abs. You blockhead, never say more than
is necessary.
Faulk. Indeed I cannot; I am not in spi-
rits to be of such a party.
Abs. By heavens! I shall forswear your
company. You are the most teasing, captious,
incorrigible lover!-Do love like a man.
Fag. I beg pardon, sir-I beg pardon-
Faulk. I own I am unfit for company.
But, with submission, a lie is nothing unless Abs. Am not I a lover; ay, and a roman-
one supports it. Sir, whenever I draw on tic one too? Yet do I carry every where
my invention for a good current lie, I always with me such a confounded farrago of doubts,
forge indorsements as well as the bill. fears, hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy fur-
niture of a country miss's brain!
Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your
credit, by offering too much security,-Is Mr.
Faulkland returned?
Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress.
Abs. Can you tell whether he has been in-
formed of Sir Anthony's and Miss Melville's
arrival?
Fag. I fancy not, sir; he has seen no one
since he came in but his gentleman, who was
with him at Bristol.-I think, sir, I hear Mr.
Faulkland coming down-
Abs. Go, tell him, I am here.
Fag. Yes, sir-[Going]-I beg pardon, sir,
but should Sir Anthony call, you will do me
the favour to remember, that we are recruit-
ing, if you please.
Faulk. Ah! Jack, your heart and soul are
not, like mine, fixed immutably on one only
object. You throw for a large stake, but lo-
sing, you could stake, and throw again:-but
I have set my sum of happiness on this cast,
and not to succeed, were to be stript of all.
Abs. But, for Heaven's sake! what grounds
for apprehension can your whimsical brain
conjure up at present?
Faulk. What grounds for apprehension,
did you say? Heavens! are there not a thou-
sand! I fear for her spirits -- her health-her
life-My absence may fret her; her anxiety
for my return, her fears for me, may oppress
her gentle temper. And for her health, does
Abs. Well, well.
not every hour bring me cause to be alarmed?
Fag. And in tenderness to my character, If it rains, some shower may even then have
if your Honour could bring in the chairmen chilled her delicate frame! If the wind be
and waiters, I should esteem it as an obliga-keen, some rude blast may have affected her!
tion; for though I never scruple a lie to serve The heat of noon, the dews of the evening,
my master, yet it hurts one's conscience to be may endanger the life of her, for whom only
found out.
[Exit. I value mine. O Jack! when delicate and
Abs. Now for my whimsical friend-if he feeling souls are separated, there is not a
does not know that his mistress is here, I'll feature in the sky, not a movement of the
tease him a little before I tell him-
Enter FAULKLAND.
Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again;
you are punctual in your return.
Faulk. Yes; I had nothing to detain me,
when I had finished the business I went on.
Well, what news since I left you? How stand
matters between you and Lydia?
Abs. Faith, much as they were; I have not
seen her since our quarrel; however, I ex-
pect to be recalled every hour.
Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go
off with you at once?"
Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her for-
tune? You forget that, my friend. -No, no,
I could have brought her to that long ago.
elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but
hints some cause for a lover's apprehension!
Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we
will take the hint or not.-So, then, Faulk-
land, if you were convinced that Julia were
well and in spirits, you would be entirely
content.
Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure
-I am anxious only for that.
Abs. Then to cure your anxiety at once-
Miss Melville is in perfect health, and is at
this moment in Bath.
Faulk. Nay, Jack-don't trifle with me.
Abs. She is arrived here with my father
within this hour.
Faulk. Can you be serious?
Abs. I thought you knew Sir Anthony bet-
Faulk. Nay then, you trifle too long-if ter than to be surprised at a sudden whim of
you are sure of her, propose to the aunt in this kind.-Seriously then, it is as I tell you
your own character, and write to Sir An--upon my honour.
thony for his consent.
Faulk. My dear friend!-Hollo, Du Peigne!
1) Here Mr. Fag gives a proof of the fertility of his in- my hat-my dear Jack-now nothing on earth
vention, for in the course of this phrase, he hits upon can give me a moment's uneasiness.
the word recruit; the stage effect is lost in the closet.
2) A valet de chambre is never called by any other name
than a gentleman now-a-days; and the gentleman calls
for his gentleman, to come and dress him.
Enter FAG.
Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is below

SCENE 1.]
657
THE RIVALS.
Abs. Stay, Faulkland, this Acres lives with- there is an innate levity in woman, that no-
in a mile of Sir Anthony, and he shall tell thing can overcome.-What! happy, and I
you how your mistress has been ever since away!
you left her.-Fag, show the gentleman up. Abs. Have done:- How foolish this is!
[Exit Fag. just now you were only apprehensive for your
mistress's spirits.
Faulk. What, is he much acquainted in
the family?
Abs. O, very intimate: I insist on your not
going: besides, his character will divert you.
Faulk. Well, I should like to ask him a
few questions.
Aks. He is likewise a rival of mine-that
is, of my other self's, for he does not think
his friend Captain Absolute ever saw the lady
in question; and it is ridiculous enough to
hear him complain to me of one Beverley,
a concealed skulking rival, who-
Faulk. Hush!-He's here.
Enter ACRES.
Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy
and spirit of the company?
Abs. No indeed, you have not.
Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining?
Abs. O, upon my word, I acquit you.
Faulk. Have I been full of wit and hu-
mour?
Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have
been confoundedly stupid indeed.
Acres. What's the matter with the gen-
tleman ?
Abs. He is only expressing his great satis-
faction at hearing that Julia has been so well
and happy-that's all-hey, Faulkland?
Faulk. Oh! I am rejoiced to hear it-yes,
yes, she has a happy disposition!
Acres. Hah! my dear friend, noble captain,
and honest Jack, how do'st thou? just arrived,
faith, as you see.-Sir, your humble servant. Acres. That she has indeed-then she is so
--Warm work on the roads, Jack-Odds accomplished-so sweet a voice-so expert at
whips and wheels! I've travelled like a comet, her harpsichord-such a mistress of flat and
with a tail of dust all the way as long as the sharp, squallante, rumblante, and quiverante!¹)
-there was this time month-Odds minnums
Mall.
Abs. Ah! Bob, you are indeed an eccentric and crotchets! how she did chirup at Mrs.
planet, but we know your attraction hither-Piano's concert!
Give me leave to introduce Mr. Faulkland to Faulk. There again, what say you to this?
you; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. Acres.
you see she has been all mirth and song-
Hey,
Abs. Pho! man, is not music the food of
love?
Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see not a thought of me!
you: Sir, I solicit your connexions.
Jack-what, this is Mr. Faulkland, who-
Abs. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulk-
land.
Acres. Od'so! she and your father can be
but just arrived before me-I suppose you!
have seen them. Ah! Mr. Faulkland, you are
indeed a happy man.
Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet,
sir;-I hope she enjoyed full health and
rits in Devonshire?
spi-
Acres. Never knew her better in my life,
sir, never better. Odds blushes and blooms!
she has been as healthy as the German Spa.
Faulk. Indeed!-I did hear that she had
been a little indisposed.
Acres. False, false, sir-only said to vex
you: quite the reverse, I assure you.
Faulk. Well, well, it may be so.-Pray,
Mr.-what's his damn'd name!-Do you remem-
ber what songs Miss Melville sung?
Acres. Not I indeed.
Abs. Stay now, they were some pretty me-
lancholy purling-stream airs, I warrant; per-
haps you may recollect;-did she sing, 'When
absent from my soul's delight?'
Acres. No, that wa'n't it.
Abs. Or, 'Go, gentle gales!'-Go, gentle
gales!'-
[Sings.
Acres. O no! nothing like it.-Odds! now
I recollect one of them-'My heart's my own,
my will is free.'-
[Sings.
Faulk. Fool! fool that I am! to fix all my
happiness on such a trifler! 'Sdeath! to make
herself the pipe and ballad-monger of a cir-
my-cle! to sooth her light heart with catches and
glees!-What can you say to this, sir?
mi-
Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the
advantage of me; I had almost fretted
self ill.
Abs. Now are you angry with your
stress for not having been sick.
Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear
my mistress had been so merry, sir.
Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me:- Faulk. Nay, nay, nay-I'm not sorry that
yet surely a little trifling indisposition is not an she has been happy-no, no, I am glad of
unnatural consequence of absence from those that I would not have had her sad or sick
we love. Now confess-isn't there something-yet surely a sympathetic heart would have
unkind in this violent, robust, unfeeling health? shown itself even in the choice of a song-
Abs. O, it was very unkind of her to be she might have been temperately healthy, and
well in your absence to be sure!
somehow, plaintively gay; but she has been
Acres. Good apartments, Jack.
dancing too, I doubt not!
Faulk. Well, sir, but you was saying that
Miss Melville has been so exceedingly well
-what then she has been merry and gay, I
suppose?-Always in spirits-hey?
Acres. Merry, odds crickets! she has been
the bell and spirit of the company wherever
she has been-so lively and entertaining! so
full of wit and humour!
Faulk. There, Jack, there.-O, by my soul!
Acres. What does the gentleman say about
dancing?
Abs. He says the lady we speak of dances
as well as she sings.
Acres. Ay truly, does she-there was at
our last race ball-
1) The English words squall, rumble, and quiver, italia-
nized by Mr. Acres' ingenious application of their
terminations.
83

658
[ACT II.
THE RIVALS.
Faulk. Hell and the devil! There! there- so here-now ancient madam has no voice in
I told you so! I told you so! Oh! she thri-it.-I'll make my old clothes know who's mas-
ves in my absence!-Dancing! but her whole ter-I shall straightway cashier the hunting-
feelings have been in opposition with mine!-frock-and render my leather breeches inca-
I have been anxious, silent, pensive, sedentary pable - My hair has been in training some
-my days have been hours of care, my nights time.
of watchfulness.-She has been all health! Abs. Indeed!
spirit! laugh! song! dance! Oh! damn'd,
damn'd levity!
-
Acres. Ay-and tho'ff the side curls are a
little restive, my hind-part takes it very kindly.
Abs. O, you'll polish, I doubt not.
Abs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't
expose yourself so.-Suppose she has danced, Acres. Absolutely I propose so-than if I
what then? does not the ceremony of socie- can find out this Ensign Beverley, odds trig-
ty often oblige-
gers and flints! I'll make him know the dif-
Faulk. Well, well, I'll contain myself-ference o't.
perhaps as you say-for form sake.-What, Abs. Spoke like a man-but pray, Bob, I
Mr. Acres, you were praising Miss Melville's observe you have got an odd kind of a new
manner of dancing a minuet-hey?
method of swearing-
Acres. O, I dare insure her for that-but Acres. Ila! ha! you've taken notice of it-
what I was going to speak of was her coun-'tis genteel, isn't it?-I didn't invent it my-
try-dancing:-Odds swimmings! she has such self though; but a commander in our militia
an air with her!
-a great scholar, I assure you-says that
Faulk. Now disappointment on her! de- there is no meaning in the common oaths,
fend this, Absolute; why don't you defend and that nothing but their antiquity makes
this?-Country-dances! jigs and reels! am I them respectable; - because, he says, the an-
to blame now? A minuet I could have for-cients would never stick to an oath or two
given-I should not have minded that-I say but would say, by Jove! or by Bacchus! or
I should not have regarded a minuet-but by Mars! or by Venus! or by Pallas! accord-
country-dances!-Zounds! had she made one ing to the sentiment-so that to swear with
in a cotillion-I believe I could have forgiven propriety, says my little major, the 'oath
even that--but to be monkey-led for a night! should be an echo to the sense;' and this we
-to run the gauntlet through a string of call the oath referential, or sentimental swear-
amorous palming puppies!-to show paces ing-ha! ha! ha! 'tis genteel, isn't it?
like a managed filly!-O Jack, there never Abs. Very genteel, and very new indeed-
can be but one man in the world, whom a and I dare say will supplant all other figures
truly modest and delicate woman ought to of imprecation.
pair with in a country-dance; and even then, Acres. Ay, ay, the best terms will grow
the rest of the couples should be her great obsolete-Damns have had their day.
uncles and aunts!
Abs. Ay, to be sure! -grandfathers and
be sure
grandmothers!
Enter FAG.
Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below de-
sires to see you-Shall I show him into the
parlour?
Abs. Ay-you may.
Acres. Well, I must be gone-
Abs. Stay; who is it, Fag?
Fag. Your father, sir.
Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in
the set, 'twill spread like a contagion-the ac-
tion of their pulse beats to the lascivious move-
ment of the jig - their quivering, warm-
breathed sighs impregnate the very air-the
atmosphere becomes electrical to love, and
each amorous spark darts through every link Abs. You puppy, why didn't you show him
of the chain!--I must leave you-I own I am up directly?
[Exit Fag.
somewhat flurried-and that confounded looby Acres. You have business with Sir An-
has perceived it.
[Going. thony.-I expect a message from Mrs. Mala-
Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank proop at my lodgings-I have sent also to my
Mr. Acres for his good news.
dear friend Sir Lucius O'Trigger. - Adieu,
Faulk. Dawn his news! [Exit Faulkland. Jack, we must meet at night, when you shall
Abs. Ha! ha! ha! poor Faulkland five mi- give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia.
nutes since 'nothing on earth could give him Abs. That I will with all my heart. [Exit
a moment's uneasiness!'
Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my
praising his mistress, was he?
Abs. A little jealous, I helieve, Bob.
Acres. You don't say so? Ha! ha! jealous
of me-that's a good joke.
Acres] Now for a parental lecture-I hope
he has heard nothing of the business that has
brought me here-I wish the gout had held
him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul!
Enter SIR ANTHONY.
Abs. There's nothing strange in that, Bob; Sir, I am delighted to see you here; and
let me tell you, that sprightly grace and in- looking so well! your sudden arrival at Bath
sinuating manner of yours will do some mis-made me apprehensive for your health.
chief among the girls here.
Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say,
Jack.-WVhat, you are recruiting here, hey?
Abs. Yes, sir, I am on duty.
Acres. Ah! you joke-ha! ha! mischief-
ha! ha! but you know I am not my own
property, my dear Lydia has forestalled me.
-She could never abide me in the country, you,
because I used to dress so badly-but odds
frogs and tambours ! 1) I sha'n't take matters
1) The people in England call frenchmen frogs, and at
Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see
though I did not expect it, for I was
that time our male fashions were imported from France;
now, we have the advantage, and we have trimmed
the Frenchman's jacket these many years. Tambour-
work for frills, ruff's, etc.

SCENE 2.]
659
THE RIVALS.
going to write to you on a little matter of
business.-Jack, I have been considering that
I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not
trouble you long.
Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look
more strong and hearty; and I pray frequent-
ly that you may continue so.
Abs. But my vows are pledged to her.
Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack; let her
foreclose; they are not worth redeeming; be-
sides, you have the angel's vows in exchange,
I suppose; so there can be no loss there.
Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you,
once for all, that in this point I cannot obey
Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be you.
heard, with all my heart. Well then, Jack, Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack; -I have heard
I have been considering that I am so strong you for some time with patience-I have been
and hearty, I may continue to plague you a cool-quite cool; but take care-you know I
long time.-Now, Jack, I am sensible that the am compliance itself-when I am not thwart-
income of your commission, and what I have ed;-no one more easily led-when I have
hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance my own way;-but don't put me in a phrensy.
Abs. Sir, I must repeat it-in this I cannot
obey you.
for a lad of your spirit.
Abs. Sir, you are very good.
Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet
live, to have my boy make some figure in
the world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix
you at once in a noble independence.
Sir Anth. Now damn me! if ever I call
Jack again while I live!
Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me.
you
Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word-not a
Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me-word! not one word! so give me your pro-
such generosity makes the gratitude of reason mise by a nod-and I'll tell you what, Jack
more lively than the sensations even of filial-I mean, you dog-if you don't by-
Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to
affection.
Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of some mass of ugliness! to--
my attention-and you shall be master of a
large estate in a few weeks.
Sir Anth. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be
as ugly as I choose! she shall have a hump
Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gra- on each shoulder, she shall be as crooked as
titude; I cannot express the sense I have of the Crescent; her one eye shall roll like
your munificence. Yet, sir, I presume you the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall have
would not wish me to quit the army?
Sir Anth. O, that shall be as your wife chooses.
Abs. My wife, sir!
Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you
-settle that between you.
Abs. A wife, sir, did you say?
a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a
Jew she shall be all this, sirrah!-yet I
will make you ogle her all day, and sit up
all night to write sonnets on her beauty.
Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed!
Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy!
Sir Anth. Ay, a wife-why, did not I men- no grinning, jackanapes!
tion her before?
Abs. Not a word of her, sir.
Sir Anth. Odd so!-I mustn't forget her
though.-Yes, Jack, the independence I was
talking of is by a marriage-the fortune is
saddled with a wife - but I suppose that
makes no difference.
Abs. Sir! Sir-you amaze me!
Sir Anth. Why, what the devil's the matter
with the fool? Just now you were all gratitude
and duty.
Abs. I was, sir,-you talked to me of inde-
pendence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife.
Sir Anth. Why-what difference does that
make? Odds life, sir! if you have the estate,
you must take it with the live stock on it, as
it stands.
Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse
humour for mirth in my life.
Sir Anth. Tis false, sir, I know you are
laughing in your sleeve; I know you'll grin
when I am gone, sirrah!
Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better.
Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none
of your violence; if you please-It won't do
with me, I promise you.
Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.
Sir Anth. "Tis a confounded lie!-I know
you are in a passion in your heart; I know
you are, you hypocritical young dog! but it
won't do.
Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word.
Sir Anth. So you will fly out! can't you
be cool like me? What the devil good can
Abs. If my happiness is to be the price, I passion do?-Passion is of no service, you
must beg leave to decline the purchase.-impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate!
Pray, sir, who is the lady?
There you sneer again!-don't provoke me!
Sir Anth. What's that to you, sir?-Come, but you rely upon the mildness of my
give me your promise to love, and to marry temper-you do, you dog! you play upon
her directly.
the meekness of my disposition! Yet take care
Abs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, the patience of a saint may be overcome
to summon my affections for a lady I know at last!-but mark! I give you six hours and
nothing of!
a half to consider of this: if you then agree,
Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unrea-without any condition, to do every thing on
sonable in you to object to a lady you know earth that I choose, why-confound you! I
nothing of.
may in time forgive you-If not, zounds! don't
Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly, enter the same hemisphere with me! don't
that my inclinations are fixed on another-dare to breathe the same air, or use the same
my heart is engaged to an angel.
light with me; but get an atmosphere and a
Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. sun of your own! I'll strip you of your com-
-It is very sorry-but business prevents its mission; I'll lodge afive-and-threepence in the
waiting on her.
hands of trustees, and you shall live on the

660
[ACT II.
THE RIVALS,
interest. I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, my conscience, I have been looking for you;
I'll unget you! and damn me! if ever I call I have been on the South Parade this half
you Jack again!
[Exit Sir Anthony. hour.
ABSOLUTE Solus.
Lucy. [Speaking simply] O gemini! and
I have been waiting for your worship here
on the North.
Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father-I kiss
your hands. What a tender method of giv- Sir Luc. Faith! may be, that was the rea-
ing his opinion in these matters Sir Anthony son we did not meet; and it is very comical
has! I dare not trust him with the truth.-I too, how you could go out and I not see you
wonder what old wealthy hag it is that he -for I was only taking a nap at the Parade
wants to bestow on me!-yet he married Coffeehouse, and I chose the window on pur-
himself for love! and was in his youth a bold pose that I might not miss you.
intriguer, and a gay companion!
Enter FAG.
Lucy. My stars! Now I'd wager a six-
pence I went by while you were asleep.
Sir Luc. Sure enough it must have been so
-and I never dreamt it was so late, till I
waked. Well, but my little girl, have you
got nothing for me?
Lucy. Yes, but I have-I've got a letter for
you in my pocket.
Sir Luc. O faith! I guessed you weren't
come empty-handed-well-let me see what
the dear creature says.
Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath
to a degree; he comes down stairs eight or
ten steps at a time-muttering, growling, and
thumping the banisters all the way: I and the
cook's dog stand bowing at the door-rap!
he gives me a stroke on the head with his
cane; bids me carry that to my master; then
kicking the poor turnspit into the area, damns
us all, for a puppy triumvirate! - Upon my
credit, sir, were I in your place, and found
[Gives him a letter.
my father such very bad company, I should Sir Luc. [Reads] "Sir-there is often a
certainly drop his acquaintance.
sudden incentive impulse in love, that has
Abs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at pre- a greater induction¹) than years of do-
sent. Did you come in for nothing more?-mestic combination: such was the commo-
Stand out of the way!
tion2) I felt at the first superfluous) view
FAG solus.
Lucy. There, Sir Lucius.
[Pushes him aside, and exit. of Sir Lucius O'Trigger."-Very pretty, upon
my word.-"Female punctuation 4) forbids
me to say more; yet let me add, that it
Fag. Soh! Sir Anthony trims my master: will give me joy infallible 5) to find Sir
he is afraid to reply to his father-then vents Lucius worthy the last criterion of my af
his spleen on poor Fag!-When one is vexed fections).
DELIA."
by one person, to revenge one's self on ano- Upon my conscience! Lucy, your lady is a
ther, who happens to come in the way, is the great mistress of language. Faith, she's quite
vilest injustice! Ah! it shows the worst tem- the queen of the dictionary!-for the devil a
per-the basest-
Enter ERRAND BOY.
word dare refuse coming at her call-though
one would think it was quite out of hearing.
Lucy. Ay, sir, a lady of her experience.
Sir Luc. Experience? what, at seventeen?
Lucy. O true, sir-but then she reads so
you-my stars! how she will read off hand!
Boy. Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls
you.
Fag. Well! you little dirty puppy,
need not bawl so!-The meanest disposition!
the-
Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag.
Sir Luc. Faith, she must be very deep
read to write this way though she is
rather an arbitrary writer too-for here are
Fag. Quick! quick! you impudent jackan- a great many poor words pressed into the
apes! am I to be commanded by you too? service of this note, that would get their
you little, impertinent, insolent, kitchen-bred-habeas corpus from any court in Christen-
[Exit kicking and beating him. dom.
SCENE II.-The NORTH PARADE.
Enter LUCY.
Lucy. Ah! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear
how she talks of you!
Sir Luc. O tell her I'll make her the best
husband in the world, and Lady O'Trigger
Lucy. So-I shall have another rival to add into the bargain!-But we must get the old
to my mistress's list-Captain Absolute. How-gentlewoman's consent-and do every thing
ever, I shall not enter his name till my purse fairly.
has received notice in form. Poor Acres is Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you
dismissed! Well, I have done him a last wa'n't rich enough to be so nice!
-
friendly office, in letting him know that Be- Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman,
verley was here before him.-Sir Lucius is you have hit it:-I am so poor, that I can't
generally more punctual, when he expects to afford to do a dirty action. If I did not want
hear from his dear Delia, as he calls her: money, I'd steal your mistress and her for-
I wonder he's not here!-I have a little scrup- tune with a great deal of pleasure. However,
le of conscience from this deceit; though I
should not be paid so well, if my hero knew
that Delia was near fifty, and her own
mistress.
Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER.
Sir Luc. Hah! my little ambassadress-upon
1) Seduction 2) Emotion. 3) Superficial. 4) Punctilio.
5) Ineitable. 6) This word has no business here; but it
is not easy to hit upon any one sounding something
like it with a meaning any way suitable. Our readers
will observe that Mrs. Malaprop knows a great many
hard words; but has not a very correct ear in ap-
plying them.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
661
THE RIVALS.
[Steps aside.
Enter SIR ANTHONY.
my pretty girl [Gives her money], here's a very sincere.-So, so,-here he comes.-He
little something to buy you a riband; and looks plaguy gruff.
meet me in the evening, and I'll give you an
answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss be-
forehand, to put you in mind. [Kisses her.
Sir Anth. No-I'll die sooner than forgive
Lucy. O lud! Sir Lucius-I never seed him.-Die, did I say? I'll live these fifty years
such a gemman! My lady won't like you if to plague him.--At our last meeting, his im-
you're so impudent.
pudence had almost put me out of temper.-
Sir Luc. Faith, she will, Lucy-that same-An obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy!-
pho! what's the name of it?-Modesty!-is a Who can he take after? This is my return
quality in a lover more praised by the wo- for getting him before all his brothers and
men than liked; so, if your mistress asks you sisters!-for putting him, at twelve years old,
whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a kiss, tell into a marching regiment, and allowing him fif-
her fifty-my dear.
ty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever since!
a lie?
Lucy. What, would you have me tell her -But I have done with him;-he's any body's
son for me. I never will see him more,
never-never- never--never.
Sir Luc. Ah then, you baggage! I'll make
it a truth presently.
Lucy. For shame now; here is some one
coming.
Sir Luc. O faith, I'll quiet your conscience!
[Sees FAG.-Exit, humming a tune.
Enter FAG.
Fag. So, so, ma'am. I humbly beg pardon.
Lucy. O lud! now, Mr. Fag-you flurry
one so.
Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one by
so a little less simplicity, with a grain or
two more sincerity, if you please. You play
false with us, madam.-I saw you give the
baronet a letter.-My master shall know this
-and if he don't call him out, I will.
Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! you gentlemen's gen-
tlemen are so hasty. That letter was from
Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton.-She is taken with
Sir Lucius's address.
Fag. How! what tastes some people have!
Why, I suppose I have walked by her win-
dow an hundred times.-But what says our
young lady? Any message to my master?
Lucy. Sad news! Mr. Fag.-A worse rival
than Acres! Sir Anthony Absolu
posed his son.
- -
has pro-
Fag. What, Captain Absolute?
Lucy. Even so I overheard it all.
Fag. Ha! ha! ha! very good, faith. Good
bye, Lucy, I must away with this news.
Lucy. Well, you may laugh-but it is true,
I assure you [Going] But-Mr. Fag-tell
your master not to be cast down by this.
Fag. O, he'll be so disconsolate!
Lucy. And charge him not to think
quarrelling with young Absolute.
Abs. Now for a penitential face.
Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way.
Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you.
Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel be-
fore me.
Abs. A sincere penitent.-I am come, sir,
to acknowledge my error, and to submit en-
tirely to your will.
Sir Anth. What's that?
Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting,
and considering on your past goodness, and
kindness, and condescension to me.
Sir Anth. Well, sir?
Abs. I have been likewise weighing and
balancing what you were pleased to mention
concerning duty, and obedience, and authority.
Sir Anth. Well, puppy?
Abs. Why then, sir, the result of my re-
flections is-a resolution to sacrifice every in-
clination of my own to your satisfaction.
Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense-ab-
solute sense-I never heard any thing more
sensible in my life.-Confound you! you shall
be Jack again.
Abs. I am happy in the appellation.
Sir Anth. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack,
I will now inform you who the lady really
is.--Nothing but your passion and violence,
you silly fellow, prevented my telling you at
first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture
-prepare.-What think you of Miss Lydia
Languish?
Abs. Languish? What, the Languishes of
Worcestershire?
Sir Anth. Worcestershire! No. Did you
of never meet Mrs. Malaprop and her niece,
Miss Languish, who came into our country
just before you were last ordered to your re-
giment?
Fag. Never fear! never fear!
Lucy. Be sure-bid him keep up his spirits.
Fag. We will-we will.
[Exeunt severally.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The NORTH PARADE.
Enter ABSOLUTE.
Abs. 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed.-
Abs. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remem-
ber ever to have heard the names before. Yet,
stay-I think I do recollect something.-Lan-
guish! Languish! She squints, do'n't she?-
A little red-haired girl?
-
Sir Anth. Squints! A red-haired girl!-
Zounds! no.
Abs. Then I must have forgot; it can't be
Whimsical enough, faith! My father wants the same person.
to force me to marry the very girl I am
Sir Anth. Jack! Jack! what think
you of
plotting to run away with! He must not know blooming, love-breathing seventeen?
of my connexion with her yet awhile.-He Abs. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent.
has too summary a method of proceeding in - If I can please you in the matter, 'tis all I
these matters. However, I'll read my recan- desire.
tation instantly.-My conversion is something Sir Anth. Nay, but, Jack, such eyes! such
sudden, indeed-but I can assure him it is eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irre-

662
[ACT III
THE RIVALS.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-JULIA'S Dressing-room.
FAULKLAND solus.
solute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles rapture and impatience-if you don't, egad,
some thought of love!--Then, Jack, her cheeks! I'll marry the girl myself!
her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the
insinuations of her tell-tale eyes!-Then, Jack,
her lips! O Jack, lips smiling at their own
discretion; and if not smiling, more sweetly
pouting; more lovely in sullenness!
Abs. That's she indeed. Well done, old How mean does this captious, unsatisfied
gentleman!
Faulk. They told me Julia would return
directly; I wonder she is not yet come!-
temper of mine appear to my cooler judgment !
point; but on this one subject, and to this
Abs. And which is to be mine, sir, the one subject, whom I think I love beyond my
niece or the aunt?
life, I am ever ungenerously fretful and mad-
Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible ly capricious!- I am conscious of it—yet I
puppy, I despise you. When I was of your cannot correct myself! What tender honest
age, such a description would have made me joy sparkled in her eyes when we met!-
fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed!-Odds How delicate was the warmth of her expres-
life! when I ran away with your mother, I sions!-I was ashamed to appear less happy
would not have touched any thing old or ugly-though I had come resolved to wear a face
to gain an empire.
of coolness and upbraiding. Sir Anthony's
Abs. Not to please your father, sir? presence prevented my proposed expostula-
Sir Anth. To please my father!-Zounds! tions:-yet I must be satisfied that she has
not to please-Oh, my father-Odd so!-yes not been so very happy in my absence.-She
-yes; if my father indeed had desired-that's is coming!-Yes!-I know the nimbleness of
quite another matter.-Though he wa'n't the her tread, when she thinks her impatient
indulgent father that I am, Jack.
Faulkland counts the moments of her stay.
Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck!-O Jack! Yet I know not that I indulge it in any other
Jack!
Abs. I dare say not, sir..
Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to
find your mistress is so beautiful?
Enter JULIA.
Julia. I had not hoped to see you again
Abs. Sir, I repeat it-if I please you in so soon.
this affair, 'tis all I desire. Not that I think Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with
a woman the worse for being handsome; but, my first welcome-restrained as we were by
sir, if you please to recollect, you before hint- the presence of a third person?
ed something about a hump or two, one eye, Julia. O Faulkland, when your kindness
and a few more graces of that kind-now, can make me thus happy, let me not think
without being very nice, I own I should ra- that I discovered something of coldness in
ther choose a wife of mine to have the usual your first salutation.
number of limbs, and a limited quantity of
back; and though one eye may be yery agree-
able, yet as the prejudice has always run in
favour of two, I would not wish to affect a
singularity in that article.
Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia.-I was
rejoiced to see you-to see you in such health
Sure I had no cause for coldness?
Julia. Nay then, I see you have taken some-
thing ill. You must not conceal from me
what it is.
-
Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is!
Why, sirrah, you're an anchorite!-a vile, Faulk. Well, then-shall I own to you
insensible stock. You a soldier!-you're a that my joy at hearing of your health and
walking block, fit only to dust the company's arrival here, by your neighbour Acres, was
regimentals on!--Odds life! I've a great mind somewhat damped by his dwelling much on
to marry the girl myself!
the high spirits you had enjoyed in Devon-
Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir: if shire-on your mirth--your singing-dancing,
you should think of addressing Miss Languish and I know not what!-For such is my tem-
yourself, I suppose you would have me marry per, Julia, that I should regard every mirth-
the aunt; or if you should change your ful moment in your absence as a treason to
mind, and take the old lady-'tis the same to constancy:-The mutual tear that steals down
me-I'll marry the niece.
the cheek of parting lovers is a compact, that
Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt no smile shall live there till they meet again.
either a very great hypocrite, or-but, come, Julia. Must I never cease to tax my Faulk-
I know your indifference on such a subject land with this teasing minute caprice?-Can
must be all a lie-I'm sure it must-come, the idle reports of a silly boor weigh in your
now-damn your demure face!-come, con- breast against my tried affection?
fess, Jack-you have been lying-ha'n't you? Faulk. They have no weight with me, Ju-
You have been playing the hypocrite, hey!-lia: No, no-I am happy if you have been so
I'll never forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying-yet only say, that you did not sing with
and playing the hypocrite.
mirth-say that you thought of Faulkland in
Abs. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and the dance.
duty which I bear to you should he so mis- Julia. I never can be happy in your ab-
sence. If I wear a countenance of content,
Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty! it is to show that my mind holds no doubt
But come along with me, I'll write a note to of my Faulkland's truth.-If I seemed sad, it
Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady were to make malice triumph; and say, that
directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean I had fixed my heart on one, who left me to
torch to you, come along, I'll never forgive lament his roving, and my own credulity.-
you, if you don't come back stark mad with Believe me, Faulkland, I mean not to up-
taken.

SCENE 2.]
663
THE RIVALS.
braid you, when I say, that I have often dress-tions would tend:-But as they seem pressing
ed sorrow in smiles, lest my friends should to insult me, I will spare you the regret of
guess whose unkindness had caused my tears. having done so.-I have given you no cause
Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. for this!
[Exit in tears.
-O, I am a brute, when I but admit a doubt Faulk. In tears! Stay, Julia: stay but for
of your true constancy!
a moment. The door is fastened!-Julia!-
Julia. If ever without such cause from you, my soul-but for one moment: I hear her
as I will not suppose possible, you find my sobbing!-'Sdeath! what a brute am I to use
affections veering but a point, may I become her thus! Yet stay.-Ay-she is coming now:
a proverbial scoff for levity and base ingra--how little resolution there is in women!-
titude.
how a few soft words can turn them!-No,
-
Faulk. Ah! Julia, that last word is grating faith!-she is not coming either.-Why, Julia
to me. I would I had no title to your grati--my love-say but that you forgive me-
tude! Search your heart, Julia; perhaps what come but to tell me that-now this is being
you have mistaken for love, is but the warm too resentful: stay! she is coming too-I
effusion of a too thankful heart!
thought she would no steadiness in any
Julia. For what quality must I love you? thing! her going away must have been a mere
Faulk. For no quality! To regard me for trick then-she sha'n't see that I was hurt by
any quality of mind or understanding, were it.-I'll affect indifference-[Hums a tune:
only to esteem me. And for person-I have then listens]-No-Zounds! she's not coming!
often wished myself deformed, to be convin--nor don't intend it, I suppose.-This is not
ced that I owed no obligation there for any steadiness but obstinacy! Yet I deserve it.
part of your affection.
-What, after so long an absence to quarrel
Julia. Where nature has bestowed a show with her tenderness!-'twas barbarous and
of nice attention in the features of a man, he unmanly!- I should be ashamed to see her
should laugh at it as misplaced. I have seen now. I'll wait till her just resentment is aba-
men, who in this vain article, perhaps, might ted - and when I distress her so again, may
rank above you; but my heart has never asked I lose her for ever! and be linked instead to
my eyes if it were so or not.
some antique virago, whose gnawing passions,
Faulk. Now this is not well from you, Ju- and long hoarded spleen, shall make me curse
lia,-I despise person in a man-yet, if you my folly half the day and all the night. [Exit.
loved me as I wish, though I were an Aethiop, SCENE III.-MRS. MALAPROP's Lodgings.
you'd think none so fair.
and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.
Julia. I see you are determined to be un- MRS. MALAPROP, with a Letter in her Hand,
kind-The contract which my poor father
bound us in gives you more than a lover's Mrs. Mal. Your being Sir Anthony's son,
privilege.
captain, would itself be a sufficient accom-
Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that modation 1); but from the ingenuity 2) of your
feed and justify my doubts.-I would not have appearance, I am convinced you deserve the
been more free-no-I am proud of my re- character here given of you.
straint.-Yet-yet-perhaps your high respect Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I
alone for this solemn compact has fettered never yet have had the pleasure of seeing
your inclinations, which else had made a Miss Languish, my principal inducement in
worthier choice. How shall I be sure, had this affair at present is the honour of being
you remained unbound in thought and pro- allied to Mrs. Malaprop; of whose intellectual
mise, that I should still have been the object accomplishments, elegant manners, and un-
of your persevering love?
affected learning, no tongue is silent.
Julia. Then try me now.-Let us be free Mrs. Mal. Sir, you do me infinite honour!-
as strangers as to what is past:-my heart I beg, captain, you'll be seated.-[Sit.]-Ah!
will not feel more liberty!
few gentlemen, now-a-days, know how to
Faulk. There now! so hasty, Julia! so value the ineffectual 3) qualities in a woman!
anxious to be free!-If your love for me were few think how a little knowledge becomes a
fixed and ardent, you would not loose your gentlewoman! Men have no sense now but
hold, even though I wished it!
for the worthless flower of beauty!
Julia. O! you torture me to the heart! I Abs. It is but too true indeed, ma'am;-yet
cannot bear it.
I fear our ladies should share the blame-they
Faulk. I do not mean to distress you.-If think our admiration of beauty so great, that
I loved you less, I should never give you an knowledge in them would be superfluous.
uneasy moment.-But hear me.-All my fret-Thus, like garden-trees, they seldom show
ful doubts arise from this.-Women are not fruit, till time has robbed them of the more
used to weigh, and separate the motives of specious blossom. - Few, like Mrs. Malaprop
their affections: the cold dictates of prudence, and the orange-tree, are rich in both at once!
gratitude, or filial duty, may sometimes be Mrs. Mal. Sir, you overpower me with
mistaken for the pleadings of the heart.-I good-breeding - He is the very pine-apple of
would not boast-yet let me say, that I have politeness! You are not ignorant, captain, that
neither age, person, nor character, to found this giddy girl has somehow contrived to fix
dislike on;-my fortune such as few ladies her affections on a beggarly, strolling, eaves-
could be charged with indiscretion in the dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen,
match. O Julia! when Love receives such and nobody knows any thing of.
countenance from Prudence, nice minds will
be suspicious of its birth.
Julia. I know not whither your insinua-
Abs. O, I have heard the silly affair before.-
1) Recommendation.
5) Intellectual.
2) Ingenuousness.

664
THE RIVALS.
[ACT III.
account.
I'm not at all prejudiced against her on that
Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quar-
tered! let me see-"same ridiculous vanity"--
Mrs. Mal. You are very good and very con- Mrs. Mal. You need not read it again, sir.
siderate, captain.-I am sure I have done every Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am-"does also lay
thing in my power since I exploded ¹) the her open to the grossest deceptions from
affair; long ago I laid my positive conjunc- flattery and pretended admiration"-an im-
tions 2) on her, never to think on the fellow pudent coxcomb!-"so that I have a scheme
again;-I have since laid Sir Anthony's pre- to see you shortly with the old harridan's
position) before her; but, I am sorry to say, consent, and even to make her a go-be-
she seems resolved to decline every particle 4) tween in our interview."- Was ever such
that I enjoin her.
assurance!
Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed,
ma'am.
Mrs. Mal. Did you ever hear any thing
like it? - he'll elude my vigilance, will he
Mrs. Mal. Oh! it gives me the hydrostatics 5) yes, yes! ha! ha! he's very likely to enter
to such a degree;-I thought she had persisted) these doors!-we'll try who can plot best!
from corresponding with him; but, behold, this Abs. So we will, ma'am-so we will.-Ha!
very day, I have interceded 7) another letter ha! ha! a conceited puppy, ha! ha! ha!-
from the fellow; I believe I have it in my Well, but Mrs. Malaprop, as the girl seems
pocket.
so infatuated by this fellow, suppose you were
[Aside. to wink at her corresponding with him for a
little time-let her even plot an elopement
little trai- with him-then do you connive at her es-
[Aside. cape-while I, just in the nick, will have the
Mrs. Mal. There, perhaps you may know fellow laid by the heels, and fairly contrive to
the writing.
[Gives him the Letter. carry her off in his stead.
Abs. O the devil! my last note.
Mrs. Mal. Ay, here it is.
Abs. Ay, my note indeed! O the
tress Lucy.
Abs. I think I have seen the hand before- Mrs. Mal. I am delighted with the scheme;
yes, I certainly must have seen this hand before-never was any thing better perpetrated ¹)!
Mrs. Mal. Nay, but read it, captain.
Abs. [Reads] "My soul's idol, my adored
Lydia!"Very tender indeed!
Mrs. Mal. Tender!' ay, and profane too,
o'my conscience!
Abs. "I am excessively alarmed at the
intelligence you send me, the more so as
my new rival"-
Mrs. Mal. That's you, sir.
Abs. "Has universally the character of
being an accomplished gentleman, and a
man of honour," Well, that's handsome
enough.
Mrs. Mal. O, the fellow has some design
in writing so.
Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady
for a few minutes now? I should like to try
her temper a little.
Mrs. Mal. Why, I don't know-I doubt
she is not prepared for a visit of this kind.-
There is a decorum in these matters.
Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me-only tell
her Beverley-
Mrs. Mal. Sir!
[Aside.
Abs. Gently, good tongue.
Mrs. Mal. What did you say of Beverley?
Abs. O, I was going to propose that you
should tell her, by way of jest, that it was
Beverley who was below-she'd come down
fast enough then-ha! ha! ha!
Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. 'Twould be a trick she well de-
Mrs. Mal. But go on, sir,-you'll see pre-serves-besides, you know the fellow tells her
sently.
he'll get my consent to see her-ha! ha!-
Abs. "As for the old weather-beaten she- Let him if he can, I say again.-Lydia, come
dragon who guards you"-Who can he mean
by that?
Mrs. Mal. Me, sir-me-he means me there
-what do you think now?-but go on a little
further.
Abs. Impudent scoundrel!-"it shall go hard
but I will elude her vigilance, as I am told
that the same ridiculous vanity, which makes
her dress up her coarse features, and deck
her dull chat with hard words which she
don't understand"-
down here!-[Calling]-He'll make me a go-
between in their interviews!-ha! ha! ha!-
Come down, I say, Lydia! I don't wonder at
your laughing, ha! ha! ha! his impudence is
truly ridiculous.
Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul,
ma'am, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Mal. The little hussy won't hear.-
Well, I'll go and tell her at once who it is-
she shall know that Captain Absolute is come
to wait on her. And I'll make her behave as
becomes a young woman.
Mrs. Mal. There, sir, an attack upon my
language! what do you think of that?-an
aspersion upon my parts of speech! was ever
such a brute! Sure if I reprehend 8) any thing
in this world, it is the use of my oracular
tongue, and a nice derangement 10) of epi-ha!
taphs 11)!
1) An explosion would have made too much noise. Mrs.
M. means discovered.
2) Injunctious. 3) Proposition. 4) Article.
5) Tis a pity she is not accused of hydrophobia; she
means hysterics. The first and last syllable of the
word sound alike and that is quite sufficient to war-
rant her using it.
6) Desisted. 7) Intercepted.
9) Vernacular. 10) Arrangement.
8) Comprehend.
11) Epithets.
Abs. As you please, ma'am.
Mrs. Mal. For the present, captain, your
servant-Ah! you've not done laughing yet, I
see-elude my vigilance! yes, yes; ha! ha!
[Exit,
Abs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now
that I might throw off all disguise at once,
and seize my prize with security-but such is
Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive were pro-
bably to lose her.-I'll see whether she knows me.
[Walks aside, and seems engaged
in looking at the Pictures.
1) To perpetrate a crime; we must read here, concerted.
There is the similarity of er in one part of the word.

SCENE 4.]
665
THE RIVALS.
Enter LYDIA.
Lydia. What a scene am I now to go
through! surely nothing can be more dreadful
than to be obliged to listen to the loathsome
addresses of a stranger to one's heart.-I have
heard of girls persecuted as I am, who have
appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to
the generosity of his rival: suppose I were to
try it-there stands the hated rival-an officer
too!-but O how unlike my Beverley!-I
wonder he don't begin-truly he seems a very
negligent wooer!-quite at hit ease, upon my
word! I'll speak first-Mr. Absolute.
Abs. Ma'am.
[Turns round.
Lydia. O heavens! Beverley!
Abs. Hush!-hush, my life! softly! be not
surprised!
Lydia. I am so astonished! and so terri-
fied! and so overjoyed! - for heaven's sake!
how came you here?
Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt-
I was informed that my new rival was to visit
here this evening, and contriving to have him
kept away, have passed myself on her for
Captain Absolute.
Lydia. O charming!-And she really takes
you for young Absolute?
Abs. Ŏ, she's convinced of it.
Mrs. Mal. Warmth abated!-so-she has
been in a passion, I suppose.
Lydia. No-nor ever can while I have life.
Mrs. Mal. An ill-tempered little devil!-
She'll be in a passion all her life-will she?
Lydia. Think not the idle threats of my
ridiculous aunt can ever have any weight
with me.
Mrs. Mal. Very dutiful, upon my word!
Lydia. Let her choice be Captain Absolute,
but Beverley is mine.
Mrs. Mal. I am astonished at her assurance!
-to his face-this is to his face!
Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit.
[Kneeling.
Mrs. Mal. Ay, poor young man!-down on
his knees entreating for pity!-I can contain
no longer.-Why, thou vixen!-I have over-
heard you.
Abs. O, confound her vigilance! [Aside.
Mrs. Mal. Captain Absolute, I know not
how to apologise for her shocking rudeness.
Abs. So-all's safe, I find. [Aside] I have
hopes, madam, that time will bring the young
lady-
Mrs. Mal. O, there's nothing to be hoped
for from her! she's as headstrong as an alle-
gory 1) on the banks of Nile.
Lydia. Nay, madam, what do you charge
me with now?
Lydia. Ha! ha! ha! I can't forbear laughing
to think how her sagacity is over-reached!
Abs. But we trifle with our precious mo- Mrs. Mal. Why, thou unblushing rebel-
ments such another opportunity may not didn't you tell this gentleman to his face that
occur-then let me now conjure my kind, my you loved another better?-didn't you say you
condescending angel, to fix the time when I never would be his?
may rescue her from undeserving persecution,
and with a licensed warmth plead for my
reward.
Lydia. No, madam-I did not.
Mrs. Mul. Good heavens! what assurance!
-Lydia, Lydia, you ought to know that lying
Lydia. Will you then, Beverley, consent don't become a young woman! - Didn't you
to forfeit that portion of my paltry wealth?-boast that Beverley, that stroller Beverley, pos-
that burden on the wings of love?
sessed your heart?-Tell me that, I say.
Lydia. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but
Abs. O, come to me-rich only thus-in
loveliness-Bring no portion to me but thy Beverley-
love-'twill be generous in you, Lydia - for
well you know, it is the only dower your
poor Beverley can repay.
Lydia. How persuasive are his words!-
how charming will poverty be with him!
Mrs. Mal. Hold!-hold, Assurance! you
shall not be so rude.
Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop
the young lady's speech:-she's very welcome
to talk thus-it does not hurt me in the least,
I assure you.
Abs. I shall, ma'am.
Abs. Ah! my soul, what a life will we then
live! Love shall be our idol and support! we Mrs. Mal. You are too good, captain-too
will worship him with a monastic strictness! amiably patient - but come with me, miss.-
abjuring all worldly toys, to centre every Let us see you again soon, captain-remember
thought and action there.-Proud of calamity, what we have fixed.
we will enjoy the wreck of wealth; while the
surrounding gloom of adversity shall make
the flame of our pure love show doubly bright
-By heavens! I would fling all goods of for-
tune from me with a prodigal hand, to enjoy
the scene where I might clasp my Lydia to
my bosom, and say, the world affords no
smile to me but here-[Embracing her] If
she holds out now, the devil is in it! [Aside.
Lydia. Now could I fly with him to the
antipodes! but my persecution is not yet come
to a crisis.
Enter MRS. MALAPROP, listening.
Mrs. Mal. I am impatient to know how
the little hussy deports i) herself. [Aside.
Abs. So pensive, Lydia!- is then your
warmth abated?
1) A refinement on the word behave, only Mrs. M. forgot
that deport means only with respect to the outward
behaviour.
Mrs. Mal, Come, take a graceful leave of
the gentleman.
Lydia. May every blessing wait on my
Beverley, my loved Bev-
Mrs. Mal. Hussy! I'll choke the word in
your throat!-come along-come along.
[Exeunt severally. Absolute kissing his
Hand to Lydia-Mrs. Malaprop stop-
ping her from speaking.
SCENE IV.-ACRES's Lodgings.
ACRES and DAVID. ACRES as just dressed.
Acres. Indeed, David-do you think I be-
come it so?
David. You are quite another creature, be-
lieve me, master, by the mass! an' we've any
luck we shall see the Devon monkerony 2) in
all the printshops in Bath!
1) Alligator.
2) Macaroni, a fashionable.
84

666
[ACT III.
THE RIVALS.
Acres. Dress does make a difference, David. Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience-
David. "Tis all in all, I think difference! Pray, can you divine the cause of it?
why, an' you were to go now to Clod-Hall, Acres. Why, there's the matter: she has
I am certain the old lady wouldn't know you: another lover, one Beverley, who, I am told,
Master Butler wouldn't believe his own eyes, is now in Bath.-Odds slanders and lies! he
and Mrs. Pickle would cry, "Lard presarve must be at the bottom of it.
me!"
our dairy-maid would come giggling to Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there?-and
the door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your you think he has supplanted you unfairly?
honour's favourite, would blush like my waist- Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. - He
coat-Oons! I'll hold a gallon, there an't a never could have done it fairly.
dog in the house but would bark, and I ques-
Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to
tion whether Phillis would wag a hair of be done!
her tail!
Acres. Ay, David, there's nothing like po-
fishing.
David. So I says of your honour's boots;
but the boy never heeds me!
Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-grace been
here? I must rub up my balancing, and cha-
sing, and boring ¹).
David. I'll call again, sir.
Acres. Do-and see if there are any letters
for me at the post-office.
Acres. Not I, upon my soul!
Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but
you understand me.
Acres. What! fight him!
Sir Luc. Ay, to be sure: what can I mean else?
Acres. But he has given me no provocation.
Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the
greatest provocation in the world-Can a man
commit a more heinous offence against another
than to fall in love with the same woman?
O, by my soul! it is the most unpardonable
breach of friendship.
David. I will.-By the mass, I can't help
looking at your head!-if I hadn't been by at Acres. Breach of friendship! Ay, ay; but I
the cooking, I wish I may die if I should have have no acquaintance with this man. I never
known the dish again myself!
saw him in my life.
[Exit.
[Acres comes forward, practising Sir Luc. That's no argument at all-he has
a dancing Step.
the less right then to take such a liberty.
Acres. Sink, slide-coupee-Confound the Acres. Gad, that's true-I grow full of anger,
first inventors of cotillons! say I-they are as Sir Lucius!-I fire apace! Odds hilts and
bad as algebra to us country gentlemen-I can blades! I find a man may have a deal of
walk a minuet easy enough when I am for- valour in him, and not know it! But couldn't
ced!-and I have been accounted a good stick I contrive to have a little right of my side?
in a country-dance.-Odds jigs and tabors! I Sir Luc. What the devil signifies right,
never valued your cross-over to couple-figure when your honour is concerned? Do you
in-right and left-and I'd foot it with e'er a think Achilles, or my little Alexander the Great,
captain in the county!-but these outlandish ever inquired where the right lay? No, by my
heathen allemandes and cotillons are quite soul, they drew their broadswords, and left
beyond me! I shall never prosper at 'em, the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it.
that's sure-mine are true-born English legs- Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march
they don't understand their curst French lingo!-to my heart! I believe courage must be catching!
their pas this, and pas that, and pas t'other!--I certainly do feel a kind of valour rising
damn me! my feet don't like to be called as it were-a kind of courage, as I may say-
paws! no, 'tis certain I have most Anti-Gal- Odds flints, pans, and triggers! I'll challenge
lican toes!
him directly.
Enter Servant.
Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend! if I had
Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait Blunderbuss-Hall here, I could show you a
on you, sir.
Acres. Show him in.
Enter SIR LUCIUS.
Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to
brace you.
em-
Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your
hands.
Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought
you so suddenly to Bath?
range of ancestry, in the O'Trigger line, that
would furnish the new room; every one of
whom had killed his man! For though the
mansion-house and dirty acres have slipt through
my fingers, I thank heaven our honour and
the family-pictures are as fresh as ever.
Acres. O, Sir Lucius! I have had ancestors
too!-every man of 'em colonel or captain in
the militia!-Odds balls and barrels! say no
more-I'm braced for it.-The thunder of your
Acres. Faith! I have followed Cupid's Jack-words has soured the milk of human kind-
a-lantern, and find myself in a quagmire at ness in my breast!-Zounds! as the man in the
last.-In short, I have been very ill used, Sir play says, "I could do such deeds-"
Lucius, I don't choose to mention names, but Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no
look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman. passion at all in the case-these things should
Sir Luc. Pray what is the case?-I ask always be done civilly.
no names.
Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius-
Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I fall as deep I must be in a rage.-Dear Sir Lucius, let me
as need be in love with a young lady - her be in a rage, if you love me. -
Come, here's
friends take my part-I follow her to Bath-pen and paper. - [Sits down to write]-I
send word of my arrival; and receive answer, would the ink were red! - Indite, I say in-
that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of dite!-How shall I begin? Odds bullets and
This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill used. blades! I'll write a good bold hand, however.
Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself.
1) Balancer, chasser, faire des pas de Bourrée.

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
667
THE RIVALS.
Acres. Come-now, shall I begin with an
oath? Do, Sir Lucius, let me begin with a
damme,
Sir Luc. Pho! pho! do the thing decently,
and like a Christian. Begin now-"Sir"-
Acres. That's too civil by half.
Sir Luc. "To prevent the confusion that
might arise"
Acres. Well-
snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em.
Acres. But my honour, David, my honour!
I must be very careful of my honour.
David. Ay, by the mass! and I would be
very careful of it; and I think in return my
honour couldn't do less than to be very care-
ful of me.
Acres. Odds blades! David, no gentleman
will ever risk the loss of his honour!
Sir Luc. "From our both addressing the David. I say then, it would be but civil in
same lady".
honour never to risk the loss of a gentle-
Acres. Ay-there's the reason-"same lady"-man.-Look'ee, master, this honour seems to
Well-
me to be a marvellous false friend: ay, truly,
Sir Luc. "I shall expect the honour of a very courtier-like servant.-Put the case, I
your company".
was a gentleman (which, thank God, no one
quarrel with another gentleman of my ac-
that.) Boh!--I kill him-(the more's my luck.)
Now, pray who gets the profit of it?-VVhy,
my honour. But put the case that he kills
me!-by the mass! I go to the worms, and
my honour whips over to my enemy.
Acres. Zounds! I'm not asking him to dinner. can say of me); well-my honour makes me
Sir Luc. Pray be easy.
Acres. Well then, "honour of your com-quaintance.-So-we fight. (Pleasant enough
pany"
Sir Luc. "To settle our pretensions"-
Acres. Well.
Sir Luc. Let me see, ay, King's Mead-field
will do-"in King's Mead-fields."
Acres. So that's done. Well, I'll fold it
up presently; my own crest- a hand and
dagger shall be the seal.
Acres. No, David-in that case! - Odds
crowns and laurels! your honour follows you
to the grave.
Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation David. Now, that's just the place where I
will put a stop at once to all confusion or could make a shift to do without it.
misunderstanding that might arise between you. Acres. Zounds! David, you are a coward!-
Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any mis- It doesn't become my valour to listen to you.-
understanding.
What, shall I disgrace my ancestors?-Think
Sir Luc. Now, I'll leave you to fix your of that, David - think what it would be to
own time.-Take my advice, and you'll decide disgrace my ancestors!
it this evening if you can; then let the worst David. Under favour, the surest way of
come of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow. not disgracing them, is to keep as long as
Acres. Very true.
you can out of their company. Look'ee now,
Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing more of master, to go to them in such haste-with an
you, unless it be by letter, till the evening.-ounce of lead in your brains-I should think
I would do myself the honour to carry your might as well be let alone. Our ancestors
message; but, to tell you a secret, I believe I are very good kind of folks; but they are the
shall have just such another affair on my own last people I should choose to have a visiting
hands. There is a gay captain here, who put acquaintance with.
a jest on me lately, at the expense of my
country, and I only want to fall in with the
gentleman, to call him out.
Acres. But, David, now, you don't think
there is such very, very, very great danger,
hey? - Odds life! people often fight without
any mischief done!
Acres. By my valour, I should like to see
you fight first! Odds life! I should like to see David. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one
you kill him, if it was only to get a little lesson. against you!-Oons! here to meet some lion-
Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instructing headed fellow, I warrant, with his damn'd
you. Well for the present-but remember double-barrelled swords, and cut-and-thrust
now, when you meet your antagonist, do every pistols!-Lord bless us! it makes me tremble
thing in a mild and agreeable manner. Let to think o't!-Those be such desperate bloody-
your courage be as keen, but at the same time minded weapons! Well, I never could abide
as polished as your sword. [Exeunt severally. 'em-from a child I never could fancy 'em!-
-
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-ACRES's Lodgings.
ACRES and DAVID.
I suppose there a'n't been so merciless a beast
in the world as your loaded pistol!
Acres. Zounds! I won't be afraid-Odds fire
and fury! you sha'n't make me afraid.-Here
is the challenge, and I have sent for my dear
David. Then, by the mass, sir! I would do friend Jack Absolute to carry it for me.
no such thing-ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger David. Ay, i'the name of mischief, let him
in the kingdom should make me fight, when be the messenger. For my part, I wouldn't
I wa'n't so minded. Oons! what will the old lend a hand to it for the best horse in your
lady say, when she hears o't?
stable. By the mass! it don't look like another
Acres. Ah! David, if you had heard Sir letter! It is, as I may say, a designing and
Lucius!-Odds sparks and flames! he would malicious-looking letter;-and I warrant smells
have roused your valour.
of gun-powder like a soldier's pouch!-Oons!
David. Not he, indeed. I hate such blood- I wouldn't swear it mayn't go off!
thirsty cormorants. Look'ee, master, if you'd Acres. Out, you poltroon!-you ha'n't the
wanted a bout at boxing, quarter-staff, or valour of a grasshopper.
short-staff, I should never be the man to bid David. Well, I say no more-'twill be sad
you cry off: but for your curst sharps and news, to be sure, at Clod-Hall! - but I ha'

668
[ACT IV.
THE RIVALS.
done. How Phillis will howl when she hears 'egad, perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I
of it!-Ay, poor bitch, she little thinks what generally kill a man a-week; will you, Jack?
shooting her master's going after! And I war- Abs. I will, I will; I'll say you are called
rant old Crop, who has carried your honour, in the country "Fighting Bob."
field and road, these ten years, will curse the Acres. Right-right-'tis all to prevent
[Whimpering. mischief; for I don't want to take his life if I
hour he was born.
Acres. It won't do, David-I am deter- clear my honour.
mined to fight-so get along, you coward,
while I'm in the mind.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Captain Absolute, sir.
Acres. O! show him up. [Exit Servant.
David. Well, Heaven send we be all alive
this time to-morrow.
Acres. What's that!-Don't provoke me,
David!
David. Good bye, master. [Whimpering.
Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly,
croaking raven.
[Exit David.
Enter ABSOlute.
Abs. What's the matter, Bob?
Abs. No!-that's very kind of you.
Acres. Why, you don't wish me to kill
him-do you, Jack?
Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not.-But a
devil of a fellow, hey?
[Going.
Acres. True, true-but stay-stay, Jack-
you may add, that you never saw me in such
a rage before-a most devouring rage!
Abs. I will, I will.
Acres. Remember, Jack-a determined dog!
Abs. Ay, ay, "Fighting Bob!"
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-MRS. MALAPROP's Lodgings.
MRS. MALAPROP and LYDIA.
Mrs. Mal. Why, thou perverse one!-tell
Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead!- me what you can object to him?-Isn't he a
If I hadn't the valour of St. George and the
dragon to boot-
Abs. But what did you want with me, Bob?
Acres, O!-There-
[Gives him the Challenge.
-
handsome man?-tell me that.-A genteel man?
a pretty figure of a man?
Lydia. She little thinks whom she is prais-
ing! [Aside]-So is Beverley, ma'am.
Mrs. Mal. No caparisons 1), miss, if you
Abs. "To ensign Beverley." So what's please. - Caparisons don't become a young
going on now! [Aside] Well, what's this? woman.-No! Captain Absolute is indeed a
Acres. A challenge!
fine gentleman!
Abs. Indeed!-Why, you won't fight him;
will you, Bob?
Acres. 'Egad, but I will, Jack.--Sir Lucius
has wrought me to it. He has left me full
of rage and I'll fight this evening, that so
much good passion mayn't be wasted.
seen.
Lydia. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have
[Aside
Mrs. Mal. Then he's so well bred!-so full
of alacrity and adulation 2):-and has so much
to say for himself; -in such good language
too!-His physiognomy 3) so grammatical!-
Abs. But what have I to do with this?
Then his presence is so noble !-I protest when
Acres. Why, as I think you know some- I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in
thing of this fellow, I want you to find him the play: "Hesperian 4) curls the front of
out for me, and give him this mortal defiance. Job 5) himself! - an eye, like March), to
Abs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he threaten at command!7)-a station, like Harry
gets it.
Mercury 8) new-" Something about kissing-
Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear on a hill-however, the similitude) struck
Jack; but it is giving you a great deal of me directly.
trouble.
Lydia. How enraged she'll be presently
Abs. Not in the least-I beg you won't when she discovers her mistake!
mention it. No trouble in the world, I as-
sure you.
Enter Servant.
[Aside.
Ser. Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute are
Acres. You are very kind.-What it is to
have a friend!-You couldn't be my second-below, ma'am.
could you, Jack?
Mrs. Mal. Show them up here. [Exit Ser-
Abs. Why no, Bob-not in this affair-it vant] Now, Lydia, I insist on your behaving
would not be quite so proper.
as becomes a young woman.
Show your
good breeding, at least, though you have for-
got your duty.
Acres. Well, then, I must get my friend
Sir Lucius. I shall have your good wishes,
however, Jack.
Abs. Whenever he meets you, believe me.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, in-
quiring for the captain.
Abs. I'll come instantly.-Well, my little
hero, success attend you.
[Going
Acres. Stay-stay, Jack.-If Beverley should
ask you what kind of a man your friend Acres
is, do tell him I am a devil of a fellow-will
you, Jack?
Abs. To be sure I shall.-I'll say you are
a determined dog-hey, Bob!
Acres. Ay, do, do-and if that frightens him,
-
Lydia. Madam, I have told you my reso-
lution!-I shall not only give him no encou-
ragement, but I won't even speak to, or look
at him. [Flings herself into a Chair, with
her Face from the Door.
Enter SIR ANTHONY and ABSOLUTE,
Sir Anth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop;
come to mitigate the frowns of unrelenting
1) Comparisons.
2) Gaiety and compliment. Mrs. M. deals here in su-
perlatively taken superlatives, which produce almost
the opposite to what she wished to express.
5) Jove.
5) Phraseology. 4) Hyperion's.
6) Mars.
7) Threaten and command. 8) The Herald Mercury.
9) Simile.

SCENE 2.]
669
THE RIVALS.
beauty, and difficulty enough I had to bring Why don't you speak out?-not stand croak-
this fellow. I don't know what's the matter; ing like a frog in a quinsy!
but if I had not held him by force, he'd have Abs. The-the-excess of my awe, and my
given me the slip.
-my-my modesty, quite choke me!
Mrs. Mal. You have infinite trouble, Sir An- Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again!-I'll
thony, in the affair. -I am ashamed for the tell you what, Jack; if you don't speak out
cause! Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you!- directly, and glibly too, I shall be in such a
pay your respects!
[Aside to her. rage!-Mrs. Malaprop, I wish the lady would
Sir Anth. I hope, madam, that Miss Lan- favour us with something more than a side-
guish has reflected on the worth of this gen-front. [Mrs. Malaprop seems to chide Lydia.
tleman, and the regard due to her aunt's choice, Abs. So all will out, I see!
and my alliance.-Now, Jack, speak to her,
[Aside to him.
[Goes up to Lydia, speaks softly.
Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all sur-
prise at present.
Abs. What the devil shall I do! [Aside]
-You see, sir, she won't even look at me, Lydia. [Aside] Heavens! 'tis Beverley's
whilst you are here. I knew she wouldn't! voice!-Sure he can't have imposed on Sir
-I told you so-Let me entreat you, sir, to Anthony too!
leave us together!
-
[Absolute seems to expostulate with
his Father.
Lydia. [Aside] I wonder I ha'n't heard my
aunt exclaim yet! sure she can't have looked
at him!-perhaps their regimentals are alike,
and she is something blind.
Sir Anth. I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet.
Mrs. Mal. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony,
that my affluence 1) over my niece is very
small. Turn round, Lydia; I blush for you!
[Aside to her.
Sir Anth. May I not flatter myself, that Miss
Languish will assign what cause of dislike she
can have to my son!-Why don't you begin,
Jack? Speak, you puppy-speak!
[Looks round by degrees, then starts up.
Is this possible!-my Beverley!-how can this
be?-my Beverley?
Abs. Ah! 'tis all over.
[Aside.
Sir Anth. Beverley!-the devil-Beverley!
-What can the girl mean?-This is my son
Jack Absolute.
Mrs. Mal. For shame, hussy! for shame!-
your head runs so on that fellow, that you
have him always in your eyes!-beg Captain
Absolute's pardon directly.
Lydia. I see no Captain Absolute, but my
loved Beverley!
Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad! - her brain's
turned by reading!
Lydia. With all my soul, ma'am-when I
refuse my Beverley-
Mrs. Mal. O' my conscience, I believe so!
[Aside to him.-What do you mean by Beverley, hussy?-
Mrs. Mal. It is impossible, Sir Anthony, You saw Captain Absolute before to-day; there
she can have any.-She will not say she has. he is your husband that shall be.
-Answer, hussy! why don't you answer?
[Aside to her.
Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish
and hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's
happiness.-Zounds! sirrah! why don't you
speak!
[Aside to him.
Lydia. [Aside] I think my lover seems as
little inclined to conversation as myself.-How
strangely blind my aunt must be!
Abs. Hem! hem! madam-hem! [Absolute
attempts to speak, then returns to Sir An-
thony-Faith! sir, I am so confounded!
and-so-so-confused!-I told you I should be
so, sir,-I knew it.-The-the tremor of my
passion entirely takes away my presence of
mind.
Sir Anth. O! she's as mad as Bedlam!-or
has this fellow been playing us a rogue's trick!
-Come here, sirrah, who the devil are you?
Abs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear my-
self; but I'll endeavour to recollect.
Sir Anth. Are you my son or not?-an-
swer for your mother, you dog, if you won't
for me.
I
Mrs. Mal. Ay, sir, who are you? O mercy!
begin to suspect!-
Abs. Ye powers of Impudence, befriend me!
[Aside] Sir Anthony, most assuredly I am
your wife's son; and that I sincerely believe
myself to be yours also, I hope my duty has
Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, always shown.-Mrs. Malaprop, I am your
fool, does it?-Go up, and speak to her di- most respectful admirer-and shall be proud
rectly! [Absolute makes Signs to Mrs. Ma- to add affectionate nephew.-I need not tell
laprop to leave them together. my Lydia, that she sees her faithful Beverley,
Mrs. Mal. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them who, knowing the singular generosity of her
together?-Ah! you stubborn little vixen! temper, assumed that name, and a station,
[Aside to her. which has proved a test of the most disinter-
Sir Anth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet!-what ested love, which he now hopes to enjoy in
the devil are you at? unlock your jaws, sir-a more elevated character.
rah, or-
[Aside to him. Lydia. So!-there will be no elopement
[ABSOLUTE draws near LYDIA.]
[Sullenly.
Abs. Now Heaven send she may be too Sir Anth. Upon my soul, Jack, thou art a
sullen to look round!-I must disguise my very impudent fellow! to do you justice, I
[Aside. think I never saw a piece of more consum-
voice.
after all!
[Speaks in a low hoarse Tone. mate assurance!
-Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the
mild accents of true love?-Will not-
Abs. O, you flatter me, sir,-you compli-
ment-'tis my modesty you know, sir-my
Sir Anth. What the devil ails the fellow?-modesty that has stood in my way.
1) Influence.
Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the
dull, insensible varlet you pretended to be,

670
[ACT IV.
THE RIVALS.
however!-I'm glad you have made a fool of Lydia. Pshaw!--what signifies kneeling,
your father, you dog-I am-So this was your when you know I must have you?
penitence, your duty, and obedience! -I Abs. [Rising] Nay, madam, there shall be
thought it was damn'd sudden!-You never no constraint upon your inclinations, I pro-
heard their names before, not you!-What, mise you.-If I have lost your heart-I resign
The LANGUISHES of Worcestershire, hey?- the rest.-'Gad, I must try what a little spirit
if you could please me in the affair, 'twas will do.
[Aside.
all you desired!-Ah! you dissembling vil- Lydia. [Rising] Then, sir, let me tell you,
lain!-What! (pointing to Lydia) she squints, the interest you had there was acquired by a
don't she?-a little red-haired girl!-hey?-mean, unmanly imposition, and deserves the
Why, you hypocritical young rascal!-I won-punishment of fraud.-What, you have been
der you a'n't ashamed to hold up your head! treating me like a child!-humouring my ro-
Abs. "Tis with difficulty, sir-I am confused mance! and laughing, I suppose, at your suc-
-very much confused, as you must perceive. cess!
Mrs. Mal. O Lud! Sir Anthony!-a new Abs. You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me
light breaks in upon me!-hey! how! what!--only hear-
Captain, did you write the letters then?- Lydia. So, while I fondly imagined we
What am I to thank you for the elegant were deceiving my relations, and flattered my-
compilation 1) of "an old weather-beaten she- self that I should outwit and incense them all
dragon"-hey?-O mercy!-was it you that--behold my hopes are to be crushed at once,
reflected on my parts of speech?
by my aunt's consent and approbation-and
Abs. Dear sir! my modesty will be over- I am myself the only dupe at last! [Walk-
powered at last, if you don't assist me.-I shall ing about in a Heat-But here, sir, here is
certainly not be able to stand it!
the picture-Beverley's picture! [Taking a
Sir Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we Miniature from her Bosom] which I have
must forget and forgive;-odds life! matters worn, night and day, in spite of threats and
have taken so clever a turn all of a sudden, entreaties!--There, sir, [flings it to him] and
that I could find in my heart to be so good-be assured I throw the original from my heart
humoured! and so gallant! hey! Mrs. Mal- as easily.
aprop!
Abs. Nay, nay, ma'am, we will not differ
Mrs. Mal. Well, Sir Anthony, since you as to that-Here, [Taking out a Picture] here
desire it, we will not anticipate 2) the past;-is Miss Lydia Languish.-What a difference!
so mind, young people-our retrospection 3)-ay, there is the heavenly assenting smile
will be all to the future.
that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes!-
Sir Anth. Come, we must leave them toge- those are the lips which sealed a vow, as yet
ther; Mrs. Malaprop, they long to fly into scarce dry in Cupid's calendar!-and there the
each other's arms, I warrant!-Jack-isn't the half-resentful blush, that would have checked
cheek as I said, hey?-and the eye, you ro- the ardour of my thanks-Well, all that's past!
gue!-and the lip-hey? Come, Mrs. Mal--all over indeed!-There, madam-in beauty,
aprop, we'll not disturb their tenderness-theirs that copy is not equal to you, but in my mind
is the time of life for happiness!-"Youth's the its merit over the original, in being still the
season made for joy"-[Sings]-hey!- Odds same, is such-that-I cannot find in my
life! I'm in such spirits,-I don't know what heart to part with it. [Puts it up again.
I could not do!-Permit me, ma'am-[gives Lydia. [Softening] Tis your own doing,
his Hand to Mrs. Malaprop. Sings] Tol-sir-I, I, I suppose you are perfectly satisfied.
de-rol-'gad, I should like to have a little fool- Abs. O, most certainly-sure, now, this is
ing myself-Tol-de-rol! de-rol!
much better than being in love!-ha! ha! ha!
[Exit singing and handing Mrs. Malaprop.-there's some spirit in this!-What signifies
[LYDIA sits sullenly in her Chair.] breaking some scores of solemn promises :-
Abs. So much thought bodes me no good. all that's of no consequence, you know.-To
[Aside]-So grave, Lydia!
be sure people will say, that miss didn't know
Lydia. Sir!
her own mind-but never mind that!-or,
Abs. So!-egad! I thought as much!-that perhaps, they may be ill-natured enough to
damn'd monosyllable has froze me! [Aside] hint, that the gentleman grew tired of the
What, Lydia, now that we are as happy lady and forsook her-but don't let that fret you.
in our friends' consent, as in our mutual vows- Lydia. There's no bearing his insolence.
Lydia. Friends' consent indeed!
[Bursts into Tears.
Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some Enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY.
of our romance-a little wealth and comfort Mrs. Mal. [Entering] Come, we must in-
may be endured after all. And for your for-terrupt your billing and cooing awhile.
tune, the lawyers shall make such settlements
as
[Peevishly.
Lydia. Lawyers! I hate lawyers!
Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for
lingering forms, but instantly procure the
cence, and-
Lydia, This is worse than your treachery
and deceit, you base ingrate. [Sobbing.
Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now!
their-Zounds! Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest
li-billing and cooing I ever heard!-but what
the deuce is the meaning of it?-I am quite
astonished!
Lydia. The licence!-I hate licence!
Abs. O, my love! be not so unkind!-thus
let me entreat-
[Kneeling.
1) Appellation.
2) and 3) These words explain themselves.
Abs. Ask the lady, sir.
Mrs. Mal. O, mercy!-I'm quite analysed¹),
1) Paralysed.

SCENE 3.1
671
THE RIVALS.
for my part!-why, Lydia, what is the reason never could have found him in a sweeter tem-
of this?
Lydia. Ask the gentleman, ma'am.
Sir Anth. Zounds! I shall be in a phrensy!
-why, Jack, you are not come out to be any
one else, are you?
Mrs. Mal. Ay, sir, there's no more trick, is
there?-you are not like Gerberus, three gen-
tlemen at once, are you?
per for my purpose-to be sure I'm just come
in the nick! Now to enter into conversation
with him, and so quarrel genteelly. [Sir Lu-
cius goes up to Absolute]-With regard to
that matter, captain, I must beg leave to differ
in opinion with you.
Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a
very subtle disputant:-because, sir, I happened
Abs. You'll not let me speak-I say the lady just then to be giving no opinion at all.
can account for this much better than I can. Sir Luc. That's no reason-For give me leave
Lydia. Ma'am, you once commanded me to tell you, a man may think an untruth as
never to think of Beverley again-there is the well as speak one.
man-I now obey you:-for, from this mo- Abs. Very true, sir; but if a man never
ment, I renounce him for ever. [Exit Lydia. utters his thoughts, I should think they might
Mrs. Mal. O mercy! and miracles! what a stand a chance of escaping controversy.
turn here is why sure, captain, you haven't Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion
behaved disrespectfully to my niece.
with me, which amounts to the same thing.
Sir Anth. Ha! ha! ha!-ha! ha! ha!-now
I see it-Ha! ha! ha!-now I see it-you have
been too lively, Jack.
Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word-
Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack--I'm sure
'twas so.
Mrs. Mal. O lud! Sir Anthony,-O fie,
captain!
Abs. Upon my soul, ma'am-
Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius,-if I had not be-
fore known you to be a gentleman, upon my
soul, I should not have discovered it at this
interview:-for what you can drive at, unless
you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot con-
ceive!
Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, sir, for the
quickness of your apprehension-[Bowing]
-you have named the very thing I would be at.
Abs. Very well, sir-I shall certainly not
balk your inclinations:-but I should be glad
you would please to explain your motives.
11
Sir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack; -why,
your father, you rogue, was so before you:-
the blood of the Absolutes was always impa-
tient. Ha! ha! ha! poor little Lydia! - why, Sir Luc. Pray, sir, be easy-the quarrel is
you've frightened her, you dog, you have. a very pretty quarrel as it stands-we should
Abs. By all that's good, sir-
only spoil it, by trying to explain it. - How-
Sir Anth. Zounds! say no more, I tell you ever, your memory is very short-or you could
-Mrs. Malaprop shall make your peace.-You not have forgot an affront you passed on me
must make his peace, Mrs. Malaprop:- you within this week. So, no more, but name
must tell her 'tis Jack's way-tell her 'tis all your time and place.
our ways-it runs in the blood of our family! Abs. Well, sir, since you are so bent on
-Come away, Jack-Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Mal- it, the sooner the better;-let it be this eve-
aprop-a young villain. [Pushes him out. ning-here by the Spring Gardens.-We shall
Mrs. Mal. O! Sir Anthony!-O fie, cap- scarcely be interrupted.
[Exeunt severally. Sir Luc. Faith! that same interruption in
SCENE III.-The NORTH PARADE.
affairs of this nature shows very great ill-breed-
ing.-I don't know what's the reason, but in
Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER.
England, if a thing of this kind gets wind,
Sir Luc. I wonder where this Captain Ab-people make such a pother, that a gentleman
solute hides himself.--Upon my conscience! can never fight in peace and quietness.-How-
these officers are always in one's way in love ever, if it's the same to you, captain, I should
affairs: I remember I might have married take it as a particular kindness, if you'd let
Lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not been for us meet in King's-Mead-Fields, as a little bu-
a little rogue of a major, who ran away with siness will call me there about six o'clock, and
her before she could get a sight of me! And I may despatch both matters at once.
tain!
I wonder too what it is the ladies can see in Abs. 'Tis the same to me exactly.-A little.
them to be so fond of them-unless it be a after six, then, we will discuss this matter
touch of the old serpent in 'em, that makes more seriously.
the little creatures be caught, like vipers, with Sir Luc. If you please, sir; there will be
a bit of red cloth.-Hah! isn't this the captain very pretty small-sword light, though it wo'n't
coming?-faith it is!-There is a probability of do for a long shot. So that matter's settled!¹)
succeeding about that fellow, that is mighty and my mind's at ease. [Exit Sir Lucius.
provoking! Who the devil is he talking to?
[Steps aside.
Enter FAULKLAND, meeting ABSOLUTE.
Abs. Well met.-I was going to look for
Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.
you.-O, Faulkland! all the demons of spite
Abs. To what fine purpose I have been and disappointment have conspired against
plotting! a noble reward for all my schemes, me! I'm so vexed, that if I had not the pros-
upon my soul!-a little gypsy!-I did not pect of a resource in being knocked o'the
think her romance could have made her so head by and by, I should scarce have spirits
damn'd absurd either.-'Sdeath, I never was in to tell you the cause.
a worse humour in my life!-I could cut my
own throat, or any other person's, with the
greatest pleasure in the world!
Sir Luc. O, faith! I'm in the luck of it.-I
1) This is the general character of the Irish with respect
to duelling. Lord Byron says, Don Juan Cant. IV.
when Haidee's father points a pistol at the young hero
"But after being fired at once or twice,
The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice."

672
[ACT V.
THE RIVALS.
-
Faulk. What can you mean? Has Lydia! Abs. I have not patience to listen to you:
changed her mind? I should have thought-thou'rt incorrigible!-so say no more on
her duty and inclination would now have the subject.-I must go to settle a few matters
pointed to the same object.
-let me see you before six-remember-at
Abs. Ay, just as the eyes do of a person my lodgings. A poor industrious devil like
who squints:- when her love-eye was fixed me, who have toiled, and drudged, and plot-
on me-t'other-her eye of duty, was finely ted to gain my ends, and am at last disap-
obliqued:-but when duty bid her point that pointed by other people's folly-may in pity
the same way-off t'other turned on a swivel, be allowed to swear and grumble a little;-
and secured its retreat with a frown!
but a captious sceptic in love, a slave to fret-
Faulk. But what's the resource you- fulness and whim-who has no difficulties but
Abs. O, to wind up the whole, a good-na- of his own creating-is a subject more fit for
tured Irishman here has (mimicking Sir Lu- ridicule than compassion! [Exit Absolute.
cius] begged leave to have the pleasure of Faulk. I feel his reproaches:-yet I would
cutting my throat- and I mean to indulge not change this too exquisite nicety, for the
him-that's all.
Faulk. Prithee, be serious.
gross content with which he tramples on the
thorns of love.-His engaging me in this duel
Abs. 'Tis fact, upon my soul.-Sir Lucius has started an idea in my head, which I will
O'Trigger-you know him by sight-for some instantly pursue.-I'll use it as the touchstone
affront, which I am sure I never intended, has of Julia's sincerity and disinterestedness-if
obliged me to meet him this evening at six her love prove pure and sterling ore, my name
o'clock:-'tis on that account I wished to see will rest on it with honour!- and once I've
you-you must go with me.
stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts for
Faulk. Nay, there must be some mistake, ever:-but if the dross of selfishness, the allay
sure. Sir Lucius shall explain himself-and I of pride predominate-twill be best to leave
dare say matters may be accommodated:-Lut her as a toy for some less cautious fool to
this evening, did you say?-I wish it had been sigh for.
[Exit Faulkland.
any other time.
Abs. Why?-there will be light enough:-
there will (as Sir Lucius says) "be very pretty
small-sword light, though it will not do for a
long shot."-Confound his long shots!
ACT V.
SCENE I.-JULIA'S Dressing-Room.
from JULIA sola.
Faulk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled, -How this message has alarmed me! what
by a difference I have had with Julia- my dreadful accident can he mean? why such
vile tormenting temper has made me treat her charge to be alone?-O Faulkland!--how many
so cruelly, that I shall not be myself till we unhappy moments-how many tears have you
are reconciled.
Abs. By heavens! Faulkland, you don't de-
serve her.
cost me!
Enter FAULKLAND.
Julia. What means this?-why this cau-
tion, Faulkland?
Faulk. Alas! Julia, I am come to take a
long farewell.
Enter Servant, gives FAULKLAND a Letter.
Faulk. O Jack! this is from Julia-I dread
to open it I fear it may be to take a last Julia. Heavens! what do you mean?
leave perhaps to bid me return her letters- Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose
and restore-0! how I suffer for my folly! life is forfeited.-Nay, start not! - the infir-
Abs. Here-let me see. [Takes the Letter mity of my temper has drawn all this misery
and opens it] Ay, a final sentence, indeed!-on me.-I left you fretful and passionate--an
'tis all over with you, faith!
untoward accident drew me into a quarrel-
pense.
Faulk. Nay, Jack-don't keep me in sus- the event is, that I must fly this kingdom in-
stantly.-O Julia, had 1 been so fortunate as
Abs. Hear then.-"As I am convinced that to have called you mine entirely, before this
my dear Faulkland's own reflections have mischance had fallen on me, I should not so
already upbraided him for his last unkind- deeply dread my banishment!
ness to me, I will not add a word on the Julia. My soul is oppressed with sorrow
subject. I wish to speak with you as soon at the nature of your misfortune: had these
as possible.-Yours ever and truly, JULIA." adverse circumstances arisen from a less fatal
There's stubbornness and resentment for cause, I should have felt strong comfort in the
you! [Gives him the Letter] Why, man, thought that I could now chase from your
you don't seem one whit the happier at this. bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of
Faulk. O, yes, I am-but-but-
my love.-My heart has long known no other
Abs. Confound your buts!-You never hear guardian-I now intrust my person to your
any thing that would make another man bless honour-we will fly together. When safe
himself, but you immediately damn it with a from pursuit, my father's will may be fulfilled
-and I receive a legal claim to be the part-
Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, ner of your sorrows, and tenderest comforter.
own honestly-don't you think there is some- Then on the bosom of your wedded Julia,
thing forward-something indelicate in this you may lull your keen regret to slumbering;
haste to forgive?-Women should never sue while virtuous love, with a cherub's hand, shall
for reconciliation:-that should always come smooth the brow of upbraiding thought, and
from us. They should retain their coldness pluck the thorn from compunction.
till woo'd to kindness-and their pardon, like Faulk. O Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude!
their love, should "not unsought be won." but the time is so pressing, it calls on
but.
-

SCENE 2.]
673
THE RIVALS.
you for so hasty a resolution.-Would you content to bear from you what pride and de-
not wish some hours to weigh the advantages licacy would have forbid me from another.-
you forego, and what little compensation poor I will not upbraid you, by repeating how
you
Faulkland can make you beside his solitary have trifled with my sincerity.-
love?
Faulk. I confess it all! yet hear-
Julia. I ask not a moment.-No, Faulkland, Julia. After such a year of trial, I might
I have loved you for yourself: and if I now, have flattered myself that I should not have
more than ever, prize the solemn engagement been insulted with a new probation of my
which so long has pledged us to each other, sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! I now see
it is because it leaves no room for hard as- it is not in your nature to be content, or con-
persions on my fame, and puts the seal of fident in love. With this conviction-I never
duty to an act of love.-But let us not linger. will be yours. While I had hopes that my
-Perhaps this delay-
persevering attention, and unreproaching kind-
Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not ven-ness, might in time reform your temper, I
ture out again till dark.-Yet am I grieved to should have been happy to have gained a
think what numberless distresses will press dearer influence over you; but I will not fur-
heavy on your gentle disposition!
nish you with a licensed power to keep alive
Julia. Perhaps your fortune may be for- an incorrigible fault, at the expense of one
feited by this unhappy act.-I know not whe- who never would contend with you.
ther 'tis so-but sure that alone can never Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and
make us unhappy.-The little I have will be honour, if after this-
sufficient to support us; and exile never should Julia. But one word more. As my faith
be splendid.
has once been given to you, I never will barter
Faulk. Ay, but in such an abject state of it with another.-I shall pray for your hap-
life, my wounded pride perhaps may increase piness with the truest sincerity; and the dear-
the natural fretfulness of my temper, till I be- est blessing I can ask of Heaven to send you
come a rude, morose companion, beyond your will be, to charm you from that unhappy tem-
patience to endure. Perhaps the recollection per, which alone has prevented the perfor-
of a deed my conscience cannot justify may mance of our solemn engagement.-All I re-
haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, quest of you is, that you will yourself reflect
that I shall hate the tenderness that would re- upon this infirmity, and when you number
lieve me, break from your arms, and quarrel up the many true delights it has deprived you
with your fondness!
of-let it not be your least regret, that it lost
Julia. If your thoughts should assume so you the love of one-who would have followed
unhappy a bent, you will the more want some you in beggary through the world! [Exit.
mild and affectionate spirit to watch over and Faulk. She's gone!-for ever!-There was
console you:- one who, by bearing your in- an awful resolution in her manner, that ri-
firmities with gentleness and resignation, may veted me to my place. O fool!-dolt!--bar-
teach you so to bear the evils of your fortune. barian!-Curst as I am, with more imperfec-
Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the tions than my fellow-wretches, kind Fortune
quick! and with this useless device I throw sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, and,
away all my doubts. How shall I plead to like a ruffian, I have driven her from my side!
be forgiven this last unworthy effect of my I must now haste to my appointment.-
restless, unsatisfied disposition?
Well, my mind is tuned for such a scene.-
shall wish only to become a principal in it,
and reverse the tale my cursed folly put me
Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was upon forging here. O-Love!-tormentor!-
pretended; yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me fiend!-whose influence, like the moon's, act-
with resenting a fault which never can be re- ing on men of dull souls, makes idiots of them,
peated: but sealing, this once, my pardon, but meeting subtler spirits, betrays their course,
let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, re- and urges sensibility to madness! [Exit.
ceive my future guide and monitress, and ex-
piate my past folly, by years of tender ado-
Julia. Has no such disaster happened as
you related?
ration.
I
Enter MAID and LYDIA.
Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was
Julia. Hold, Faulkland!-that you are free here just now-perhaps she is only in the
from a crime, which I before feared to name, next room.
[Exit Maid.
Heaven knows how sincerely I rejoice!-These Lydia. Heigh ho!-Though he has used me
are tears of thankfulness for that! But that so, this fellow runs strangely in my head. I
your cruel doubts should have urged you to believe one lecture from my grave cousin will
an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives make me recall him.
me now a pang, more keen than I can ex-
press!
Enter JULIA.
Faulk, By heavens! Julia-
Lydia. O, Julia, I am come to you with
Julia. Yet hear me.-My father loved you, such an appetite for consolation.-Lud! child,
Faulkland! and you preserved the life that what's the matter with you?-You have been
tender parent gave me; in his presence I pledged crying! I'll be hanged, if that Faulkland has
my hand-joyfully pledged it-where before not been tormenting you!
I had given my heart. When, soon after, I Julia. You mistake the cause of my unea-
lost that parent, it seemed to me that Provi-siness !-Something has flurried me a little.-
dence had, in Faulkland, shown me whither Nothing that you can guess at.-I would not
to transfer, without a pause, my grateful duty, accuse Faulkland to a sister!
[Aside.
as well as my affection: hence I have been Lydia. Ah! whatever vexations you may
85

674
[ACT V.
THE RIVALS.
have, I can assure you mine surpass them.-ficient in every requisite that forms the man
You know who Beverley proves to be? of breeding, if I delayed a moment to give all
Julia. I will now own to you, Lydia, that the information in my power to a lady so
Mr. Faulkland had before informed me of the deeply interested in the affair as you are.
whole affair. Had young Absolute been the Lydia. But quick! quick, sir!
person you took him for, I should not have
accepted your confidence on the subject, with-be
out a serious endeavour to counteract your for should we be tedious, perhaps while we
caprice.
are flourishing on the subject, two or three
lives may be lost!
Lydia. So, then, I see I have been deceived
by every one!-but I don't care-I'll never
have him.
Julia. Nay, Lydia-
Fag. True, ma'am, as you say, one should
quick in divulging matters of this nature;
Lydia. O patience! Do, ma'am, for Heaven's
sake! tell us what is the matter?
Mrs. Mal. Why! murder's the matter!
slaughter's the matter! killing's the matter!
but he can tell you the perpendiculars ¹).
Lydia. Why, is it not provoking? when I
thought we were coming to the prettiest dis-
tress imaginable, to find myself made a mere Lydia. Then, prithee, sir, be brief.
Smithfield bargain of at last.-There, had I Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder-I
projected one of the most sentimental elope- cannot take upon me to say-and as to slaughter,
ments!-so becoming a disguise!--so amiable or manslaughter, that will be as the jury finds it.
a ladder of ropes!-Conscious moon-four
horses-Scotch parson-with such surprise to
Mrs. Malaprop-and such paragraphs in the
news-papers-0, I shall die with disappoint-
ment!
Julia. I don't wonder at it!
Lydia. But who, sir-who are engaged in
this?
Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentle-
man whom I should be very sorry any thing
was to happen to-a very pretty behaved gen-
tleman!-We have lived much together, and
always on terms.
Lydia. But who is this! who! who! who!
Fag. My master, ma'am-my master-I speak
Lydia. Now-sad reverse!-what have I to
expect, but, after a deal of flimsy preparation
with a bishop's licence, and my aunt's bless-
ing, to go simpering up to the altar; or per- of my master.
haps be cried three times in a country-church,
and have an unmannerly fat clerk ask the
consent of every butcher in the parish to join
John Absolute and Lydia Languish, spinster!
O, that I should live to hear myself called
Spinster!
Julia. Melancholy, indeed!
Lydia. Heavens! What, Captain Absolute!
Mrs. Mal. O, to be sure, you are frightened
now!
Julia. But who are with him, sir?
Fag. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman
can inform you better than I.
Julia. Do speak, friend.
[To David.
David. Look'ee, my lady-by the mass!
there's mischief going on. Folks don't use to
meet for amusement with fire-arms, firelocks,
fire-engines, fire-screens, fire-office, and the
devil knows what other crackers beside!-
This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour.
Julia. But who is there beside Captain Ab-
solute, friend?
Lydia. How mortifying, to remember the
dear delicious shifts I used to 'be put to, to
gain half a minute's conversation with this fel-
low! How often have I stole forth, in the
coldest night in January, and found him in
the garden, stuck like a dripping statue!
There would he kneel to me in the snow,
and sneeze and cough so pathetically! he shi-
vering with cold and I with apprehension! David. My poor master-under favour for
and while the freezing blast numbed our joints, mentioning him first.-You know me, my lady-
how warmly would he press me to pity his I am David-and my master of course is, or
flame, and glow with mutual ardour! Ah, was, 'Squire Acres.-Then comes 'Squire
Julia, that was something like being in love. Faulkland.
Julia. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should Julia. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endea-
chide you only by laughing heartily at you; vour to prevent mischief.
but it suits more the situation of my mind, Mrs. Mal. O fie-it would be very inele-
at present, earnestly to entreat you not to let gant in us:-we should only participate things.
a man, who loves you with sincerity, suffer
that unhappiness from your caprice, which
know too well caprice can inflict.
Lydia, O lud! what has brought my aunt Sir Lucius O'Trigger.
here?
David. Ah! do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives
I-they are desperately given, believe me.-
Above all, there is that blood-thirsty Philistine,
Mrs. Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger!-O mercy!
have they drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius
Enter MRS. MALAPROP, FAG and DAVID. into the scrape?-Why, how you stand, girl!
Mrs. Mal. So! so! here's fine work! here's you have no more feeling than one of the
fine suicide, paracide, and simulation going Derbyshire petrefactions!
on in the fields! and Sir Anthony not to be
found to prevent the antistrophe!1)
Lydia. What are we to do, madam?
Mrs. Mal. Why fly with the utmost felici-
Julia. For Heaven's sake, madam, what's ty 2), to be sure, to prevent mischief! - here,
the meaning of this?
friend-you can show us the place?
Mrs. Mal. That gentlemau can tell you-
twas he enveloped 2) the affair to me.
Lydia. Do, sir, will you, inform us?
[To Fag.
Fag. Ma'am, I should hold myself very de-
1) Catastrophe. 2) Developed.
Fag. If you please, ma'am, I will conduct
you.-David, do you look for Sir Anthony.
[Exit David.
1) Particulars.
2) Perhaps the lady meant the word velocity, and that is
rather elevated.

SCENE 3.]
675
THE RIVALS.
Mrs. Mal. Come, girls!-this gentleman will when once you are wounded here--[Putting
exhort¹) us.--Come, sir, you're our envoy 2) his Hand to Absolute's breast] Hey! what
-lead the way, and we'll precede 3).
the deuce have you got here?
Abs. Nothing, sir-nothing.
Fag. Not a step before the ladies for the
world!
Mrs. Mal. You're sure you know the spot.
Fag. I think I can find it, ma'am; and one
good thing is, we shall hear the report of the
pistols as we draw near, so we can't well miss
them;-never fear, ma'am, never fear.
[Exeunt, he Talking.
Sir Anth. What's this?-here's something
damn'd hard.
Abs. O, trinkets, sir! trinkets-a bauble for
Lydia!
Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. [Pulls
his coat open, the sword falls] Trinkets!-
a bauble for Lydia!-Zounds! sirrah, you are
not going to cut her throat, are you?
Abs. Ha! ha! ba!-I thought it would di-
Enter ABSOLUTE, putting his sword under vert you, sir, though I didn't mean to tell you
SCENE II.-South Parade.
his great coat.
Abs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath
till afterwards.
Sir Anth. You didn't? Yes, this is a very
would raise as great an alarm as a mad dog. diverting trinket, truly.
-How provoking this is in Faulkland!-never Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. You know,
punctual! I shall be obliged to go without sir, Lydia is romantic-dev'lish romantic, and
him at last. O, the devil! here's Sir Anthony! very absurd of course :-now, sir, I intend, if
-how shall I escape him?
she refuses to forgive me to unsheath this
[Muffles up his face, and Takes a sword-and swear-I'll fall upon its point,
Circle to go off.
and expire at her feet!
Enter SIR ANTHONY.
-
Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddle-stick's end!-
why, I suppose it is the very thing that would
please her-Get along, you fool.
Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a
little distance! only that I see he don't know Abs. Well, sir, you shall hear of my suc-
me, I could have sworn that was Jack!-Hey! cess-you shall hear.-"O, Lydia!-forgive
-Gad's life! it is. Why, Jack, what are me, or this pointed steel"—says I.
you afraid of? hey!-sure I'm right. Why, Sir Anth. "O, booby! stab away, and wel-
Jack-Jack Absolute! [Goes up to him. come"-says she.-Get along!--and damn your
-
Abs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of trinkets!
me:-I don't remember ever to have had the
honour-my name is Saunderson, at your
service.
[Exit Absolute.
Enter DAVID, running.
David. Stop him! stop him! Murder! Thief!
Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon-I took Fire!-Stop fire! Stop fire!-O! Sir Anthony
you-hey?-why, zounds! it is-Stay-[Looks-call! call! bid 'm stop! Murder! Fire!
up to his Face] So, so-your humble ser- Sir Anth. Fire! Murder! where?
vant, Mr. Saunderson!--Why, you scoundrel, David. Oons! he's out of sight! and I'm
what tricks are you after now?
out of breath! for my part! O, Sir Anthony,
Abs. O! a joke, sir, a joke!-I came here why didn't you stop him? why didn't you
on purpose to look for you, sir.
stop him?
Sir Anth. You did! well, I am glad you
were so lucky-but what are you muffled up
so for?-what's this for?-hey?
Abs. 'Tis cool, sir; isn't it?-rather chilly
somehow:-but I shall be late-I have a par-
ticular engagement.
Sir Anth. Zounds! the fellow's mad! - Stop
whom? stop Jack?
David. Ay, the captain, sir! - there's mur-
der and slaughter-
Sir Anth. Murder!
David. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's
all kinds of murder, all sorts of slaughter
Sir Anth. Stay.-Why, I thought you were
looking for me?-Pray, Jack, where is't you to be seen in the fields: there's fighting going
are going?
Abs. Going, sir!
Sir Anth. Ay-where are you going?
Abs. Where am I going?
Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy!
Abs. I was going, sir, to-to-to-to Lydia
-sir, to Lydia-to make matters up if I could;
-and I was looking for you, sir, to-to-
Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose.-
Well, come along.
Abs. O! zounds! no, sir, not for the world!
on, sir-bloody sword-and-gun-fighting!
Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, dunce?
David. Every body that I know of, Sir An-
thony:-every body is going to fight, my poor
master, Sir Lucius O'Trigger, your son, the
captain-
Sir Anth. O, the dog!-I see his tricks;
do you know the place?
David. King's-Mead-Fields.
Sir Anth. You know the way?
David. Not an inch;-but I'll call the mayor
-I wished to meet with you, sir,-to-to-to-aldermen-constables-churchwardens-and
-You find it cool, I'm sure, sir-you'd better beadles-we can't be too many to part them.
not stay out.
Sir Anth. Come along-give me your shoul-
Sir Anth. Cool!-not at all-Well, Jack-der! we'll get assistance as we go-the lying
and what will you say to Lydia?
villain!-Well, I shall be in such a phrensy
her-So-this was the history of his trinkets! I'l
[Exeunt.
Abs. O, sir, beg her pardon, humour
-promise and vow:-but I detain you, sir-bauble him!
consider the cold air on your gout.
Sir Anth. O, not at all!-not at all!-I'm
in no hurry.-Ah! Jack, you youngsters,
1) Escort. 2) Convoy. 5) Follow, perhaps proceed.
SCENE III.-King's-Mead-Fields.
SIR LUCIUS and ACRES, with pistols.
Acres. By my valour! then, Sir Lucius,

676
[ACT V.
THE RIVALS.
forty yards is a good distance - Odds levels
and aims!-I say it is a good distance.
Sir Luc. Ay-may they-and it is much the
genteelest attitude into the bargain.
Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small field- Acres. Look'ee! Sir Lucius-I'd just as lieve
pieces? upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel
must leave those things to me.-- Stay now-one-so, by my valour! I will stand edgeways.
I'll show you. [Measures paces along the Sir Luc. [Looking at his watch] Sure they
Stage] There now, that is a very pretty dis- don't mean to disappoint us-Hah!-no faith
tance-a pretty gentleman's distance.
-I think I see them coming.
Acres. Zounds! we might as well fight in a
sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther
Acres. Hey!-what!-coming!-
Sir Luc. Ay-Who are those yonder get-
he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. ting over the stile?
Sir Luc. Faith! then I suppose you would
Acres. There are two of them indeed! well
aim at him best of all if he was out of sight!-let them come-hey, Sir Lucius!-we-we
Acres. No, Sir, Lucius, but I should think -we-we-won't run
forty or eight-and-thirty yards--
Sir Luc. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four
feet between the mouths of your pistols is as
good as a mile.
Sir Luc. Run!
Acres. No-I say we won't run, by my
valour!
[you?
Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with
Acres. Odds bullets, no!-by my valour! Acres. Nothing-nothing-my dear friend
there is no merit in killing him so near: do,-my dear Sir Lucius-but I-i-I don't feel
my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down quite so bold, somehow, as I did.
at a long shot:-a long shot, Sir Lucius, if
you love me!
Sir Luc. Well-the gentleman's friend and
I must settle that.-But tell me now, Mr. Acres,
in case of an accident, is there any little will
or commission I could execute for you?
Acres, I am much obliged to you, Sir Lu-
cius-but I don't understand-
Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no
being shot at without a little risk-and if an
unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it
-I say it will be no time then to be bother-
ing you about family matters.
Acres. A quietus!
Sir Luc. O fie!-consider your honour.
Acres. Ay-true-my honour-Do, Sir Lu-
cius, edge in a word or two every now and
then about my honour.
Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming.
[Looking.
Acres. Sir Lucius-if I wa'n't with you, I
should almost think I was afraid-if my valour
should leave me!-Valour will come and go.
Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you
have it.
Acres. Sir Lucius-I doubt it is going-
yes-my valour is certainly going!-it is sneak-
ing off!-I feel it oozing out as it were at the
palms of my hands!
Sir Luc. Your honour-your honour.—Here
Sir Luc. For instance, now-if that should
be the case-would you-choose to be pickled
and sent home?-or would it be the same to they are.
you to lie here in the Abbey ?--I'm told there
is very snug lying in the Abbey.
Acres. O mercy!-now-that I was safe at
Clod-Hail! or could be shot before I was
aware!
Acres. Pickled!-Snug lying in the Abbey!
-Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so!
Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never
Enter FAULKLAND and ABSOLUTE.
were engaged in an affair of this kind before? Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient.-
Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. Hah!--what, Captain Absolute !-So, I suppose,
Sir Luc. Ah! that's a pity!-there's nothing sir, you are come here, just like myself-to
like being used to a thing.-Pray now, how do a kind office, first for your friend-then
would you receive the gentleman's shot? to proceed to business on your own account.
Acres. Odds files !-I've practised that- Acres. What, Jack!-my dear Jack!-my
here, Sir Lucius-there. [Puts himself in an dear friend!
attitude]-aside-front, hey?-Odd! I'll make
myself small enough:-I'll stand edgeways.
-
Sir Luc. Now-you're quite out-for if you
stand so when I take my aim-[Levelling at him.
Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius-are you sure it
is not cock'd?
Sir Luc. Never fear.
Acres. But-but-you don't know-it may
go off of its own head!
Sir Luc. Pho! be easy-Well, now if I hit
you in the body, my bullet has a double
chance-for if it misses a vital part of your
right side-twill be very hard if it don't suc-
ceed on the left!
Acres. A vital part!
Sir Luc. But, there-fix yourself so-[Pla-
cing him] let him see the broad-side of your
full front-there-now a ball or two may pass
clean through your body, and never do any
harm at all.
Acres. Clean through me!--a ball or
clean through me!
two
Abs. Heark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand.
Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres-I don't blame
your saluting the gentleman civilly.-So, Mr.
Beverley, [To Faulkland] if you'll choose
your weapons, the captain and I will measure
the ground.
Faulk. My weapons, sir.
Acres. Odds life! Sir Lucius, I'm not going
to fight Mr. Faulkland; these are my parti-
cular friends.
Sir Luc. What, sir, did not you come here
to fight Mr. Acres?
Faulk. Not I, upon my word, sir.
Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provok-
ing! But I hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are
three of us come on purpose for the game
you won't be so cantanckerous as to spoil the
party by sitting out.
Abs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir
Lucius.
Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the
matter-

SCENE 3.]
677
THE RIVALS.
Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall
be in a phrensy-how came you in a duel, sir?
Abs. Faith, sir, that gentleman can tell
better than I; 'twas he called on me, and
know, sir, I serve his majesty.
you
you
Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland-I'll bear my
disappointment like a Christian-Look'ee, Sir
Lucius, there's no occasion at all for me to
fight; and if it is the same to you, I'd as lieve
let it alone.
Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres-I must Sir Anth. Here's a pretty fellow! I catch
not be trifled with. You have certainly chal-him going to cut a man's throat, and he tells
lenged somebody-and you came here to fight me, he serves his majesty!-Zounds! sirrah,
him-Now, if that gentleman is willing to re- then how durst you draw the king's sword
present him-I can't see, for my soul, why it against one of his subjects?
isn't just the same thing.
Acres. Why no-Sir Lucius-I tell you,
'tis one Beverley I've challenged - a fellow,
you see, that dare not show his face! If he
were here, I'd make him give up his preten-
sions directly!-
Abs. Sir, I tell you! that gentleman called
me out, without explaining his reasons.
Sir Anth. Gad! sir, how came you to call
my son out, without explaining your reasons?
Sir Luc. Your son, sir, insulted me in a
manner which my honour could not brook.
Abs. Hold, Bob-let me set you right-there Sir Anth. Zounds! Jack, how durst you in-
is no such man as Beverley in the case. The sult the gentleman in a manner which his
person who assumed that name is before you; honour could not brook?
and as his pretensions are the same in both Mrs. Mal. Come, come, let's have no ho-
characters, he is ready to support them in nour before ladies-Captain Absolute, come
whatever way you please.
here-How could you intimidate¹) us so?
Here's Lydia has been terrified to death for
Sir Luc. Well, this is lucky-Now you
have an opportunity-
Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend
Jack Absolute-not if he were fifty Beverleys!
Zounds! Sir Lucius, you would not have me
so unnatural.
you.
Abs. For fear I should be killed, or escape,
ma'am?
Mrs. Mal. Nay, no delusions 2) to the past-
Lydia is convinced; speak, child.
Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, Sir Luc. With your leave, ma'am, I must
your valour has oozed away with a vengeance! put in a word here-I believe I could inter.
Acres. Not in the least! Odds backs and pret the young lady's silence-Now mark-
abettors! I'll be your second with all my heart Lydia. What is it you mean, sir?
-and if you should get a quietus, you may Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be
command me entirely. I'll get you snug ly-serious now-this is no time for trifling.
ing in the Abbey here; or pickle you, and Lydia. 'Tis true, sir; and your reproof bids
send you over to Blunderbuss-hall, or any me offer this gentleman my hand, and solicit
thing of the kind, with the greatest pleasure. the return of his affections.
Sir Luc. Pho! pho! you are little better Abs. O! my little angel, say you so?-Sir
than a coward.
Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a cow-
ard; coward was the word, by my valour!
Sir Luc. Well, sir?
Lucius-I perceive there must be some mis-
take here, with regard to the affront which
you affirm I have given you. I can only say,
that it could not have been intentional. And
Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind as you must be convinced, that I should not
the word coward-coward may be said in fear to support a real injury-you shall now
joke-But if you had called me a poltroon, see that I am not ashamed to atone for an
odds daggers and balls-
Sir Luc. Well, sir?
Acres.
I should have thought you a very
ill-bred man.
inadvertency-I ask your pardon.-But for this
lady, while honoured with her approbation,
I will support my claim against any man
whatever.
Sir Luc. Pho! you are beneath my notice. Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I'll stand
Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a bet- by you, my boy.
ter second than my friend Acres - He is a Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim-I
most determined dog-called in the country, make no pretensions to any thing in the world
Fighting Bob.-He generally kills a man a-and if I can't get a wife, without fighting
week-don't you, Bob?
for her, by my valour! I'll live a bachelor.
Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand-an
Sir Luc. Well then, captain, 'tis we must affront handsomely acknowledged becomes an
begin -so come out, my little counsellor-obligation-and as for the lady-if she chooses
[draws his sword]-and ask the gentleman, to deny her own hand-writing, here-
whether he will resign the lady, without for-
cing you to proceed against him?
Acres. Ay-at home!-
[Takes out Letters.
Mrs. Mal. O, he will dissolve 3) my mystery!
Abs. Come on then, sir-[draws]; since-Sir Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake-
you won't let it be an amicable suit, here's perhaps I can illuminate 4)-
my reply.
Enter SIR ANTHONY, DAVID, and the WOMEN.
David. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir An-
thony; knock down my master in particular
-and bind his hands over to their good be-
haviour!¹)
1) A man accused before a justice of offending any per-
son, except in his own defence, is bound over to his
St Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't in-
terfere where you have no business.- Miss
Languish, are you my Delia, or not?
good behaviour: i. e. is obliged to find surety for his
conducting himself well.
1) Intimidated is the improper word here for frightened;
there is something like the meaning in it; it sounds
difficult, and that's enough for Mrs. M.
2) Allusions. 3) Discover.
4) Explain.

678
[ACT V.
THE RIVALS.
Sir Luc. You Delia-pho! pho! be easy.
Mrs. Mal. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke 2)
-those letters are mine-When you are more
sensible of my benignity 3)--perhaps I may be
brought to encourage your addresses.
Lydia. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. have been quarrelling too, I warrant.-Come,
[Lydia and Absolute walk aside. Julia, I never interfered before: but let me
Mrs. Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger-ungrateful have a hand in the matter at last.-All the
as you are-I own the soft impeachment¹)-faults I have ever seen in my friend Faulk-
pardon my blushes, I am Delia.
land seemed to proceed from what he calls
the delicacy and warmth of his affection for
you-There, marry him directly, Julia; you'll
find he'll mend surprisingly!
[The rest come forward.
Sir Luc. Come now, I hope there is no
Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely dissatisfied person, but what is content; for
sensible of your condescension; and whether as I have been disappointed myself, it will
you or Lucy have put this trick upon me, I be very hard if I have not the satisfaction of
am equally beholden to you.-And, to show seeing other people succeed better-
you I am not ungrateful, Captain Absolute, Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius.-So, Jack,
since you have taken that lady from me, I'll I wish you joy-Mr. Faulkland the same.-
give you my Delia into the bargain.
Ladies, come now, to show you I'm neither
Abs. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lu-vexed nor angry, odds tabors and pipes! I'll
cius; but here's my friend, fighting Bob, un- order the fiddles in half an hour to the New
provided for.
Rooms and I insist on your all meeting me
Sir Luc. Hah! little Valour-here, will you there.
make your fortune?
Sir Anth. 'Gad! sir, I like your spirit; and
Acres. Odds wrinkles! No-But give me at night we single lads will drink a health to
your hand, Sir Lucius, forget and forgive; but the young couples, and a husband to Mrs.
if ever I give you a chance of pickling me Malaprop.
again, say Bob Acres is a dunce, that's all. Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us,
Sir Anth. Come, Mrs. Malaprop, don't be Jack-I hope to be congratulated by each
cast down-you are in your bloom yet. other-yours for having checked in time the
Mrs. Mal. O Sir Anthony!- men are all errors of an illdirected imagination, which
barbarians.
might have betrayed an innocent heart; and
[All retire but Julia and Faulkland. mine, for having, by her gentleness and can-
Julia. He seems dejected and unhappy-dour, reformed the unhappy temper of one,
not sullen-there was some foundation, how- who by it made wretched whom he loved
ever, for the tale he told me-O woman! how most, and tortured the heart he ought to have
true should be your judgment, when your adored.
resolution is so weak!
Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the
Faulk. Julia!-how can I sue for what I bitters, as well as the sweets, of love-with
so little deserve? I dare not presume- yet this difference only, that you always prepared
Hope is the child of Penitence.
the bitter cup for yourself, while I-
Julia. Oh! Faulkland, you have not been Lydia. Was always obliged to me for it,
more faulty in your unkind treatment of me, hey! Mr. Modesty?-But come, no more of
than I am now in wanting inclination to re-that-our happiness is now as unallayed as
sent it. As my heart honestly bids me place general.
my weakness to the account of love, I should Julia. Then let us study to preserve it so:
be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for and while Hope pictures to us a flattering
yours.
Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed!
[Sir Anthony comes forward.
Sir Anth. What's going on here?-So you
1) Accusation.
scene of future bliss, let us deny its pencil
those colours which are too bright to be last-
ing.-When hearts deserving happiness would
unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them
with an unfading garland of modest hurtless
flowers; but ill-judging Passion will force the
3) A cramp word with something like goodness in its gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn
offends them, when its leaves are dropt!
2) Vandal (poor Vaudyke).
meaning.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Com, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. First acted at Drury Lane, May 8, 1777. Any attempt to be particular in the
praise of this comedy, would be at once difficult and unnecessary. No piece ever equalled it in success on the stage,
and very few are superior to it in point of intrinsic merit. It is evident, that Mr. Sheridan, when he composed this
comedy, had a reference to Wycherley's Plain Dealer, in the formation of his plot; and to Congreve, in the poignancy
of his dialogue.-Yet there are those who have asserted, that the plan was taken from a manuscript which had been
previously delivered at Drury Lane Theatre, by a young lady, the daughter of a merchant in Thames Street, who after-
wards died at Bristol, of a pectoral decay. This, however, is probably mere scandal, founded on envy of the great
success of the piece.

SCENE 1.]
679
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
SIR PETER TEAZLE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SIR OLIVER SURFACE. SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE.
JOSEPH SURFACE.
CHARLES.
CRABTREE.
ROWLEY.
MOSES.
TRIP.
SNAKE.
CARELESS.
SIR HARRY BUMPER.
LADY TEAZLE.
MARIA.
LADY SNEERWELL,
MRS. CANDOUR.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-LADY SNEERWELL'S House.
most dissipated and extravagant young fellow
in the kingdom, without friends or character:
the former an avowed admirer of your lady-
Discovered LADY SNEERWELL at the dress-ship's, and apparently your favourite: the
ing-table; SNAKE drinking chocolate.
latter attached to Maria, Sir Peter's ward,
Lady Sneer. The paragraphs, you say, Mr. and confessedly beloved by her. Now, on the
Snake, were all inserted?
face of these circumstances, it is utterly un-
Snake. They were, madam; and as I co-accountable to me, why you, the widow of a
pied them myself in a feigned hand, there can city knight, with a good jointure, should not
be no suspicion whence they came.
close with the passion of a man of such cha-
Lady Sneer. Did you circulate the report racter and expectations as Mr. Surface; and
of Lady Brittle's intrigue with Captain Boastall? more so why you should be so uncommonly
Snake. That's in as fine a train as your earnest to destroy the mutual attachment sub-
ladyship could wish. In the common course sisting between his brother Charles and Maria.
of things, I think it must reach Mrs. Clackitt's
ears within four and twenty hours; and then,
you know, the business is as good as done.
Lady Sneer. Why, truly, Mrs. Clackitt has
a very pretty talent, and a great deal of in-
dustry.
Lady Sneer. His real attachment is to Ma-
Snake. True, madam, and has been tole- ria, or her fortune; but finding in his bro-
rably successful in her day. To my know-ther a favoured rival, he has been obliged to
ledge she has been the cause of six matches mask his pretensions, and profit by my as-
being broken off, and three sons disinherited; sistance.
Lady Sneer. Then at once to unravel this
mystery, I must inform you, that love has no
share whatever in the intercourse between
Mr. Surface and me.
Snake. No!
of four forced elopements, and as many close Snake. Yet still I am more puzzled why
confinements; nine separate maintenances, and you should interest yourself in his success.
two divorces. Nay, I have more than once Lady Sneer. How dull you are! Cannot
traced her causing a tête-à-tête in the Town you surmise the weakness which I hitherto,
and Country Magazine, when the parties, per- through shame, have concealed even from you?
haps, had never seen each other's face before Must I confess, that Charles, that libertine,
in the course of their lives.
that extravagant, that bankrupt in fortune and
Lady Sneer. She certainly has talents, but reputation, that he it is for whom I'm thus
her manner is gross.
anxious and malicious, and to gain whom I
would sacrifice every thing?
Snake. Tis very true. She generally de-
signs well, has a free tongue and a bold in-
vention; but her colouring is too dark, and
her outlines often extravagant. She wants that
delicacy of tint, and mellowness of sneer,
which distinguishes your ladyship's scandal.
Lady Sneer. You are partial, Snake.
Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears
consistent: but how came you and Mr. Sur-
face so confidential?
Lady Sneer. For our mutual interest. I
have found him out a long time since. I know
him to be artful, selfish, and malicious-in-
Snake. Not in the least-every body allows short, a sentimental knave; while with Sir
that Lady Sneerwell can do more with a word Peter, and indeed with all his acquaintance,
or a look than many can with the most la- he passes for a youthful miracle of prudence,
boured detail, even when they happen to have
a little truth on their side to support it.
good sense, and benevolence.
Snake. Yes; yet Sir Peter vows he has not
his equal in England-and above all, he prai-
ses him as a man of sentiment.
Lady Sneer. Yes, my dear Snake; and
am no hypocrite to deny the satisfaction
reap from the success of my efforts. Wound- Lady Sneer. True-and with the assistance
ed myself in the early part of my life by the of his sentiment and hypocrisy, he has brought
envenomed tongue of slander, I confess I have Sir Peter entirely into his interest with re-
since known no pleasure equal to the redu-gard to Maria; while poor Charles has no
cing others to the level of my own injured friend in the house, though, I fear, he has a
reputation.
powerful one in Maria's heart, against whom
Snake. Nothing can be more natural. But, we must direct our schemes.
Lady Sneerwell, there is one affair in which
you have lately employed me, wherein, I con-
fess, I am at a loss to guess your motives.
Lady Sneer. I conceive you mean with
respect to my neighbour, Sir Peter Teazle,
and his family?
Enter Servant.
Sero. Mr. Surface.
Lady Sneer. Show him up. [Exit Servant.
Enter JOSEPH SURFACE.
Snake. I do. Here are two young men, to Joseph S. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how
whom Sir Peter has acted as a kind of guar- do you do to-day? Mr. Snake, your most
dian since their father's death; the eldest pos- obedient.
sessing the most amiable character, and uni- Lady Sneer. Snake has just been rallying
versally well spoken of the youngest, the me on our mutual attachment; but I have in-

680
[ACT 1.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
formed him of our real views. You know Maria. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis
how useful he has been to us, and, believe for what he has said: his conversation is a
me, the confidence is not ill placed.
perpetual libel on all his acquaintance.
Joseph S. Madam, it is impossible for me Joseph S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there
to suspect a man of Mr. Snake's sensibility is no advantage in not knowing him-for
he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best
and discernment.
Lady Sneer. Well, well, no compliments friend; and his uncle's as bad.
now; but tell me when you saw your mis- Lady Sneer. Nay, but we should make al-
tress, Maria-or, what is more material to me, lowance.-Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet.
your brother.
Maria. For my part, I confess, madam,
Joseph S. I have not seen either since I wit loses its respect with me, when I see it
left you; but I can inform you that they ne- in company with malice.-What do you think,
ver meet. Some of your stories have taken a Mr. Surface?
good effect on Maria.
Joseph S. Certainly, madam; to smile at
Lady Sneer. Ah! my dear Snake! the me- the jest which plants a thorn in another's
rit of this belongs to you: but do your bro- breast is to become a principal in the mischief.
ther's distresses increase?
Lady Sneer. Pshaw!-there's no possibility
Joseph S. Every hour. I am told he has of being witty without a little ill nature; the
had another execution in the house yesterday. malice of a good thing is the barb that makes
In short, his dissipation and extravagance ex- it stick.-What's your opinion, Mr. Surface?
ceed any thing I have ever heard of.
Joseph S. To be sure, madam; that con-
Lady Sneer, Poor Charles!
versation, where the spirit of raillery is sup-
Joseph S. True, madam; notwithstanding pressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid.
his vices, one can't help feeling for him. Poor Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scan-
Charles! I'm sure I wish it were in my power dal may be allowable; but in a man, I am
to be of any essential service to him; for the sure, it is always contemptible. We have
man who does not share in the distresses of pride, envy, rivalship, and a thousand motives
a brother, even though merited by his own to depreciate each other; but the male slan-
misconduct, deserves-
derer must have the cowardice of a woman
before he can traduce one.
Enter Servant.
Lady Sneer. O Lud! you are going to be
moral, and forget that you are among friends.
Joseph S. Egad, that's true!-I'll keep that
sentiment till I see Sir Peter;- however, it Serv. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and
certainly is a charity to rescue Maria from if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her
such a libertine, who, if he is to be reclaimed, carriage.
can be so only by a person of your ladyship's Lady Sneer. Beg her to walk in.- [Exit
superior accomplishments and understanding. Servant]-Now, Maria, here is a character
Snake, I believe, Lady Sneerwell, here's to your taste; for though Mrs. Candour is a
company coming: I'll go and copy the letter little talkative, every body allows her to be
I mentioned to you.-Mr. Surface, your most the best natured and best sort of woman.
[Exit Snake. Maria. Yes, with a very gross affectation
Joseph S. Sir, your very devoted.-Lady of good nature and benevolence, she does
Sneerwell, I am very sorry you have put any more mischief than the direct malice of old
farther confidence in that fellow.
Crabtree.
obedient.
Lady Sneer. Why so?
Joseph S. I'faith that's true, Lady Sneerwell:
Joseph S. I have lately detected him in fre- whenever I hear the current running against
quent conference with old Rowley, who was the characters of my friends, I never think
formerly my father's steward, and has never, them in such danger as when Candour un-
you know, been a friend of mine.
Lady Sneer. And do you think he would
betray us?
Joseph S. Nothing more likely :--take my
word for't, Lady Sneerwell, that fellow hasn't
virtue enough to be faithful even to his own
villany.-Ah! Maria!
Enter MARIA.
Lady Sneer. Maria, my dear, how do you
do? What's the matter?
dertakes their defence.
Lady Sneer. Hush!-here she is!-
Enter MRS. CANDOUR.
Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how
have you been this century?-Mr. Surface, what
news do you hear?-though indeed it is no
matter, for I think one hears nothing else but
scandal.
Joseph S. Just so, indeed, ma'am.
Maria. Oh! there is that disagreeable lover Mrs. Can. Oh, Maria! child,-what is the
of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just call-whole affair off between you and Charles?-
ed at my guardian's, with his odious uncle, His extravagance, I presume-the town talks
Crabtree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to of nothing else.
avoid them.
Lady Sneer. Is that all?
Joseph S. If my brother Charles had been
of the party, madam, perhaps you would not
have been so much alarmed.
Lady Sneer. Nay, now you are severe;
for I dare swear the truth of the matter is,
Maria heard you were here.-But, my dear,
what has Sir Benjamin done, that you would
avoid him so?
Maria. Indeed! I am very sorry, ma'am,
the town is not better employed.
Mrs. Can. True, true, child: but there's no
stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt
to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the
same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter,
and Lady Teazle have not agreed lately as
well as could be wished.
Maria. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people
to busy themselves so.

SCENE 1.]
681
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
BITE.
Mrs. Can. Very true, child:-but what's to Lady Sneer. So, Maria, you see your lover
be done? People will talk-there's no pre- pursues you; positively you sha'n't escape.
venting it. Why, it was but yesterday I was
told that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Enter CRABTREE and SIR BENJAMIN BACK-
Filigree Flirt.-But, Lord! there's no minding
what one hears; though, to be sure, I had Crabt. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand-
this from very good authority.
Mrs. Candour, I don't believe you are ac-
Maria. Such reports are highly scandalous. quainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Back-
Mrs, Can. So they are, child-shameful, bite? Egad! ma'am, he has a pretty wit, and
shameful! But the world is so censorious, no is a pretty poet too; isn't he, Lady Sneer-
character escapes.-Lord, now who would well?
have suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an Sir Benj. B. O fie, uncle!
indiscretion? Yet such is the ill-nature of Crabt. Nay, egad it's true; I back him at
people, that they say her uncle stopt her last a rebus or a charade against the best rhymer
week, just as she was stepping into the York in the kingdom. - Has your ladyship heard
diligence with her dancing-master.
the epigram he wrote last week on Lady
Maria. I'll answer for't there are no grounds Frizzle's feather catching fire?-Do, Benjamin,
for that report.
Mrs. Can. Ah, no foundation in the world,
I dare swear; no more, probably, than for
the story circulated last month, of Mrs. Festi-
no's affair with Colonel Cassino;-though, to
be sure, that matter was never rightly clear-
ed up.
Joseph S. The licence of invention some
people take is monstrous indeed.
repeat it, or the charade you made last night
extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's conversazione.
Come now;-your first is the name of a fish,
your second a great naval commander, and-
Sir Benj. B. Uncle, now-pr'ythee-
Crabt. I'faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you
to hear how ready he is at all these fine sort
of things.
Lady Sneer. I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you
never publish any thing.
Maria. 'Tis so,-but, in my opinion, those
who report such things are equally culpable. Sir Benj. B. To say truth, ma'am, 'tis very
Mrs. Can. To be sure they are; tale-bearers vulgar to print; and as my little productions
are as bad as the tale-makers-'tis an old ob- are mostly satires and lampoons on particular
servation, and a very true one: but what's to people, I find they circulate more by giving
be done, as I said before? how will you pre- copies in confidence to the friends of the
vent people from talking? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt parties. However, I have some love elegies,
assured me, Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were which, when favoured with this lady's smiles,
at last become mere man and wife, like the I mean to give the public.
rest of their acquaintance. She likewise hint- Crabt. 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immor-
ed that a certain widow, in the next street, talise you!-you will be handed down to
had got rid of her dropsy and recovered her posterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's
shape in a most surprising manner. And at Sacharissa.
the same time, Miss Tattle, who was by, af- Sir Benj. B. Yes, madam, I think you will
firmed, that Lord Buffalo had discovered his like them, when you shall see them on a
lady at a house of no extraordinary fame; beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of
and that Sir H. Boquet and Tom Saunter text shall meander through a meadow of mar-
were to measure swords on a similar provo- gin.-'Fore Gad they will he the most elegant
cation. But, Lord, do you think I would re-things of their kind!
port these things?-No, no! tale-bearers, as Crabt. But, ladies, that's true-have you
I said before, are just as bad as the tale- heard the news?
makers.
Joseph S. Ah! Mrs. Candour, if every body
had your forbearance and good-nature!
Mrs. Can. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot
bear to hear people attacked behind their
backs; and when ugly circumstances come
out against our acquaintance, I own I always
love to think the best.-By the by, I hope 'tis
not true that your brother is absolutely ruined?
Joseph S. I am afraid his circumstances
are very bad indeed, ma'am.
Mrs. Can. Ah! I heard so-but you must
tell him to keep up his spirits; every body
almost is in the same way-Lord Spindle, Sir
Thomas Splint, Captain Quinze, and Mr.
Nickit-all up, I hear, within this week; so
if Charles is undone, he'll find half his ac-
quaintance ruined too, and that, you know,
is a consolation.
Joseph S. Doubtless, ma'am-a very great
one.
Enter Servant.
Sero. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Back-
bite.
[Exit Servant.
Mrs. Can. What, sir, do you mean the re-
port of-
Crabt. No, ma'am, that's not it-Miss Ni-
cely is going to be married to her own foot-
man.
Mrs. Can. Impossible!
Crabt. Ask Sir Benjamin.
Sir Benj. B. 'Tis very true, ma'am; every
thing is fixed, and the wedding liveries be-
spoke.
Crabt. Yes-and they do say there were
pressing reasons for it.
Lady Sneer. Why, I have heard something
of this before.
Mrs. Can. It can't be and I wonder any
one should believe such a story, of so pru-
dent a lady as Miss Nicely.
Sir Benj. B. O Lud! ma'am, that's the very
reason 'twas believed at once. She has always,
been so cautious and so reserved, that every
body was sure there was some reason for it
at bottom.
Mrs. Can. Why, to be sure, a tale of scan-
dal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady
of her stamp, as a fever is generally to those
86

682
[ACT I.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
of the strongest constitutions. But there is a Joseph S. This may be entertainment to you,
sort of puny sickly reputation, that is always gentlemen, but you pay very little regard to
ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters the feelings of a brother.
of a hundred prudes.
Maria. Their malice is intolerable.--Lady
Sir Benj. B. True, madam,-there are vale- Sneerwell, I must wish you a good morning:
tudinarians in reputation as well as constitu- I'm not very well.
tion, who, being conscious of their weak
part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply very much.
their want of stamina by care and circum-
spection.
[Exit Maria.
Mrs. Can. O dear! she changes colour
Lady Sneer. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her:
she may want assistance.
Mrs. Can. That I will, with all my soul,
Mrs. Can. Well, but this may be all a
mistake. You know, Sir Benjamin, very trif- ma'am.-Poor dear girl, who knows what her
ling circumstances often give rise to the most
injurious tales.
Crabt. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am.
-Did you ever hear how Miss Piper came
to lose her lover and her character last sum-
mer at Tunbridge?-Sir Benjamin, you re-
member it?
situation may be! [Exit Mrs. Candour.
Lady Sneer. 'Twas nothing but that she
could not bear to hear Charles reflected on,
notwithstanding their difference.
Sir Benj. B. The young lady's penchant is
obvious.
Crabt. But, Benjamin, you must not give
Sir Benj. B. Oh, to be sure!-the most up the pursuit for that:-follow her, and put
whimsical circumstance.
her into good humour. Repeet her some of
Lady Sneer. How was it, pray?
your own verses. Come, I'll assist you.
Crabt. Why, one evening, at Mrs. Pon- Sir Benj. B. Mr. Surface, I did not mean
to's assembly, the conservation happened to to hurt you; but depend on't your brother is
turn on the breeding Nova Scotia sheep in utterly undone.
this country. Says a young lady in company, Crabt. O Lud, lay! undone as ever man
I have known instances of it-for Miss Leti- was.-Can't raise a guinea!-
tia Piper, a first cousin of mine, had a Nova Sir Benj. B. And every thing sold, I'm told,
Scotia sheep that produced her twins,-What! that was moveable.-
-
cries the Lady Dowager Dundizzy (who you Crabt, I have seen one that was at his
know is as deaf as a post), has Miss Piper house. Not a thing left but some empty
had twins?-This mistake, as you may ima-bottles that were overlooked, and the family
gine, threw the whole company into a fit of pictures, which I believe are framed in the
laughter. However, 'twas the next morning wainscots-
every where reported, and in a few days be-
lieved by the whole town, that Miss Letitia
Piper had actually been brought to bed o!
a fine boy and a girl; and in less than a
week there were some people who could
name the father, and the farmhouse where
the babies were put to nurse,
Lady Sneer. Strange, indeed!
Crabt. Matter of fact, I assure you.-O
Lud! Mr. Surface, pray is it true that your
uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home?
Sir Benj. B. And I'm very sorry, also, to
hear some bad stories against him. [Going.
Crabt. Oh! he has done many mean things,
that's certain.
Sir Benj. B. But, however, as he's your
brother-
[Going.
Crabt. We'll tell you all another opportu-
nity. [Exit Crabtree and Sir Benjamin.
Lady Sneer. Ha! ha! 'tis very hard for
them to leave a subject they have not quite
run down.
Joseph S. And I believe the abuse was no
more acceptable to your ladyship than Maria.
Lady Sneer. I doubt her affections
are
Joseph S. Not that I know of, indeed, sir.
Crabt. He has been in the East Indies a
long time. You can scarcely remember him,
I believe?-Sad comfort whenever he returns, farther engaged than we imagine. But the
to hear how your brother has gone on! family are to be here this evening, so you
Joseph S. Charles has been imprudent, sir, may as well dine where you are, and we
to be sure; but I hope no busy people have shall have an opportunity of observing farther;
already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him. in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief,
He may reform.
and you shall study sentiment. [Exeunt.
Sir Benj. B. To be sure he may: for my
part, I never believed him to be so utterly
void of principle as people say; and though
he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody
is better spoken of by the Jews.
SCENE II. SIR PETER'S House.
Enter SIR PETER.
Sir Peter T. When an old bachelor mar-
Crabt. That's true, egad, nephew. If the ries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis
Old Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles now six months since Lady Teazle made me
would be an alderman:-no man more po- the happiest of men- and I have been the
pular there, 'fore Gad! I hear he pays as most miserable dog ever since! We tifted a
many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that little going to church, and fairly quarrelled
whenever he is sick, they have prayers for before the bells had done ringing. I was more
the recovery of his health in all the synagogues. than once nearly choked with gall during the
Sir Benj. B. Yet no man lives in greater honeymoon, and had lost all comfort in life
splendour. They tell me, when he entertains before my friends had done wishing me joy.
his friends he will sit down to dinner with a Yet I chose with caution-a girl bred wholly
dozen of his own securities; have a score of in the country, who never knew luxury be-
radesmen waiting in the antechamber, and yond one silk gown, nor dissipation above
an officer behind every guest's chair.
the annual gala of a race ball. Yet now she

SCENE 1.]
683
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Rowley. Sir Oliver is arrived, and at this
moment in town.
plays her part in all the extravagant foppe- the most critical period of his fortune. I came
ries of the fashion and the town, with as hither with news that will surprise you.
ready a grace as if she had nerer seen a bush Sir Peter T. What! let me hear.
or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor-square! I am
sneered at by all my acquaintance, and pa-
ragraphed in the newspapers. She dissipates
my fortune, and contradicts all my humours;
yet, the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or
I should never bear all this. However, I'll
never be weak enough to own it.
Enter RowLEY.
Rowley. Oh! Sir Peter, your servant: how
is it with you, sir?
Sir Peter T. How! you astonish me! I
thought you did not expect him this month.
Rowley. I did not; but his passage has
heen remarkably quick.
Sir Peter T. Egad, I shall rejoice to see
my old friend. Tis fifteen years since we
met. We have had many a day together:-
but does he still enjoin us not to inform his
nephews of his arrival?
Sir Peter T. Very bad, Master Rowley, Rowley. Most strictly. He means, before
very bad. I meet with nothing but crosses it is known, to make some trial of their dis-
and vexations.
Rowley. What can have happened to trou-
ble you since yesterday?
Sir Peter T. A good question to a married
man!
Rowley. Nay, I'm sure your lady, Sir Pe-
ter, can't be the cause of your uneasiness.
Sir Peter T. Why, has any body told you
she was dead?
Rowley. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love
her, notwithstanding your tempers don't ex-
actly agree.
Sir Peter T. But the fault is entirely hers,
Master Rowley. I am, myself, the sweetest
tempered man alive, and hate a teasing tem-
per; and so I tell her a hundred times a day.
Rowley. Indeed!
position.
Sir Peter T. Ah! there needs no art to
discover their merits-he shall have his way:
but, pray, does he know I am married?
Rowley. Yes, and will soon wish you joy.
Sir Peter T. What, as we drink health to
a friend in a consumption. Ah! Oliver will
laugh at me. We used to rail at matrimony
together, and he has been steady to his text.
Well, he must be soon at my house,
though!-I'll instantly give orders for his re-
ception.-But, Master Rowley, don't drop a
word that Lady Teazle and I ever disagree.
Rowley. By no means.
Sir Peter T. For I should never be able to
stand Noll's jokes; so I'd have him think,
Lord forgive me! that we are a very happy
Sir Peter T. Ay; and what is very extra-couple.
ordinary, in all our disputes she is always in Rowley. I understand you:-but then you
the wrong! But Lady Sneerwell, and the set must be very careful not to differ while he is
she meets at her house, encourage the per- in the house with you.
verseness of her disposition.-Then, to com- Sir Peter T. Egad, and so we must-and
plete my vexation, Maria, my ward, whom that's impossible. Ah! master Rowley, when
I ought to have the power over, is determi- an old bachelor marries a young wife, he de-
ned to turn rebel too, and absolutely refuses serves-no-the crime carries its punishment
the man whom I have long resolved on for along with it.
her husband; meaning, I suppose, to bestow
herself on his profligate brother.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
[Exeunt.
Enter SIR PETER and LADY TEAZLE.
Sir Peter T. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll
Rowley. You know, Sir Peter, I have al-
ways taken the liberty to differ with you on
the subject of these two young gentlemen. I only
wish you may not be deceived in your opi-
nion of the elder. For Charles, my life on't! not bear it!
he will retrieve his errors yet. Their worthy
Their worthy Lady T. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear
father, once my honoured master, was, at his it or not, as you please; but I ought to have
years, nearly as wild a spark; yet, when he my own way in every thing, and what's more,
died, he did not leave a more benevolent heart I will, too. What! though I was educated
to lament his loss.
in the country, I know very well that women
Sir Peter T. You are wrong, Master Row- of fashion in London are accountable to no-
ley. On their father's death, you know, I act-body after they are married.
ed as a kind of guardian to them both, till Sir Peter T. Very well, ma'am, very well;
their uncle Sir Oliver's liberality gave them-so a husband is to have no influence, no
an early independence: of course, no person authority?
could have more opportunities of judging of Lady T. Authority! No, to be sure:-if you
their hearts, and I was never mistaken in my wanted authority over me, you should have
life. Joseph is indeed a model for the young adopted me, and not married me: I am sure
men of the age. He is a man of sentiment, you were old enough.
and acts up to the sentiments he professes; Sir Peter T. Old enough!-ay-there it is.
but for the other, take my word for't, if he Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may
had any grain of virtue by descent, he has be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be
dissipated it with the rest of his inheritance. ruined by your extravagance.
Ah! my old friend, Sir Oliver, will be deep-
ly mortified when he finds how part of his
bounty has been misapplied.
Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm
not more extravagant than a woman of fash-
ion ought to be.
Rowley. I am sorry to find you so violent Sir Peter T. No, no, madam, you shall
against the young man, because this may be throw away no more sums on such unmean-

684
[ACT 1.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
ing luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to fur-
nish your dressing-room with flowers in win-
ter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon in-
to a green-house, and give a fête champêtre
at Christmas.
Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter! would
me be out of the fashion?
you have
Sir Peter T. The fashion, indeed! what had
you to do with the fashion before you mar-
ried me?
Lady T. For my part, I should think you
would like to have your wife thought a wo-
man of taste.
-
-1
taste-
Sir Peter T. Ay there again
Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you
married me!
Lady T. And am I to blame, Sir Peter, be-
cause flowers are dear in cold weather? You
should find fault with the climate, and not
with me. For my part, I'm sure, I wish it
was spring all the year round, and that roses
grew under our feet!
Sir Peter T. Oons! madam-if you had Lady T. That's very true indeed, Sir Pe-
been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your ter; and after having married you, I should
talking thus; but you forget what your situa- never pretend to taste again, I allow. But
tion was when I married you.
now, Sir Peter, if we have finished our daily
Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very dis- jangle, I presume I may go to my engage-
agreeable one, or I should never have mar- ment at Lady Sneerwell's.
Sir Peter T. Ay, there's another precious
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, madam, you were circumstance-a charming set of acquaintance
then in somewhat a humbler style: the you have made there.
ried you.
daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people
Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenaci-
your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, ous of reputation.
with a bunch of keys at your side; your hair Sir Peter T. Yes, egad, they are tenacious
combed smooth over a roll, and your apart- of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't
ment hung round with fruits in worsted, of choose any body should have a character but
your own working.
themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a
Lady T. O, yes! I remember it very well, wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done
and a curious life I led.-My daily occupa- less mischief than these utterers of forged tales,
tion to inspect the dairy, superintend the coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.
poultry, make extracts from the family receipt- Lady T. What! would you restrain the
book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lapdog. freedom of speech?
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. Sir Peter T. Ah! they have made you just
Lady T. And then, you know, my evening as bad as any one of the society.
amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part
which I had not materials to make up; to with a tolerable grace. But I vow I bear no
play Pope Joan ¹) with the curate: to read a malice against the people I abuse.-When I
sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to say an illnatured thing, 'tis out of pure good
an old spinet to strum my father to sleep af- humour; and I take it for granted, they deal
ter a fox-chase.
exactly in the same manner with me. But,
Sir Peter T. I am glad you have so good Sir Peter, you know you promised to come
a memory. Yes, madam, these were the re- to Lady Sneerwell's too.
creations I took you from; but now you must Sir Peter T. Well, well, I'll call in just to
have your coach-vis-à-vis-and three pow-look after my own character.
dered footmen before your chair; and, in the Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste
summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to after me, or you'll be too late. So, good bye
Kensingtongardens. No recollection, I sup-to ye.
[Exit Lady Teazle.
pose, when you were content to ride double, Sir Peter T. So-I have gained much by
behind the butler, on a dock'd coach-horse. my intended expostulation: yet, with what a
Lady T. No-I swear I never did that; I charming air she contradicts every thing I
deny the butler and the coach-horse.
say, and how pleasingly she shows her con-
Sir Peter T. This, madam; was your situa tempt for my authority! Well, though I can't
tion; and what have I done for you? I have make her love me, there is great satisfaction
made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of in quarrelling with her; and I think she ne-
rank; in short, I have made you my wife. ver appears to such advantage as when she
Lady T. Well, then, and there is but one is doing every thing in her power to plague
thing more you can make me to add to the
obligation, and that is-
Sir Peter T. My widow, I suppose?
Lady T. Hem! hem!
Sir Peter T. I thank you, madam-but
don't flatter yourself; for though your ill con-
duct may disturb my peace, it shall never
break my heart, I promise you: however, I
am equally obliged to you for the hint.
Lady T. Then why will you endeavour to
make yourself so disagreeable to me, and
thwart me in every little elegant expense?
Sir Peter T. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you
any of these little elegant expenses when you
married me?
1) A game at cards.
me.
[Exit.
SCENE II. At LADY SNEERWELL'S.
Enter LADY SNEERWELL, MRS. CANDOUR,
CRABTREE, SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE, and
JOSEPH SURFACE.
Lady Sneer. Nay, positively, we will hear it.
Joseph S. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all
means.
Sir Benj. B. O plague on't, uncle! 'tis mere
nonsense.
Crabt. No, no; 'fore Gad, very clever for
an extempore!
Sir Benj. B. But, ladies, you should be
acquainted with the circumstance. You must
know, that one day last week, as Lady Betty

SCENE 2.]
685
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde Park, has finished her face, she joins it so badly to
in a sort of duodecimo phaeton, she desired her neck, that she looks like a mended statue,
me to write some verses on her ponies; upon in which the connoisseur sees at once that
which I took out my pocket-book, and in one the head's modern, though the trunk's antique.
moment produced the following:
Sure never were seen two such beautiful
ponies;
Other horses are clowns, but these maca-
oronies:
ronies:
Crabt. Ha! ha! ha! well said, nephew!
Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! well, you make me
laugh; but I vow I hate you for it.-What
do you think of Miss Simper?
Sir Benj. B. Why, she has very pretty
To give them this title I'm sure can't be teeth.
wrong,
Lady T. Yes, and on that account, when
Their legs are so slim, and their tails are she is neither speaking ner laughing (which
very seldom happens), she never absolutely
so long.
Crabt. There, ladies, done in the smack of shuts her mouth, but leaves it always on a
a whip, and on horseback too. 1
Joseph S. A very Phoebus mounted-in-
deed, Sir Benjamin.
Sir Benj. B. O dear, sir! trifles-trifles.
Enter LADY TEAZLE and MARIA.
Mrs. Can. I must have a copy.
Lady Sneer. Lady Teazle, I hope we shall
see Sir Peter?
Lady T. I believe he'll wait on your lady-
ship presently.
Lady Sneer. Maria, my love, you look
grave. Come, you shall sit down to piquet
with Mr. Surface.
Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards
-however, I'll do as you please.
Lady T. I am surprised Mr. Surface should
sit down with her! I thought he would have
embraced this opportunity of speaking to me,
before Sir Peter came.
[Aside.
Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die, but you are so
scandalous, I'll forswear your society.
Lady T. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour?
Mrs. Can. They'll not allow our friend Miss
Vermillion to be handsome.
jar, as it were, thus [Shows her teeth.
Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured?
Lady T. Nay, I allow even that's better
than the pains Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her
losses in front. She draws her mouth till it
positively resembles the aperture of a poor's
box, and all her words appear to slide out
edgewise, as it were,-thus-How do you do,
madam? Yes, madam.
Lady Sneer. Very well, Lady Teazle; I see
you can be a little severe.
Lady T. In defence of a friend it is but
justice.-But here comes Sir Peter to spoil
our pleasantry.
Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE.
Sir Peter T. Ladies, your most obedient.-
Mercy on me! here is the whole set! a cha-
racter dead at every word, I suppose. [Aside.
Mrs. Can. I am rejoiced you are come,
Sir Peter. They have been so censorious-
and Lady Teazle as bad as any one.
Sir Peter T. It must be very distressing to
you, Mrs. Candour, I dare swear.
Mrs. Can. O they will allow good qualities
Lady Sneer. O surely she is a pretty to nobody; not even good nature to our
woman.
Crabt. I am very glad you think So, ma'am.
Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh co-
lour.
Lady T. Yes, when it is fresh put on.
Mrs. Can. O fie! I'll swear her colour is
natural: I have seen it come and go.
Lady T. I dare swear you have, ma'am: it
goes off at night, and comes again in the
morning.
Sir Benj. B. True, ma'am, it not only co-
mes and goes, but, what's more--egad, her
maid can fetch and carry it!
Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! how I hate to hear
you talk so! But surely now, her sister is,
or was, very handsome.
Crabt. Who? Mrs. Evergreen? O Lord!
she's six and fifty if she's an hour!
Mrs. Can. Now positively you wrong her;
fifty-two or fifty-three is the utmost-and 1
don't think she looks more.
Sir Benj. B. Ah! there's no judging by her
looks, unless one could see her face.
friend Mrs. Pursy.
Lady T. What, the fat dowager who was
at Mrs. Quadrille's last night?
Mrs. Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune;
and when she takes such pains to get rid of
it, you ought not to reflect on her.
Lady Sneer. That's very true, indeed.
Lady T. Yes, I know she almost lives on
acids and small whey; laces herself by pullies;
and often in the hottest noon in summer, you
may see her on a little squat pony, with her
hair plainted up behind like a drummer's, and
puting round the Ring on a full trot.
Mrs. Can. I thank you, Lady Teazle, for
defending her.
Sir Peter T. Yes, a good defence, truly!
Mrs. Can. Truly, Lady Teazle is as censo-
rious as Miss Sallow.
Crabt. Yes, and she is a curious being to
pretend to be censorious-an awkward gawky,
without any one good point under heaven.
Mrs. Can. Positively you shall not be so
Miss Sallow is a near rela-
very severe.
Lady Sneer. Well, well, if Mrs. Evergreen tion of mine by marriage, and as for her
does take some pains to repair the ravages person, great allowance is to be made; for,
of time, you must allow she effects it with let me tell you, a woman labours under many
great ingenuity; and surely that's better than disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl at
the careless manner in which the widow Ochre six and thirty.
chalks her wrinkles.
Lady Sneer. Though, surely, she is hand-
Sir Benj. B. Nay now, Lady Sneerwell, some still-and for the weakness in her eyes,
you are severe upon the widow. Come, come, considering how much she reads by candle-
'tis not that she paints so ill-but when she light, it is not to be wondered at.

686
[ACT II.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Mrs. Can. True, and then as to her man- Sir Peter T. 'Fore heaven, madam, if they
ner, upon my word I think it is particularly were to consider the sporting with reputation
graceful, considering she never had the least of as much importance as poaching on ma-
education: for you know her mother was a nors, and pass an act for the preservation of
Welsh milliner, and her father a sugarbaker fame, I believe there are many would thank
at Bristol.
them for the bill.
Sir Benj. B. Ah! you are both of you too
good natured!
Lady Sneer. O Lud, Sir Peter; would you
deprive us of our privileges?
Sir Peter T. Ay, madam; and then no per-
Sir Peter T. Yes, damned good natured!
This their own relation! mercy on me! [Aside. son should be permitted to kill characters and
Mrs. Can. For my part, I own I cannot run down reputations, but qualified old maids
bear to hear a friend ill spoken of.
and disappointed widows.
Sir Peter T. No, to be sure!
Lady Sneer. Go, you monster!
Mrs. Can. But, surely, you would not be
and quite so severe on those who only report what
they hear?
Sir Benj. B. Oh! you are of a moral turn.
Mrs. Candour and I can sit for an hour
hear Lady Stucco talk sentiment.
Lady T. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very Sir Peter T. Yes, madam, I would have
well with the dessert after dinner; for she's law merchant for them too; and in all cases
just like the French fruit one cracks for mot- of slander currency, whenever the drawer of
tos-made up of paint and proverb.
the lie was not to be found, the injured par-
Mrs. Can. Well, I never will join in ridi-ties should have a right to come on any of
culing a friend; and so I constantly tell my the indorsers.
cousin Ogle, and you all know what preten- Crabt. Well, for my part, I believe there
sions she has to be critical on beauty.
never was a scandalous tale without some
Crabt. O to be sure! she has herself the foundation.
oddest countenance that ever was seen; 'tis a Sir Peter T. O, nine out of ten of the ma-
collection of features from all the different licious inventions are founded on some ridi-
countries of the globe.
culous misrepresentation!
Sir Benj. B. So she has, indeed-an Irish
front-
Crabt. Caledonian locks-
Sir Benj. B. Dutch nose-
Crabt. Austrian lips-
Sir Benj B. Complexion of a Spaniard-
Crabt. And teeth à la Chinoise-
Sir Benj. B. In short, her face resembles
table d'hôte at Spa-where no two guests
are of a nation-
Lady Sneer. Come, ladies, shall we sit
down to cards in the next room?
Enter a Servant who whispers SIR PETER.
Sir Peter T. I'll be with them directly.-
I'll get away unperceived.
[Apart.
Lady Sneer. Sir Peter, you are not going
a to leave us?
Sir Peter T. Your ladyship must excuse me;
I'm called away by particular business. But
leave my character behind me.
Crabt. Or a congress at the close of a ge- I
neral war-wherein all the members, even to
[Exit Sir Peter.
her eyes, appear to have a different interest, Sir Benj. B. Well-certainly, Lady Teazle,
and her nose and chin are the only parties that lord of yours is a strange being; I could
likely to join issue.
Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha!
tell you somes stories of him would make you
laugh heartily if he were not your husband.
Lady T. O, pray don't mind that;-come,
[Aside. do let's hear them.
Sir Peter T. Mercy on my life!--a person
they dine with twice a week.
Lady Sneer. Go, go; you are a couple of
provoking toads.
Mrs. Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not
carry the laugh off so-for give me leave to
say, that Mrs. Ogle-
[Joins the rest of the company going in-
to the next room.
Joseph S. Maria, I see you have no satis-
faction in this society.
Maria. How is it possible I should?-If to
Sir Peter T. Madam, madam, I beg your raise malicious smiles at the infirmities or
pardon-there's no stopping these good gen- misfortunes of those who have never injured
tlemen's tongues.--But when I tell you, Mrs. us be the province of wit or humour, fleaven
Candour, that the lady they are abusing is a grant me a double portion of dulness!
particular friend of mine, I hope you'll not Joseph S. Yet they appear more ill-natured
take her part.
than they are, they have no malice at heart.
Lady Sneer. Ha! ha! ha! Well said, Sir Maria. Then is their conduct still more
Peter! but you are a cruel creature,-too contemptible; for, in my opinion, nothing
phlegmatic yourself for a jest, and too peevish could excuse the interference of their tongues,
to allow wit in others.
but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness of
Sir Peter T. Ah! madam, true wit is more mind.
nearly allied to good-nature than your lady- Joseph S. Undoubtedly, madam; and it has
ship is aware of.
always been a sentiment of mine, that to pro-
Lady T. True, Sir Peter: I believe they pagate a malicious truth wantonly is more
are so near akin that they can never be united. despicable than to falsify from revenge. But
Sir Benj. B. Or rather, madam, suppose can you, Maria, feel thus for others, and be
them to be man and wife, because one sel- unkind to me alone?-Is hope to be denied
dom sees them together.
the tenderest passion?
Lady T. But Sir Peter is such an enemy Maria. Why will you distress me by re-
to scandal, I believe he would have it put newing the subject?
down by parliament.
Joseph S. Ah, Maria! you would not treat

SCENE 3.1
687
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
me thus, and oppose your guardian, Sir Pe- Rowley. But you must not rally him on the
ter's will, but that I see that profligate Char- subject, Sir Oliver: 'tis a tender point, I as-
les is still a favoured rival.
sure you, though he has been married only
Maria. Ungenerously urged!-But what- seven months.
ever my sentiments are for that unfortunate Sir Oliver S. Then he has been just half a
young man, be assured I shall not feel more year on the stool of repentance!-Poor Peter!-
bound to give him up, because his distresses But you say he has entirely given up Charles,-
have lost him the regard even of a brother. never sees him, hey?
Joseph S. Nay, but Maria, do not leave me Rowley. His prejudice against him is asto-
with a frown: by all that's honest, I swear-nishing, and I am sure, greatly increased by
Gad's life, here's Lady Teazle!-[Aside]-a jealousy of him with Lady Teazle, which he
You must not-no, you shall not-for, though has industriously been led into by a scanda-
I have the greatest regard for Lady Teazle-lous society in the neighbourhood, who have
Maria. Lady Teazle!
contributed not a little to Charles's ill name.
Joseph S. Yet were Sir Peter to suspect- Whereas, the truth is, I believe, if the lady is
partial to either of them, his brother is the
Enter LADY TEAZLE, and comes forward. favourite.
Lady T. What is this, pray? Do you take Sir Oliver S. Ay, I know there are a set of
her for me?-Child, you are wanted in the malicious, prating, prudent gossips, both male
[Exit Maria.]-What is all and female, who murder characters to kill
this, pray?
time; and will rob a young fellow of his good
Joseph S. O, the most unlucky circumstance name, before he has years to know the value
in nature! Maria has somehow suspected the of it.-But I am not to be prejudiced against
tender concern I have for your happiness, and my nephew by such, I promise you.-No, no,
threatened to acquaint Sir Peter with her sus--if Charles has done nothing false or mean,
picions, and I was just endeavouring to reason I shall compound for his extravagance.
with her when you came in.
next room.
Lady T. Indeed! but you seemed to adopt
a very tender mode of reasoning-do you
usually argue on your knees?
Joseph S. O, she's a child, and I thought a
little bombast-But, Lady Teazle, when are
you to give me your judgment on my library,
as you promised?
Lady T. No, no; I begin to think it would
be imprudent, and you know I admit you as
a lover no farther than fashion sanctions.
Joseph S. True-a mere platonic cicisbeo-
what every wife is entitled to.
Rowley. Then, my life on't, you will reclaim
him. - Ah, sir! it gives me new life to find
that your heart is not turned against him; and
that the son of my good old master has one
friend, however, left.
Sir Oliver S. What, shall I forget, Master
Rowley, when I was at his years myself?-
Egad, my brother and I were neither of us
very prudent youths; and yet, I believe, you
have not seen many better men than your old
master was.
Rowley. Sir, 'tis this reflection gives me as-
surance that Charles may yet be a credit to
Lady T. Certainly, one must not be out of his family.-But here comes Sir Peter.
the fashion. However, I have so much of my Sir Oliver S. Egad, so he does.-Mercy on
country prejudices left, that, though Sir Peter's
ill-humour may vex me ever so, it never shall
provoke me to-
Joseph S. The only revenge in your power.
-Well-I applaud your moderation.
Lady T. Go-you are an insinuating wretch.
-But we shall be missed- let us join the
company.
Joseph S. But we had best not return
together.
me!-he's greatly altered-and seems to have
a settled married look! One may read hus-
band in his face at this distance!
Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE.
Sir Peter T. Hah! Sir Oliver-my old friend!
Welcome to England a thousand times!
Sir Oliver S. Thank you - thank you, Sir
Peter! and i'faith I am glad to find you well,
believe me.
Sir Peter T. Oh! 'tis a long time since we
Lady T. Well-don't stay; for Maria sha'n't met-fifteen years, I doubt, Sir Oliver, and
come to hear any more of your reasoning, I many a cross accident in the time.
promise you.
[Exit Lady Teazle. Sir Oliver S. Ay, I have had my share.-
Joseph S. A curious dilemma my politics But, what! I find you are married, hey?-
have run me into! I wanted, at first, only to Well, well-it can't be helped- and so-I
ingratiate myself with Lady Teazle, that she wish you joy with all my heart.
might not be my enemy with Maria; and I Sir Peter T. Thank you, thank you, Sir
have, I don't know how, become her serious Oliver.-Yes, I have entered into-the happy
lover. Sincerely I begin to wish I had never state;-but we'll not talk of that now.
made such a point of gaining so very good a Sir Oliver S. True, true, Sir Peter: old
character, for it has led me into so many cur- friends should not begin on grievances at first
sed rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed meeting-no, no, no.-
at last.
[Exil.
SCENE III.-SIR PETER TEAZLE'S.
Enter RowLEY and SIR OLIVER SURFACE.
Rowley. Take care, pray, sir.-
Sir Oliver S. Well-so one of my nephews
is a wild fellow, hey?
Sir Peter T. Wild! Ah! my old friend, I
Sir Oliver S. Ha! ha! ha! So my old friend grieve for your disappointment there; he's a
is married, hey?-a young wife out of the lost young man, indeed. However, his brother
country.-Ha! ha! ha! that he should have will make you amends; Joseph is, indeed,
stood bluff to old bachelor so long, and sink what a youth should be. Every body in the
into a husband at last.
world speaks well of him.

688
[ACT III.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL,
1
Sir Oliver S. I am sorry to hear it; he has bard expresses it, "a heart to pity, and, a
too good a character to be an honest fellow. hand open as day, for melting charity."
Every body speaks well of him!-Pshaw! then Sir Peter T. Pshaw! What signifies his
he has bowed as low to knaves and fools as having an open hand or purse either, when
to the honest dignity of genius and virtue. he has nothing left to give? Well, well-
Sir Peter T. What, Sir Oliver! do you make the trial, if you please. But where is
blame him for not making enemies?
the fellow whom you brought for Sir Oliver
Sir Oliver S. Yes, if he has merit enough to examine, relative to Charles's affairs?
to deserve them.
Rowley. Below, waiting his commands, and
Sir Peter T. Well, well-you'll be convin- no one can give him better intelligence. This,
ced when you know him. "Tis edification to
hear him converse; he professes the noblest
sentiments.
Sir Oliver S. Oh! plague of his sentiments!
If he salutes me with a scrap of morality in
his mouth, I shall be sick directly.-But, how-
ever, don't mistake me, Sir Peter; I don't
mean to defend Charles's errors: but before I
form my judgment of either of them, I intend
to make a trial of their hearts: and my friend
Rowley and I have planned something for the
purpose.
Sir Oliver, is a friendly Jew, who, to do him
justice, has done every thing in his power to
bring your nephew to a proper sense of his
extravagance.
Sir Peter T. Pray let us have him in.
Rowley. Desire Mr. Moses to walk up stairs.
[Apart to Servant.
Sir Peter T. But, pray, why should you
suppose he will speak the truth?
Rowley. Oh! I have convinced him that he
has no chance of recovering certain sums ad-
vanced to Charles, but through the bounty of
Rowley. And Sir Peter shall own for once Sir Oliver, who he knows is arrived; so that
he has been mistaken.
you may depend on his fidelity to his own
Sir Peter T. Oh! my life on Joseph's honour. interests: I have also another evidence in my
Sir Oliver S. Well-come, give us a bottle power, one Snake, whom I have detected in
of good wine, and we'll drink the lads' health, a matter little short of forgery, and shall speed-
and tell you our scheme.
ily produce him to remove some of your
prejudices.
Sir Peter T. Allons then!
Sir Oliver S. And don't, Sir Peter, be so
severe against your old friend's son. Odds
my life! I am not sorry that he has run out
of the course a little: for my part, I hate to
see prudence clinging to the green suckers of
youth; 'tis like ivy round a sapling, and spoils
the growth of the tree.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I-SIR PETER TEAZLE'S.
Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE, SIR OLIVER SUR-
FACE, and ROWLEY.
Sir Peter T. Well, then, we will see this
fellow first, and have our wine afterwards:
hut how is this, master Rowley? I don't see
the jest of your scheme.
Rowley. Why, sir, this Mr. Stanley, who
I was speaking of, is nearly related to them
by their mother. He was a merchant in Dublin,
but has been ruined by a series of undeserved
misfortunes. He has applied, by letter, to Mr.
Surface and Charles: from the former he has
received nothing but evasive promises of fu-
ture service, while Charles has done all that
his extravagance has left him power to do;
and he is, at this time, endeavouring to raise
a sum of money, part of which, in the midst
of his own distresses, I know he intends for
the service of poor Stanley.
Sir Oliver S. Ah!-he is my brother's son.
Sir Peter T. Well, but how is Sir Oliver
personally to-
Sir Peter T. I have heard too much on that
subject.
Rowley. Here comes the honest Israelite.-
Enter MOSES.
-This is Sir Oliver.
Sir Oliver S. Sir, I understand you have
lately had great dealings with my nephew,
Charles.
Moses. Yes, Sir Oliver, I have done all I
could for him; but he was ruined before he
came to me for assistance.
Sir Oliver S. That was unlucky, truly; for
you have had no opportunity of showing your
talents.
Moses. None at all; I hadn't the pleasure of
knowing his distresses till he was some thou-
sands worse than nothing.
Sir Oliver S. Unfortunate, indeed!-But I
suppose you have done all in your power for
him, honest Moses?
Moses. Yes, he knows that; - this very
evening I was to have brought him a gentle-
man from the city, who does not know him,
and will, I believe, advance him some money.
Sir Peter T. What,-one Charles has never
had money from before?
-
Moses. Yes, Mr. Premium, of Crutched
Friars, formerly a broker.
Sir Peter T. Egad, Sir Oliver, a thought
strikes me!-Charles, you say, does not know
Mr. Premium?
Moses. Not at all.
Rowley. Why, sir, I will inform Charles Sir Peter T. Now then, Sir Oliver, you may
and his brother, that Stanley has obtained have better opportunity of satisfying yourself
permission to apply personally to his friends, than by an old romancing tale of a poor re-
and as they have neither of them ever seen lation: go with my friend Moses, and repre-
him, let Sir Oliver assume his character, and sent Premium, and then, I'll answer for it,
he will have a fair opportunity of judging, at you'll see your nephew in all his glory.
least, of the benevolence of their dispositions; Sir Oliver S. Egad, I like this idea better
and believe me, sir, you will find in the than the other, and I may visit Joseph after-
youngest brother, one, who, in the midst of wards as Old Stanley.
folly and dissipation, has still, as our immortal Sir Peter T. True-so you may.

SCENE 1.]
689
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Rowley. Well, this is taking Charles rather me farther instructions as we go together.
at a disadvantage, to be sure;-however, Moses, Sir Peter T. You will not have much time,
you understand Sir Peter, and will be faithful? for your nephew lives hard by.
Moses. You may depend upon me;-this is
near the time I was to have gone.
Sir Oliver S. I'll accompany you as soon
as you please, Moses-But hold! I have forgot
one thing-how the plague shall I be able to
pass for a Jew?
Moses. There's no need-the principal is
Christian.
Sir Oliver S. Is he? I'm very sorry to hear
it. But then again, a'n't I rather too smartly
dressed to look like a money lender?
Sir Oliver S. O! never fear: my tutor ap-
pears so able, that though Charles lived in the
next street, it must be my own fault if I am
not a complete rogue before I turn the corner.
[Exeunt Sir Oliver Surface and Moses.
Sir Peter T. So, now, I think Sir Oliver
will be convinced: you are partial, Rowley,
and would have prepared Charles for the
other plot.
Rowley. No, upon my word, Sir Peter.
Sir Peter T. Well, go bring me this Snake,
Sir Peter T. Not at all; 'twould not be out and I'll hear what he has to say presently.-
of character, if you went in your own car- I see Maria, and want to speak with her.
riage would it, Moses?
[Exit Rowley] I should be glad to be con-
Moses. Not in the least.
vinced my suspicions of Lady Teazle and
Sir Oliver S. Well-but how must I talk?-Charles were unjust. I have never yet opened
there's certainly some cant of usury and mode my mind on this subject to my friend Joseph
of treating that I ought to know.
-I am determined I will do it-he will give
Sir Peter T. O! there's not much to learn. me his opinion sincerely.
The great point, as I take it, is to be exor-
bitant enough in your demands-hey, Moses?
Moses. Yes, that's a very great point.
Enter MARIA.
Sir Oliver S. I'll answer for't I'll not be So, child, has Mr. Surface returned with you?
wanting in that. I'll ask him eight or ten
per cent. on the loan, at least.
Moses. If you ask him no more than that,
you'll be discovered immediately.
Sir Oliver S. Hey!-what the plague!-how
much then?
Maria. No, sir; he was engaged.
Sir Peter T. Well, Maria, do you not reflect,
the more you converse with that amiable
young man, what return his partiality for you
deserves?
Maria. Indeed, Sir Peter, your frequent
Moses. That depends upon the circumstances. importunity on this subject distresses me ex-
If he appears not very anxious for the supply, tremely you compel me to declare, that I
you should require only forty or fifty per cent.; know no man who has ever paid me a parti-
but if you find him in great distress, and want cular attention, whom I would not prefer to
the monies very bad, you may ask double. Mr. Surface.
Sir Peter T. A good honest trade you're
learning, Sir Oliver!
Sir Oliver S. Truly, I think so - and not
unprofitable.
Moses. Then, you know, you hav'n't the
monies yourself, but are forced to borrow them
for him of an old friend.
Sir Peter T. So-here's perverseness!-No,
no, Maria, 'tis Charles only whom you would
prefer. 'Tis evident his vices and follies have
won your heart.
Maria. This is unkind, sir. You know I
have obeyed you in neither seeing nor cor-
responding with him: I have heard enough to
Sir Oliver S. Oh! I borrow it of a friend, convince me that he is unworthy my regard.
do I?
Yet I cannot think it culpable, if, while my
Moses. And your friend is an unconscion-understanding severely condemns his vices,
able dog: but you can't help that.
Sir Oliver S. My friend an unconscionable
dog?
my heart suggests some pity for his distresses.
Sir Peter T. Well, well, pity him as much
as you please; but give your heart and hand
Moses. Yes, and he himself has not the to a worthier object.
monies by him, but is forced to sell stock at Maria. Never to his brother!
a greast loss.
Sir Oliver S. He is forced to sell stock at a
great loss, is he? Well, that's very kind of him.
Sir Peter T. l'faith, Sir Oliver-Mr. Pre-
mium, I mean, you'll soon be master of the
trade. But, Moses! would not you have him
run out a little against the Annuity Bill? That
would be in character, I should think.
Moses. Very much.
Rowley. And lament that a young man now
must be at years of discretion before he is
suffered to ruin himself?
Sir Peter T. Go-perverse and obstinate!
but take care, madam; you have never yet
known what the authority of a guardian is:
don't compel me to inform you of it.
Maria. I can only say, you shall not have
just reason. 'Tis true, by my father's will, I
am for a short period bound to regard you
as his substitute; but must cease to think you
so, when you would compel me to be miser-
able.
[Exit Maria.
Sir Peter T. Was ever man so crossed as
I am? every thing conspiring to fret me! I
Moses. Ay, great pity!
had not been involved in matrimony a fort-
Sir Peter T. And abuse the public for al-night, before her father, a hale and hearty
lowing merit to an act, whose only object is man, died, on purpose, I believe, for the plea-
to snatch misfortune and imprudence from the sure of plaguing me with the care of his
rapacious gripe of usury, and give the minor daughter. But here comes my helpmate! She
a chance of inheriting his estate without being appears in great good humour. How happy
undone by coming into possession.
I should be if I could tease her into loving
Sir Oliver S. So-so-Moses shall give me, though but a little!
87

690
[ACT III.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Enter LADY TEAZLE.
Lady T. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you hav'n't
been quarrelling with Maria? It is not using
me well to be ill-humoured when I am not by.
Sir Peter T. Ah! Lady Teazle, you might
have the power to make me good-humoured
at all times.
Sir Peter T. There now! who begins first?
Lady T. Why you, to be sure. I said
nothing-but there's no bearing your temper.
Sir Peter E. No, no, madam: the fault's in
your own temper.
Lady T. Ay, you are just what my cousin
Sophy said you would be.
Sir Peter T. Your cousin Sophy is a for-
ward, impertinent gipsy.
Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to
abuse my relations.
Lady T. I am sure I wish I had; for I
want you to be in a charming sweet temper
at this moment. Do be good-humoured now,
and let me have two hundred pounds, will you?
Sir Peter T. Two hundred pounds! what, Sir Peter T. Now may all the plagues of
an't I to be in a good humour without paying marriage be doubled on me, if ever I try to
for it? But speak to me thus, and i'faith there's be friends with you any more!
nothing I could refuse you. You shall have Lady T. So much the better.
it; but seal me a bond for the repayment.
Sir Peter T. No, no, madam: 'tis evident
Lady T. O no-there- my note of hand you never cared a pin for me, and I was a
will do as well. [Offering her Hand. madman to marry you-a pert, rural coquette,
Sir Peter T. And you shall no longer re- that had refused half the honest 'squires in the
proach me with not giving you an indepen- neighbourhood.
-
dent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise Lady T. And I am sure I was a fool to
you:-but shall we always live thus, hey? marry you an old dangling bachelor, who
was single at fifty, only because he never could
meet with any one who would have him.
Lady T. If you please. I'm sure I don't
care how soon we leave off quarrelling, pro-
vided you'll own you were tired first.
Sir Peter T. Well-then let our future
contest be, who shall be most obliging.
Sir Peter T. Ay, ay, madam; but you were
pleased enough to listen to me: you never
had such an offer before.
Lady T. I assure you, Sir Peter, good na- Lady T. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Ter-
ture becomes you-you look now as you did rier, who every body said would have been
before we were married, when you used to better match? for his estate is just as good
walk with me under the elms, and tell me as yours, and he has broke his neck since we
stories of what a gallant you were in your have been married.
youth, and chuck me under the chin, you Sir Peter T. I have done with you, madam!
would; and ask me if I thought I could love You are an unfeeling, ungrateful-but there's
an old fellow, who would deny me nothing-an end of every thing. I believe you capable
didn't you?
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, and you were as
kind and attentive-
Lady T. Ay-so I was, and would always
take your part, when my acquaintance used
to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule.
Sir Peter T. Indeed!
of every thing that is bad. Yes, madam, I
now believe the reports relative to you and
Charles, madam.-Yes, madam, you and Charles
are-not without grounds.
Lady T. Take care, Sir Peter! you had
better not insinuate any such thing! I'll not
be suspected without cause, I promise you.
Lady T. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy Sir Peter T. Very well, madam! very well!
has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, A separate maintenance as soon as you please.
and laughed at me for thinking of marrying Yes, madam, or a divorce!-I'll make an example
one who might be my father, I have always of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors.-
defended you, and said, I didn't think you so Let us separate, madam.
-
ugly by any means, and I dared say you'd Lady T. Agreed! agreed! And now, my
make a very good sort of a husband.
Sir Peter T. And you prophesied right;
and we shall now be the happiest couple-
Lady T. And never differ again?
Sir Peter T. No, never!-though at the same
time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must
watch your temper very seriously; for in all
our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect,
my love, you always began first.
Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir
Peter: indeed, you always gave the provocation.
Sir Peter T. Now see, my angel! take care-
contradicting isn't the way to keep friends.
Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love!
Sir Peter T. There, now! you-you are
going on. You don't perceive, my life, that
you are just doing the very thing which you
know always makes me angry.
Lady T. Nay, you know if you will be angry
without any reason, my dear-
Sir Peter T. There! now you want to quar-
rel again.
Lady T. No, I am sure I don't:-but if you
will be so peevish-
I
dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more,
we may be the happiest couple- and never
differ again, you know-ha! 'ha! ha! Well,
you are going to be in a passion, I see, and
shall only interrupt you-so, bye-bye. [Exit.
Sir Peter T. Plagues and tortures! Can't I
make her angry either! Oh, I am the most
miserable fellow! but I'll not bear her pre-
suming to keep her temper: no! she may
break my heart, but she sha'nt keep her temper.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-CHARLES SURFACE'S House.
Enter TRIP, MOSES, and SIR OLIVER SURFACE.
Trip. Here, master Moses! if you'll stay a
moment, I'll try whether - what's the gentle-
man's name?
Sir Oliver S. Mr. Moses, what is my name?
Moses. Mr. Premium.
Trip. Premium-very well.
[Exit Trip, taking snuff.
Sir Oliver S. To judge by the servants, one
wouldn't believe the master was ruined. But
what!-sure, this was my brother's house?

SCENE 3.]
691
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Moses, Yes, sir; Mr. Charles bought it of Sir Oliver S. If the man be a shadow of
Mr. Joseph, with the furniture, pictures, etc. the master, this is the temple of dissipation.
just as the old gentleman left it. Sir Peter indeed!
thought it a piece of extravagance in him.
SCENE III.
[Exeunt.
Sir Oliver S. In my mind, the other's eco-
nomy in selling it to him was more reprehen- CHARLES SURFACE, CARELESS, etc. etc. at a
sible by half.
Enter TRIP.
table with wine, etc.
Charles S. 'Fore heaven, 'tis true! - there's
the great degeneracy of the age. Many of
Trip. My master says you must wait, gen- our acquaintance have taste, spirit, and polite-
tlemen: he has company, and can't speak withness; but plague on't, they won't drink.
you yet.
Careless. It is so indeed, Charles! they give
Sir Oliver S. If he knew who it was want-into all the substantial luxuries of the table,
ed to see him, perhaps he would not send and abstain from nothing but wine and wit.
such a message?
O certainly society suffers by it intolerably;
for now, instead of the social spirit of raillery
that used to mantle over a glass of bright
Trip. Yes, yes, sir; he knows you are here-
I did not forget little Premium: no, no, no.
Sir Oliver S. Very well; and I pray, sir, Burgundy, their conversation is become just
what may be your name?
Trip. Trip, sir; my name is Trip, at your
service.
like the Spa water they drink, which has all
the pertness and flatulence of Champaigne,
without the spirit or flavour.
1st. Gent. But what are they to do who
love play better than wine?
Sir Oliver S. Well then, Mr. Trip, you
have a pleasant sort of place here, I guess?
Trip. Why, yes-here are three or four of Careless. True: there's Sir Harry diets him-
us pass our time agreeably enough; but then self for gaming, and is now under a hazard
our wages are sometimes a little in arrear-regimen.
and not very great either-but fifty pounds a Charles S. Then he'll have the worst of it.
year, and find our own bags 1) and Fouquets. What! you wouldn't train a horse for the
Sir Oliver S. Bags and bouquets! halters course by keeping him from corn? For my
and bastinadoes!
[Aside. part, egad, I am never so successful as when
Trip. And, à-propos, Moses-have you been I am a little merry: let me throw on a bottle
able to get me that little bill discounted? of Champaigne, and I never lose at least, I
Sir Oliver S. Wants to raise money too!-never feel my losses, which is exactly the
mercy on me! Has his distresses too, I war- same thing.
duns.
rant, like a lord, and affects creditors and 2d Gent. Ay, that I believe.
[Aside. Charles S. And then, what man can pretend
Moses. 'Twas not to be done, indeed, to be a believer in love, who is an abjurer of
Mr. Trip.
wine? 'Tis the test by which the lover knows
Trip. Gook lack, you surprise me! My his own heart. Fill a dozen bumpers to a
friend Brush has indorsed it, and I thought dozen beauties, and she that floats atop is the
when he put his name at the back of a bill maid that has bewitched you.
'twas the same as cash.
Moses. No! 'twouldn't do.
Trip. A small sum-but twenty pounds.
Careless. Now then, Charles, be honest and
give us your real favourite.
Charles S. Why, I have withheld her only
Hark'ee, Moses, do you think you couldn't in compassion to you. If I toast her, you
must give a round of her peers, which is im-
a foot-possible-on earth.
get it me by way of annuity?
Sir Oliver S. An annuity! ha! ha!
man raise money by way of annuity! Well Careless. Oh! then we'll find some cano-
done, luxury, egad!
[Aside. nized vestals or heathen goddesses that will
Moses. Well, but you must ensure your do, I warrant!
place.
Trip. O with all my heart! I'll ensure my
place, and my life too, if you please.
Charles S. Here then, bumpers, you rogues!
bumpers! Maria! Maria!-
Sir Harry B. Maria who?
superlative.
Sir Oliver S. It's more than I would your Charles S. O damn the surname -'tis too
neck.
[Aside. formal to be registered in Love's calendar; but
Moses. But is there nothing you could now, Sir Harry, beware, we must have beauty
deposit?
Trip. Why, nothing capital of my master's Careless. Nay, never study, Sir Harry;
wardrobe has dropped lately; but I could give we'll stand to the toast, though your mistress
you a mortgage on some of his winter clothes, should want an eye, and you know have
with equity of redemption before November- a song will excuse you.
or you shall have the reversion of the French Sir Harry B. Egad, so I have! and I'll give
velvet, or a post-obit on the blue and silver;-him the song instead of the lady.
these, I should think, Moses, with a few pair
of point ruffles, as a collateral security-hey,
my little fellow?
Moses. Well, well.
SONG.
you
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
[Bell rings. Here's to the widow of fifty;
Trip. Egad, I heard the bell! I believe, Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
gentlemen, I can now introduce you. Don't And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
forget the annuity, little Moses! This way, Chorus, Let the toast pass,-
gentlemen. I'll insure my place, you know.
Drink to the lass,
1) Bags for the hair behind
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass

692
[ACT III.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize;
Now to the maid who has none, sir:
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc.
Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow;
Now to her that's as brown as a berry:
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the girl that is merry.
Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc.
For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather:
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together.
Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc.
All. Bravo! bravo!
Careless. Plague on 'em then!-if they don't
drink, we'll not sit down with them. Come,
Harry, the dice are in the next room-Charles,
you'll join us when you have finished your
business with the gentlemen?
Charles S. I will! I will! [Exeunt] Careless!
Careless. [Returning] Well!
Charles S. Perhaps I may want you.
Careless. G, you know I am always ready:
word, note, or bond, 'tis all the same to me.
[Exit.
Moses. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentle-
man of the strictest honour and secresy; and
always performs what he undertakes. Mr.
Premium, this is-
Charles S. Pshaw! have done, - Sir, my
friend Moses is a very honest fellow, but a
Enter TRIP, and whispers CHARLES SURFACE. little slow at expression: he'll be an hour giving
Charles S. Gentlemen, you must excuse me us our titles. Mr. Premium, the plain state
a little. Careless, take the chair, will you?
of the matter is this: I am an extravagant
Careless. Nay, prithee, Charles, what now? young fellow who wants to borrow money-
This is one of your peerless beauties, I sup- you I take to be a prudent old fellow, who
pose, has dropt in by chance?
Charles S. No, faith! To tell you the truth,
'tis a Jew and a broker, who are come by
appointment.
Careless. O damn it! let's have the Jew in.
1st Gent. Ay, and the broker too, by all
means,
have got money to lend. I am blockhead
enough to give fifty per cent. sooner than not
have it; and you, I presume, are rogue enough
to take a hundred if you can get it. Now,
sir, you see we are acquainted at once, and
may proceed to business without farther cere-
mony.
2d Gent. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker.
Sir Oliver S. Exceeding frank, upon my
Charles S. Egad, with all my heart! Trip, word.-I see, sir, you are not a man of many
bid the gentlemen walk in-though there's one compliments.
of them a stranger, I can tell you.
Careless. Charles, let us give them some
generous Burgundy, and perhaps they'll grow
conscientious.
Charles S. O hang 'em, no! wine does but
draw forth a man's natural qualities; and to
make them drink would only be to whet their
knavery.
Enter TRIP, SIR OLIVER SURFACE, and MOSES.
Charles S. So, honest Moses, walk in: walk
in, pray, Mr. Premium-that's the gentleman's
name, isn't it, Moses?
Moses. Yes, sir.
Charles S. Set chairs, Trip-sit down, Mr.
Premium-glasses,
glasses, Trip - sit down, Moses.
Come, Mr. Premium, I'll give you a senti-
ment; here's Success to usury!- Moses, fill
the gentleman a bumper.
Moses. Success to usury!
Careless. Right, Moses-usury is prudence
and industry, and deserves to succeed.
Sir Oliver S. Then-here's all the success
it deserves!
Careless. No, no, that won't do! Mr. Pre-
mium, you have demurred at the toast, and
must drink it in a pint bumper.
1st Gent. A pint bumper, at least.
Moses. O pray, sir, consider - Mr. Pre-
mium's a gentleman,
Careless. And therefore loves good wine.
2d Gent. Give Moses a quart glass-this is
mutiny, and a high contempt for the chair.
Careless. Here, now for't! I'll see justice
done, to the last drop of my bottle.
Sir Oliver S, Nay, pray, gentlemen-I did
not expect this usage.
Charles S. No, hang it, you sha'n't!
Premium's a stranger.
Mr.
Sir Oliver S. Odd! I wish I was well out
of their company!
[Aside.
Charles S. Oh no, sir! plain dealing in
business I always think best.
Sir Oliver S. Sir, I like you the better for
it-however, you are mistaken in one thing;
I have no money to lend, but I believe I could
procure some of a friend; but then he's an
unconscionable dog, isn't he, Moses?
Moses. But you can't help that.
Sir Oliver S. And must sell stock to accom-
modate you-mustn't he, Moses?
Moses. Yes, indeed! You know I always
speak the truth, and scorn to tell a lie!
Charles S. Right. People that speak truth
generally do: but these are trifles, Mr. Pre-
mium, What! I know money isn't to be
bought without paying for't!
Sir Oliver S. Well-but what security could
you give? You have no land, I suppose?
Charles S. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but
what's in the bough-pots out of the window!
Sir Oliver S. Nor any stock, I presume?
Charles S. Nothing but live stock and
that's only a few pointers and ponies. But
pray, Mr. Premium, are you acquainted at all
with any of my connexions?
Sir Oliver S. Why, to say truth, I am.
Charles S. Then you must know that I have
a dev'lish rich uncle in the East Indies, Sir
Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greatest
expectations?
Sir Oliver S. That you have a wealthy uncle
I have heard; but how your expectations will
turn out is more, I believe, than you can tell.
Charles S, O no!-there can be no doubt.
They tell me I'm a prodigious favourite, and
that he talks of leaving me every thing.
Sir Oliver S. Indeed! this is the first I've
heard of it.
Charles S. Yes, yes, 'tis just so - Moses
knows 'tis true, don't you, Moses?

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
693
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Moses. O yes! I'll swear to't.
Sir Oliver S. Egad, they'll persuade me pre-
sently I'm at Bengal.
[Aside.
Charles S. Now I propose, Mr. Premium,
if it's agreeable to you, a postobit on Sir Oli-
ver's life; though at the same time the old
fellow has been so liberal to me, that I give
you my word, I should be very sorry to hear
that any thing had happened to him.
Sir Oliver S. Not more than I should, I as-
sure you. But the bond you mention happens
to be just the worst security you could offer
me-for I might live to a hundred, and never
see the principal.
Charles S. O yes, you would-the moment
Sir Oliver dies, you know, you would come
on me for the money.
Sir Oliver S. Then I believe I should be
the most unwelcome dun you ever had in
your life.
Charles S. What! I suppose you're afraid
that Sir Oliver is too good a life?
[Aside] Pray, what are become of the books?
Charles S. You must inquire of the auctio-
neer, Master Premium, for I don't believe even
Moses can direct you.
Moses. I know nothing of books.
Sir Oliver S. So, so, nothing of the family
property left, I suppose?
Charles S. Not much, indeed; unless you
have a mind to the family pictures. I have
got a room full of ancestors above, and if you
have a taste for paintings, egad, you shall have
'em a bargain.
Sir Oliver S. Hey! what the devil! sure,
you wouldn't sell your forefathers, would you?
Charles S. Every man of them to the best
bidder.
Sir Oliver S. What! your great uncles and
aunts?
Charles S. Ay, and my great grandfathers
and grandmothers too.
Sir Oliver S. Now I give him up. [Aside]
What the plague, have you no bowels for
Sir Oliver S. No, indeed, I am not; though your own kindred? Odd's life, do you take
I have heard he is as hale and healthy as any me for Shylock in the play, that you would
man of his years in christendom.
raise money of me on your own flesh and
Charles S. There again now you are mis-blood?
informed. No, no, the climate has hurt him Charles S. Nay, my little broker, don't be
considerably, poor uncle Oliver! Yes, yes, he angry; what need you care if you have your
breaks apace, I'm told-and is so much altered money's worth?
lately, that his nearest relations don't know him. Sir Oliver S. Well, I'll be the purchaser:
Sir Oliver S. No! ha! ha! so much altered I think I can dispose of the family canvass.
lately, that his nearest relations don't know Oh, I'll never forgive him this! never! [Aside.
him, ha! ha! ha!
Charles S. Ha! ha!-you're glad to hear
that, little Premium?
Sir Oliver S. No, no, I'm not.
Charles S. Yes, yes, you are-ha! ha! ha!
You know that mends your chance.
Sir Oliver S. But I'm told Sir Oliver is
coming over?-nay, some say he is actually
arrived?
Charles S. Pshaw! Sure I must know better
than you whether he's come or not. No, no,
rely on't he's at this moment at Calcutta-
isn't he, Moses?
Moses. O yes, certainly.
Enter CARELESS.
Careless. Come, Charles, what keeps you?
Charles S. I can't come yet: i'faith we are
going to have a sale above stairs; here's little
Premium will buy all my ancestors.
Careless. O, burn your ancestors!
Charles S. No, he may do that afterwards,
if he pleases. Stay, Careless, we want you:
egad, you shall be auctioneer; so come along
with us.
Careless. Oh, have with you, if that's the
case. Handle a hammer as well as a dice-box!
Sir Oliver S. Oh, the profligates! [Aside.
Sir Oliver S. Very true, as you say, you
Charles S. Come, Moses, you shall be ap-
must know better than I, though I have it praiser, if we want one. Gad's life, little Pre-
from pretty good authority-haven't I, Moses? mium, you don't seem to like the business?
Moses. Yes, most undoubted!
Sir Oliver S. O yes, I do, vastly. Ha! ha!
Sir Oliver S. But, sir, as I understand you ha! yes, yes, I think it a rare joke to sell
want a few hundreds immediately-is there one's family by auction-ha! ha!-O the pro-
nothing you could dispose of?
digal!
[Aside.
Charles S. How do you mean?
Charles S. To be sure! when a man wants
Sir Oliver S. For instance, now, I have money, where the plague should he get as-
heard that your father left behind him a great sistance if he can't make free with his own
quantity of massy old plate?
Charles S. O Lud!-that's gone long ago.-
Moses can tell you how better than I can.
Sir Oliver S. Good lack! all the family race.
cups and corporation bowls 1)!-[Aside] Then
relations?
ACT IV.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-Picture Room at Charles's.
it was also supposed that his library was one Enter CHARLES SURFACE, SIR OLIVER SUR-
of the most valuable and compact-
FACE, MOSES, and CARELESS.
Charles S. Yes, yes, so it was-vastly too Charles S. Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk
much so for a private gentleman. For my in;-here they are, the family of the Surfaces,
part, I was always of a communicative dis- up to the Conquest.
position, so I thought it a shame to keep so
much knowledge to myself.
Sir Oliver S. And, in my opinion, a goodly
collection.
Charles S. Ay, ay, these are done in the
Sir Oliver S. Mercy upon me! Learning
that had run in the family like an heir loom! true spirit of portrait painting;-no volontier
1) Gold-or silver-cups won at races; bowls received as
presents from the city.
grace and expression. Not like the works of
your modern Raphaels, who give you the

694
[ACT IV.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
strongest resemblance, yet contrive to make father of my mother's, a learned judge, well
your portrait independent of you; so that you known on the western circuit.-What do you
may sink the original and not hurt the picture. rate him at, Moses?
-No, no; the merit of these is the inveterate Moses. Four guineas.
likeness-all stiff and awkward as the origi- Charles S. Four guineas!-Gad's life, you
nals, and like nothing in human nature besides. don't bid me the price of his wig.-Mr. Pre-
Sir Oliver S. Ah! we shall never see such mium, you have more respect for the wool-
figures of men again.
sack 1); do let us knock his lordship down at
-
Sir Oliver S. By all means.
Careless. Gone!
Charles S. I hope not. Well, you see, fifteen.
master Premium, what a domestic character
I am; here I sit of an evening surrounded
by my family. But, come, get to your pul- Charles S. And there are two brothers of
pit, Mr. Auctioneer; here's an old gouty chair his, William and Walter Blunt, Esquires,
of father's will answer the purpose. both members of parliament, and noted speak-
Careless. Ay, ay, this will do.-But, Char-ers, and what's very extraordinary, I believe,
les, I hav'n't a hammer; and what's an auc- this is the first time they were ever bought or
tioneer without his hammer?
sold.
my
Charles S. Egad, that's true;-what parch- Sir Oliver S. That is very extraordinary, in-
ment have we here?-O, our genealogy in deed! I'll take them at your own price, for
full. Here, Careless,-you shall have no com- the honour of parliament.
mon bit of mahogany, here's the family tree Careless. Well said, little Premium! - I'll
for you, you rogue,-this shall be your ham-knock them down at forty.
mer, and now you may knock down my an- Charles S. Here's a jolly fellow-I don't
cestors with their own pedigree.
know what relation, but he was mayor of
Sir Oliver S. What an unnatural rogue!- Manchester: take him at eight pounds.
[Aside. Sir Oliver S. No, no; six will do for the
an ex post facto parricide!
Careless, Yes, yes, here's a bit of your ge-mayor.
neration indeed;-faith, Charles, this is the Charles S. Come, make it guineas, and I'll
most convenient thing you could have found throw you the two aldermen there into the
for the business, for 'twill serve not only as
bargain.
a hammer, but a catalogue into the bargain. Sir Oliver S. They're mine.
Come, begin-A-going, a-going, a-going!
Charles S. Careless, knock down the mayor
Charles S. Bravo, Careless! Well, here's and aldermen.-But plague on't, we shall be
my great uncle, Sir Richard Raveline, a mar- all day retailing in this manner; do let us deal
vellous good general in his day, I assure you. wholesale: what say you, little Premium? Give
He served in all the Duke of Marlborough's us three hundred pounds for the rest of the
wars, and got that cut over his eye at the family in the lump.
battle of Malplaquet. What say you, Mr. Careless. Ay, ay, that will be the best way.
Premium?-look at him-there's a hero, not Sir Oliver S. Well, well, any thing to ac-
cut out of his feathers, as your modern clipt commodate you;-they are mine. But there
captains are, but enveloped in wig and regi-is one portrait which you have always passed
mentals, as a general should be.-What do over.
you bid?
Moses. Mr. Premium would have you speak,
Charles S. Why, then, he shall have him
for ten pounds, and I'm sure that's not dear
for a staff-officer.
Sir Oliver S. Heaven deliver me! his famous
uncle Richard for ten pounds! [Aside]-Well,
sir, I take him at that.
Careless. What, that ill-looking little fellow
over the settee?
Sir Oliver S. Yes, sir, I mean that, though
don't think him so ill-looking a little fellow,
by any means.
I
Charles S. What, that?-Oh! that's my
uncle Oliver; 'twas done before he went to
India.
Charles S. Careless, knock down my uncle Careless. Your uncle Oliver!-- Gad, then
Richard. Here, now, is a maiden sister of you'll never be friends, Charles. That, now,
his, my great aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as ever I
thought to be in his best manner, and a very saw; an unforgiving eye, and a damned dis-
formidable likeness.-There she is, you see, a inheriting countenance! an inveterate knave,
shepherdess feeding her flock.-You shall have depend on't. Don't you think so, little Pre-
her for five pounds ten-the sheep are worth mium?
the money.
Sir Oliver S. Upon my soul, sir, I do not;
Sir Oliver S. Ah! poor Deborah! a woman I think it is as honest a looking face as any
who set such a value on herself! [Aside]-in the room, dead or alive;-but I suppose
Five pounds ten-she's mine.
uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber?
Charles S. Knock down my aunt Deborah: Charles S. No, hang it; I'll not part with
-Here, now, are two that were a sort of poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good
cousins of theirs. You see, Moses, these pic-to me, and, egad, I'll keep his picture while
tures were done some time ago, when beaux I've a room to put it in.
wore wigs, and the ladies their own hair.
Sir Oliver S. Yes, truly, head-dresses appear
to have been a little lower in those days.
Charles S. Well, take that couple for the
same.
Moses. 'Tis good bargain.
Charles S. Careless! -This, now, is a grand-
Sir Oliver S. The rogue's my nephew after
all! [Aside]-But, sir, I have somehow taken
a fancy to that picture.
Charles S. I'm sorry for't, for you certainly
1) The Chancellor's seat in the House of Lords, is
on a woolsack; and it thus applies to all belonging
to the law.

SCENE 2.]
695
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
will not have it.-Oons, haven't you got, tresses are so many, that I can't afford to part
enough of them?
with my spirits; but I shall be rich and sple-
Sir Oliver S. I forgive him every thing! netic, all in good time. However, I suppose
[Aside]-But, sir, when I take a whim in my you are surprised that I am not more sorrow-
head I don't value money. I'll give you as ful at parting with so many near relations;
much for that as for all the rest.
to be sure 'tis very affecting: but you see
Charles S. Don't tease me, master broker; they never move a muscle, so why should I?
I tell you I'll not part with it, and there's an Rowley. There's no making you serious a
end of it.
moment.
Sir Oliver S. How like his father the dog Charles S. Yes, faith, I am so now. Here,
is! [Aside]-Well, well, I have done.-I did my honest Rowley, here, get me this changed
not perceive it before, but I think I never saw directly, and take a hundred pounds of it
such a striking resemblance-[Aside]-Here immediately to old Stanley.
is a draught for your sum.
Charles S. Why, 'tis for eight hundred
pounds.
Rowley. A hundred pounds! Consider only-
Charles S. Gad's life, don't talk about it:
poor Stanley's wants are pressing, and if you
Sir Oliver S. You will not let Sir Oliver go? don't make haste, we shall have some one call
Charles S. Zounds! no!-I tell you once that has a better right to the money.
more.
Rowley. Ah! there's the point! I never will
cease dunning you with the old proverb-
Charles S. Be just before you're generous.'
Sir Oliver S. Then never mind the diffe-
rence, we'll balance that another time-but
give me your hand on the bargain; you are -Why, so I would if I could; but Justice
an honest fellow, Charles-I beg pardon, sir, is an old lame hobbling beldame, and I can't
for being so free.-Come, Moses.
get her to keep pace with Generosity for the
soul of me.
Charles S. Egad, this is a whimsical old
fellow! But hark'ee, Premium, you'll prepare
lodgings for these gentlemen.
Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in
a day or two.
Rowley. Yet, Charles, believe me, one hour's
reflection-
Charles S. Ay, ay, it's all very true; but,
hark'ee, Rowley, while I have, by heaven I'll
Charles S. But, hold; do now send a gen-give; so damn your economy, and now for
teel conveyance for them, for, I assure you, hazard.
they were most of them used to ride in their
own carriages.
Sir Oliver S. I will, I will-for all but Oliver.
Charles S. Ay, all but the little nabob.
Sir Oliver S. You're fixed on that?
Charles S. Peremptorily.
Sir Oliver S. A dear extravagant rogue!
[Aside]-Good-day!-Come, Moses.--Let me
hear now who calls him profligate!
[Exeunt Sir Oliver Surface and Moses.
Careless. Why, this is the oddest genius
of the sort I ever saw!
Charles S. Egad, he's the prince of brokers,
I think. I wonder how Moses got acquainted
with so honest a fellow.-Hah! here's Rowley;
do, Careless, say I'll join the company in a
few moments.
SCENE II.-The Parlour.
[Exeunt.
Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE and MOSES.
Moses. Well, sir, I think, as Sir Peter said,
you have seen Mr. Charles in high glory; 'tis
great pity he's so extravagant.
Sir Oliver S. True, but he would not sell
my picture.
Moses. And loves wine and women so much.
Sir Oliver S. But he would not sell my
picture.
Moses. And games so deep.
Sir Oliver S. But he would not sell my pic-
ture.-O, here's Rowley.
Enter RowLEY.
Rowley. So, Sir Oliver, I find you have
made a purchase—
Careless. I will-but don't let that old block-
head persuade you to squander any of that Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, our young rake has
money on old musty debts, or any such non-parted with his ancestors like old tapestry.
sense; for tradesmen, Charles, are the most
exorbitant fellows.
Charles S. Very true, and paying them is
only encouraging them.
Careless. Nothing else.
Rowley. And here has he commissioned me
to re-deliver you part of the purchase money
-I mean, though, in your necessitous cha-
racter of old Stanley.
Moses. Ah! there is the pity of all; he is
damned charitable.
Charles S. Ay, ay, never fear. [Exit Care-so
less]-Soh! this was an odd old fellow, Rowley. And I left a hosier and two tailors
indeed. Let me see-twothirds of this is mine in the hall, who, I'm sure, won't be paid, and
by right, five hundred and thirty odd pounds: this hundred would satisfy them.
'Fore Heaven! I find one's ancestors are more Sir Oliver S. Well, well, I'll pay his debis,
valuable relations than I took them for!-La- and his benevolence too. But now I am no
dies and gentlemen, your most obedient and more a broker, and you shall introduce me
very grateful servant.-
to the elder brother as old Stanley.
Enter ROWLEY.
Hah! old Rowley! egad, you are just come
in time to take leave of your old acquaintance.
Rowley. Yes, I heard they were a going.
But I wonder you can have such spirits un-
der so many distresses.
Charles S. Why, there's the point! my dis-
Rowley. Not yet a while; Sir Peter, I know,
means to call there about this time.
Enter TRIP.
Trip. O, gentlemen, I beg pardon for not
showing you out; this way-Moses, a word.
[Exeunt Trip and Moses.
Sir Oliver S. There's a fellow for you-

696
[ACT IV.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
would you believe it, that puppy intercepted Jopeph S. Ay, madam, to be sure, that is
the Jew on our coming, and wanted to raise the provoking circumstance-without founda-
money before he got to his master.
tion; yes, yes, there's the mortification, indeed;
Rowley. Indeed!
for when a scandalous story is believed against
Sir Oliver S. Yes, they are now planning one, there certainly is no comfort like the
an annuity business.-Ah! master Rowley, in consciousness of having deserved it.
my days servants were content with the fol- Lady T. No, to be sure, then I'd forgive
lies of their masters, when they were worn a their malice; but to attack me, who am really
little thread-bare; but now, they have their so innocent, and who never say an ill-natured
vices, like their birth-day clothes, with the thing of any body-that is, of any friend; and
gloss on.
[Exeunt. then Sir Peter too, to have him so peevish,
and so suspicious, when I know the integrity
of my own heart-indeed 'tis monstrous!
Joseph S. But, my dear Lady Teazle, 'tis
your own fault if you suffer it. When a
husband entertains a groundless suspicion of
his wife, and withdraws his confidence from
Joseph S. I am surprised she has not sent, her, the original compact is broken, and she
if she is prevented from coming. Sir Peter owes it to the honour of her sex to outwit
certainly does not suspect me. Yet, I wish I him.
SCENE III-A Library.
JOSEPH SURFACE and a Servant.
Joseph S. No letter from Lady Teazle?
Sero. No, sir.
may not lose the heiress, through the scrape Lady T. Indeed!-so that if he suspects me
I have drawn myself into with the wife, how-without cause, it follows, that the best way of
ever, Charles's imprudence and bad character curing his jealousy is to give him reason for't.
are great points in my favour.
Joseph S. Undoubtedly - for your husband
[Knocking heard without. should never be deceived in you,-and in that
Serv. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle. case it becomes you to be frail in compliment
Joseph S. Hold!-See whether it is or not to his discernment.
before you go to the door: I have a particular Lady T. To be sure, what you say is very
message for you, if it should be my brother. reasonable, and when the consciousness of my
Serv. 'Tis her ladyship, sir; she always innocence-o
leaves her chair at the milliner's in the next Joseph S. Ah! my dear madam, there is
the great mistake: 'tis this very conscious in-
Joseph S. Stay, stay; draw that screen be- nocence that is of the greatest prejudice to
fore the window-that will do;-my opposite you. What is it makes you negligent of forms,
neighbour is a maiden lady of so anxious a and careless of the world's opinion?-why, the
temper.-[Servant draws the screen, and consciousness of your own innocence. What
exit-I have a difficult hand to play in this makes you thoughtless in your conduct, and
affair. Lady Teazle has lately suspected my apt to run into a thousand little imprudences?
views on Maria; but she must by no means-why, the consciousness of your own inno-
be let into that secret,-at least, till I have her cence. What makes you impatient of Sir
more in my power.
street.
Enter LADY TEAZLE.
Peter's temper, and outrageous at his suspi-
cions?-why, the consciousness of your inno-
cence.
Lady T. 'Tis very true!
Lady T. What, sentiment in soliloquy now? Joseph S. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if
Have you been very impatient?-O Lud! don't you would but once make a trifling faux pas,
pretend to look grave.-I vow I couldn't come you can't conceive how cautious you would
before.
grow, and how ready to humour and agree
with your husband.
Joseph S. O, madam, punctuality is a spe-
cies of constancy, a very unfashionable qua-
lity in a lady.
Lady T. Do you think so?
Joseph S. Oh! I am sure on't; and then
Lady T. Upon my word you ought to pity you would find all scandal would cease at
me. Do you know Sir Peter is grown so once, for, in short, your character at present
ill-natured to me of late, and so jealous of is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dy-
Charles too-that's the best of the story, isn't it? ing from too much health.
Joseph S. I am glad my scandalous friends Lady T. So, so; then I perceive your pre-
keep that up.
[Aside. scription is, that I must sin in my own de-
Lady T. I am sure I wish he would let fence, and part with my virtue to secure my
Maria marry him, and then perhaps he would reputation?"
be convinced; don't you, Mr. Surface?
Joseph S. Indeed I do not. [Aside]-Oh,
certainly I do! for then my dear Lady Teazle
would also be convinced, how wrong her
suspicions were of my having any design on
the silly girl.
Joseph S. Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am.
Lady T. Well, certainly this is the oddest
doctrine, and the newest receipt for avoiding
calumny!
Joseph S. An infallible one, believe me.
Prudence, like experience, must be paid for.
Lady T. Why, if my understanding were
once convinced-
Lady T. Well, well, I'm inclined to believe
you. But isn't it provoking, to have the most
ill-natured things said of one?-And there's Joseph S. O, certainly, madam, your un-
my friend Lady Sneerwell has circulated I derstanding should be convinced.-Yes, yes-
don't know how many scandalous tales of me, heaven forbid I should persuade you to do
and all without any foundation too-that's any thing you thought wrong. No, no, I have
too much honour to desire it.
what vexes me.

SCENE 3.1
697
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Lady T. Don't you think we may as well
leave honour out of the question?
Joseph S. Ah! the ill effects of your coun-
try education, I see, still remain with you.
Lady T. I doubt they do indeed; and
will fairly own to you, that if I could be per-
suaded to do wrong, it would be Sir Peter's
ill usage sooner than your honourable logic,
after all.
Joseph S. Then, by this hand, which he is
unworthy of
[Taking her Hand.
Enter Servant.
'Sdeath, you blockhead-what do you want?
Sero. I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought
you would not choose Sir Peter to come up
without announcing him.
Joseph S. Sir Peter!-Oons-the devil!
Lady T. Sir Peter! O Lud-I'm ruined
I'm ruined!
Serv. Sir, 'twasn't I let him in.
Lady T. Oh! I'm quite undone! What will
become of me? Now, Mr. Logic-Oh! he's on
the stairs-I'll get behind here- and if ever
I'm so imprudent again-
[Goes behind the Screen.
Joseph S. Give me that book.
[Sits down. Servant pretends to
adjust his Hair.
Enter SIR PETER.
Sir Peter T. Ay, my dear friend, I knew
you would sympathise with ine!
Joseph S. Yes-believe me, Sir Peter, such
a discovery would hurt me just as much as
it would you.
Sir Peter T. I am convinced of it.-Ah! it
is a happiness to have a friend whom we can
trust even with one's family secrets. But have
you no guess who I mean?
Joseph S. I haven't the most distant idea.
It can't be Sir Benjamin Backbite!
Sir Peter T. Oh, no! What say you to
Charles?
Joseph S. My brother! impossible!
Sir Peter T. Oh! my dear friend, the good-
judge of others by yourself.
ness of your own heart misleads you. You
Joseph S. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart
that is conscious of its own integrity is ever
slow to credit another's treachery.
Sir Peter T. True-but your brother has
no sentiment-you never hear him talk so.
herself has too much principle.
Joseph S. Yet, I can't but think Lady Teazle
Sir Peter T. Ay, but what is principle
against the flattery of a handsome, lively young
fellow?
Joseph S. That's very true.
Sir Peter T. And there's, you know, the dif-
ference of our ages makes it very improbable
that she should have any very great affection
for me; and if she were to be frail, and I
Sir Peter T. Ay, ever improving himself-were to make it public, why the town would
Mr. Surface, Mr. Surface-
Joseph S. That's true, to be sure - they
would laugh.
only laugh at me, the foolish old bachelor,
Joseph S. Oh! [my dear Sir Peter, I beg who had married a girl.
your pardon-[Gaping-throws away the
Book]-1 have been dozing over a stupid book.
-Well, I am much obliged to you for this Sir Peter T. Laugh-ay, and make ballads,
call. You haven't been here, I believe, since and paragraphs, and the devil knows what of
I fitted up this room.-Books, you know, are me.
the only things in which I am a coxcomb.
Sir Peter T. 'Tis very neat indeed.-Well, public.
well, that's proper; and you can make even
your screen a source of knowledge-hung, I
perceive, with maps?
Joseph S. O, yes, I find great use in that
screen.
Joseph S. No-you must never make it
Sir Peter T. But then again-that the ne-
phew of my old friend, Sir Oliver, should be
the person to attempt such a wrong, hurts
me more nearly.
Joseph S. Ay, there's the point. - When
ingratitude, barbs the dart of injury, the
wound has double danger in it.
Sir Peter T. I dare say you must, certainly,
when you want to find any thing in a hurry.
Joseph S. Ay, or to hide any thing in a Sir Peter T. Ay-I, that was, in a manner,
hurry either.
[Aside. left his guardian; in whose house he had been
Sir Peter T. Well, I have a little private so often entertained; who never in my life
business-
Joseph S. You need not stay.
denied him-my advice.
Joseph S. O, 'tis not to be credited. There
[To the Servant. may be a man capable of such baseness, to
Sero. No, sir.
[Exit. be sure; but, for my part, till you can give
Joseph S. Here's a chair, Sir Peter-1 beg-me positive proofs, I cannot but doubt it.
Sir Peter T. Well, now we are alone, there However, if it should be proved on him, he
is a subject, my dear friend, on which I wish is no longer a brother of mine-I disclaim
to unburthen my mind to you-a point of the kindred with him: for the man who can break
greatest moment to my peace; in short, my the laws of hospitality, and tempt the wife of
dear friend, Lady Teazle's conduct of late has his friend, deserves to be branded as the pest
made me extremely unhappy.
of society.
Joseph S. Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it.
Sir Peter T. Ay, 'tis too plain she has not
the least regard for me; but, what's worse, I
have pretty good authority to suppose she has
formed an attachment to another.
Sir Peter T. What a difference there is
between you! What noble sentiments!
Joseph S. Yet, I cannot suspect Lady Tea-
zle's honour.
Sir Peter T. I am sure I wish to think well
of her, and to remove all ground of quarrel
Sir Peter T. Yes; and, between ourselves, between us. She has lately reproached me
Joseph S. Indeed! you astonish me!
I think I 've discovered the person.
more than once with having made no settle-
Joseph S. How! you alarm me exceedingly. ment on her; and, in our last quarrel, she
88

698
[ACT IV.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
almost hinted that she should not break her culous enough. I'll tell you, Sir Peter, though
heart if I was dead. Now, as we seem to I hold a man of intrigue to be a most despic-
differ in our ideas of expense, I have resolved able character, yet, you know, it does not
she shall have her own way, and be her own follow that one is to be an absolute Joseph
mistress in that respect for the future; and if either! Hark'ee, 'tis a little French milliner-
I were to die, she will find I have not been a silly rogue that plagues me, and having
inattentive to her interest while living. Here, some character to lose, on your coming, sir,
my friend, are the drafts of two deeds, she ran behind the screen.
which I wish to have your opinion on.- Sir Peter T. Ah! you rogue! But, egad, she
By one, she will enjoy eight hundred a year has overheard all I have been saying of my
independent while I live; and, by the other, wife.
the bulk of my fortune at my death.
Joseph S. O, 'twill never go any farther,
Joseph S. This conduct, Sir Peter, is indeed you may depend upon it..
truly generous.-I wish it may not corrupt
my pupil.
Sir Peter T. No! then, faith, let her hear
[Aside. it out-Here's a closet will do as well.
Joseph S. Well, go in there.
Sir Peter T. Sly rogue! sly rogue!
Sir Peter T. Yes, I am determined she shall
have no cause to complain, though I would
not have her acquainted with the latter in-
stance of my affection yet awhile.
[Going into the Closet.
Joseph S. A narrow escape, indeed! and a
curious situation I'm in, to part man and wife
Joseph S. Nor I, if I could help it. [Aside.
Sir Peter T. And now, my dear friend, if in this manner.
you please, we will talk over the situation of
your affairs with Maria.
Joseph S. [Softly]-O, no, Sir Peter; ano-
ther time, if you please.
Sir Peter T. I am sensibly chagrined at the
little progress you seem to make in her af-
fections.
Lady T. [Peeping]-Couldn't I steal off?
Joseph S. Keep close, my angel!
Sir Peter T. [Peeping]-Joseph, tax him
home.
Joseph S. Back, my dear friend!
Lady T. Couldn't you lock Sir Peter in?
Joseph S. Be still, my life!
Joseph S. I beg you will not mention it.
What are my disappointments when your little milliner won't blab?
happiness is in debate! [Softly]-'Sdeath, I
shall be ruined every way.
Sir Peter T. [Peeping] - You're sure the
Joseph S. In, in, my good Sir Peter-'Fore
[Aside. gad, I wish I had a key to the door.
Sir Peter T. And though you are so averse
to my acquainting Lady Teazle with your
passion for Maria, I'm sure she's not your
enemy in the affair.
Enter CHARLES SURFACE.
Charles S. Holla! brother, what has been
Joseph S. Pray, Sir Peter, now, oblige me. the matter? Your fellow would not let me up
I am really too much affected by the subject at first. What! have you had a Jew or a
we have been speaking of, to bestow a thought wench with you?
The man who is en-
on my own concerns.
trusted with his friend's distresses can never-
Well, sir?
Enter Servant.
Sero. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a
gentleman in the street, and says he knows
you are within.
Joseph S. 'Sdeath, blockhead, I'm not within
-I'm out for the day.
Sir Peter T. Stay-hold-a thought has
struck me:-you shall be at home.
Joseph S. Well, well, let him up. [Exit
Servant] He'll interrupt Sir Peter, however.
Joseph S. Neither, brother, I assure you.
Charles S. But what has made Sir Peter
steal off? I thought he had been with you.
Joseph S. He was, brother; but hearing
you were coming, he did not choose to stay.
Charles S. What! was the old gentleman
afraid I wanted to borrow money of him?
Joseph S. No, sir: but I am sorry to find,
Charles, you have lately given that worthy
man grounds for great uneasiness.
Charles S. Yes, they tell me I do that to a
great many worthy men-But how so, pray?
Joseph S. To be plain with you, brother-
he thinks you are endeavouring to gain Lady
Teazle's affections from him.
[Aside. Charles S. Who, I? O Lud! not I, upon
Sir Peter T. Now, my good friend, oblige my word.-Ha! ha! ha! ha! so the old fellow
me, I intreat you. Before Charles comes, let has found out that he has got a young wife,
me conceal myself somewhere-then do you has he?-or, what is worse, Lady Teazle has
tax him on the point we have been talking,
and his answer may satisfy me at once.
Joseph S. O fie, Sir Peter! would you have
me join in so mean a trick?-to trepan my
brother too?
found out she has an old husband?
Joseph S. This is no subject to jest on,
brother. He who can laugh-
Charles S. True, true, as you were going
to say-then, seriously, I never had the least
idea of what you charge me with, upon my
honour.
Joseph S. Well, it will give Sir Peter great
satisfaction to hear this.
Sir Peter T. Nay, you tell me you are sure
he is innocent; if so, you do him the greatest
service by giving him an opportunity to clear
himself, and you will set my heart at rest.
[Aloud.
Come, you shall not refuse me: here, behind Charles S. To be sure, I once thought the
this screen will be-Hey! what the devil! lady seemed to have taken a fancy to me;
there seems to be one listener there already-but, upon my soul, I never gave her the least
I'll swear I saw a petticoat!
encouragement:-besides, you know my at-
Joseph S. Ha! ha! ha! Well, this is ridi-tachment to Maria.

SCENE 3.]
699
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Joseph S. But sure, brother, even if Lady
Teazle had betrayed the fondest partiality for
you-
Joseph S. Gentlemen, I beg pardon-I must
wait on you down stairs: here is a person
come on particular business.
Charles S. Why, look'ee, Joseph, I hope I Charles S. Well, you can see him in ano-
shall never deliberately do a dishonourable ther room. Sir Peter and I have not met a
action; but if a pretty woman was purposely long time, and I have something to say to
to throw herself in my way-and that pretty him.
woman married to a man old enough to be Joseph S. They must not be left together.
her father-
[Aside] I'll send this man away, and return
directly. Sir Peter, not a word of the French
Joseph S. Well-
Charles S. Why, I believe I should be ob-milliner.
liged to borrow a little of your morality, that's [Apart to Sir Peter, and goes out.
all.-But, brother, do you know now that you Sir Peter T. I! not for the world!-[Apart
surprise me exceedingly, by naming me with to Joseph]-Ah! Charles, if you associated
Lady Teazle; for, 'faith, I always understood more with your brother, one might indeed
you were her favourite.
Joseph S. O, for shame, Charles! This
tort is foolish.
hope for your reformation. He is a man of
re-sentiment. Well, there is nothing in the
world so noble as a man of sentiment!
Charles S. Nay, I swear I have seen you
exchange such significant glances-
Joseph S. Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest.
Charles S. Egad, I'm serious.-Don't you
remember one day when I called here-
Joseph S. Nay, prithee, Charles-
Charles S. And found you together-
Joseph S. Zounds, sir! I insist-
Charles S. And another time when your
servant-
Charles S. Pshaw! he is too moral by hall
-and so apprehensive of his good name, as
he calls it, that I suppose he would as soon
let a priest into his house as a girl.
Sir Peter T. No, no,-come, come,-you
wrong him.-No, no! Joseph is no rake, but
he is no such saint either in that respect -1
have a great mind to tell him-we should
have a laugh at Joseph.
[Aside.
Charles S. Oh, hang him! He's a very an-
Joseph S. Brother, brother, a word with chorite, a young hermit.
you! Gad, I must siop him.
[Aside.
Charles S. Informed, I say, that-
Joseph S. Hush! I beg your pardon, but
Sir Peter has overheard all we have been say-
ing. I knew you would clear yourself, or I
should not have consented.
Charles S. How, sir Peter! Where is he?
Joseph S. Softly; there! [Points to the Closet.
Charles S. O, 'fore heaven, I'll have him
out. Sir Peter, come forth!
Joseph S. No, no-
guar-
Sir Peter T. Hark'ee-you must not abuse
him: he may chance to hear of it again, I
promise you.
Charles S. Why, you won't tell him?
Sir Peter T. No-but-this way. Egad, I'll
tell him.-[Aside] Hark'ee-have you a mind
to have a good laugh at Joseph?
Charles S. I should like it of all things.
Sir Peter T. Then, i'faith, we will-I'll be
quit with him for discovering me-He had a
girl with him when I called.
Charles S. What! Joseph? you jest.
Sir Peter T. Hush! a little French milliner
evi--and the best of the jest is-she's in the
Charles S. I say, Sir Peter, come into court
-[pulls in Sir Peter]-What! my old
dian!-What! turn inquisitor, and take
dence incog?
Sir Peter T. Give me your hand, Charles
-I believe I have suspected you wrongfully;
but you mustn't be angry with Joseph-'twas
my plan!
Charles S. Indeed!
Sir Peter T. But I acquit you. I promise
you I don't think near so ill of you as I did;
what I have heard has given me great satis-
faction.
Charles S. Egad, then, 'twas lucky you didn't
hear any more-wasn't it, Joseph?
[Apart to Joseph.
Sir Peter T. Ah! you would have retorted
on him.
Charles S. Ay, ay, that was a joke.
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, I know his honour
too well.
Charles S. But you might as well have sus-
pected him as me in this matter, for all that
-mightn't he, Joseph? [Apart to Joseph.
Sir Peter T. Well, well, I believe you.
Joseph S. Would they were both well out
of the room!
room now.
Charles S. The devil she is!
Sir Peter T. Hush! I tell you! [Points
Charles S. Behind the screen! 'Slife, let's
unveil her!
Sir Peter T. No, no-he's coming-you
sha'n't, indeed!
Charles S. O, egad, we'll have a peep at
the little milliner!
Sir Peter T. Not for the world-Joseph will
never forgive me-
Charles S. I'll stand by you-
Sir Peter T. Odds, here he is-
[Joseph Surface enters just as
Charles Surface throws down
the Screen,
Charles S. Lady Teazle, by all that's won-
derful!
Sir Peter T. Lady Teazle, by all that's damn-
able!
Charles S. Sir Peter, this is one of the
smartest French milliners I ever saw. Egad,
you seem all to have been diverting yourselves
[Aside. here at hide and seek, and I don't see who
is out of the secret.-Shall I beg your lady-
ship to inform me? Not a word! Brother,
will you be pleased to explain this matter?
What! is Morality dumb too?-Sir Peter,
though I found you in the dark, perhaps you
Enter Servant, and whispers JOSEPH
SURFACE.
Sir Peter T. And in future perhaps we may
not he such strangers.

700
[ACT V.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
are not so now! All mute!-Well-though I Joseph S. You are too rash, Sir Peter; you
can make nothing of the affair, I suppose you shall hear me.-The man who shuts out con-
perfectly understand one another-so I'll leave viction by refusing to-
you to yourselves-[Going] Brother, I'm sorry
to find you have given that worthy man cause
for so much uneasiness.-Sir Peter! there's
nothing in the world so noble as a man of
sentiment! [Exit Charles. They stand for
some time looking at each other.
Joseph S. Sir Peter- notwithstanding-I
confess-that appearances are against me-if
you will afford me your patience-I make no
doubt-but I shall explain every thing to your
satisfaction.
Sir Peter T. If you please, sir.
[Exeunt Sir Peter and Surface Talking.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-The Library.
Enter JOSEPH SURFACE and Servant.
Joseph S. Mr. Stanley!-and why should
you think I would see him? you must know
he comes to ask something.
Sero. Sir, I should not have let him in,
but that Mr. Rowley came to the door with
Joseph S. The fact is, sir, that Lady Teazle, him.
knowing my pretensions to your ward Maria Joseph S. Pshaw! blockhead! to suppose
-I say, sir,-Lady Teazle, being apprehensive that I should now be in a temper to receive
of the jealousy of your temper-and knowing visits from poor relations!-Well, why don't
my friendship to the family-She, sir, I say-you show the fellow up?
called here-in order that-I might explain Serv. I will, sir. - VVhy, sir, it was not my
these pretensions-but on your coming-being fault that Sir Peter discovered my lady-
apprehensive as I said-of your jealousy
she withdrew-and this, you may depend on
it, is the whole truth of the matter.
Sir Peter T. A very clear account, upon my
word; and I dare swear the lady will vouch
for every article of it.
Joseph S. Go, fool! [Exit Servant]-Sure
Fortune never played a man of my policy
such a trick before. My character with Sir
Peter, my hopes with Maria, destroyed in a
moment! I'm in a rare humour to listen to
other people's distresses! I sha'n't be able to
Lady T. For not one word of it, Sir Peter! bestow even a benevolent sentiment on Stanley.
Sir Peter T. How! don't you think it worth-So! here he comes, and Rowley with him.
while to agree in the lie?
I must try to recover myself, and put a little
charity into my face, however.
Lady T. There is not one syllable of truth
in what that gentleman has told you.
Sir Peter T. I believe you, upon my soul,
ma'am!
Joseph S. [Aside]-'Sdeath, madam, will
you betray me?
Lady T. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave,
I'll speak for myself.
[Exit.
Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE and ROWLEY.
Sir Oliver S. What! does he avoid us!-
That was he, was it not?
Rowley. It was, sir. But I doubt you are
come a little too abruptly. His nerves are so
Sir Peter T. Ay, let her alone, sir; you'll weak, that the sight of a poor relation may
find she'll make out a better story than you, be too much for him. I should have gone
without prompting.
first to break it to him.
Lady T. Hear me, Sir Peter!-I came hi- Sir Oliver S. O, plague of his nerves! Yet
ther on no matter relating to your ward, and this is he whom Sir Peter extols as a man
even ignorant of this gentleman's pretensions of the most benevolent way of thinking!
to her. But I came seduced by his insidious Rowley. As to his way of thinking, I can-
arguments, at least to listen to his pretended not pretend to decide; for, to do him justice,
passion, if not to sacrifice your honour to his he appears lo have as much speculative bene-
baseness.
volence as any private gentleman in the king-
dom, though he is seldom so sensual as to
indulge himself in the exercise of it.
Sir Peter T. Now, I believe, the truth is
coming indeed!
Joseph S. The woman's mad!
Sir Oliver S. Yet has a string of charitable
sentiments at his fingers' ends.
Rowley. Or rather, at his tongue's end, Sir
Oliver; for I believe there is no sentiment he
has such faith in as that "Charity begins at
home."
Lady T. No, sir,- she has recovered her
senses, and your own arts have furnished her
with the means.-Sir Peter, I do not expect
you to credit me-but the tenderness you ex-
pressed for me, when I am sure you could
not think I was a witness to it, has penetrated Sir Oliver S. And his, I presume, is of that
so to my heart, that had I left the place with- domestic sort which never stirs abroad at all.
out the shame of this discovery, my future Rowley. I doubt you'll find it so ;-but he's
life should have spoken the sincerity of my coming. I mustn't seem to interrupt you;
gratitude. As for that smooth-tongued hypo- and you know immediately as you leave him,
crite, who would have seduced the wife of I come in to announce your arrival in your
his too credulous friend, while he affected real character.
honourable addresses to his ward-I behold Sir Oliver S. True; and afterwards you'll
him now in a light so truly despicable, that meet me at Sir Peter's.
I shall never again respect myself for having
listened to him.
[Exit Lady Teazle.
Joseph S. Notwithstanding all this, Sir Peter, of his features.
Heaven knows-
Sir Peter T. That you are a villain! and so
I leave you to your conscience.
Rowley. Without losing a moment. [Exit.
Sir Oliver S. I don't like the complaisance
Enter JOSEPH SURFACE.
Joseph S. Sir, I beg you ten thousand par-

SCENE 2.]
701
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
dons for keeping you a moment waiting-Mr. Mr. Stanley. William, be ready to open the
Stanley, I presume.-
Sir Oliver S. At your service.
Joseph S. Sir, I beg you will do me the
honour to sit down-I entreat you, sir!-
Sir Oliver S. Dear sir-there's no occasion
-too civil by half!
[Aside.
Joseph S. I have not the pleasure of know-
ing you, Mr. Stanley; but I am extremely
happy to see you look so well. You were
nearly related to my mother, I think, Mr.
Stanley?
Sir Oliver S. I was, sir;-so nearly that my!
present poverty, I fear, may do discredit to
wealthy children, else I should not have
presumed to trouble you.
door.
Sir Oliver S. O, dear sir, no ceremony.
Joseph S. Your very obedient.
Sir Oliver S. Sir, your most obsequious.
Joseph S. You may depend upon hearing
from me, whenever I can be of service.
Sir Oliver S. Sweet sir, you are too good!
Joseph S. In the mean time I wish you
health and spirits.
Sir Oliver S. Your ever grateful and per-
petual humble servant.
Joseph S. Sir, yours as sincerely.
Sir Oliver S. Charles, you are my heir!
[Aside. Exit.
Joseph S. This is one bad effect of a good
Joseph S. Dear sir, there needs no apology: character; it invites application irom the un-
-he that is in distress, though a stranger, fortunate, and there needs no small degree of
has a right to claim kindred with the wealthy. address to gain the reputation of benevolence
I am sure I wish I was of that class, and had without incurring the expense. The silver ore
it in my power to offer you even a small of pure charity is an expensive article in the
catalogue of a man's good qualities; whereas
he sentimental French plate I use instead of
it makes just as good a show, and pays no
relief.
Sir Oliver S. If your uncle, Sir Oliver, were
here, I should have a friend.
Joseph S I wish he was, sir, with all my tax.
heart: you should not want an advocate with
him, believe me, sir.
Enter RowLEY.
Sir Oliver S. I should not need one, my Rowley, Mr. Surface, your servant: I was
distresses would recommend me. But I ima-apprehensive of interrupting you, though my
gined his bounty would enable you to become business demands immediate attention, as this
the agent of his charity.
note will inform you.
Joseph S. My dear sir, you were strangely
misinformed. Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a
very worthy man; but avarice, Mr. Stanley,
is the vice of age. I will tell you, my good
sir, in confidence, what he has done for me
has been a mere nothing; though people, I
know, have thought otherwise, and, for my
part, I never chose to contradict the report.
Sir Oliver S. WWhat! has he never transmit-
ted you bullion-rupees-pagodas?
Joseph S. Always happy to see Mr. Rowley.
[Reads the Letter]-Sir Oliver Surface!-
My uncle arrived!
Rowley. He is, indeed: we have just parted
quite well, after a speedy voyage, and im-
patient to embrace his worthy nephew.
Joseph S. I am astonished!--William! stop
Mr. Stanley, if he's not gone.
Rowley. Oh! he's out of reach, I believe.
Joseph S. Why did you not let me know
Joseph S. O, dear sir, nothing of the kind: this when you came in together?
-No, no-a few presents now and then- Rowley. I thought you had particular bu-
china, shawls, congou tea, avadavats, and In-siness;-but I must be gone to inform your
dian crackers-little more, believe me.
brother, and appoint him here to meet your
Sir Oliver S. Here's gratitude for twelve uncle. He will be with you in a quarter of
thousand pounds! - Avadavals and Indian an hour.
crackers!
[Aside. Joseph S. So he says. Well, I am strange-
Joseph S. Then, my dear sir, you have ly overjoyed at his coming. Never, to be
beard, I doubt not, of the extravagance of my sure, was any thing so damned unlucky.
brother: there are very few would credit what
I have done for that unfortunate young man.
[Aside.
Rowley. You will be delighted to see how
Joseph S. Ah! I'm rejoiced to hear it-Just
[Aside.
Rowley. I'll tell him how impatiently you
expect him.
Sir Oliver S. Not I, for one! [Aside. well he looks.
Joseph S. The sums I have lent him!-In-
deed I have been exceedingly to blame; it at this time!
was an amiable weakness: however, I don't
pretend to defend it,-and now I feel it doubly
culpable, since it has deprived me of the plea-
sure of serving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart
dictates.
Sir Oliver S. Dissembler! [Aside]-Then,
sir, you can't assist me?
Joseph S. At present, it grieves me to say,
I cannot; but, whenever I have the ability,
you may depend upon hearing from me.
Sir Oliver S. I am extremely sorry-
Joseph S. Not more than I, believe me;-
Joseph S. Do, do; pray give my best duty
and affection. Indeed, I cannot express the
sensations I feel at the thought of seeing him.
-[Exit Rowley]-Certainly his coming just
at this time is the cruellest piece of ill-fortune!
[Exit.
SCENE II-SIR PETER TEAZLE'S.
Enter MRS. CANDOUR and MAID.
Maid. Indeed, ma'am, my lady will see no-
to pity without the power to relieve, is still body at present.
more painful than to ask and be denied.
Mrs. Can. Did you tell her it was her friend
Sir Oliver S. Kind sir, your most obedient Mrs. Candour?
humble servant.
Maid. Yes, ma'am; but she begs you will
Joseph S. You leave me deeply affected, excuse her.

702
[ACT V.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Mrs. Can. Do go again, I shall be glad to
see her, if it be only for a moment, for I am
sure she must be in great distress. [Exit Maid]
Dear heart, how provoking! I'm not mistress
of half the circumstances! We shall have the
whole affair in the newspapers, with the
names of the parties at length, before I have
dropped the story at a dozen houses.
Enter SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE.
Oh, Sir Benjamin! you have heard, I sup-
pose-
Sir Benj. B. O, yes: they fought before
they left the room.
Lady Sneer. Pray, let us hear.
Mrs. Can. Ay, do oblige us with the duel.
Sir Benj. B. "Sir," says Sir Peter, imme-
diately after the discovery, "you are a most
ungrateful fellow."
Mrs. Can. Ay, to Charles-
"a
Sir Benj. B. No, no-to Mr. Surface
most ungrateful fellow; and old as I am, sir,"
says he, "I insist on immediate satisfaction."
Mrs. Can. Ay, that must have been to
Sir Benj. B. Of lady Teazle and Mr. Sur-Charles; for 'tis very unlikely Mr. Surface
face-
Mrs. Can. And Sir Peter's discovery-
Sir Benj. B. O! the strangest piece of
siness, to be sure!
should fight in his own house.
Sir Benj. B. Gad's life, ma'am, not at all-
bu-"Giving me immediate satisfaction." On this,
ma'am, Lady Teazle, seeing Sir Peter in such
Mrs. Can. Well, I never was so surprised danger, ran out of the room in strong hyste-
in my life. I am so sorry for all parties, rics, and Charles after her, calling out for
indeed.
hartshorn and water; then, madam, they be-
Sir Benj. B. Now, I don't pity Sir Peter at gan to fight with swords-
all: he was so extravagantly partial to Mr.
Surface.
Mrs. Can. Mr. Surface! Why, 'twas with
Charles Lady Teazle was detected.
Sir Benj. B. No, no, I tell you- Mr. Sur-
face is the gallant.
Mrs. Can. No such thing! Charles is the
man. 'Twas Mr. Surface brought Sir Peter
on purpose to discover them.
Sir Benj. B. I tell you I had it from one-
Mrs. Can. And I have it from one-
Sir Benj. B. Who had it from one, who
had it-
Mrs. Can. From one immediately-but here
comes Lady Sneerwell; perhaps she knows
the whole affair.
Enter LADY SNEERWELL.
Lady Sneer. So, my dear Mrs. Candour,
here's a sad affair of our friend Lady Teazle.
Mrs. Can. Ay, my dear friend, who would
have thought-
Lady Sneer. Well, there is no trusting ap-
pearances; though, indeed, she was always
too lively for me.
Enter CRABTREE.
Crabt. With pistols, nephew-pistols: I
have it from undoubted authority.
Mrs. Can. O, Mr. Crabtree, then it is all
true!
Crabt. Too true, indeed, madam, and Sir
Peter is dangerously wounded-
Sir Benj. B. By a thrust in second quite
through his left side-
Crabt. By a bullet lodged in the thorax.
Mrs. Can. Mercy on me! Poor Sir Peter!
Crabt. Yes, madam; though Charles would
have avoided the matter, if he could.
Mrs. Can. I knew Charles was the person.
Sir Benj. B. My uncle, I see, knows no-
thing of the matter.
Crabt. But Sir Peter taxed him with the
basest ingratitude.
Sir Benj. B. That I told you, you know-
Crabt. Do, nephew, let me speak! and in-
sisted on immediate-
Sir Benj. B. Just as I said--
Crabt. Odds life, nephew, allow others to
know something too. A pair of pistols lay
on the bureau (for Mr. Surface, it seems, had
Mrs. Can. To be sure, her manners were come home the night before late from Salt-
a little too free; but then she was so young!
Lady Sneer. And had, indeed, some good
qualities.
Mrs. Can. So she had, indeed. But have
you heard the particulars?
Lady Sneer. No; but every body says that
Mr. Surface-
Sir Benj. B. Ay, there; I told you Mr. Sur-
face was the man.
Mrs. Can. No, no: indeed the assignation
was with Charles.
Lady Sneer. With Charles! You alarm me,
Mrs. Candour!
hill, where he had been to see the Montem
with a friend, who has a son at Eton), so,
unluckily, the pistols were left charged.
Sir Benj. B. I heard nothing of this.
Crabt. Sir Peter forced Charles to take one,
and they fired, it seems, pretty nearly together.
Charles's shot took effect, as I tell
you, and
Sir Peter's missed; but what is very extraor-
dinary, the ball struck against a little bronze
Shakspeare that stood over the fire-place,
grazed out of the window at a right angle,
and wounded the postman, who was just
coming to the door with a double letter from
Mrs. Can. Yes, yes, he was the lover. Mr. Northamptonshire.
Surface, to do him justice, was only the in- Sir Benj. B. My uncle's account is more
former.
circumstantial, I confess, but I believe mine
Sir Benj. B. Well, I'll not dispute with is the true one, for all that.
you, Mrs. Candour; but, be it which it may,
I hope that Sir Peter's wound will not-
Mrs. Can. Sir Peter's wound! O, mercy!
I didn't hear a word of their fighting.
Lady Sneer. Nor I, a syllable.
Lady Sneer. I am more interested in this
affair than they imagine, and must have bet.
ter information, [Aside]-[Exit Lady Sneer-
well.
Sir Benj. B. Ah! Lady Sneerwell's alarm
Sir Benj. B. No! what, no mention of the is very easily accounted for.
duel?
Mrs. Can. Not a word
Crabt. Yes, yes, they certainly do say-but.
that's neither here nor there.

SCENE 3.]
703
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Mrs. Can. But, pray, where is Sir Peter at tainly vastly to blame to marry at your years.
present?
Sir Peter T. Sir, what business is that of
Crabt. Oh! they brought him home, and yours?
he is now in the house, though the servants
are ordered to deny him.
Mrs. Can. I believe so, and Lady Teazle, I
suppose, attending him.
Crabt. Yes, yes; and I saw one of the fa-
culty enter just before me.
Sir Benj. B. Hey! who comes here?
Crabt. O, this is he: the physician, depend
on't.
Mrs. Can. O, certainly: it must be the
physician; and now we shall know.
Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE.
Crabt. Well, doctor, what hopes?
Mrs. Can. Though, indeed, as Sir Peter
made so good a husband, he's very much to
be pitied.
Sir Peter T. Plague on your pity, ma'am!
I desire none of it.
Sir Benj. B. However, Sir Peter, you must
not mind the laughing and jests you will meet
with on the occasion.
Sir Peter T. Sir, sir, I desire to be master
in my own house.
Crabt. Tis no uncommon case, that's one
comfort.
Sir Peter T. I insist on being left to my-
self: without ceremony-I insist on your leav-
Mrs. Can. Ay, doctor, how's your patient? ing my house directly.
Sir Benj. B. Now, doctor, isn't it a wound
with a small-sword?
Mrs. Can. Well, well, we are going, and
depend on't we'll make the best report of it
Crabt. A bullet lodged in the thorax, for a we can.
hundred.
Sir Oliver S. Doctor! a wound with a small
sword! and a bullet in the thorax! Oons!
are you mad, good people?
Sir Benj. B. Perhaps, sir, you are not a
doctor?
Sir Oliver S. Truly, I am to thank you for
my degree if I am.
Crabt. Only a friend of Sir Peter's, then, I
presume. But, sir, you must have heard of
his accident?
Sir Oliver S. Not a word!
Crabt. Not ofhis being dangerously wounded.
Sir Oliver S. The devil he is!
Sir Benj. B. Run through the body-
Crabt. Shot in the breast-
Sir Benj. B. Ay one Mr. Surface.
Crabt. Ay, the younger.
Sir Oliver S. Hey! what the plague! you
seem to differ strangely in your accounts:
however, you agree that Sir Peter is danger-
ously wounded.
Sir Benj. B. O, yes, we agree there.
Crabt. Yes, yes, I believe there can be no
doubt of that.
Sir Oliver S. Then, upon my word, for a
person in that situation, he is the most im-
prudent man alive; for here he comes, walk-
ing as if nothing at all was the matter.
Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE.
Odds heart, Sir Peter, you are come in good
time, I promise you; for we had just given
you over.
[Exit.
Sir Peter T. Leave my house!
Crabt. And tell how hardly you've been'
treated.
it.
Sir Peter T. Leave my house!
Sir Benj. B.
Sir Peter T.
that their own
Sir Oliver S.
deed, Sir Peter.
[Exit.
And how patiently you bear
[Exit.
Fiends! vipers! furies! Oh!
venom would choke them!
They are very provoking, in-
Enter ROWLEY.
Rowley. I heard high words: what has
ruffled you, sir?
Sir Peter T. Pshaw! what signifies asking?
Do I ever pass a day without my vexations?
Rowley. Well, I'm not inquisitive.
Sir Oliver S. Well, Sir Peter, I have seen
both my nephews in the manner we pro-
posed.
Sir Peter T. A precious couple they are!
Rowley. Yes, and Sir Oliver is convinced
that your judgment was right, Sir Peter.
Sir Oliver S. Yes, I find Joseph is indeed
the man, after all.
Rowley. Ay, as Sir Peter says, he is a man
of sentiment.
Sir Oliver S. And acts up to the sentiments
he professes.
Rowley. It certainly is edification to hear
him talk.
Sir Oliver S. Oh, he's a model for the
young men of the age!-But how's this, Sir
Peter? you don't join us in your friend Jo-
Sir Benj. B. Egad, uncle, this is the most seph's praise, as I expected.
sudden recovery!
Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, we live in a damn-
Sir Oliver S. Why, man, what do you out ed wicked world, and the fewer we praise the
of bed with a small sword through your body,
and a bullet lodged in your thorax?
better.
Rowley. What! do you say so, Sir Peter,
Sir Peter T. A small sword, and a bullet? who were never mistaken in your life?
Sir Oliver S. Ay, these gentlemen would Sir Peter T. Pshaw! Plague on you both!
have killed you without law, or physic, and I see by your sneering you have heard the
wanted to dub me a doctor, to make me an whole affair. I shall go mad among you!
accomplice.
Rowley. Then, to fret you no longer, Sir
Sir Peter T. Why, what is all this? Peter, we are indeed, acquainted with it all.
Sir Benj. B. We rejoice, Sir Peter, that I met Lady Teazle coming from Mr. Surfa-
the story of the duel is not true, and are sin- ce's so humbled, that she deigned to request
cerely sorry for your other misfortune. me to be her advocate with you.
Sir Peter T. So, so; all over the town al-
ready.
[Aside. this?
Crabt. Though, Sir Peter, you were cer-
Sir Peter T. And does Sir Oliver know all
Sir Oliver S. Evevy circumstance.

704
[ACT V.
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Sir Peter T. What of the closet and the
screen, hey?
Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, and the little French
milliner. O, I have been vastly diverted with
the story! Ha! ha! ha!
Sir Peter T. 'Twas very pleasant.
Sir Oliver S. I never laughed more in my
life, I assure you; ha! ha! ha!
Rowley. Certainly.
Sir Peter T. Though when it is known
that we are reconciled, people will laugh at
me ten times more.
Rowley. Let them laugh, and retort their
malice only by showing them you are happy
in spite of it.
Sir Peter T. I'faith, so I will! and, if I'm
not mistaken, we may yet be the happiest cou-
Sir Peter T. O, vastly diverting! Ha!ha! ha!
Rowley. To be sure, Joseph with his sen-ple in the country.
timents: ha! ha! ha!
Rowley. Nay, Sir Peter, he who once lays
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, his sentiments! Ha! aside suspicion-
ha! ha! Hypocritical villain!
Sir Peter T. Hold, master Rowley! if you
Sir Oliver S. Ay, and that rogue Charles have any regard for me, never let me hear
to pull Sir Peter out of the closet: ha! ha! ha! you utter any thing like a sentiment: I have
Sir Peter T. Ha! ha! 'twas devilish enter- had enough of them to serve me the rest of
taining, to be sure!
my life.
40
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.- The Library.
Enter JOSEPH SURFACE and Lady SNEER-
Sir Oliver S. Ha! ha! ha! Egad, Sir Peter,
I should like to have seen your face when
the screen was thrown down: ha! ha!
Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, my face when the
screen was thrown down: ha! ha! ha! Oh,
I must never show my head again!
Sir Oliver S. But come, come, it isn't fair
to laugh at you neither, my old friend; though,
upon my soul, I can't help it.
Sir Peter T. O pray don't restrain your
mirth on my account: it does not hurt me at I
all! I laugh at the whole affair myself. Yes,
yes, I think being a standing jest for all one's
acquaintance a very happy situation. O yes,
and then of a morning to read the paragraphs
about Mr. S-, Lady T-, and Sir P-, will
be so entertaining!
Rowley. Without affectation, Sir Peter,
you may despise the ridicule of fools: but I
see Lady Teazle going towards the next room;
I am sure you must desire a reconciliation as
earnestly as she does.
WELL.
Lady Sneer. Impossible! Will not Sir Pe-
ter immediately be reconciled to Charles, and
of course no longer oppose his union with
Maria? The thought is distraction to me.
Joseph S. Can passion furnish a remedy?
Lady Sneer. No, nor cunning neither. O!
was a fool, an idiot, to league with such a
blunderer!
Joseph S. Sure, Lady Sneerwell, I am the
greatest sufferer; yet you see I bear the ac-
cident with calmness.
Lady Sneer. Because the disappointment
doesn't reach your heart; your interest only
attached you to Maria. Had you felt for her
what I have for that ungrateful libertine, nei-
ther your temper nor hypocrisy could prevent
your showing the sharpness of your vexation.
Joseph S. But why should your reproaches
Sir Oliver S. Perhaps my being here pre-fall on me for this disappointment?
vents her coming to you. Well, I'll leave
Well, I'll leave Lady Sneer. Are you not the cause of it?
honest Rowley to mediate between you; but Had you not a sufficient field for your rogue-
he must bring you all presently to Mr. Sur-ry in imposing upon Sir Peter, and supplant-
face's, where I am now returning, if not to ing your brother, but you must endeavour to
reclaim a libertine, at least to expose hypo- seduce his wife? I hate such an avarice of
crisy.
crimes; 'tis an unfair monopoly, and never
Sir Peter T. Ah, I'll be present at your prospers.
discovering yourself there with all my heart; Joseph S. Well, I admit I have been to
though 'tis a vile unlucky place for disco- blame. I confess I deviated from the direct
road of wrong, but I don't think we're so
totally defeated neither.
veries.
Rowley. We'll follow. [Exit Sir Oliver.
Sir Peter T. She is not coming here, you
see, Rowley.
Rowley. No, but she has left the door of
that room open, you perceive. See, she is in
tears.
Sir Peter T. Certainly a little mortification
appears very becoming in a wife. Don't you
think it will do her good to let her pine a
little?
Rowley. Oh, this is ungenerous in you!
Sir Peter T. Well, I know not what to
think. You remember the letter I found of
hers evidently intended for Charles?
Lady Sneer. No!
Joseph S. You tell me you have made a
trial of Snake since we met, and that you
still believe him faithful to us.
it
Lady Sneer. I do believe so.
Jeseph S. And that he has undertaken, should
be necessary, to swear and prove, that
Charles is at this time contracted by vows and
honour to your ladyship, which some of his
former letters to you will serve to support.
Lady Sneer. This, indeed, might have as-
sisted."
Joseph S. Come, come; it is not too late
Rowley. A mere forgery, Sir Peter, laid yet. [Knocking at the door]. But hark! this
in your way on purpose. This is one of the is probably my uncle, Sir Oliver: retire to
points which I intend Snake shall give you that room; we'll consult farther when he is
conviction of.
Sir Peter T. I wish I were once satisfied
of that. She looks this way. What a remark-
ably elegant turn of the head she has! Row-
ley, I'll go to her.
gone.
Lady Sneer. Well, but if he should find
you out too?
Joseph S. Oh, I have no fear of that. Sir
Peter will hold his tongue for his own cre-

SCENE 3.]
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
705
dit's sake and you may depend on it I shall
soon discover Sir Oliver's weak side!
Charles S.
Out with him, to be sure.
[Both forcing Sir Oliver out.
Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your Enter SIR PETER and LADY TEAZLE, MARIA
abilities! only be constant to one roguery at
and ROWLEY.
a time.
[Exit Lady SNEERWELL. Sir Peter T. My old friend, Sir Oliver-
Joseph S. I will, I will. So! 'tis confound- hey! What in the name of wonder-here
ed hard, after such bad fortune, to be baited are dutiful nephews-assault their uncle at a
by one's confederate in evil. Well, at all first visit!
events my character is so much better than Lady T. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we
Charles's, that I certainly-hey!-what!- came in to rescue you.
this is not Sir Oliver, but old Stanley again.
Plague on't that he should return to tease me
just now I shall have Sir Oliver come and
find him here-and-
Enter Sir OLIVER SURFACE.
Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come
back to plague me at this time? You must
not stay now, upon my word.
Sir Oliver S. Sir, I hear your uncle Oli-
ver is expected here, and though he has been
so penurious to you, I'll try what he'll do
for me.
Rowley. Truly, it was; for I perceive, Sir
Oliver, the character of old Stanley was no
protection to you.
Sir Oliver S. Nor of Premium either: the
necessities of the former could not extort a
shilling from that benevolent gentleman; and
now, egad, I stood a chance of faring worse
than my ancestors, and being knocked down
without being bid for.
Joseph S. Charles!
Charles S. Joseph!
Joseph S. 'Tis now complete!
Charles S. Very!
Joseph S. Sir, 'tis impossible for you to Sir Oliver S. Sir Peter, my friend, and Row-
stay now, so I must beg-Come any other ley too-look on that elder nephew of mine.
time, and I promise you, you shall be assisted. You know what he has already received from
Sir Oliver S. No: Sir Oliver and I must my bounty; and you also know how gladly I
be acquainted.
would have regarded half my fortune as held
Joseph S. Zounds, sir! then I insist on in trust for him: judge then my dissappoint-
your quitting the room directly.
Sir Oliver S. Nay, sir-
Joseph S. Sir, I insist on't: here, William!
show this gentleman out. Since you compel
me, sir, not one moment-this is such inso-
lence!
[Going to push him out.
Enter CHARLES SURFACE.
Charles S. Hey day! what's the matter now!
What the devil, have you got hold of my lit-
tle broker here? Zounds, brother! don't hurt
little Premium. What's the matter, my little
fellow?
Joseph S. So! he has been with you too,
has he?
Charles S. To be sure he has. Why he's
as honest as little-But sure, Joseph, you have
not been borrowing money too, have you?
Joseph S. Borrowing! no! But, brother,
you know we expect Sir Oliver here every-
Charles S. O Gad, that's true! Noll mustn't
find the little broker here, to be sure.
Joseph S. Yet Mr. Stanley insists-
Charles S. Stanley! why his name's
mium.
ment in discovering him to be destitute of
faith, charity, and gratitude.
Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, I should be more
surprised at this declaration, if I had not my-
self found him to be mean, treacherous, and
hypocritical.
Lady T. And if the gentleman pleads not
guilty to these, pray let him call me to his
character.
Sir Peter T. Then, I believe, we need add
no more: if he knows himself, he will con-
sider it as the most perfect punishment, that
he is known to the world.
Charles S. If they talk this way to honesty,
what will they say to me, by and by? [Aside.
Sir Oliver S. As for that prodigal, his bro-
ther, there-
Charles S. Ay, now comes my turn: the
damned family pictures will ruin me. [Aside.
Joseph S. Sir Oliver-uncle, will you ho-
nour me with a hearing?
Charles S. Now if Joseph would make one
of his long speeches, I might recollect my-
Pre-self a little.
[Aside.
Sir Peter T. I suppose you would under-
take to justify yourself entirely! [To Joseph.
Joseph S. I trust I could.
Joseph S. No, sir, Stanley.
Charles S. No, no, Premium.
Joseph S. Well, no matter which-but-
Charles S. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium,
'tis the same thing, as you say; for I suppose
he goes by half a hundred names, besides A.
B. at the coffee-house. ¹)
[Knocking.
Joseph S. 'Sdeath! here's Sir Oliver at the
door. Now I beg, Mr. Stanley-
Charles S. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Pre-
mium-
Sir Oliver S. Gentlemen-
Joseph S. Sir, by heaven you shall go!
Charles S. Ay, out with him, certainly!
S.Oliver S. This violence-
Joseph S. Sir, 'tis your own fault.
1) It is customary to give one's address in an Advertise-
ment, A. B. at a Coffee-house, or other place.
Sir Oliver S. Well, sir!-and you could
justify yourself too, I suppose?
Charles S. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver.
Sir Oliver S. What!-Little Premium has
been let too much into the secret, I suppose?
Charles S. True, sir; but they were family
secrets, and should not be mentioned again,
you know.
Rowley. Come, Sir Oliver, I know you
cannot speak of Charles's follies with anger.
Sir Oliver S. Odd's heart, no more I can;
nor with gravity either.- Sir Peter, do you
know, the rogue bargained with me for all
his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by
the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as bro-
ken china.
89

706
[ACT V
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL,
Sir Peter T. Plot and counter-plot, egad!
Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and
disappointment on you all.-
Charles S. To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did
make a little free with the family canvas,
that's the truth on't. My ancestors may rise
in judgment against me, there's no denying Lady T. Hold, Lady Sneerwell-before you
it; but believe me sincere when I tell you-go, let me thank you for the trouble you and
and upon my soul I would not say so if I that gentleman have taken, in writing letters
was not-that if I do not appear mortified at from me to Charles, and answering them your-
the exposure of my follies, it is because I feel self; and let me also request you to make my
at this moment the warmest satisfaction in respects to the scandalous college, of which
seeing you, my liberal benefaclor.
you are president, and inform them, that Lady
Sir Olivers S. Charles, I believe you; give Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the di-
me your hand again: the i!llooking little fellow ploma they gave her, as she leaves off prac-
over the settee has made your peace.
tice, and kills characters no longer.
Charles S. Then, sir, my gratitude to the
original is still increased.
Lady T. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is
one whom Charles is still more anxious to be
reconciled to.
Sir Oliver S. Oh, I have heard of his at-
tachment there; and, with the young lady's
pardon, if I construe right-that blush-
Sir Peter T. Well, child, speak your sen-
timents!
Maria. Sir, I have little to say, but that I
shall rejoice to hear that he is happy; for me
-whatever claim I had to his affection, I
willingly resign to one who has a better title.
Charles S. How, Maria!
Sir Peter T. Hey day! what's the mystery
now?- While he appeared an incorrigible
rake, you would give your hand to no one
else; and now that he is likely to reform, I'll
warrant you won't have him.
Maria. His own heart and Lady Sneerwell
know the cause.
Charles S. Lady Sneerwell!
Joseph S. Brother, it is with great concern
I am obliged to speak on this point, but my
regard to justice compels me, and Lady Sneer-
well's injuries can no longer be concealed.
[Opens the door.
Lady Sneer. You too, madam-provoking-
insolent-May your husband live these fifty
years!
[Exit.
to
Sir Peter T. Oons! what a fury!
Lady T. A malicious creature, indeed!
Sir Peter T. Hey! Not for her last wish?
Lady T. O no!
Sir Oliver S. Well, sir, and what have you
say now?
Joseph S. Sir, I am so confounded, to find
that Lady Sneerwell could be guilty of sub-
orning Mr. Snake in this manner, to impose
on us all, that I know not what to say; how-
ever, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt
her to injure my brother, I had certainly bet-
ter follow her directly.
Exit.
Sir Peter T. Moral to the last drop!
Sir Oliver S. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if
you can.-Oil and Vinegar, egad! you'll do
very well together.
Rowley. I believe we have no more occa-
sion for Mr. Snake at present?
Snake. Before I go, I beg pardon once for
all, for whatever uneasiness I have been the hum-
ble instrument of causing to the parties present.
Sir Peter T. Well, well, you have made
atonement by a good deed at last.
Snake. But I must request of the compa-
ny, that it shall never be known.
Sir Oliver S. Hey!-What the plague!-Are
you ashamed of having done a right thing
once in your life?
Enter LADY SNEERWELL.
Sir Peter T. So! another French milliner!
Egad, he has one in every room in the house,
I suppose.
Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles! Well Snake. Ah, sir! consider, I live by the
may you be surprised, and feel, for the inde-badness of my character; I have nothing but
licate situation your perfidy has forced me my infamy to depend on! and if it were once
known that I had been betrayed into an
honest action, I should lose every friend I
have in the world.
into.
Charles S. Pray, uncle, is this another plot
of yours? For, as I have life, I don't under-
stand it.
Joseph S. I believe, sir, there is but the
evidence of one person more necessary to
make it extremely clear.
Sir Peter T. And that person, I imagine,
is Mr. Snake. -Rowley, you were perfectly
right to bring him with us, and pray let him
appear.
Rowley, Walk in, Mr. Snake.
Enter SNAKE.
I thought his testimony might be wanted:
however, it happens unluckily, that he comes to
confront Lady Sneerwell, not to support her.
Lady Sneer. A villain! Treacherous to me
at last! - Speak, fellow; have you too con-
spired against me?
Snake. I beg your ladyship then thousand
pardons: you paid me extremely liberally for
the lie in question; but I unfortunately have
been offered double to speak the truth.
-
Sir Oliver S. Well, well, we'll not tra-
duce you by saying any thing in your praise,
never fear.
[Exit Snake.
Sir Peter T. There's a precious rogue!
Lady T. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no
persuasion now to reconcile your nephew
and Maria.
Sir Oliver S. Ay, ay, that's as it should be,
and egad we'll have the wedding to-morrow
morning.
Charles S. Thank you, dear uncle!
Sir Peter T. What, you rogue! don't you
ask the girl's consent first?
Charles S. Oh, I have done that a long
time-a minute ago-and she has looked yes.
Maria. For shame, Charles!-I protest, Sir
Peter, there has not been a word.
Sir Oliver S. Well, then, the fower the
better;-may your love for each other never
know abatement!
Sir Peter T. And may you live as happily

SCENE 3.]
707
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
together as Leady Teazle and I intend to do!ja proof that I intend to set about it; but here
Charles S. Rowley, my old friend, I am shall be my monitor my gentle guide-ah!
sure you congratulate me; and I suspect that can I leave the virtuous path those eyes illu-
I owe you much.
mine?
Sir Oliver S. You do indeed, Charles.
Rowley. If my efforts to serve you had not
succeeded, you would have been in my debt
for the attempt; but deserve to be happy,
and you overpay me.
Sir Peter T. Ay, honest Rowley always
said you would reform.
Charles S. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peter,
I'll make no promises, and that I take to be
Though thou, dear maid, shouldst wave thy
beauty's sway,
Thou still must rule, because I will obey.
An humble fugitive from Folly view,
No sanctuary near but Love and you;
[To the audience.
You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove,
For even Scandal dies if you approve.
SIR RICHARD STEELE
Was born about the year 1676, in Ireland, in which kingdom one branch of the family was possessed of a consi-
derable estate in the county of Wexford. His father, a counsellor at law in Dublin, was private secretary to James
Duke of Ormond, but he was of English extraction; and his son, while very young, being carried to London, he put
him to school at the Charterhouse, whence he was removed to Merton College, in Oxford, where he was admitted a
postmaster in 1692. His inclination and genius being turned to polite literature, he commenced author during his resi-
dence in the university, and actually finished a comedy; which, however, he thought fit to suppress, as unworthy of
his genius. Mr. Steele was well beloved and respected by the whole society, and had a good interest with them after
he left the university, which he did without taking any degree, in the full resolution to enter into the army. This step
was highly displeasing to his friends; but the ardour of his passion for a military life rendered him deaf to any other
proposal. Not being able to procure a better station, he entered as a private gentleman in the horse-guards, notwith-
standing he thereby lost his Irish estate. However, as he had a flow of good-nature, a generous openness and frank-
ness of spirit, and a sparkling vivacity of wit,-these qualities rendered him the delight of the soldiery, and procured
him an ensign's commission in the guards. In the mean time, as he had made choice of a profession which set him free
from all the ordinary restraints on youth, he spared not to indulge his inclinations in the wildest excesses. Yet his
gaicties and revels did not pass without some cool hours of reflection, and in these it was that he drew up his little
treatise, entitled The Christian Hero, with a design, if we may believe himself, to be a check upon his passions. For
this use and purpose it had lain some time by him, when he printed it in 1701, with a dedication to Lord Cutts, who
had not only appointed him his private secretary, but procured for him a company in Lord Lucas's regiment of fusi-
leers. The whole plan and tenour of our author's book was such a flat contradiction to the general course of his life,
that it became a subject of much mirth and raillery: but these shafts had no effect; he persevered invariably in the
same contradiction, and, though he had no power to change his heart, yet his pen was never prostituted to his follies.
Under the influence of that good sense, he wrote his first play, which procured him the regard of king William, who
resolved to give him some essential marks of his favour; and though, upon that prince's death, his hopes were dissa-
pointed, yet, in the beginning of Queen Anne's reign, he was appointed to the profitable place of Gazetteer. He owed
his post to the friendship of Lord Halifax and the Earl of Sunderland, to whom he had been recommended by his
schoolfellow Mr. Addison. That gentleman also lent him an helping hand in promoting the comedy, called The
Tender Husband, which was acted in 1704, with great success. But his next play, The Lying Lover, found a very dif-
ferent fate. Upon this rebuff from the stage, he turned the same humorous current into another channel; and, early in
the year 1709, he began to publish The Tatler; which admirable paper was undertaken in concert with Dr. Swift. His
reputation was perfectly established by this work; and, during the course of it, he was made a commissioner of the
stamp-duties, in 1710. Upon the change of the ministry the same year, he sided with the Duke of Marlborough, who
had several years entertained a friendship for him; and, upon his Grace's dismission from all employments, in 1711,
Mr. Steele addressed a letter of thanks to him for the services done to his country. However, as our author still con-
tinued to hold his place in the stamp-ofice under the new administration, he forbore entering with his pen upon poli-
tical subjects. But, adhering more closely to Mr. Addison, he dropt The Tatler; and afterwards, by the assistance
chiefly of that steady friend, he carried on the same plan, under the title of the The Spectator. The success of this
paper was equal to that of the former, which encouraged him, before the close of it, to proceed upon the same design
in the character of The Guardian. This was opened in the beginning of the year 1713, and was laid down in October
the same year. But, in the course of it, his thoughts took a stronger turn to politics; he engaged with great warmth
against the ministry, and being determined to prosecute his views that way, by procuring a seat in the House of Com-
mons, he immediately removed all obstacles thereto. For that purpose, he took care to prevent a forcible dismission
from his post in the stamp-office, by a timely resignation of it to the Earl of Oxford, and, at the same time, gave up
a pension, which had been, till this time, paid him by the Queen, as a servant to the late Prince George of Denmark.
This done, he wrote the famous Guardian, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, which was published August 7, 1713; and
the Parliament being dissolved the next day, the Guardian was soon followed by several other warm political tracts
against the administration. Upon the meeting of the new Parliament, Mr. Steele having been returned a member for
the borough of Stockbridge, in Hampshire, took his seat accordingly in the House of Commons, but was expelled thence
in a few days after, for writing several seditious and scandalous libels, as he had been indeed forewarned by the author
of a periodical paper, called The Examiner. Presently after his expulsion, he published proposals for writing the His-
tory of the Duke of Marlborough. At the same time he also wrote The Spinster; and set up a paper, called The
Reader. He also continued publishing several other things in the same spirit, until the death of the Queen. Immediately
after which, as a reward for these services, he was taken into favour by her successor to the throne, K. George 1,, and
appointed surveyor to the royal stables at Hampton Court, and put into the commission of the peace for the county of
Middlesex; and, having procured a license for chief manager of the royal company of comedians, he easily obtained it
to be changed the same year, 1714, into a patent from His Majesty, appointing him governor of the said company dur
ing his life; and to his executors, administrators, or assigns, for the space of three years afterwards, He was also chosen
one of the representatives for Boroughbridge, in Yorkshire, in the first Parliament of that King, who conferred the
honour of knighthood upon him, April 28, 1715; and, in August following, he received five hundred pounds from Sir
Robert Walpole, for special services. Thus highly encouraged, he triumphed over his opponents in several pamphlets,
written in this and the following year. In 1717 he was appointed one of the commissioners for inquiring into the es-
tates forfeited by the late rebellion in Scotland. This carried him into that part of the united kingdom, where, how
unwelcome a guest soever he might be to the generality, yet he received from several of the nobility and gentry the
most distinguishing marks of respect. In 1718 he buried his second wife, who had brought him a handsome fortune, and
a good estate in Wales: but neither that, nor the ample additions lately made to his income, were sufficient to answer
his demands. The thoughtless vivacity of his spirit often reduced him to little shifts of wit for its support, and the
project of The Fish Pool this year owed its birth chiefly to the projector's necessities. The following year he op-
posed the remarkable peerage bill in the House of Commons, and, during the course of this opposition to the court, his

708
ACT I. SCENE 1.]
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
license for acting plays was revoked, and his patent rendered ineffectual, at the instance of the lord chamberlain. He
did his utmost to prevent so great a loss, and, finding every direct avenue of approach to his Royal Master effectually
barred against him by his powerful adversary, he had recourse to the method of applying to the public, in hopes that
his complaints would reach the ear' of his Sovereign, though in an indirect course, by that canal. In this spirit he formed
the plan of a periodical paper, to be published twice a week, under the title of The Theatre; the first number of which
came out on the 2nd of Jan. 1719-20. In the mean time, the misfortune of being out of favour at court, like other
misfortunes, drew after it a train of more. During the course of this paper, in which he had assumed the feigned name
of Sir John Edgar, he was outrageously attacked by Mr. Dennis, the noted critic, in a very abusive pamphlet, entitled
The Character and Conduct of Sir John Edgar. To this insult our author made a proper reply in The Theatre. While
he was struggling, with all his might, to save himself from ruin, he found time to turn his pen against the mischievous
South Sea scheme, which had nearly brought the nation to ruin, in 1720; and the next year he was restored to his of-
fice and authority in the playhouse in Drury Lane. Of this it was not long before he made an additional advantage
by bringing his celebrated comedy, called The Conscious Lovers, upon that stage, where it was acted with prodigious
success; so that the receipt there must have been very considerable, besides the profits accraing by the sale of the copy
and a purse of five hundred pounds given to him hy the King, to whom he dedicated it. Yet, notwithstanding these
ample recruits, about the year following, being reduced to the utmost extremity, he sold his share in the play-house,
and soon after commenced a lawsuit with the managers, which, in 1726, was determined to his disadvantage. During
these misfortunes of Sir Richard, there was once an execution in his house. Being, however, under the necessity of
receiving company a few days afterwards, he prevailed on the bailill's to put on liveries, and to pass for his servants.
The farce succeeded but for a short time; for the knight enforcing his orders to one of them in a manner which this
vermin of the law thought too authoritative, the insolent rascal threw off the mask, and discovered his real occupation,
Soon after, Sir Richard retired to a small house on Haverstock Hill, in the road to Hampstead. Part of this building
remains, and is now a cottage. Here Mr. Pope and other members of the Kit-cat Club used to call on him and take him in
their carriages to the place of rendezvous. Having now, therefore, for he last time, brought his fortune, by the most heed-
less profusion, into a desperate condition, he was rendered altogether incapable of retrieving the loss, hy being seized
with a paralytic disorder, which greatly impaired his understanding. In these unhappy circumstances, he retired to his
seat at Langunnor, near Carmarthen, in Wales; where he paid the last debt to nature, on the 21st of September 1729,
and was privately interred, according to his own desire, in the church of Carmarthen. Sir Richard was a man of un-
dissembled and extensive benevolence, a friend to the friendless, and, as far as his circumstances would permit, the fa-
ther of every orphan. His works are chaste and manly. He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of envy or
malevolence; never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far from arrogating any praise to himself from his
conjunction with Mr. Addison, that he was the first who desired him to distinguish his papers. His greatest error was
want of economy, However, he was certainly the most agreeable, and (if we may be allowed the expression) the most
innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence,
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS,
Comedy by Sir Richard Steele. Acted at Drury Lane 1721. The general design of this celebrated comedy, which
had been written some years before it was acted, and at first intended to be called The Unfashionable Lovers (or, as
some say, The Fine Gentleman), is taken from the Andria of Terence: but the author's principal intention in writing
it was, as he himself informs us, to introduce the very fine scene in the fourth act between young Bevil and Myrtle,
which sets forth, in a strong light, the folly of duelling, and the absurdity of what is falsely called the point of honour;
and in this particular merit the play would probably have ever stood foremost, had not that subject been since more
amply and completely treated by the admirable author of Sir Charles Grandison, in the affair between that truly ac-
complished gentleman and Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. This play was acted twenty six nights the first season: yet, before
it appeared, it excited the envy and ill-humour of Dennis, who, while it was in rehearsal, published a pamphlet (al-
Inding to Sir Richard Steele's censure of Etherege's Man of Mode, in The Spectator), under the following title: "A
Defence of Sir Fopling Flutter, written by Sir George Etheridge: in which Defence is shown, that Sir Fopling, that
merry Knight, was rightly composed by the Knight his Father, to answer the Ends of Comedy; and that he has been
barbarously and scurrilously attacked by the Knight his Brother in the 65th Spectator; by which it appears, that the
Knight knows nothing of the Nature of Comedy." The scurrility of this pamphlet (which was intended to prejudice
the public against Steele's forth coming play) is implied in the title-page; and in the course of his writing he not only re-
flects illiberally on Steele for being an Irishman, but foolishly calls him a twopenny author, because he wrote the Tat-
lers, Spectators, and Guardians. In fine, he promised a criticism on The Conscious Lovers, when it should appear on
the stage: which criticism, when it appeared, was allowed by all to be the most civil, and therefore the dullest, of all
his critical writings. This was the first play acted on the secession from Fleetwood, Sept. 20, 1743.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE,
SIR JOHN BEVIL.
SEALAND.
BEVIL.
MYRTLE.
CIMBERTON,
HUMPHREY.
TOM.
DANIEL.
MRS. SEALAND,
ISABELLA.
INDIANA.
LUCINDA.
ACT I.
PHILLIS.
SCENE I-SIR JOHN BEVIL'S House,
Enter SIR JOHN BEVIL and HUMPHREY.
Sir J. HAVE you ordered that I should not
be interrupted while I am dressing?
Hum. Yes, sir; I believ'd you had something
of moment to say to me.
Sir J. I'll tell thee then. In the first place,
this wedding of my son's in all probability--
shut the door-will never be at all.
Hum. How, sir! not be at all? For what
reason is it carried on in appearance?
man, I indulg'd him in living after his own
manner. I know not how otherwise to judge
of his inclination; for what can be concluded
from a behaviour under restraint and fear?
But what charms me above all expression is,
that my son has never, in the least action, the
most distant hint or word, valued himself upon
that great estate of his mother's, which, ac-
cording to our marriage settlement, he has
had ever since he came to age.
Hum. No, sir; on the contrary he seems
afraid of appearing to enjoy it before you or
any belonging to you. He is as dependent
Sir J. Honest Humphrey, have patience, and and resigned to your will as if he had not a
I'll tell thee all in order. I have myself, in farthing but what must come from your im-
some part of my life lived indeed with free- mediate bounty. You have ever acted like a
dom, but I hope without reproach; now I good and generous father, and he like an obe-
thought liberty would be as little injurious to dient and grateful son.
my son; therefore, as soon as he grew towards
Sir J. To be short, Humphrey, his repu-

SCENE 1.]
709
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
tation was so fair in the world, that old Sea- Sir J. That's what I wanted to debate with
land, the great India merchant, has offered his you. I have said nothing to him yet. But
only daughter, and sole heiress to that vast lookye, Humphrey, if there is so much in this
estate of his, as a wife for him. You may be amour of his, that he denies upon my sum-
sure I made no difficulties; the match was mons to marry, I have cause enough to be
agreed on, and this very day named for the offended; and then, by my insisting upon his
wedding.
marrying to-day, I shall know how far he is
Hum. What hinders the proceeding? engaged to this lady in masquerade, and from
Sir J. Don't interrupt me. You know I was, thence only shall be able to take my measures.
last Thursday, at the masquerade; my son, In the mean time, I would have you find out
you may remember, soon found us out. He how far that rogue, his man, is let into his
knew his grandfather's habit, which I then wore; secret: he, I know, will play tricks as much
and though it was in the mode of the last to cross me as to serve his master.
age, yet the maskers, you know, followed us Hum. Why do you think so of him, sir?
as if we had been the most monstrous figures I believe he is no worse than I was for you
in that whole assembly.
at your son's age.
Hum. I remember indeed a young man of
quality, in the habit of a clown, that was par-
ticularly troublesome.
Sir J. I see it in the rascal's looks. But I have
dwelt on these things too long: I'll go to my
son immediately; and while I'm gone, your
Sir J. Right; he was too much what he part is to convince his rogue, Tom, that I am
seemed to be. You remember how imperti- in earnest. I'll leave him to you.
[Exit.
nently he followed and teased us, and would Hum. Well, though this father and son
know who we were.
live as well together as possible, yet their fear
Hum. I know he has a mind to come into of giving each other pain is attended with
that particular.
[Aside. constant, mutual uneasiness. I am sure I have
Sir J. Ay, he followed us till the gentle- enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well
man, who led the lady in the Indian mantle, with them both; but they know I love 'em,
presented that gay creature to the rustic, and and that makes the task less painful however.-
bid him (like Cymon in the fable) grow po- Oh, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the
lite, by falling in love, and let that worthy representative of all the better fed than taught.-
old gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown Ho, ho, Tom! whither so gay and so airy
was not reform'd, but rudely persisted, and this morning?
offered to force off my mask: with that the
Enter Toм, singing.
gentleman, throwing off his own, appeared to Tom. Sir, we servants of single gentlemen
be my son; and in his concern for me, tore are another kind of people than you domestic,
off that of the nobleman. At this they seized ordinary drudges, that do business; we are
each other, the company called the guards, raised above you: the pleasures of board wages,
and in the surprise the lady swooned away; tavern dinners, and many a clear gain-vails,
upon which my son quitted his adversary, and alas! you never heard or dreamt of.
had now no care but of the lady; when, Hum. Thou hast follies and vices enough
raising her in his arms, "Art thou gone," cried for a man of ten thousand a year, though it
he, "for ever?-Forbid it, heaven!"-She re- is but as t'other day that I sent for you to
vives at his known voice, and with the most town to put you into Mr. Sealand's family,
familiar, though modest, gesture hangs in sa- that you might learn a little before I put you
fety over his shoulders, weeping; but wept as to my young master, who is too gentle for
in the arms of one before whom she could training such a rude thing as you were into
give herself a loose, were she not under ob- proper obedience. You then pulled off your
servation. While she hides fer face in his hat to every one you met in the street, like a
neck, he carefully conveys her from the company. bashful, great, awkward cub as you were. But
Hum. I have observed this accident has your great oaken cudgel, when you were a
dwelt upon you very strongly.
booby, became you much better than that
Sir J. Her uncommon air, her noble modesty, dangling stick at your button, now you are a
the dignity of her person, and the occasion fop, that's fit for nothing except it hangs there
itself, drew the whole assembly together; and to be ready for your master's hand when you
I soon heard it buzzed about she was the are impertinent.
adopted daughter of a famous sea officer, who. Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master
bad serv'd in France. Now this unexpected scorns to strike his servants. You talk as if
and public discovery of my son's so deep the world was now just as it was when my
concern for her-
old master and you were in your youth; when
Hum. Was what, I suppose, alarm'd Mr. you went to dinner because it was so much
Sealand, in behalf of his daughter, to break o'clock; when the great blow was given in
off the match..
the hall at the pantry door, and all the family
Sir J. You are right: he came to me yester- came out of their holes, in such strange dresses
day, and said he thought himself disengaged and formal faces as you see in the pictures
from the bargain, being credibly informed my in our long gallery in the country.
son was already married, or worse, to the Hum. Why, you wild rogue!
lady at the masquerade. I palliated matters, Tom. You could not fall to your dinner
and insisted on our agreement; but we par- till a formal fellow, in a black gown, said
ted with little less than a direct breach be- something over the meat ¹); as if the cook
had not made it ready enough.
tween us.
Hum. Well, sir, and what notice have you
taken of all this to my young master?
1) A prayer used generally to be said before setting down
to dinner,

710
[ACT 1.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Hum. Sirrah, who do you prate after-de-operas, and ridottoes, for the winter; the Parks
spising men of sacred characters? I hope you and Bellsize for our summer diversions; and,
never heard my young master talk so like a "Lard!" says she, "you are so wild, but you
profligate?
have a world of humour."
Tom. Sir, I say you put upon me, when I Hum. Coxcomb! Well, but why don't you
first came to town, about being orderly, and run with your master's letter to Mrs. Lucinda,
the doctrine of wearing shams to make linen as he order'd you?
last clean a fortnight, keeping my clothes fresh,
and wearing a frock within doors.
Tom. Because Mrs. Lucinda is not so easily
come at as you think for.
Hum. Sirrah, I gave you those lessons be- Hum. Not easily come at? Why, sir, are
cause I supposed at that time your master not her father and my old master agreed that
and you might have dined at home every day, she and Mr. Bevil are to be one flesh before
and cost you nothing; then you might have to-morrow morning?
made a good family servant: but the gang Tom. It's no matter for that: her mother,
you have frequented since at chocolate-houses it seems, Mrs. Sealand, has not agreed to it;
and taverns, in a continual round of noise and you must know, Mr. Humphrey, that in
and extravagance-
that family the grey mare is the better horse 1).
Hum. What dost thou mean?
Tom. I don't know what you heavy in-
mates call noise and extravagance: but we Tom. In one word, Mrs. Sealand pretends
gentlemen who are well fed and cut a figure, to have a will of her own, and has provided
sir, think it a fine life, and that we must be a relation of hers, a stiff-starched philosopher,
very pretty fellows who are kept only to be and a wise fool, for her daughter; for which
looked at.
reason, for these ten days past, she has suf-
Hum. Very well, sir, I hope the fashion of fered no message or letter from my master
being lewd and extravagant, despising of de- to come near her.
cency and order, is almost at an end, since Hum. And where had you this intelligence?
it is arrived at persons of your quality.
Tom. From a foolish fond soul, that can
Tom. Master Humphrey, ha, ha! you were keep nothing from me; one that will deliver
an unhappy lad to be sent up to town in this letter too, if she is rightly managed.
such queer days as you were. Why now, Hum. What, her pretty handmaid, Mrs.
sir, the lackeys are the men of pleasure of Phillis?
the age, the top gamesters; and many a laced Tom. Even she, sir. This is the very hour,
coat about town have had their education in you know, she usually comes hither, under a
our party-coloured regiment. We are false pretence of a visit to our housekeeper forsooth,
lovers, have a taste of music, poetry, billet- but in reality to have a glance at—
doux, dress, politics, ruin damsels; and when
we are weary of this lewd town, and have a
mind to take up, whip into our masters' wigs,
and marry fortunes.
Hum. Hey-day!
Hum. Your sweet face, I warrant you.
Tom. Nothing else in nature. You must
know I love to fret and play with the little
wanton.
Hum. Play with the little wanton! What
Tom. Nay, sir, our order is carried up to will this world come to?
the highest dignities and distinctions: step but Tom. I met her this morning in a new
into the Painted Chamber, and by our titles manteau and petticoat, not a bit the worse
you'd take us all for men of quality! then for her lady's wearing, and she has always
again, come down to the Court of Requests, new thoughts and new airs with new clothes;
and you shall see us all laying our broken then she never fails to steal some glance or
heads together for the good of the nation; and gesture from every visitant at their house, and
though we never carry a question nemine is indeed the whole town of coquettes at se-
contradicente, yet this I can say with a safe cond-hand. But here she comes; in one motion
conscience (and I wish every gentleman of she speaks and describes herself better than
our cloth could lay his hand upon his heart all the words in the world can.
and say the same), that I never took so much Hum. Then I hope, dear sir! when your
as a single mug of beer for my vote in all own affair is over, you will be so good as to
my life.
mind your master's with her.
Hum. Sirrah, there is no enduring your Tom. Dear Humphrey! you know my master
extravagance; I'll hear you prate no longer: is my friend; and those are people I never forget.
Hum. Sauciness itself! but I'll leave you to
do your best for him.
[Exit.
I wanted to see you to inquire how things
go with your master, as far as you under-
stand them. I suppose he knows he is to be
married to-day?
Enter PHILLIS.
Tom. Ay, sir, he knows it, and is dressed Phil. Oh, Mr. Thomas, is Mrs. Sugarkey
as gay as the sun; but between you and I, at home? Lard! one is almost ashamed to
my dear! he has a very heavy heart under all pass along the streets. The town is quite
that gaiety. As soon as he was dressed I empty, and nobody of fashion left in it; and
retired, but overheard him sigh in the most the ordinary people do so stare to see any
heavy manner. He walked thoughtfully to and thing dress'd like a woman of condition pass
fro in the room, then went into his closet: by. Alas! alas! it is a sad thing to walk. Oh,
when he came out he gave me this for his fortune, fortune!
mistress, whose maid you know-
Hum. Is passionately fond of your fine person.
Tom. The poor fool is so tender, and loves
to hear me talk of the world, and the plays,
Tom. What! a sad thing to walk? Why,
madam Phillis, do you wish yourself lane?
Phil. No, Mr. Thomas; but I wish I were
1) The lady is master in the family.

SCENE 2.1
711
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
generally carried in a coach or a chair, and hands. [He pulls out a Purse, she eyes it.
of a fortune neither to stand nor go, but to Phil. What pretence have I to what is in
totter or slide, to be shortsighted or stare, to your hands, Mr. Thomas?
fleer in the face, to look distant, to observe,
Tom. As thus: there are hours you know
to overlook, yet all become me; and if I was when a lady is neither pleased nor displeased,
rich I could twire and loll as well as the best neither sick nor well, when she lolls or loiters,
of them. Oh, Tom, Tom! is it not a pity that when she is without desires, from having more
you should be so great a coxcomb, and I so of every thing than she knows what to do with.
great a coquette, and yet be such poor devils
as we are?
Tom. Mrs. Phillis, I am your humble servant
for that.
Phil. Well, what then?
Tom. When she has not life enough to
keep her bright eyes quite open to look at
her own dear image in the glass.
Phil. Explain thyself, and don't be so fond
of thy own prating.
Phil. Yes, Mr. Thomas, I know how much
you are my humble servant, and know what
you said to Mrs. Judy, upon seeing her in Tom. There are also prosperous and good-
one of her lady's cast manteaus-that any one natured moments; as when a knot or a patch
would have thought her the lady, and that is happily fixed, when the complexion parti-
she had ordered the other to wear it till it sat cularly flourishes.
easy (for now only it was becoming); to my Phil. Well, what then? I have not patience!
lady it was only a covering, to Mrs. Judy it Tom. Why then, or on the like occasions
was a habit. This you said after somebody we servants who have skill to know how to
or other. Oh, Tom, Tom! thou art as false time business, see when such a pretty folded
and as base as the best gentleman of them all: thing as this [Shows a Letter] may be pre-
but you, wretch! talk to me no more on the sented, laid, or dropped, as best suits the
old odious subject: don't, I say.
Tom. I know not how to resist your com-
mands, madam.
[In a submissive Tone, retiring.
Phil. Commands, about parting are grown
mighty easy to you of late.
pre-
sent humour. And, madam, because it is a
long wearisome journey to run through all
the several stages of a lady's temper, my master,
who is the most reasonable man in the world,
presents you this to bear your charges on the
road.
[Gives her the Purse.
Phil. Now you think me a corrupt hussy.
Tom. O fie! I only think you'll take the letter.
Phil. Nay, I know you do; but I know my
own innocence: I take it for my mistress's sake.
Tom. I know it, my pretty one! I know it.
Phil. Yes, I say I do it because I would
not have my mistress deluded by one who
gives no proof of his passion: but I'll talk
more of this as you see me on my way home.
No, Tom; I assure thee I take this trash of
thy master's, not for the value of the thing,
but as it convinces me he has a true respect
But, for
But, for my mistress. I remember a verse to the
purpose-
Tom. Oh, I have her! I have nettled and
put her into the right temper to be wrought
upon and set a prating. [Aside] Why, truly,
to be plain with you, Mrs. Phillis, I can take
little comfort of late in frequenting your house.
Phil. Pray, Mr. Thomas, what is it all of a
sudden offends your nicety at our house?
Tom. I don't care to speak particulars, but
I dislike the whole.
Phil. I thank you, sir; I am a part of that
whole.
Tom. Mistake me not, good Phillis.
Phil. Good Phillis! saucy enough.
however-
which
Tom. I say it is that thou art a part
gives me pain for the disposition of the whole.
You must know, madam, to be serious, I am
a man at the bottom of prodigious nice ho-
nour. You are too much exposed to com-
pany at your house. To be plain, I don't like
so many, that would be your mistress's lovers,
whispering to you.
They may be false who languish and complain,
But they who part with money never feign.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-BEVIL'S Lodgings.
BEVIL discovered, reading.
Bevil. These moral writers practise virtue
Phil. Don't think to put that upon me. You after death. This charming vision of Mirza!-
say this because I wrung you to the heart such an author consulted in a morning sets
when I touched your guilty conscience about the spirits for the vicissitudes of the day better
Judy.
than the glass does a man's person. But what
Tom. Ab, Phillis, Phillis! if you but knew a day have I to go through! to put on an
my heart!
easy look with an aching heart! If this lady
Phil. I know too much on't.
my father urges me to marry should not re-
Tom. Don't disparage your charms, good fuse me, my dilemma is insupportable. But
Phillis, with jealousy of so worthless an ob- why should I fear it? is not she in equal
ject; besides she is a poor hussy; and if you distress with me? has not the letter I have
doubt the sincerity of my love, you will allow sent her this morning, confessed my inclination
me true to my interest. You are a fortune, to another? nay, have I not moral assurances
Phillis-
of her engagements too to my friend Myrtle?
Phil. What would the fop be at now? It's impossible but she must give in to it; for
[Aside] In good time indeed you shall be sure to be denied is a favour any man may
setting up for a fortune.
pretend to. It must be so. Well then, with
Tom. Dear Mrs. Phillis! you have such a the assurance of being rejected, I think I may
spirit, that we shall never be dull in marriage confidently say to my father I am ready to
when we come together. But I tell you you marry her; then let me resolve upon (what I
are a fortune, and you have an estate in my am not very good at) an honest dissimulation.

712
[ACT 1.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Enter ToM.
and I know his violent inclinations for the
Tom. Sir John Bevil, sir, is in the next room. match; I must betray neither, and yet deceive
Bevil. Dunce! why did you not bring him in? you both, for your common good. Heaven
Tom. I told him, sir, you were in your closet. grant a good end of this matter: but there is
Bevil. I thought you had known, sir, it was a lady, sir, that gives your father much trouble
my duty to see my father any where. and sorrow. You'll pardon me.
[Going himself to the Door. Bevil. Humphrey, I know thou art a friend
Tom. The devil's in my master! he has al- to both, and in that confidence I dare tell thee.
ways more wit than I have.
[Aside. That lady-is a woman of honour and virtue.
You may assure yourself I never will marry
Enter SIR JOHN BEVIL, introduced by BEVIL. without my father's consent; but give me leave
Bevil. Sir, you are the most gallant, the to say too, this declaration does not come up
most complaisant of all parents. Sure 'tis not to a promise that I will take whomsoever he
a compliment to say these lodgings are yours. pleases.
Why would you not walk in, sir?
Sir J. I was loath to interrupt you unsea-
sonably on your wedding-day.
Hum. My dear master! were I but worthy
to know this secret that so near concerns you,
my life, my all, should be engaged to serve
Becil. One to whom I am beholden for my you. This, sir, I dare promise, that I am sure
birthday might have used less ceremony. I will and can be secret: your trust at worst
Sir J. Well, son, I have intelligence you but leaves you where you were; and if I can-
have writ to your mistress this morning. It not serve you, I will at once be plain, and
would please my curiosity to know the con- tell you so.
Thou hast made it
tents of a wedding-day letter, for courtship Bevil. That's all I ask.
must then be over.
now my interest to trust thee. Be patient
Bevil. I assure you, sir, there was no in-then, and hear the story of my heart.
solence in it, upon the prospect of such a vast Hum. I am all attention, sir.
fortune's being added to our family, but much Bevil. You may remember, Humphrey, that
acknowledgment of the lady's great desert. in my last travels my father grew uncasy at
Sir J. But, dear Jack, are you in earnest my making so long a stay at Toulon.
in all this? and will you really marry her?
Bevil. Did I ever disobey any command of
yours, sir? nay, any inclination that I saw
you bent upon? If the lady is dressed and
ready, you see I am. I suppose the lawyers
are ready too.
Enter HUMPHREY.
Hum. I remember it; he was apprehensive
some woman had laid hold of you.
Bevil. His fears were just; for there I first
saw this lady: she is of English birth: her
father's name was Danvers, a younger brother
of an ancient family, and originally an emi-
nent merchant of Bristol, who upon repeated
misfortunes was reduced to go privately to the
Hum. Sir, Mr. Sealand is at the coffee-Indies. In this retreat, Providence again grew
house, and has sent to speak with you. favourable to his industry, and in six years
Sir J. Oh! that's well! then I warrant the time restored him to his former fortunes. On
lawyers are ready. Son, you'll be in the way, this he sent directions over that his wife and
you say.
little family should follow him to the Indies.
Bevil. If you please, sir, I'll take a chair His wife, impatient to obey such welcome
and go to Mr. Sealand's; where the young
lady and I will wait your leisure.
Sir J. By no means; the old fellow will he
so vain if he sees-
orders, would not wait the leisure of a con-
voy 1), but took the first occasion of a single
ship; and with her husband's sister only and
this daughter, then scarce seven years old,
Bevil. Ay; but the young lady, sir, will undertook the fatal voyage; for here, poor
think me so indifferent-
Hum. Ay, there you are right. Press your
readiness to go to the bride-he won't let you.
[Apart to Bevil.
Bevil. Are you sure of that?
[Apart to Humphrey.
Hum. How he likes being prevented! [Aside.
Sir J. No, no; you are an hour or two too
early; [Looking on his Watch] besides, this
Sealand is a moody old fellow. There's no
dealing with some people, but by managing
with indifference. We must leave to him the
conduct of this day; it is the last of his com-
manding his daughter.
creature, she lost her liberty and life: she and
her family, with all they had, were unfortu-
nately taken by a privateer from Toulon.
Being thus made a prisoner, though as such
not ill-treated, yet the fright, the shock, and
the cruel disappointment, seized with such
violence upon her unhealthy frame, that she
sickened, pined, and died at sea.
Hum. Poor soul! Oh, the helpless infart!
Bevil. Her sister yet survived, and had the
care of her: the captain too proved to have
humanity, and became a father to her; for
having married himself an English woman,
and being childless, he brought home into
Bevil. Sir, he can't take it ill that I am im- Toulon this her little country woman, this or-
patient to be hers.
phan I may call her, presenting her with all
Sir J. Well, son, I'll go myself and take her dead mother's moveables of value to his
orders in your affair. You'll be in the way wife, to be educated as his own adopted
I suppose, if I send to you: I leave your old daughter.
friend with you. Humphrey, don't let him Hum. Fortune here seemed again to smile
stir, d'ye hear. Your servant, your servant. on her.
[Exit.
Hum. I have a sad time on't, sir, between 1) A ship of war to protect the merchant-vessels, which
you and my master; I see you are unwilling,
sailing together in a great number, make what is called
a convoy.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
713
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Bevil. Only to make her frowns more ter- Bevil. Whenever he pleases-Hold, Tom;
rible; for in his height of fortune this captain did you receive no answer to my letter?
too, her benefactor, unfortunately was killed Tom. Sir, I was desired to call again; for
at sea; and dying intestate, his estate fell wholly I was told her mother would not let her be
to an advocate, his brother, who coming soon out of her sight; but about an hour hence
to take possession, there found among his Mrs. Phillis said I should have one.
other riches this blooming virgin at his mercy. Bevil. Very well.
Hum. He durst not sure abuse his power? Hum. Sir, I will take another opportunity;
Bevil. No wonder if his pampered blood in the mean time I only think it proper to
was fired at the sight of her. In short he tell you, that from a secret I know, you may
loved; but when all arts and gentle means appear to your father as forward as you please
had failed to move, he offered too his menaces to marry Lucinda, without the least hazard
in vain, denouncing vengeance on her cruelty, of its coming to a conclusion.-Sir, your most
demanding her to account for all her mainte- obedient servant.
nance from her childhood, seized on her little Bevil. Honest Humphrey, continue but my
fortune as his own inheritance, and was dragging friend in this exigence, and you shall always
her by violence to prison, when Providence find me yours. [Exit Humphrey] I long to
at the instant interposed, and sent me, by hear how my letter has succeeded with Lu-
miracle, to relieve her.
cinda.-Poor Myrtle! what terrors must he be
Hum. 'Twas Providence indeed! But pray, in all this while!-Since he knows she is of-
sir, after all this trouble, how came this lady fered to me, and refused to him, there is no
at last to England?
conversing or taking any measures with him
Bevil. The disappointed advocate, finding for his own service. But I ought to bear
she had so unexpected a support, on cooler with my friend, and use him as one in adversity.
thoughts descended to a composition, which All his disquietudes by my own I prove,
I without her knowledge secretly discharged. For none exceeds perplexity in love. [Exeunt.
Hum. That generous concealment made the
obligation double.
-
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The same.
Enter BEVIL and TOM.
Tom. Sir, Mr. Myrtle.
Bevil. Having thus obtained her liberty, I
prevailed, not without some difficulty, to see
her safe to England; where we no sooner ar-
rived but my father, jealous of my being im-
prudently engaged, immediately proposed this Bevil. Very well. Do you step again, and
other fatal match that hangs upon my quiet. wait for an answer to my letter. [Exit Tom.
Hum. I find, sir, you are irrecoverably fixed
upon this lady.
Enter MYRTLE,
Bevil. As my vital life dwells in my heart; Well, Charles, why so much care in thy
and yet you see what I do to please my father; countenance? is there any thing in this world
walk in this pageantry of dress, this splendid deserves it? you who used to be so gay, so
covering of sorrow. But, Humphrey, you have open, so vacant!
your lesson.
Hum. Now, sir, I have but one material
question.
Bevil. Ask it freely.
Myr. I think we have of late chang'd com-
plexions: you, who us'd to be much the graver
man, are now all air in your behaviour.-
But the cause of my concern may, for aught
Hum. Is it then your own passion for this I know, be the same object that gives you all
secret lady, or hers for you, that gives you this satisfaction. In a word, I am told that
this aversion to the match your father has you are this very day (and your dress con-
proposed you?
firms me in it) to be married to Lucinda.
Bevil. I shall appear, Humphrey, more ro- Bevil. You are not misinformed.-Nay, put
mantic in my answer than in all the rest of not on the terrors of a rival till you hear me
my story; for though I dote on her to death, out. I shall disoblige the best of fathers if I
and have no little reason to believe she has don't seem ready to marry Lucinda; and you
the same thoughts for me, yet in all my ac- know I have ever told you, you might make
quaintance and utmost privacies with her I use of my secret resolution never to marry
never once directly told her that I loved. her for your own service as you please; but
Hum, How was it possible to avoid it? I am now driven to the extremity of imme-
Bevil. My tender obligations to my father diately refusing or complying, unless you help
have laid so inviolable a restraint upon my me to escape the match.
conduct, that till I have his consent to speak, Myr. Escape, sir! neither her merit nor her
I am determined on that subject to be dumb fortune are below your acceptance.-Escaping,
for ever. An honourable retreat shall always do you call it?
be at least within my power, however fortune Bevil. Dear sir! do you wish I should de-
may dispose of me; the lady may repine sire the match?
perhaps, but never shall reproach me.
Hum. Well, sir, to your praise be it spoken,
you are certainly the most unfashionable lover
in Great Britain.
Re-enter TOM.
Myr. No but such is my humorous and
sickly state of mind, since it has been able to
relish nothing but Lucinda, that, though I must
owe my happiness to your aversion to this
marriage, I can't bear to hear her spoken of
with levity or unconcern.
Tom. Sir, Mr. Myrtle's at the next door, Bevil. Pardon me, sir, I shall transgress
and if you are at leisure, would be glad to that way no more. She has understanding,
beauty, shape, complexion, wit-
wait on you.
90

714
[ACT II.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Myr. Nay, dear Bevil, don't speak of her as
if you loved her neither.
Bevil. Why then, to give you ease at once,
though I allow Lucinda to have good sense,
wit, beauty, and virtue, I know another in
whom these qualities appear to me more amiable
than in her.
I
Myr. As how, pray?
Bevil. Why, can't you slip on a black wig
and a gown, and be old Bramble yourself?
Myr. Ha! I don't dislike it. But what shall
do for a brother in the case?
Bevil. What think you of my fellow Tom?
The rogue's intelligent, and is a good mimic;
Myr. There you spoke like a reasonable all his part will be but to stutter heartily, for
and goodnatured friend. When you acknow- that's old Target's case.-Nay, it would be an
ledge her merit, and own your prepossession immoral thing to mock him, were it not that
for another, at once you gratify my fondness, his impatience is the occasion of its breaking
and cure my jealousy.
out to that degree. The conduct of the scene
will chiefly lie upon you.
Bevil. But all this while you take no notice,
you have no apprehension of another man that
has twice the fortune of either of us.
Myr. I like it of all things; if you'll send
Tom to my chambers, I will give him full
Myr. Cimberton? Hang him, a formal, phi- instructions. This will certainly give me oc-
losophical, pedantic coxcomb!-for the sot,casion to raise difficulties, to puzzle or con-
with all these crude notions of divers things, found her project for awhile at least.
under the direction of great vanity, and very Bevil. I warrant you success; so far we
little judgment, shows his strongest bias is are right then. And now, Charles, your ap-
avarice; which is so predominant in him, that prehension of my marrying her is all you
he will examine the limbs of his mistress with have to get over.
the caution of a jockey, and pays no more Myr. Dear Bevil! though I know you are
compliment to her personal charms than if my friend, yet, when I abstract myself from
she were a mere breeding animal.
my own interest in the thing, I know no ob-
Bevil. Are you sure that is not affected? jection she can make to you, or you to her,
I have known some women sooner set on and therefore hope-
fire by that sort of negligence, than by all the Bevil. Dear Myrtle! I am as much obliged
blaze and ceremony of a court.
to you for the cause of your suspicion, as I
am offended at the effect; but be assured I
am taking measures for your certain security,
and that all things with regard to me will
end in your entire satisfaction.
Myr. No, no, hang him! the rogue has no
art; it is pure simple insolence and stupidity.
Bevil. Yet with all this I don't take him
for a fool.
Myr. I own the man is not a natural; he Myr. Well, I'll promise you to be as easy
has a very quick sense, though a very slow and as confident as I can: though I cannot
understanding; he says indeed many things but remember that I have more than life at
that want only the circumstances of time and stake on your fidelity.
[Going
place to be very just and agreeable.
Bevil. Then depend upon it you have no
Bevil. Well, you may be sure of me if you chance against you.
can disappoint him; but my intelligence says, Myr. Nay, no ceremony; you know I must
the mother has actually sent for the con- be going.
[Exit.
veyancer to draw articles for his marriage Bevil. Well, this is another instance of the
with Lucinda, though those for mine with her perplexities which arise too in faithful friend-
are, by her father's order, ready for signing; ship. But all this while poor Indiana is tor-
but it seems she has not thought fit to con- tured with the doubt of me. I'll take this op-
sult either him or his daughter in the matter. portunity to visit her; for though the religious
Myr. Pshaw! a poor troublesome woman!-vow I have made to my father restrains me
Neither Lucinda nor her father will ever be from ever marrying without his approbation,
brought to comply with it; besides, I am sure yet that confines me not from seeing a virtuous
Cimberton can make no settlement upon her woman, that is the pure delight of my eyes,
without the concurrence of his great uncle, and the guiltless joy of my heart. But the
sir Geoffry, in the west.
best condition of human life is but a gentler
misery.
Bevil. Well, sir, and I can tell you that's
the very point that is now laid before her
counsel, to know whether a firm settlement
can be made without this uncle's actually
joining in it.-Now, pray consider, sir, when
my affair with Lucinda comes, as it soon must,
to an open rupture, how are you sure that
Cimberton's fortune may not then tempt her
father too to hear his proposals?
Myr. There you are right indeed; that must
be provided against.-Do you know who are
her counsel?
To hope for perfect happiness is vain,
And love has ever its allays of pain. [Exit.
SCENE II.-INDIANA'S Lodgings.
Enter ISABELLA and INDIANA.
Isa. Yes-I say 'tis artifice, dear child! I
say to thee, again and again, 'tis all skill and
management.
Ind. Will you persuade me there can be
an ill design in supporting me in the condi-
tion of a woman of quality; attended, dress'd,
Bevil. Yes, for your service, I have found and lodg'd like one in my appearance abroad,
out that too; they are sergeant Bramble and and my furniture at home every way in the
old Target.-By the way, they are neither of most sumptuous manner; and he that does it
'em known in the family; now I was thinking has an artifice, a design in it?
why you might not put a couple of false
counsel upon her, to delay and confound matters
Isa. Yes, yes.
Ind. And all this without so much as ex-
a little; besides, it may probably let you into plaining to me that all about me comes from
the bottom of her whole design against you. him.

SCENE 2.]
715
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Isa. Ay, ay, the more for that; that keeps themselves more ridiculous; his actions are
the title to all you have the more in him. the result of thinking, and he has sense enough
Ind. The more in him!-he scorns the to make even virtue fashionable.
thought-
Isa. Then he-he-he-
Isa. Come, come, if he were the honest
fool you take him for, why has he kept you
Ind. Well, be not so eager. If he is an here these three weeks, without sending you
ill man let's look into his stratagems; here is to Bristol in search of your father, your family,
another of them. [Shows a Letter Here's and your relations?
two hundred and fifty pounds in bank notes. Ind. I am convinced he still designs it; be-
Why, dear aunt, now here's another piece of sides, has he not writ to Bristol? and has not
skill for you, which I own I cannot compre-he advice that my father has not been heard
hend; and it is with a bleeding heart I hear of there almost these twenty years?
you say any thing to the disadvantage of Mr. Isa. All sham, mere evasion; he is afraid,
Bevil. When he is present I look upon him if he should carry you thither, your honest
as one to whom I owe my life, and the sup- relations may take you out of his hands, and
port of it; then again, as the man who loves so blow up all his wicked hopes at once.
me with sincerity and honour. When his Ind. Wicked hopes! Did I ever give him
eyes are cast another way, and I dare survey any such?
him, my heart is painfully divided between Isa. Has he ever given you any honest ones?
shame and love. I say thus it is with me while Can you say in your conscience he has ever
I see him; and in his absence, I am enter- once offered to marry you?
tained with nothing but your endeavours to Ind. No; but by his behaviour I am con-
tear this amiable image from my heart, and vinced he will offer it the moment 'tis in his
in its stead to place a base dissembler, an art-power, or consistent with his honour, to make
ful invader of my happiness, my innocence, such a promise good to me.
my honour.
Isa. His honour!
Isa. Ah, poor soul! has not his plot taken? Ind. I will rely upon it; therefore desire
Don't you die for him? has not the way he you will not make my life uneasy by these
has taken been the most proper with you? ungrateful jealousies of one to whom I am
Oh, ho! he has sense, and has judged the and wish to be obliged; for from his integrity
thing right.
alone I have resolved to hope for happiness.
Ind. Go on then, since nothing can answer
you; say what you will of him.-Heigho!
Isa. Nay, I have done my duty; if you
won't see, at your peril be it.
[Exit.
Isa. Heigho! indeed. It is better to say so Ind. Let it be. - This is his hour of visiting
as you are now, than as many others are. me. [Aside] All the rest of my life is but
There are among the destroyers of women waiting till he comes: I live only when I'm
the gentle, the generous, the mild, the affable, with him.
the humble; who all, soon after their success Isa. Well, go thy way, thou wilful inno-
in their designs, turn to the contrary of those cent! I once had almost as much love for a
characters. They embrace without love, they man who poorly left me to marry an estate;
make vows without conscience of obligation; and I am now, against my will, what they
they are partners, nay, seducers, to the crime, call an old maid: but I will not let the pee-
wherein they pretend to be less guilty. vishness of that condition grow upon me; only
Ind. That's truly observed. [Aside] But keep up the suspicion of it to prevent this
what's all this to Bevil?
creature's being any other than a virgin, ex-
cept upon proper terms.
[Exit.
Isa. This is to Bevil and all mankind.
Won't you be on your guard against those
who would betray you? won't you doubt those Re-enter INDIANA, speaking to a Servant.
who would contemn you for believing 'em?-
Such is the world, and such (since the beha- Ind. Desire Mr. Bevil to walk in.-Design!
viour of one man to myself) have I believed impossible! a base, designing mind could ne-
all the rest of the sex.
[Aside. ver think of what he hourly puts in practice;
Ind. I will not doubt the truth of Bevil, I and yet, since the late rumour of his marriage,
will not doubt it; he has not spoken it by an he seems more reserved than formerly; he
organ that is given to lying: his eyes are all sends in too before he sees me, to know if
that have ever told me that he was mine. I am at leisure. Such new respect may cover
know his virtue, I know his filial piety, and coldness in the heart. It certainly makes me
ought to trust his management with a father thoughtful.-I'll know the worst at once. I'll
to whom he has uncommon obligations. What lay such fair occasions in his way, that it shall
have I to be concerned for? My lesson is very be impossible to avoid an explanation; for
short. If he takes me for ever, my purpose these doubts are insupportable.--But see he
of life is only to please him; if he leaves me, comes and clears them all.
(which heaven avert!) I know he'll do it no-
bly; and I shall have nothing to do but to
learn to die, after worse than death has hap-
pened to me.
Enter BEVIL.
I am
Bevil. Madam, your most obedient.
afraid I broke in upon your rest last night;
Isa. Ay, do persist in your credulity! flatter 'twas very late before we parted; but 'twas
yourself that a man of his figure and fortune your own fault; I never saw you in such
will make himself the jest of the town, and agreeable humour.
marry a handsome beggar for love.
Ind. I am extremely glad we were both
Ind. The town! I must tell you, madam, pleased; for I thought I never saw you better
the fools that laugh at Mr. Bevil will but make company.
1

716
[ACT II.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Bevil. Me, madam? you rally; I said very naments of the whole creation; to be con-
little.
scious that from his superfluity an innocent,
Ind. But I am afraid you heard me say a a virtuous spirit is supported above the temp-
great deal; and when a woman is in the talk-tations, the sorrows of life; that he sees sa-
ing vein, the most agreeable thing a man can tisfaction, health, and gladness in her coun-
do, you know, is to have patience to hear her. tenance, while he enjoys the happiness of see-
Bevil. Then it's a pity, madam, you should ing her (as that I will suppose too, or he
ever be silent, that we might be always agree- must be too abstracted, too insensible): I say,
able to one another.
if he is allowed to delight in that prospect,
alas! what mighty matter is there in all this?
Ind. No mighty matter in so disinterested
a friendship.
Ind. If I had your talent or power to make
my actions speak for me, I might indeed be
silent, and yet pretend to something more than
the agreeable.
Bevil. Disinterested! I can't think him so.
Bevil. If I might be vain of any thing in Your hero, madam, is no more than what
my power, madam, it is that my understand- every gentleman ought to be, and I believe
ing from all your sex has marked you out as very many are: he is only one who takes
the most deserving object of my esteem. more delight in reflections than in sensations;
Ind. Should I think I deserve this, it were he is more pleased with thinking than eating;
enough to make my vanity forfeit the very that's the utmost you can say of him. Why,
esteem you offer me.
madam, a greater expense than all this men
lay out upon an unnecessary stable of horses.
Ind. Can you be sincere in what you say?
Bevil. You may depend upon it, if you
know any such man, he does not love dogs
inordinately.
Bevil. How so, madam?
Ind. Because esteem is the result of reason;
and to deserve it from good sense the height
of human glory. Nay, I had rather a man of
honour should pay me that, than all the ho-
mage of a sincere and humble love.
Bevil. You certainly distinguish right, ma-
dam; love often kindles from external merit
only.
Ind. But esteem arises from a higher source,
the merit of the soul.
Bevil. True; and great souls only can de-
I serve it.
[Bows respectfully.
Ind. Now I think they are greater still that
can so charitably part with it.
Bevil. Now, madam, you make me vain,
since the utmost pride and pleasure of my
life is that I esteem you-as I ought.
Ind. No, that he does not.
Bevil. Nor cards nor dice.
Ind. No.
Bevil. Nor bottle companions.
Ind. No.
Bevil. Nor loose women.
Ind. No, I'm sure he does not.
Bevil. Take my word then, if your admired
hero is not liable to any of these kind of de-
mands, there's no such pre-eminence in this
as you imagine: nay, this way of expense
you speak of is what exalts and raises him
that has a taste for it, and at the same time
Ind. As he ought! Still more perplexing! his delight is incapable of satiety, disgust, or
he neither saves nor kills my hope. [Aside. penitence.
Bevil. But, madam, we grow grave, me-
Ind. But still I insist his having no private
thinks. Let's find some other subject.-Pray interest in the action makes it prodigious, al-
how did you like the opera last night? most incredible.
Ind. First give me leave to thank you for
my tickets.
Bevil. Dear madam, I never knew you more
mistaken. Why, who can be more an usurer
Bevil. Oh! your servant, madam.
than he who lays out his money in such va-
Ind. Now once more, to try him. [Aside] luable purchases? If pleasure be worth pur-
I was saying just now, I believe, you would chasing, how great a pleasure is it to him
never let me dispute with you, and I dare who has a true taste of life to ease an aching
say it will always be so: however, must heart, to see the human countenance lighted
have your opinion upon a subject which cre- up into smiles of joy on the receipt of a bit
ated a debate betwixt my aunt and me just of ore which is superfluous and otherwise
before you came hither. She would needs useless in a man's own pocket! What could
have it that no man ever does any extraordi- a man do better with his cash? This is the
nary kindness or service for a woman, but effect of a humane disposition, where there
for his own sake.
Bevil. Well, madam, indeed I can't but be
of her mind.
is only a general tie of nature and common
necessity; what then must it be when we
serve an object of merit, of admiration?
Ind. What, though he would maintain and Ind. Well, the more you argue against it,
support her, without demanding any thing of the more I shall admire the generosity.
her on her part?
Bevil. Nay then, madam, 'tis time to fly,
Bevil. Why, madam, is making an expense after a declaration that my opinion strengthens
in the service of a valuable woman (for such my adversary's argument. I had best hasten
I must suppose her), though she should never to my appointment with Mr. Myrtle, and be
do him any favour, nay, though she should gone while we are friends, and-before things
never know who did her such service, such are brought to an extremity. [Exit carelessly.
a mighty heroic business?
Ind. Certainly! I should think he must be
a man of an uncommon mould.
Re-enter ISABELLA.
Isa. Well, madam, what think you of him
Bevil. Dear madam, why so? 'tis but at now, pray?
best a better taste in expense. To bestow Ind, I protest I begin to fear he is wholly
upon one whom he may think one of the or- disinterested in what he does for me.
On

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
717
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
my heart, he has no other view but the mere not being her equal, never had opportunity
pleasure of doing it, and has neither good or of being her slave. I am my master's servant
bad designs upon me.
for hire, I am my mistress's from choice, would
of she but approve my passion.
Isa. Ah, dear niece! don't be in fear
both; I'll warrant you you will know time
enough that he is not indifferent.
Ind. You please me when you tell me so;
for if he has any wishes towards me, I know
he will not pursue them but with honour.
Phil. I think it is the first time I ever heard
you speak of it with any sense of anguish, if
you really do suffer any.
Tom. Ah, Phillis! can you doubt after what
you have seen?
Isa. I wish I were as confident of one as Phil. I know not what I have seen nor
t'other. I saw the respectful downcast of his what I have heard; but since I am at leisure,
eye when you catch'd him gazing at you dur-you may tell me when you fell in love with
ing the music. Oh, the undissembled, guilty me, how you fell in love with me, and what
you have suffered, or are ready to suffer, for
look!
Ind. But did you observe any thing really? me.
I thought he looked most charmingly graceful. Tom. Oh, the unmerciful jade! when I'm
How engaging is modesty in a man, when in haste about my master's letter; but I must
one knows there is a great mind within! go through it. [Aside] Ah! too well I re-
Isa. Ah, niece! some men's modesty serves member when, and how, and on what occa-
their wickedness, as hypocrisy gains the re- sion, I was first surprised. It was on the first
spect due to piety. But I will own to you of April, one thousand seven hundred and
there is one hopeful symptom, if there could fifteen, I came into Mr. Sealand's service. I
be such a thing as a disinterested lover; but was then a hobble-de-hoy, and you a pretty,
till-till-till-
little, tight girl, a favourite handmaid of the
housekeeper. At that time we neither of us
Ind. Till what?
Isa. Till I know whether Mr. Myrtle and knew what was in us. I remember I was or-
Mr. Bevil are really friends or foes: and that dered to get out of the window, one pair of
I will be convinced of before I sleep; for you stairs, to rub the sashes clean; the person em-
shall not be deceived.
[Exit. ployed on the inner side was your charming
Ind. I'm sure I never shall, if your fears self, whom I had never seen before.
can guard me. In the mean time, I'll wrap Phil. I think I remember the silly accident.
myself up in the integrity of my own heart, What made ye, you oaf, ready to fall down
nor dare to doubt of his.
into the street?
As conscious honour all his actions steers,
So conscious innocence dispels my
ACT III.
SCENE I. SEALAND'S House.
fears.
[Exit.
Tom. You know not, I warrant you; you
could not guess what surprised me; you took
no delight when you immediately grew wan-
ton in your conquest, and put your lips close
and breath'd upon the glass; and when my
lips approached, you rubbed a dirty cloth
against my face, and hid your beauteous form;
when I again drew near, you spit and rub-
bed, and smiled at my undoing.
Enter Tom, meeting PHILLIS.
Tom. Well, Phillis!-What! with a face
as if you had never seen me before ?What Phil. What silly thoughts you men have!
a work have I to do now! She has seen some Tom. We were Pyramus and Thisbe; but
new visitant at their house whose airs she has ten times harder was my fate: Pyramus could
catch'd, and is resolved to practise them upon peep only through a wall; I saw her, saw my
me. Numberless are the changes she'll dance Thisbe, in all her beauty; but as much kept
through before she'll answer this plain ques-from her as if a hundred walls were between;
tion, videlicet, Have you delivered my mas- for there was more, there was her will against
ter's letter to your lady? Nay, I know her too me. Would she but relent! Oh, Phillis!
well to ask an account of it in an ordinary Phillis! shorten my torment, and declare you
way; I'll be in my airs as well as she. [Asi-pity me.
de] Well, madam, as unhappy as you are at Phil. I believe it's very sufferable; the pain
present pleased to make me, I would not in is not so exquisite but that you may bear it
the general be any other than what I am; a little longer.
would not be a bit wiser, a bit richer, a bit Tom. Oh, my charming Phillis! if all de-
taller, a bit shorter, than I am at this instant. pended on my fair one's will, I could with
[Looks stedfastly at her. glory suffer; but, dearest creature! consider
Phil. Did ever any body doubt, master our miserable state.
Thomas, but that you were extremely satisfied Phil. How! miserable?
with your sweet self?
Tom. We are miserable to be in love, and
Tom. I am indeed. The thing I have least under the command of others than those we
reason to be satisfied with is my fortune, and love. With that generous passion in the heart
I am glad of my poverty: perhaps, if I were to be sent to and fro on errands, called, checked,
rich, I should overlook the finest woman in and rated, for the meanest trifles-Oh, Phillis!
the world, that wants nothing but riches to you don't know how many china cups and
be thought so.
glasses my passion for you has made me
Phil. How prettily was that said! But I'll break: you have broken my fortune as well
have a great deal more before I'll say one as my heart.
word.
Tom. I should perhaps have been
above her had I not been her equal;
[Aside. Phil. Well, Mr. Thomas, I cannot but own
stupidly to you that I believe your master writes and
and by you speak the best of any men in the world

718
[ACT III.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Never was a woman so well pleased with a Phil. No, but he has so much love for his
letter as my young lady was with his, and mistress.
this is an answer to it. Gives him a Letter.
Luc. But I thought I heard him kiss you:
Tom. This was well done, my dearest! why do you suffer that?
Consider, we must strike out some pretty live- Phil. Why, madam, we vulgar take it to
lihood for ourselves by closing their affairs: be a sign of love. We servants, we poor
it will be nothing for them to give us a little people, that have nothing but our persons to
being of our own, some small tenement, out bestow or treat for, squeeze with our hands,
of their large possessions. Whatever they and seal with our lips, to ratify vows and
give us, it will be more than what they keep promises.
Phil. We don't think it safe, any more
than you gentry, to come together without
deeds executed.
for themselves: one acre with Phillis would Luc. But can't you trust one another with-
be worth a whole county without her.
out such earnest down?
Phil. Oh, could I but believe you!
Tom. If not the utterance, believe the touch,
of my lips.
[Kisses her.
Phil. There's no contradicting you. How
closely you argue, Tom!
Luc. Thou art a pert merry hussy.
Phil. I wish, madam, your lover and you
were as happy as Tom and your servant are.
Luc. You grow impertinent.
Tom. And will closer in due time; but I
must hasten with this letter, to hasten towards
the possession of you--then, Phillis, consider Phil. I have done, madam; and I won't
how I must be reveng'd (look to it) of all ask you what you intend to do with Mr.
your skittishness, shy looks, and at best, but Myrtle; what your father will do with Mr.
coy compliances.
Bevil; nor what you all, especially my lady,
Phil. Oh, Tom! you grow wanton and sen- mean by admitting Mr. Cimberton as parti-
sual, as my lady calls it: I must not endure cularly here as if he were married to you al-
it. Oh, foh! you are a man, an odious, filthy, ready; nay, you are married actually as far
male creature! you should behave, if you had as people of quality are.
a right sense, or were a man of sense, like Luc. How's that?
Mr. Cimberton, with distance and indifference;
Phil. You have different beds in the same
and not rush on one as if you were seiz- house.
ing a prey. But hush-the ladies are coming. Luc. Pshaw! I have a very great value for
Good Tom, don't kiss me above once, and be Mr. Bevil, but have absolutely put an end to
gone. Lard! we have been fooling and toy- his pretensions in the letter I gave you for
ing, and not consider'd the main business of him.
our masters' and mistresses'.
Phil. Then Mr. Myrtle-
Tom. Why their business is to be fooling Luc. He had my parents' leave to apply to
and toying as soon as the parchments are me, and by that he has won me and my af-
ready.
fections; who is to have this body of mine
Phil. Well remembered-Parchments. My without 'em, it seems, is nothing to me: my
lady, to my knowledge, is preparing writings mother, says 'tis indecent for me to let my
between her coxcomb cousin, Cimberton, and thoughts stray about the person of my hus-
my mistress, though my master has an eye to band; nay, she says a maid rightly virtuous,
the parchments already prepared between your though she may have been where her lover
master, Mr. Bevil, and my mistress; and I be- was a thousand times, should not have made
lieve my mistress herself has signed and sealed observations enough to know him from ano-
in her heart to Mr. Myrtle. Did I not bid ther man when she sees him in a third place.
you kiss me but once and be gone? but I Phil. That's more than the severity of a
know you won't be satisfied.
nun; for not to see when one may is hardly
Tom. No, you smooth creature! how should possible; not to see when one can't is very
I?
[Kisses her Hand. easy: at this rate, madam, there are a great
Phil. Well, since you are so humble, or many whom you have not seen who-
so cool, as to ravish my hand only, I'll take Luc. Mamma says the first time you see
my leave of you like a great lady, and you a
man of quality. [They salute formally.
Tom. Plague of all this state.
your husband should be at that instant he is
made so. When your father, with the help
of the minister, gives you to him, then you
[Offers to kiss her more closely. are to see him, then you are to observe and
Phil. No, pr'ythee, Tom, mind your busi- take notice of him, because then you are to
ness. Oh, here is my young mistress! [Tom obey him.
taps her Neck behind, and kisses his Fin-
gers] Go, ye liquorish fool. [Exit Tom.
Enter LUCINDA.
Luc. Who was that you were hurrying
away?
Phil. One that I had no mind to part with.
Luc. Why did you turn him away then?
Phil. For your ladyship's service, to carry
your ladyship's letter to his master. I could
hardly get the rogue away.
Luc. Why, has he so little love for his.
master?
Phil. But does not my lady remember you
are to love as well as to obey?
Luc. To love is a passion, 'tis a desire, and
we must have no desires. Oh! I cannot en-
dure the reflection! With what insensibility
on my part, with what more than patience,
have I been expos'd and offer'd to some awk-
ward booby or other in every county of Great
Britain!
Phil. Indeed, madam, I wonder I never
heard you speak of it before with this indig-
nation.
Luc. Every corner of the land has present-
ed me with a wealthy coxcomb: as fast as

SCENE 1.]
719
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
one treaty has gone off another has come on, been a matron of Sparta, one might, with less
till my name and person have been the tittle- indecency, have had ten children, according
tattle of the whole town.
to that modest institution, than one under the
Phil. But, madam, all these vexations will confusion of our modern barefac'd manner.
end very soon in one for all: Mr. Cimberton Luc. And yet, poor woman, she has gone
is your mother's kinsman, and three hundred through the whole ceremony, and here I stand
years an older gentleman than any lover you a melancholy proof of it.
[Aside.
ever had; for which reason, with that of his Mrs. S. We will talk then of business.
prodigious large estate, she is resolved on him, That girl, walking about the room there, is
and has sent to consult the lawyers accord- to be your wife: she has, I confess, no ideas,
ingly; nay, has, whether you know it or no, no sentiments, that speak her born of a think-
been in treaty with sir Geoffry, who, to join ing mother.
in the settlement, has accepted of a sum to Cim. I have observed her; her lively look,
do it, and is every moment expected in town free air, and disengaged countenance, speak
for that purpose.
her very-
Cim. If you please, madam, to set her a
Luc. How do you get all this intelligence? Luc. Very what?
Phil. By an art I have, I thank my stars,
beyond all the waiting-maids in Great Britain; little that way.
the art of listening, madam, for your lady-
ship's service.
Mrs. S. Lucinda, say nothing to him, you
are not a match for him; when you are mar-
Luc. I shall soon know as much as you do. ried you may speak to such a husband when
Leave me, leave me, Phillis; be gone; here, you're spoken to; but I am disposing of you
here, I'll turn you out. My mother says I above yourself every way.
must not converse with my servants, though Cim. Madam, you cannot but observe the
I must converse with no one else. [Exit Phil-inconveniences I expose myself to, in hopes
lis] Here he comes with my mother-it's much that your ladyship will be the consort of my
if he looks at me; or if he does, takes no better part. As for the young woman, she is
more notice of me than of any other move-rather an impediment than a help to a man
able in the room.
of letters and speculation. Madam, there is
no reflection, no philosophy, can at all times
subdue the sensitive life, but the animal shall
sometimes carry away the man-Ha! ay, the
vermilion of her lips!
Luc. Pray don't talk of me thus.
Cim. The pretty enough pant of her bosom.
Luc. Sir! Madam, don't you hear him?
Cim. Her forward chest!
Luc. Intolerable!
Enter MRS. SEALAND and CIMBERTON.
Mrs. S. How do I admire this noble, this
learned taste of yours, and the worthy regard
you have to our own ancient and honourable
house, in consulting a means to keep the blood
as pure and as regularly descended as may be.
Cim. Why, really, madam, the young wo-
men of this age are treated with discourses of
such a tendency, and their imaginations so
bewilder'd in flesh and blood, that a man of
reason can't talk to be understood: they have
no ideas of happiness but what are more gross
than the gratification of hunger and thirst.. Cim. I say, madam, her impatience, while
Luc. With how much reflection he is a we are looking at her, throws out all attrac-
coxcomb!
[Aside. tions-her arms--her neck-what a spring in
Cim. High health!
Luc. The grave, easy impudence of him!
Cim. Proud heart!
Luc. Stupid coxcomb!
Cim. And in truth, madam, I have consi-her step!
dered it as a most brutal custom, that per- Luc. Don't you run me over thus, you
sons of the first character in the world should strange unaccountable-
Cim. What an elasticity in her veins and
go as ordinarily, and with as little shame to
bed, as to dinner with one another. They arteries!
proceed to the propagation of the species as Luc. I have no veins, no arteries!
openly as to the preservation of the individual. Mrs. S. Oh, child! hear him; he talks finely;
Luc. She that willingly goes to bed to thee he's a scholar; he knows what you have.
must have no shame, I'm sure. [Aside. Cim. The speaking invitation of her shape,
Mrs. S. Oh, cousin Cimberton! cousin Cim- the gathering of herself up, and the indigna-
berton! how abstracted, how refined is your tion you see in the pretty little thing!-Now
sense of things! but indeed it is too true, I am considering her on this occasion but as
there is nothing so ordinary as to say, in the one that is to be pregnant; and pregnant un-
best govern'd families, my master and lady doubtedly she will be yearly: I fear I shan't
are gone to bed; one does not know but it for many years have discretion enough to give
might have been said of one's self.
her one fallow season.
[Hides her Face with her Fan. Luc. Monster! there's no bearing it. The
Cim. Lycurgus, madam, instituted other- hideous sot!-There's no enduring it, to be
wise: among the Lacedemonians the whole thus surveyed like a steed at sale!
female world was pregnant, but none but the Cim. At sale!-she's very illiterate; but she's
mothers themselves knew by whom; their very well limb'd too. Turn her in, I see what
meetings were secret, and the amorous con- she is.
gress always by stealth; and no such profess- Mrs. S. Go, you creature, I am asham'd of
ed doings between the sexes as are tolerated you.
[Exit Lucinda, in a Rage.
among us, under the audacious word, mar- Cim. No barm done.-You know, madam,
riage.
the better sort of people, as I observed to you,
Mrs. S. Oh! had I lived in those days, and treat by their lawyers of weddings; [4djusts

720
[ACT III
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
himself at the Glass] and the woman in the shall not show that deed till my client is in
bargain, like the mansion-house in the sale of town.
the estate, is thrown in; and what that is, Cim. You know best your own methods.
whether good or bad, is not at all considered. Mrs. S. The single question is, whether the
Mrs. S. I grant it, and therefore make no entail is such that my cousin sir Geoffry is
demand for her youth and beauty, and every necessary in this affair?
other accomplishment, as the common world
think 'em, because she is not polite.
Myr. Yes, as to the lordship of the Tretri-
plet, but not as to the messuage of Grimgribber.
Cim. Madam, I marry to have an heir to Tom. I say that Gr-gr-, that Gr-gr,
my estate, and not to beget a colony or a Grimgribber, Grimgribber is in us; that is to
plantation. This young woman's beauty and say, the remainder thereof, as well as that of
constitution will demand provision for a tenth Tr-, Tr-, Triplet.
child at least.
Myr. You go upon the deed of sir Ralph,
Mrs. S. But I have given directions for the made in the middle of the last century, pre-
marriage settlements, and sir Geoffry Cimber- cedent to that in which old Cimberton made
ton's counsel is to meet ours here at this hour over the remainder, and made it pass to the
concerning his joining in the deed; which, heirs general, by which your client comes in;
when executed, makes you capable of settling and I question whether the remainder even
what is due to Lucinda's fortune. Herself, as of Tretriplet is in him: but we are willing to
I told you, I say nothing of.
wave that, and give him a valuable conside-
Cim. No, no, no; indeed, madam, it is not ration. But we shall not purchase what is in
usual, and I must depend upon my own re- us for ever, as Grimgribber is, at the rate as
flection and philosophy not to overstock my we guard against the contingent of Mr. Cim-
family.
berton having no son. Then we know sir
Geoffry is the first of the collateral male line
in this family, yet-
Mrs. S. I cannot help her, cousin Cimber-
ton; but she is, for aught I see, as well as
the daughter of any body else.
Cim. That is very true, madam.
Enter a Servant, who whispers MRS.
SEALAND.
Tom. Sir, Gr-gr-ber is-
Myr. I apprehend you very well, and your
argument might be of force, and we would
be inclined to hear that in all its parts; but,
sir, I see very plainly what you are going
Mrs. S. The laweyrs are come, and now into; I tell you it is as probable a contingent
we are to hear what they have resolved as to that sir Geoffry may die before Mr. Cimber-
the point whether it is necessary that sir Ge- ton, as that he may outlive him.
offry should join in the settlement, as being Tom. Sir, we are not ripe for that yet, but
what they call in the remainder. But, good I must say-
cousin, you must have patience with 'em. Myr. Sir, I allow you the whole extent of
These lawyers I am told are of a different that argument; but that will go no further
kind; one is what they call a chamber-coun- than as to the claimants under old Cimberton.
sel, the other a pleader: the conveyancer is I am of opinion, that, according to the in-
slow, from an imperfection in his speech, and structions of sir Ralph, he could not dock the
therefore shunned the bar, but extremely pas- entail, and then create a new estate for the
sionate, and impatient of contradiction: the heirs in general.
other is as warm as he, but has a tongue so
voluble, and a head so conceited, he will suf-
fer nobody to speak but himself.
Tom. Sir, I have no patience to be told
that, when Gr-gr-ber-
Myr. I will allow it you, Mr. Sergeant;
but there must be the words, heirs for ever,
to make such an estate as you pretend.
Cim. You mean old sergeant Target and
counsellor Bramble: I have heard of 'em.
Mrs. S. The same. Show in the gentlemen. Cim. I must be impartial, though you are
[Exit Servant. counsel for my side of the question. Were
it not that you are so good as to allow him
Re-enter a Servant, introducing MYRTLE and what he has not said, I should think it very
Tom, disguised as BRAMBLE and TARGET. hard you should answer him without hearing
Gentlemen, this is the party concerned, Mr. him. But, gentlemen, I believe you have both
Cimberton; and I hope you have considered considered this matter, and are firm in your
of the matter.
different opinions: 'twere better, therefore, you
Tom. Yes, madam, we have agreed that it proceed according to the particular sense of
must be by indent-dent-dent-dent- each of you, and give your thoughts distinctly
Myr. Yes, madam, Mr. Sergeant and my-in writing. And, do you see, sirs, pray let
self have agreed, as he is pleased to inform me have a copy of what you say in English.
you, that it must be an indenture tripartite, Myr. Why, what is all we have been say-
and tripartite let it be, for sir Geoffry must ing? In English! Oh! but I forgot myself;
needs be a party. Old Cimberton, in the year you're a wit. But, however, to please you,
one thousand six hundred and nineteen, says, sir, you shall have it in as plain terms as the
in that ancient roll in Mr. Sergeant's hands, law will admit of.
as recourse thereto being had, will more at
large appear.
Tom. Yes, and by the deeds in your hands
it appears that-
Cim. But I would have it, sir, without delay.
Myr. That, sir, the law will not admit of.
The courts are sitting at Westminster, and I
am this moment obiiged to be at every one
Myr. Mr. Sergeant, I beg of you to make of them, and 'twould be wrong if I should
no inferences upon what is in our custody, not be in the Hall to attend one of 'em at
but speak to the titles in your own deeds. I least; the rest would take it ill else: therefore

[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
721
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
I must leave what I have said to Mr. Serge- you have a mind to know whether I can keep
ant's consideration, and I will digest his ar- a secret or no."
guments on my part, and you shall hear from Bevil. And so, by showing him you could,
[Exit. you told him you had one.
me again, sir.
Tom. Agreed, agreed.
Cim. Mr. Bramble is very quick. He parted
a little abruptly.
Tom. Sir-
[Confused.
Bevil. What mean actions does jealousy
make a man stoop to! how poorly has be us'd
Tom. He could not bear my argument; I art with 'a servant to make him betray his
pinched him to the quick about that Gr-gr
-ber.
Mrs. S. I saw that, for he durst not so
much as hear you. I shall send to you, Mr.
Sergeant, as soon as sir Geoffry comes to
town, and then I hope all may be adjusted.
Tom. I shall be at my chambers at my
usual hours.
[Exit.
Cim. Madam, if you please I'll now attend
you to the tea-table, where I shall hear from
your ladyship reason and good sense after all
this law and gibberish.
ACT IV.
master! [Aside] Well, and when did he give
you this letter for me?
Tom. Sir, he writ it before he pulled off
his lawyer's gown at his own chambers.
Bevil. Very well, and what did he say when
you brought him my answer to it?
Tom. He looked a little out of humour, sir,
and said it was very well.
Bevil. I knew he would be grave upon't.
[Aside] Wait without.
Tom. Hum! 'gad, I don't like this: I am
afraid we are in the wrong box here.
[Aside, and exit.
Mrs. S. 'Tis a wonderful thing, sir, that
men of their profession do not study to talk Bevil. I put on a serenity while my fellow
the substance of what they have to say in the was present, but I have never been more tho-
language of the rest of the world; sure they'd roughly disturbed. This hot man, to write
find their account in it.
me a challenge on supposed artificial dealing,
Cim. They might, perhaps, madam, with when I profess'd myself his friend! I can live
people of your good sense, but with the ge- contented without glory, but I cannot suffer
nerality 'twould never do: the vulgar would shame. What's to be done? But first, let me
have no respect for truth and knowledge if consider Lucinda's letter again. [Reads] Sir,
they were exposed to naked view.
-I hope it is consistent with the laws a
Truth is too simple, of all art bereav'd; woman ought to impose upon herself, to
Since the world will, why let it be deceiv'd. acknowledge that your manner of declin-
[Exeunt. ing a treaty of marriage in our family,
and desiring the refusal may come from
me, has something more engaging in it
than the courtship of him who I fear will
fall to my lot, except your friend exerts
Enter BEVIL, with a Letter in his Hand, himself for our common safety and hap-
followed by Toм.
piness. I have reasons for desiring Mr.
Tom. Upon my life, sir, I know nothing of Myrtle may not know of this letter till here-
the matter; I never opened my lips to Mr. seafter; and am your most obliged humble
Myrtle about any thing of your honour's let-reant, LUCINDA SEALAND. Well, but the
ter to madam Lucinda.-
postscript.-I won't, upon second thoughts,
Bevil. What's the fool in such a fright for? hide any thing from you: but my reason
I don't suppose you did. What I would for concealing this is, that Mr. Myrtle has
know is, whether Mr. Myrtle showed any a jealousy in his temper, which gives me
suspicion, or asked you any questions, to lead some terrors; but my esteem for him in-
you to say casually that you had carried any clines me to hope that only an ill effect
such letter for me this morning?
SCENE I BEVIL'S Lodgings.
Tom. Why, sir, if he did ask me any
questions, how could I help it?
which sometimes accompanies a tender love,
and what may be cured by a careful and
unblameable conduct. Thus has this lady
Bevil. I don't say you could, oaf! I am not made me her friend and confidant, and put
questioning you, but him. What did he say herself in a kind under my protection. I can-
to you?
So not tell him immediately the purport of her
Tom. Why, sir, when I came to his cham-letter, except I could cure him of the violent
bers, to be dressed for the lawyer's part your and untractable passion of jealousy, and to
honour was pleased to put me upon, he ask-serve him and her, by disobeying her in the
ed me if I had been to Mr. Sealand's this article of secrecy, more than I should by com-
morning? So I told him, sir, I often went plying with her directions. But then this duel-
thither; because, sir, if I had not said that, he ling, which custom has imposed upon every
might have thought there was something more man who would live with reputation and ho-
in my going now than at another time. nour in the world, how must I preserve my-
Bevil. Very well. The fellow's caution I self from imputations there? he'll forsooth call
find has given him this jealousy. [Aside] Did it, or think it fear, if I explain without fight-
he ask you no other questions?
ing-But his letter; I'll read it again. [Reads]
Tom. Yes, sir-now I remember as we came Sir,-You have used me basely, in corres-
away in the hackney-coach from Mr. Sealands; ponding and carrying on a treaty where
"Tom," says he, "as I came in to your ma-you told me you were indifferent. I have
ster this morning, he bade you go for an an- changed my sword since I saw you; which
swer to a letter he had sent; pray did you advertisement I thought proper to send you
bring him any?" says he.-"Ah!" says I, against the next meeting between you and
"sir, your honour is pleased to joke with me; the injured.
CHARLES MYRTLE.
91

722
[ACT IV.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Re-enter TOM.
you
hardly deserves the name of courage. Slight
Tom. Mr. Myrtle, sir: would your honour inconsiderate man! There is, Mr. Myrtle, no
please to see him?
such terror in quick anger, and you shall
Bevil. Why, you stupid creature, let Mr. know not why be cool, as you know not why
Myrtle wait at my lodgings! Show him up. you have been warm.
[Exit Tom] Well, I am resolved upon my Myr. Is the woman one loves so little an
carriage to him; he is in love, and in every occasion of anger? You perhaps, who know
circumstance of life a little distrustful, which
I must allow for. But here he is.
not what it is to love, who have your ready,
your commodious, your foreign trinket, for
your loose hours, and from your fortune, your
Re-enter Toм, introducing MYRTLE.
specious outward carriage, and other lucky
Sir, I am extremely obliged to you for this circumstances, as easy a way to the posses-
honour. But, sir, you, with your very dis- sion of a woman of honour, you know no-
cerning face, leave the room. [Exit Tom] thing of what it is to be alarmed, to be distract-
Well, Mr. Myrtle, your commands with me? ed, with anxiety and terror of losing more
Myr. The time, the place, our long acquaint- than life. Your marriage, happy man! goes
ance, and many other circumstances which on like common business; and in the interim
affect me on this occasion, oblige me, without you have your rambling captive, your Indian
further ceremony or conference, to desire you princess; for your soft moments of dalliance,
would not only, as you already have, ac- your convenient, your ready Indiana.
knowledge the receipt of my letter, but also Bevil. You have touched me beyond the
comply with the request in it. I must have patience of a man, and I'm excusable in the
further notice taken of my message than these guard of innocence, or from the infirmity of
half lines. I have yours. I shall be at home. human nature, which can bear no more, to
Bevil. Sir, I own I have received a letter accept your invitation and observe your letter.
from you in a very unusual style, but as I Sir, I'll attend you.
design every thing in this matter shall be
your own action, your own seeking, I shall
understand nothing but what you are pleased
to confirm face to face; and I have already 1
forgot the contents of your epistle.
Myr. This cool manner is very agreeable
to the abuse you have already made of my
simplicity and frankness, and I see your mo-
deration tends to your own advantage and
not mine, to your own safety, not considera-
tion of your frieud.
Re-enter TOM.
Tom. Did you call, sir? I thought you did;
heard you speak aloud.
Bevil. Yes; go call a coach.
Tom. Sir-Master-Mr. Myrtle-Friends-
Gentlemen, what d'ye mean? I'm but a ser-
vant, or-
Bevil. Call a coach. [Exit Tom. A long
Pause; they walk sullenly by each other]
Shall I, though provoked to the uttermost, re-
Bevil. My own safety, Mr. Myrtle? cover myself at the entrance of a third per-
Myr. Your own safety, Mr. Bevil.
son, and that my servant too, and not have
Bevil. Look you, Mr. Myrtle, there's no respect enough to all I have ever been receiv-
disguising that I understand what you would ing from infancy, the obligation to the best
be at: but, sir, you know I have often dared of fathers, to an unhappy virgin too, whose
to disapprove of the decisions a tyrant custom life depends on mine? [Aside. Shuts the Door]
has introduced to the breach of all laws, both I have, thank heaven, had time to recollect
divine and human.
myself, and shall not, for fear of what such a
Myr. Mr. Bevil, Mr. Bevil! it would be a rash man as you think of me, keep longer
good first principle, in those who have so unexplained the false appearances under which
tender a conscience that way, to have as much your infirmity of temper makes you suffer,
abhorrence of doing injuries as-
when perhaps too much regard to
point of honour makes me prolong that suf-
fering.
Bevil. As what?
a false
Myr. As fear of answering for 'em.
Bevil. As fear of answering for 'em? But Myr. I am sure Mr. Bevil cannot doubt but
that apprehension is just or blameable accord- I had rather have satisfaction from his inno-
ing to the object of that fear. I have often cence than his sword.
told you, in confidence of heart, I abhorred Bevil. Why then would you ask it first
the daring to offend the Author of life, and that way?
rushing into his presence. I say, by the very Myr. Consider, you kept your temper your-
same act, to commit the crime against him, self no longer than till I spoke to the disad-
and immediately to urge on to his tribunal.vantage of her you loved.
Myr. Mr. Bevil, I must tell you this cool- Bevil. True, But let me tell you, I have
ness, this gravity, this show of conscience, saved you from the most exquisite distress,
shall never cheat me of my mistress. You even though you had succeeded in the
have indeed the best excuse for life, the hopes dispute. I know you so well, that I am
of possessing Lucinda; but consider, sir, I sure to have found this letter about a man
have as much reason to be weary of it, if I you had killed would have been worse than
am to lose her; and my first attempt to re- death to yourself. Read it.-When he is tho-
cover her shall be to let her see the dauntless roughly mortified, and shame has got the bet-
man who is to be her guardian and protector. ter of jealousy, he will deserve to be assisted
Bevil. Sir, show me but the least glimpse towards obtaining Lucinda.
[Aside.
of argument that I am authorised, by my own Myr. With what a superiority has he turn'd
hand, to vindicate any lawless insult of this the injury on me as the aggressor! I begin to
nature, and I will show thee to chastise thee fear I have been too far transported. Is not

SCENE 2.]
723
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
that saying too much? I shall relapse-But I Sir J. My son, sir, is a discreet and sober
find (on the postscript)-With what face can gentleman.
I see my benefactor, my advocate, whom I Seal. Sir, I never saw a man that wenched
have treated like a betrayer? [Aside] Oh, soberly and discreetly that ever left it off;
Bevil! with what words shall I-
the decency observed in the practice, hides
Bevil. There needs none; to convince is even from the sinner the iniquity of it.
much more than to conquer.
Myr. But can you-
Bevil. You have overpaid the inquietude.
you gave me in the change I see in you to-
wards me. Alas! what machines are we! thy
face is alter'd to that of another man, to that
of my companion, my friend.
Myr. That I could be such a precipitate
wretch!
Bevil. Pray, no more.
Sir J. But, my son, sir, is in the eye of
the world a gentleman of merit.
Seal. I own to you I think him so. But,
sir John, I ara a man exercised and experien-
ced in chances and disasters; I lost in my
early years a very fine wife, and with her a
poor little infant: this makes me perhaps over
cautious to preserve the second bounty of Provi-
dence to me, and be as careful as I can of this
child.-You'll pardon me; my poor girl, sir,
is as valuable to me as your boasted son to
you. marts m
Myr. Let me reflect how many friends have
died by the hands of friends for want of tem-
per; and you must give me leave to say, Sir J. Why, that's one very good reason,
again and again, how much I am beholden Mr. Sealand, why I wish my son had her.
to that superior spirit you have subdued me Seal. There is nothing but this strange
with. What had become of one of us, or lady here, this incognita, that can be objected
perhaps both, had you been as weak as I was, to him. Here and there a man falls in love
and as incapable of reason?
with an artful creature, and gives up all the
motives of life to that one passion.
Bevil. I congratulate no us both the escape
from ourselves, and hope the onory of it
will make us dearer friends than ever.
Sir J. A man of my son's understanding
cannot be supposed to be one of them.
Myr. Dear Bevil! your friendly conduct Seal. Very wise men have been so enslav-
has convinced me that there is nothing manly ed; and when a man marries with one of
but what is conducted by reason, and agree-them upon his hands, whether moved from
able to the practise of virtue and justice; and the demand of the world, or slighter reasons,
yet how many have been sacrificed to that such a husband soils with his wife for a month
idol, the unreasonable opinion of men! Nay, perhaps; then good by, madam; the show's
they are so ridiculous in it, that they often over.-Ah! John Dryden points out such a
use their swords against each other with dis-husband to a hair, where he says,
sembled anger and real fear.
Betray'd by honour, and compell'd by shame,
They hazard being to preserve a name;
Nor dare inquire into the dread mistake
Till plung'd in sad eternity they wake.
SCENE II.-St. James Park.
[Exeunt.
Enter SIR JOHN BEVIL and SEALAND.
"And while abroad so prodigal the dolt is,
Poor spouse at home as ragged as a colt is."
Now, in plain terms, sir, I shall not care to
have my poor girl turn'd a grazing; and that
Imust be the case when-
Sir J. But pray consider, sir, my son-
Seal. Look you, sir, I'll make the matter
short. This unknown lady, as I told you, is
all the objection I have to him: but one way
or other he is or has been certainly engaged
Sir J. Give me leave, however, Mr. Sea- to her. I am therefore resolved this very
land, as we are upon a treaty for uniting our afternoon to visit her. Now, from her beha-
families, to mention only the business of an viour or appearance, I shall soon be let into
ancient house. Genealogy and descent are to what I may fear or hope for.
be of some consideration in an affair of this Sir J. Sir, I am very confident there can be
The nothing inquired into relating to my son, that
Seal. Genealogy and descent! Sir John, will not, upon being understood, turn to his
value yourself as you please upon your an-advantage.
sort.
cient house, I am to talk freely of every thing Seal. I hope that as sincerely as you be..
you are pleased to put into your bill of rates lieve it.-Sir John Bevil, when I am satisfied
on this occasion. Yet, sir, I have made no in this great point, if your son's conduct an-
objections to your son's family; it is his mo- swers the character you give him, I shall wish
rals that I doubt.
your alliance more than that of any gentle-
man in Great Britain; and so your servant.
Sir J. Sir, I can't help saying, that what
might injure a citizen's credit, may be no stain
to a gentleman's honour.
[Exit.
Sir J. He is gone in a way but barely ci-
Seal. Sir John, the honour of a gentleman vil; but his great wealth, and the merit of his
is liable to be tainted by as small a matter as only child, the heiress of it, are not to be
the credit of a trader: we are talking of a mar-lost for a little peevishness.
riage; and in such a case, the father of a young
woman will not think it an addition to the ho-
nour or credit of her lover, that he is a keeper-
Sir J. Mr. Sealand, don't take upon you to
spoil my son's marriage with any woman else.
Seal. Sir John, let him apply to any wo-
man else, and have as many mistresses as he
pleases.
SCENE III-BEVIL'S Lodgings.
[Exit.
Enter Toм and PHILLIS.
Tom. Well, madam, if you must speak
with Mr. Myrtle, you shall: he is now with
my master in the library.
Phil. But you must leave me alone with

724
[ACT IV.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
him, for he can't make me a present, nor I person. I was born in the parish where he
so handsomely take any thing from him be- is lord of the manor; I have seen him often
fore you; it would not be decent.
and often at church in the country. Do not
Tom. It will be very decent indeed for hesitate, but come thither. They will think
me to retire, and leave my mistress with ano-you bring a certain security against Mr. Myrtle,
ther man!
and you bring Mr. Myrtle. Leave the rest to
Phil. He is a gentleman, and will treat one me. I leave this with you, and expect-They
properly.
don't, I told you, know you; they think you
Tom. I believe so; but however I won't out of town; which you had as good be for
be far off, and therefore will venture to trust ever, if you lose this opportunity. I must be
you. I'll call him to you.
[Exit. gone; I know I am wanted at home.
Myr. My dear Phillis!
[Catches and kisses her, and gives her
Money.
Phil. What a deal of pother and sputter
here is between my mistress and Mr. Myrtle
from mere punctilio! I could, any hour of
the day, get her to her lover, and would do Phil. Oh, fie! my kisses are not my own;
it; but she, forsooth, will allow no plot to you have committed violence; but I'll carry
get him; but if he can come to her, I know 'em to the right owner. [Tom kisses her
she would be glad of it. I must therefore do Come, see me down stairs, [To Tom] and
her an acceptable violence, and surprise her leave the lover to think of his last game for
into his arms. I am sure I go by the best the prize. [Exeunt Tom and Phillis.
rule imaginable: if she were my maid, I should Myr. I think I will instantly attempt this
think her the best servant in the world for wild expedient. But I am so mortified at this
doing so by me.
Re-enter Tom, with MYRTLE.
Oh, sir! you and Mr. Bevil are fine gentle-
men, to let a lady remain under such diffi-
culties as my poor mistress, and not attempt
to set her at liberty, or release her from the
danger of being instantly married to Cim-
berton.
Myr. Tom has been telling-but what is to
be done?
Phil. What is to be done?-When a man
can't come at his mistress, why can't you fire
our house, or the next house to us, to make
us run out, and you take us?
Myr. How, Mrs. Phillis?
Phil. Ay, let me see that rogue deny to
fire a house, make a riot, or any other little
thing, when there were no other way to come
at me.
I
conduct of mine towards poor Bevil: he must
think meanly of me. I know not how to
reassume myself, and be in spirit enough for
such an adventure as this; yet I must attempt
it, if it be only to be near Lucinda under her
present perplexities; and sure-
The next delight to transport with the fair,
Is to relieve her in her hours of care. [Exit,
ACT V.
SCENE I.-SEALAND'S House.
Enter PHILLIS, with Lights, before MYRTLE,
disguised like SIR GEOFFRY CIMBERTON;
supported by MRS. SEALAND, LUCINDA,
and CIMBERTON.
Mrs. S. Now I have seen you thus far, sir
Geoffry, will you excuse me a moment while
give my necessary orders for your accom-
modation?
[Exit.
Tom. I am obliged to you, madam.
Myr. I have not seen you, cousin Cimber-
Phil. Why, don't we hear every day of ton, since you were ten years old; and as it
people's hanging themselves for love, and won't is incumbent on you to keep up your name
they venture the hazard of being hanged for and family, I shall upon very reasonable terms
love?-Oh! were I a man-
join with you in a settlement to that purpose,
though I must tell you, cousin, this is the first
merchant that has married into our house.
Myr. What manly thing would you have
me undertake, according to your ladyship's
notion of a man?
Phil. Only be at once what one time or
other you may be, and wish to be, and
must be.
Luc. Deuce on 'em! am I a merchant be-
cause my father is?
[Aside.
Myr. But is he directly a trader at this time?
Cim. There's no hiding the disgrace, sir;
Myr. Dear girl! talk plainly to me, and he trades to all parts of the world.
consider I, in my condition, can't be in very
good humour. You say, to be at once what
must be.
Myr. We never had one of our family be-
fore who descended from persons that did
any thing.
name, and no harm done.
Phil. Ay, ay; I mean no more than to be Cim, Sir, since it is a girl that they have,
an old man. In a word, old sir Geoffry Cim-I am, for the honour of my family, willing
nerton is every hour expected in town to join to take it in again, and to sink her into our
in the deeds and settlements for marrying Mr.
Cimberton. He is half blind, half lame, half
deaf, half dumb; though, as to his passions
and desires, he is as warm and ridiculous as
when in the heat of youth.
Myr. "Tis prudently and generously resolv-
ed.-Is this the young thing?
Cim. Yes, sir.
Phil. Good madam! don't be out of hu-
Tom. Come, to the business; and don't mour, but let them run to the utmost of their
keep the gentleman in suspense for the plea- extravagance-Hear them out.
sure of being courted, as you serve me.
[Apart to Lucinda.
Phil. I saw you at the masquerade act such Myr. Can't I see her nearer? my eyes are
a one to perfection. Go and put on that very but weak.
habit, and come to our house as sir Geoffry. Phil. Beside, I am sure the uncle has some-
There is not one there but myself knows his thing worth your notice. I'll take care to

SCENE 3.]
725
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Mrs. S. That was kindly done. Alas, sir,
how do you find yourself?
get off the young one, and leave you to ob-
serve what may be wrought out of the old
one for your good. [Apart, and exit. Myr. Never I was taken in so odd a way in
Cim. Madam, this old gentleman, your great my life- Pray lead me-Oh, I was talking
uncle, desires to be introduced to you, and here-Pray carry me-to my cousin Cimber-
to see you nearer-Approach, sir.
ton's young lady- [Cimberton and Lucinda
lead him as one in Pain.
Cim. Plague, uncle, you will pull my ear
Myr. By your leave, young lady-[Puts
on Spectacles]-Cousin Cimberton, she has
exactly that sort of neck and bosom for which off!
my sister Gertrude was so much admired in
the year sixty-one, before the French dresses death!
first discovered any thing in women below
the chin. You
Luc. Chin, quotha! I don't believe my pas-
sionate lover there knows whether I have one
or not. Ha, ha!
Cim. Madam, I would not willingly offend;
but I have a better glass-
[Pulls out a large Glass.
Re-enter PHILLIS.
Luc. Pray, uncle, you will squeeze me to
Mrs. S. No matter, no matter; he knows
not what he does. Come, sir, shall I help
you out?
Myr. By no means; I'll trouble nobody but
my young cousins here.
[Exeunt.
[Cimberton and Lucinda leading Myrtle.
SCENE II.--Charing Gross.
Enter SEALAND and HUMPHREY.
Phil. Sir, my lady desires to show the Seal. I am very glad, Mr. Humphrey, that
apartment to you that she intends for sir you agree with me, that it is for our com-
Geoffry.
[To Cimberton. mon good I should look thoroughly into this
Cim. Well, sir, by that time you have suf- matter.
ficiently gazed and sunned yourself in the beau- Hum. I am indeed of that opinion; for
ties of my spouse there, I will wait on you there is no artifice, nothing concealed in our
again. [Exeunt Cimberton and Phillis. family, which ought in justice to be known.
Myr. Were it not, madam, that I might I need not desire you, sir, to treat the lady
be troublesome, there is something of impor- with care and respect.
tance, though we are alone, which I would Seal. Master Humphrey, I shall not be rude,
say more safe from being heard.
though I design to be a little abrupt, and
Luc. There is something in this old fellow, come into the matter at once, to see how she
methinks, that raises my curiosity. [Aside. will bear upon a surprise.
Myr. To be free, madam, I as heartily con- Hum. That's the door; sir, I wish you suc-
temn this kinsman of mine as you do, and cess.
[Exit.
am sorry to see so much beauty and merit Seal. [Knocks] I'll carry this matter with
devoted by your parents to so insensible a an air of authority, to inquire, though I make
an errand to begin discourse. [Knocks again.
Enter a Footboy.
possessor.
Luc. Surprising!-I hope then, sir, you will
not contribute to the wrong you are so ge- So, young man, is your lady within?
nerous to pity, whatever may be the interest Boy. Alack, sir, I am but a country boy;
of your family.
I don't know whether she is or noa; but, an'
you'll stay a bit, I'll goa and ask the gentle-
woman that's with her.
Myr. This hand of mine shall never be
employed to sign any thing against your good
and happiness.
Seal, Why, sirrah, though you are a coun-
Luc. I am sorry, sir, it is not in my power try boy, you can see, can't you? you know
to make you proper acknowledgments; but whether she is at home when you see her,
there is a gentleman in the world, whose gra- don't you?
titude will, I am sure, be worthy of the fa-
vour.
Myr. All the thanks I
in your power to give.
desire, madam, are
Luc. Name them, and command them.
Myr. Only, madam, that the first time you
are alone with your lover, you will, with
open arms, receive him.
Luc. As willingly as heart could wish it.
Myr. Thus then he claims your promise!
Oh Lucinda!
Luc. Oh, a cheat, a cheat, a cheat!
Myr. Hush! 'tis I, 'tis I, your lover; Myr-
tle himself, madam.
Luc. Oh, bless me! what rashness and folly
to surprise me so!-But hush-my mother-
Re-enter MRS. SEALAND, CIMBERTON, and
PHILLIS.
Boy. Nay, nay, I'm not such a country lad,
neither, master, to think she is at home be-
cause I see her; I have been in town but a
month, and I lost one place already for be-
lieving my own eyes.
Seal. Why, sirrah, have you learn'd to lie
already?
Boy. Ah, master! things that are lies in the
country are not lies at London; I begin to
know my business a little better than so; but,
an' you please to walk in, I'll call a gentle-
woman to you that can tell you for certain;
she can make bold to ask my lady herself.
Seal. Oh then, she is within I find, though
you dare not say so.
Boy. Nay, nay, that's neither here nor
there; what's matter whether she is within or
no, if she has not a mind to see any body?
Mrs. S. How now, what's the matter? Seal. I can't tell, sirrah, whether you are
Luc. Oh, madam! as soon as you left the arch or simple; but, however, get me a direct
room, my uncle fell into a sudden fit, and-answer, and here's a shilling for you.
and so I cried out for help to support him,
and conduct him to his chamber.
Boy. Will you please to walk in? I'll see
what I can do for you.

726
[ACT V.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
Seal. I see you will be fit for your busi-the fame of your beauty, and the regard
ness in time, child; but I expect to meet with which Mr. Bevil is a little too well known
nothing but extraordinaries in such a house. to have for you, excited my curiosity.
Boy. Such a house, sir! you ha'n't seen it
yet. Pray walk in.
Seal. Sir, I'll wait upon you.
SCENE III
[Exeunt.
INDIANA'S House..
Enter ISABELLA and Footboy.
Isa. So, Daniel, what news with you?
Ind. Too well known to have for me!
Your sober appearance, sir, which my friend
described, made me expect no rudeness, or
absurdity at least.-Who's there?-Sir, if you
pay the money to a servant, 'twill be as well.
Seal. Pray, madam, be not offended; I came
hither on an innocent, nay, a virtuous, de-
Boy. Madam, there's a gentleman below sign; and if you will have patience to hear
would speak with my lady.
Isa. Sirrah, don't you know Mr. Bevil yet?
Boy. Madam, 'tis not the gentleman who
comes every day and asks for you, and won't
go
in till he knows whether you are with
her or no.
me, it may be as useful to you, as you are
in friendship with Mr. Bevil, as to my only
daughter, whom I was this day disposing of.
Ind. You make me hope, sir, I have mis-
taken you: I am composed again. Be free;
say on-what I am afraid to hear. [Aside.
Seal. I fear'd indeed an unwarranted
pas-
Isa. Ha! that's a particular I did not know
before. Well, be who it will, let him come sion here; but I did not think it was in abuse
up to me.
[Exit Footboy. of so worthy an object, so accomplished a
lady, as your sense and mien bespeak: but
Re-enter Footboy, with SEALAND. ISABELLA the youth of our age care not what merit
looks amazed.
Seal. Madam, I can't blame your being a
little surprised to see a perfect stranger make
a visit, and-
and virtue they bring to shame, so they gratify-
Ind. Sir, you are going into very great
errors; but as you are pleased to say you
see something in me that has changed at
Isa. I am indeed surprised.-I see he does least the colour of your suspicions, so has
not know me.
[Aside. your appearance altered mine, and made me
Seal. You are very prettily lodg'd here, earnestly attentive to what has any way con-
madam: in troth, you seem to have every cerned you to inquire into my affairs and
thing in plenty.-A thousand a year, I war- character.
rant you, upon this pretty nest of rooms, and
the dainty one within them.
Seal. How sensibly, with what an air, she
talks.et
[Aside.
[Aside, and looks about. Ind. Good sir, be seated, and tell me ten-
Isa. Twenty years, it seems, have less ef- derly-keep all your suspicions concerning
fect in the alteration of a man of thirty, than me alive, that you may in a proper and pre-
of a girl of fourteen-he's almost still the pared way aquaint me why the care of your
How shall I contain my surprise and daughter obliges a person of your seeming
satisfaction? - He must not know me yet. worth and fortune to be thus inquisitive about
[Aside. a wretched, helpless, friendless-[Weeps]
same.
Seal. Madam, I hope I don't give you any But I beg your pardon; though I am an or-
disturbance? but there is a young lady here phan, your child is not; and your concern
with whom I have a particular business to for her, it seems, has brought you hither. I'll
discourse: and I hope she will admit me to be composed: pray go on, sir.
that favour.
Isa. Why, sir, have you had any notice
concerning her? I wonder who could give
it you.
Seal. That, madam, is fit only to be com-
municated to herself.
Seal. How could Mr. Bevil be such a mon-
ster to injure such a woman?
Ind. No, sir, you wrong him; he has not
injured me: my support is from his bounty.
Seal. Bounty! when gluttons give high
prices for delicates, they are prodigious boun-
Isa. Well, sir, you shall see her; you tiful!
shall see her presently, sir; for now I am as Ind. Still, still you will persist in that er-
a mother, and will trust her with you. [Exit. ror; but my own fears tell me all. You are
Seal. As a mother! right: that's the old the gentleman, I suppose, for whose happy
phrase for one of those commode ladies, who daughter he is designed a husband by his
lend out beauty for hire to young gentlemen good father? and he has perhaps consented
that have pressing occasions. But here co-to the overture, and he is to be perhaps this
mes the precious lady herself: in troth, a very night a bridegroom.
sightly woman!
Enter INDIANA.
Ind. I am told, sir, you have some affair
that requires your speaking with me.
Seal. I own he was intended such; but,
madam, on your account I am determined to
defer my daughter's marriage till I am satis-
fied, from your own mouth, of what nature
are the obligations you are under to him.
Seal. Yes, madam. There came to my Ind. His actions, sir, his eyes, have only
hands a bill, drawn by Mr. Bevil, which is made me think he designed to make me the
payable to-morrow; and he, in the intercourse partner of his heart. The goodness and gen-
of business, sent it to me, who have cash of tleness of his demeanour made me misinter-
his, and desired me to send a servant with pret all; 'twas my own hope, my own pas-
it; but I have made bold to bring you the sion, that deluded me. He never made one
morey myself.
amorous advance to me; his large heart and
Ind. Sir, was that necessary?
bestowing hand have only helped the miser-
Seal. No, madam; but to be free with you,lable: nor know I why, but from his mere

[SCENE 1.
727
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
delight in virtue, that I have been his care, let which I bequeathed my wife at our last
the object on which to indulge and please mournful parting.
himself with pouring favours.
Ind. What said you, sir? your wife!
Seal. Madam, I know not why it is, but, I, Whither does my fancy carry me? what
as well as you, am, methinks, afraid of enter- means this new-felt motion at my heart? And
ing into the matter I came about; but 'tis the yet again my fortune but deludes me; for if
same thing as if we had talked never so di-I err not, sir, your name is Sealand; but my
stinctly; he ne'er shall have a daughter of lost father's name was-
mine.
Seal. Danvers, was it not?
Ind. What new amazement! that is indeed
my family.
Ind. If you say this from what you think
of me, you wrong yourself and him. Let not
me, miserable though I may be, do injury to Seal. Know then, when my misfortunes.
my benefactor: no, sir, my treatment ought drove me to the Indies, for reasons too tedious
rather to reconcile you to his virtues. If to now to mention, I changed my name of Dan-
bestow, without a prospect of return; if to vers into Sealand.
delight in supporting what might perhaps be
thought an object of desire, with no other
view than to be her guard against those who
Re-enter ISABELLA.
Isa. If yet there wants an explanation of
would not be so disinterested; if these actions, your wonder, examine well this face; yours,
sir, can, in a careful parent's eye, commend sir, I well remember. Gaze on, and read in
him to a daughter, give yours, sir; give her me your sister Isabella.
to my honest, generous Bevil!- What have Seal. My sister!
I to do but sigh and weep, to rave, run wild, Isa. But here's a claim more tender yet-
a lunatic in chains, or, hid in darkness, mut-your Indiana, sir, your long-lost daughter.
ter in distracted starts and broken accents my
strange, strange story!
Seal. Take comfort, madam.
Ind. All my comfort must be to expostulate
in madness, to relieve with frenzy my despair,
and shrieking to demand of fate why, why
was I born to such a variety of sorrows?
Seul. Oh, my child, my child!
Ind. All-gracious heaven! is it possible?
do I embrace my father?
Seal. And do I hold thee?-These passions
are too strong for utterance. Rise, rise, my
child, and give my tears their way.-Oh, my
sister!
[Embraces Isa.
Seal. If I have been the least occasion- Isa. Now, dearest niece, if I have wronged
Ind. No, 'twas heaven's high will I should thy noble lover, with too hard suspicions, my
be such-to be plundered in my cradle, toss-just concern for thee, I hope, will plead my
ed on the seas, and even there, an infant cap- pardon.
tive, to lose my mother, hear but of my fa-
ther, to be adopted, lose my adopter, then and be yourself the messenger of joy: fly this
plunged again in worse calamities!
instant: tell him all these wondrous turns of
Providence in his favour; tell him I have now
Seal. Oh! make him then the full amends,
Seal. An infant captive!
Ind. Yet then to find the most charming a daughter to bestow which he no longer
of mankind once more to set me free from will decline; that this day he still shall be a
what I thought the last distress; to load me bridegroom; nor shall a fortune, the merit
with his services, his bounties, and his fa- which his father seek's, be wanting. Tell him
vours; to support my very life in a way that the reward of all his virtues waits on his ac-
stole at the same time my very soul itself ceptance. [Exit Isabella] My dearest Indiana!
from me.
Seal. And has young Bevil been this worthy
man?
[Turns and embraces her.
Ind. Have I then at last a father's sanction
on my love? his bounteous hand to give, and
make my heart a present worthy of Bevil's
generosity?
Ind. Yet then again, this very man to take
another, without leaving me the right, the
pretence, of easing my fond heart with tears! Seal. Oh, my child! how are our sorrows
for, oh! I can't reproach him, though the past o'erpaid by such a meeting! Though I
same hand that raised me to this height now have lost so many years of soft, paternal dal-
throws me down the precipice.
liance with thee, yet in one day to find thee
Seal. Dear lady! oh yet one moment's pa- thus, and thus bestow thee in such perfect
tience; my heart grows full with your afflic-happiness, is ample, ample reparation! and
tion! but yet there's something in your story yet again the merit of thy lover-
that promises relief when you least hope it. Ind. Oh, had I spirits left to tell you of
Ind. My portion here is bitterness and his actions, the pride, the joy of his alliance,
sir, would warm your heart, as he has con-
sorrow.
Seal. Do not think so. Pray answer me; quered mine.
does Bevil know your name and family?
Seal. How laudable is love when born of
Ind. Alas, too well! Oh! could I be any virtue! I burn to embrace him.
other thing than what I am!-I'll tear away Ind. See, sir, my aunt already has succeed-
all traces of my former self, my little orna-ed, and brought him to your wishes.
ments, the remains of my first state, the hints
of what I ought to have been.
[In her Disorder she throws away her
Bracelet, which Sealand takes up, and
looks earnestly at it.uilt
Re-enter ISABELLA, with SIR JOHN BEVIL,
BEVIL, MRS. SEALAND, CIMBERTON, MYRTLE,
and LUCINDA.
Sir J. Where, where's this scene of won-
Seal. Ha! what's this? my eyes are not.de-der?-Mr. Sealand, I congratulate, on this oc-
ceiv'd! It is, it is the same; the very brace_casion, our mutual happiness. Your good

728
[ACT V.
THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS.
sister, sir, has, with the story of your Cim. I hope, sir, your lady has concealed
daughter's fortune, filled us with surprise nothing from me?
and joy. Now all exceptions are remo- Seal. Troth, sir, nothing but what was con-
ved; my son has now avowed his love, cealed from myself; another daughter, who
and turned all former jealousies and doubts has an undoubted title to half my estate.
to approbation, and I am told your goodness
has consented to reward him.
Cim. How, Mr. Sealand? why then, if half
Mrs. Lucinda's fortune is gone, you can't say
Seal. If, sir, a fortune equal to his father's that any of my estate is settled upon her; I
hopes can make this object worthy his ac- was in treaty for the whole: but if that's not
ceptance.
to be come at, to be sure there can be no
Bevil. I hear your mention, sir, of fortune bargain. Sir, I have nothing to do but to
with pleasure only, as it may prove the means take my leave of your good lady, my cousin,
to reconcile the best of fathers to my love: and beg pardon for the trouble I have given
let him be provident, but let me be happy.-this old gentleman.
Omnes. Mr. Myrtle!
My ever destined, my acknowledged wife! Myr. That you have, Mr. Cimberton, with
[Embraces Indiana. all my heart.
[Discovers himself.
Ind. Wife!-oh! my ever loved, my lord,
my master!
Myr. And I beg pardon of the whole com-
Sir J. I congratulate myself as well as you pany that I assumed the person of sir Geoffry
that I have a son who could under such dis-only to be present at the danger of this lady's
advantages discover your great merit. being disposed of, and in her utmost exigence
Seal. Oh, sir John, how vain, how weak, to assert my right to her, which if her pa-
is human prudence! What care, what foresight, rents will ratify, as they once favoured my
what imagination, could contrive such blest pretensions, no abatement of fortune shall
events to make our children happy, as Pro- lessen her value to me.
vidence in one short hour has laid before us? Luc. Generous man!
Cim. I am afraid, madam, Mr. Sealand is
a little too busy for our affair; if you please,
we'll take another opportunity.
[To Mrs. Sealand.
Mrs. S. Let us have patience, sir.
Cim. But we make sir Geoffry wait, madam.
Myr. Oh, sir, I'm not in haste.
[During this Bevil presents Lucinda to
Indiana.
Seal. But here, here's our general bene-
factor. Excellent young man! that could be
at once a lover to her beauty, and a parent
to her virtue!
Seal. If, sir, you can overlook the injury
of being in treaty with one who has meanly
left her, as you have generously asserted your
right in her, she is yours.
Luc. Mr. Myrtle, though you have ever had
my heart, yet now I find I love you more,
because I deserve you less.
Mrs. S. Well, however, I'm glad the girl's
disposed of any way.
[Aside.
Bevil. Myrtle, no longer rivals now, but
brothers.
Myr. Dear Bevil! you are born to triumph
over me, but now our competition ceases.
Bevil. If you think that an obligation, sir, rejoice in the preeminence of your virtue,
give me leave to overpay myself in the only and your alliance adds charms to Lucinda.
instance that can now add to my felicity, by Sir J. Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have
begging you to bestow this lady on Mr. set the world a fair example; your happiness
Myrtle.
is owing to your constancy and merit, and
Seal. She is his, without reserve. I beg he the several difficulties you have struggled with
may be sent for.-Mr. Cimberton, notwith-evidently show-
standing you never had my consent, yet there Whate'er the gen'rous mind itself denies,
is, since I saw you, another objection to your The secret care of Providence supplies.
marriage with my daughter.
[Exeunt.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Performed for the first time at Covent-Garden, March 11th, 1824. This piece was dedicated to Mr. Canning, but
the author did not choose to mention his own name; it being, as he says, his first attempt, he had not confidence
enough in his own talents openly to stand the fiat of the severely criticising public. Modesty is in every case to be
commended; but in this he might certainly have dared; for the whole is not only prettily, but well written, characters
finely drawn, and full of good smart repartee. The character of the old Countess is most admirably painted. Tor-
rento in the serenade and prison scenes must be excellent in the hands of Jones. The dandy Cornet is just the proto-
type of the modern puppies, with their monstrous affectation of language; if we add to this the ridiculous pronunciation
with which these man-milliners honour the English language, we shall have an exact antidote to the manly Major
O'Shannon, who blunders out his Irish with the greatest good-humour in the world, till the honour of his country is
attacked, and then he is all fire and flames. Our readers may, perhaps, remember an affair that took place some time
ago, about the 10th. Hussars, in which the officers of that regiment are said not to have conducted themselves with
that manly behaviour, that ought to be the guide of a man of honour and a soldier, and were consequently, in the
eyes of the world, as the Cornet say "utterly nonentified, Muffs and Meerschaums!" We think that there is something
like a reflection on this affair in Torrento, who will have nothing to do with "the abandoned habits of the Hussars,"
nor aspire to be a national benefactor in breaking the regiment. Major O'Shannon's oath of "by the glory of the twen-
tieth," might be divided by two. Whatever this may be, the play is well written; and, if it be but a young pen, we
are inclined to think it must be plucked from the wing of a young eagle, which upon growing a little stronger may
produce us something good.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
729
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
COUNT VENTOSO.
LORENZO, a Captain
COLONEL PISTRUCCI
MAJOR O'SHANNON
CORNET COUNT CARMINE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
TORRENTO.
Sici-
STEFANO.
lian
SPADO.
Hus-
JAILOR.
sars. LAZARO.
PISANIO.
CIVIL OFFICER.
LORENZO'S SERVANT.
OFFICER.
BERNARDO.
COUNTESS VENTOSO.
VICTORIA.
LEONORA:
Serenaders, Turnkeys, Prisoners, etc. Attendants, etc.
SCENE.-Palermo.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-Night. The front of a Villa in
the Suburbs of Palermo. A Shrubbery-
a Balcony.
SPADO enters with Musicians from the
Street.
Spa. THERE, my men of strings and sym-
phonies! Lutes in front. I always make the
light troops take the advance.-[They begin
to tune]-My master is coming-Stand back
-All ready? Now, my lads, the moment the
lady shows the head of her column, close
ranks, and give her a volley of violins. Here's
the Signior Torrento. Arrived just in time,
your honour! [To Torrento, who enters.
Tor. Bravo, gentlemen, well met-forwards
a general discharge,-a raking fire.
[Approaching the Balcony, and speak-
ing towards it.
Come, wake my lady from the honied sleep,
That sits upon her eyes like dew on flowers;
Our song shall be the sun that dries it off.
Spa. [Whispering]-There's light in the
chamber.
Tor.
Let the silver lute,
Not softer than my love, tell of my love:
Then fill the winds of night with harmonies
Solemn as incense, sweet as zephyr's wing
New wet from rosebuds, to petition her
That she would stoop,-an empress-from her
throne,
And listen to the suit of my true love.
Spa. [To the Musicians]-Now level a
mortal canzonet at her casement-a bar-shot ¹).
[Aside,
1st Seren. Sir, shall we sing the Galliard,
or the Allemagne ?
Spa. Is this a wine-house, dog! are these
the tunes
To draw a lady down a ladder?
[The Casement opens.
Tor. See, she's coming; are you prepared?
Spa. Let me alone, Sir, I have been a sere-
nader before now; in my time I would un-
dertake to blow the heaviest Signora in all I
Palermo out of her first sleep.
Tor. Hush! begin-begin.
The SERENADERS sing.
SERENADE. (Italian.)
Oh, lady!
Sweet lady!
Unveil thine eyes;
The stars are dim, the moon is gone,
The hour's for love, and love alone,
Oh, hear its sighs.
LEONORA appears at the Window, and sings.
-(Span.)
Gay Serenaders, away, away!
1) A bar of music.
Maidens must shun you, or be undone;
Cupid's a traitor both night and day;
Oaths are but air, when the heart is won.
Then farewell to his billing and cooing,
The little rogue 's gone, other victims pur-
suing,
So sing, Fal, lal, la, etc.
CHORUS. So sing, Fal, lal.
-
SERENADERS Sing.
Lady of beauty! away, away,
Roses will fade, Time is flying on.
Weep when you must,--when you can, be gay,
Life is too short to be sighing on.
Here at your feet is your Cavalier suing:
Hard hearted beauty, you'll be his undoing!
So sing, Fal, lal, lal, la, etc.
CHORUS. So sing, Fal, lal, la.
[To Leon.
Tor. My adorable!
Leon. Whispering]-Who's there?
Spa. Your adorable.
[To Leon.
Tor. Dog, be quiet! Your Torrento.
[To Leon.
Leon. [Whispering]-What do you want?
I cannot elope-to-night.
Spa. [To Torrento]-What do we want?
(Ask her to lend you some money.) [Aside.
Tor. [To Spado]-Villain!-silence, or I
shall stab you.
Tor. [To Leon]-Lovely Leonora, this is
the propitious moment.
Leon. Ah, deceiver!
[She sighs.
Tor. I must leave Palermo to-night.
Leon. This night? so soon!
Tor. Yes, Leonora, my angel! yes. [He
declaims] Misfortune! desperation! fatality!
disastrous love! wrecked happiness! eternal
constancy! an early grave! (That must do.)
Aside
[Aside.
Leon. Oh, irresistible!
Tor. Yes, divine Leonora, daylight must not
see me in Palermo.
Spa. Or it will see you in gaol. [Aside.
Leon. What cruel chance has done this?
Tor. Ah! [Sighs] (What the deuce shall
say?)
[Aside
Spa. Tell her you killed a Duke in a duel.
Anything will do for a woman.
[Aside to Torrento
Tor. Oh, a deadly rencontre! [To Leon
Leon. Alas! what is to be done? Prudence.
Tor. Yes; I know it all. Prudence! Oh,
farewell!
The image of my love will follow me.
Spa. Aye, and the original, too, if you
don't take care. [Aside
She's coming. [Whispers to Torrento.
Tor. [To Leonora]-And make me miser-
able. [He declaims] Ruin! anguish! sudden
death!
Leon. Are you determined to die?
92

730
[ACT I.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
[Aside.
Spa. A good wife's question!
Tor. Most certainly, and at this moment;
unless we fly together.
[LEONORA suddenly goes in]
Ducats, pauls, pistoles, piastres,
Never in their purse be found.
Here's a roar, etc.
[4 Noise within the House.]
Leon. Undone, undone! farewell for ever
for-till-till to-morrow. [Shuts the Casement.
Tor. Help me to take away this ladder!
Confusion! my old ill luck!
Tor. [To Spado]-The bird's flown.
Spa. [To Torrento]-Aye, to get moss
her nest. Here comes the lady again, and in
marching order.
Leon. Take this, and now-my love!
[Throwing a Bundle to Spado.
Spa. [Taking it up, and speaking to
himself A beauty's baggage! of course, a
bunch of curls-a French novel-a box of
carmine-a bale of Spanish wool-and a bu-
shel of love letters! [To Leon] Ma'am, I don't
feel the purse.
[Torrento brings the Ladder to the
Balcony.
Spa. Sir, I have an instinctive aversion to
ladders.
[Torrento grasps him.
[Voices within] Thieves! murder! fire!
Spa. Fire; do you think I'm bullet proof?
There, there, I'd swear to the cocking of their
pistols.
[Torrento carries off the Ladder to-
wards the Serenaders, who are
grouped in the Distance, Clamour-
ing and Laughing.
Leon. [Flings the Purse down] - There Tor. Well, gentlemen, this is serviceable.
-there-go-come-I am in infinite terror. A pleasant affair; a pretty business you have
Spa. [Puts it in his Pocket]-The doub-made of it. What have you to say for your-
loons-paid into court. Any necklaces, ma'am? selves, you rascals!
any earrings-drops-
[To Leon.
Tor. [To Spado]-What are you picking
up, there?
Spa. Nothing; only a little courage, against
a wicked world.
[Torrento mounting the Ladder-Leo-
nora about to Descend.
[Two step out from the Group.]
1st Seren. Signior, we will be more ser-
viceable still, and see you to your lodgings.
Tor. I'll break every head and fiddle among
you. Begone!
1st Seren. Master, since you won't let us
go with you, perhaps, you will do us the
Tor. My love, the coast's clear, the ladder's honour to go with us. Here, Lazaro. [They
safe. By Cupid's white wings, and Hymen's show him a Warrant] You know the name,
yellow torch! Now-
perhaps?
1st Seren. [To the others]-Aye, now; Tor. The devil!
now's your time to bargain. [Calls to Tor.]
Signior, we cannot stay any longer.
Spa. Aye, his principal creditor. [Aside]
Pll be off; these Serenaders are old hands at
Tor. [To Spado]-Muzzle those miscre- a catch ¹).
ants-Stop their tongues, I say.
[Exit.
1st Seren. We have been looking for you
1st Seren. We will stop neither tongue, a long time, but your tricks were too many
foot, nor fiddle, under ten sequins.
for us. If you will keep running gentlemen
through the body, you must be laid by the
heels for it; that's law. [They drag him along.
Tor. Law! Take of your hands, then, and
let it at least be civil law 2).
Tor. [On the Ladder]-Come, my bewitch-
ing-[To Spado] Here, get rid of them. Give
them these five.
1st Seren. Five, Signior! at half price we
always make it a rule to rouse the neighbour- 1st Seren. Off with him. Move, Signior!
hood. Gentlemen musicians, roar for your Troop! forwards!
money.
[They sing loudly, repeating the Trio.
Tor. What's to be done? my charming,
exquisite, is there nothing to drown them
with? Oh, for a water-spout-a cataract-a
general deluge!
Tor. Then I'll beat the march upon you.
[They drag him out, fighting.
1
SCENE II. VENTOso's House. An Apart-
ment, with handsome Furniture, family
Pictures on the Walls. A japanned li-
queur Chesi; a desk; with a ledger. VEN-
TOSO in a gouty Chair. A Servant at-
tending.
Ven. Why here's a life! The coldest night
o'the spring;
Leon. They will awake the house, farewell.
Spa. [To Torrento]-Master, you had
better give them the other five. They have
their scale of prices. They have their "Se-
ducer," their "Sleeper," and their "General
Disturber."
[Aside. With every blast a quinsey, gout, catarrh;
1st Seren. We'll rouse you three streets at To play the sentinel! Go, call my wife-
a time, Signior.
Bring me that desk.
[To the Servant.
Tor. (Five sequins! The last coin I have And this is to have daughters! Shut the door!
upon earth. Here, here-Spado!) Come, my Twill take a summer to get last night's frost
[To Leonora. Out of my bones. Boy, let me have my cloak.
Spa. [To the Serenaders, as he puts the
[The Sercant goes.
money in his Pocket]-Lads, my master Well! I'm a Count. Pride was the Devil's
says, that if the streets were paved with pi-
enchantress.
sin,
stoles and piastres, he would not give one to It might be left to be his punishment.
save the whole gang of you from the galleys. Then, there's my new estate,-that draws all
1st Seren. Then chorus, gentlemen.
[They sing loudly.-Viva Tutti.]
Here's a roar for all bad masters,
rogues
1) The pun comes from catch being a sort of song;
and the word catch-pole, a bailift.
2) Civil in opposition to military and polite.

SCENE 2.]
731
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
About my house, like drones round honeycombs. |
I wish 'twere in the moon!
There's not a night,
But I am roused by jangling sonnetteers,
Strummers of wire, wild riots, rabble roars :
Better be bankrupt, beggar, nothingness,
Than be thus baited.
Would my ancient friend
Had lived to keep his title to himself,
And left me to my trade.
The COUNTESS enters.]
How now, good wife?
Coun. Good Countess, if you please.
-Due south,-
[Gladly]-From Lisbon and the Straits!
Coun. The Captain's come!
Ven. Bravo! old Bartolo. I'll lay this chest,
Of choice Noyeau, the last of all my stock,
My relic,-to your Ladyship's turquoise,
He brings a glorious cargo!
Coun.
Have you ears?
I
say
Ven.
Lorenzo's come.
That's better still;
Long live the "Golden Dragon"-that's the ship!
Sh'ed beat a dolphin!-
Coun.
Will you let me speak?
Ven. I charter'd her myself, to take in furs
[Haughtily. At the Kamschatkas; then, for cinnamon,
Ven. [Peevishly] Good Countess, then! Touch at Ceylon-make up her diamond bags,
I sent for you to say, this rioting,
Emeralds and silks, along the Malabars-
This cheating of fool's ears with nightly songs, Then, at Benin buy gold-dust, elephants' teeth,
Must have an end. I cannot close my eyes, Sandal, and ambergris.-Lorenzo's come!
With your fine daughter's frolics-I could I bade him, love, remember on his life
To bring a monkey for your Ladyship!
sleep
Better on roaring Etna.
Coun.
Ven. I'll leave Palermo.
Coun.
Sleep in the day.
And for what? (For
Heaven!)
[Aside.
Ven. Countess, I'll not be made a common
prey
Coun. I tell you, that Lorenzo is come back,
Straight from Morocco, he of the Hussars!
Jacinta saw him landing at the Mole,
With half a dozen varlets like himself,
An hour ago. He must not wed my child,
The fellow's blood's plebeian!
Ven. [Agitated] The Hussar!
The world will be let loose. Here's new turmoil;
Here's woman's work! Here's fainting, scolding
[Aside]-Wife,
Did we not make some promise?
To all your fortune-hunters. Must I have
My house turned inside out, my daughters fool'd,
My lungs chok'd up with asthma? -- So, pre-o
I'll build a hut a hundred miles off, wife!
Coun. Here is rebellion. [Aside]-Signior,
spare your speech;
pare!-
I'm mistress here, and have been-
Ven. (Forty years!)
[Aside.
Coun. That was in other times. We're
noble now;
I'll teach him how to deal with Countesses.
Ven. Woman, he may be nobler than we
think.
Coun. If girls are handsome, noble, young Our kinsman, Count Ventoso, as whose heirs
We left old trade for title, (luckless change!)
and rich-
Ven. Satan's about the house! - You're all
the same.-
I'll sell my house and lands.
What's woman's wit,
Gentle and simple, toiling for through life,
From fourteen to fourscore and upwards?
Man!
What are your sleepless midnights for, your
routs,
That turn your skins to parchment? Why,
for Man!
What are your cobweb robes, that, spite
of frost,
Show neck and knee to Winter? Why, for
Man!
What are your harps, pianos, simpering songs
Languish'd to lutes? All for the monster, Man!
What are your rouge, your jewels, waltzes,
wigs,
Your scoldings, scribblings, eatings, drink-
ings, for?
Your morn, noon, night? For man! Aye, Man,
man, man!
[He sits at his Desk.
Coun. [Aside] Here are bold words!-
his ancient spirit's roused;
[Aside.
Favour'd the boy, placed him i' th' fore-
most troop
Of all the Service, nay advis'd this match
Upon his death-bed, not three months ago.
There is some mystery-
Coun. [Angrily]
He's Paulo's son,-
The fisherman's, beside your Cousin's gate!
Ven. But-if Victoria like the man?
Coun.
Like him
She shall be dutiful and hate him, knave!-
But she's my daughter. She has proper pride.
I've talked the business with her; I have a
tongue,
Ven. I know it, (would 'twere dumb!) [Aside.
Whose voice is that?
Coun. Victoria's; you may question her
yourself.
Ven. My brain's too old for love talk.
Come away.
Two women's tongues at once!-St. Anthony!
[Exit.
VICTORIA enters.
Vic. My mind's a tossing sea, wherein my
thoughts,
Here's his o'erflowing torrent of fierce speech, Like tempest-shaken barks, sweep on at chance,
That I had thought dried up this many a day; And perish as they sweep.
Well, take your way, my Lord;
(I'll have that ledger burned.)-[Aside]There's
news arrived.
Ven, News-aye-I should have letters.
How's the wind?
(Italian.)
Love, thou dear deceiver!
Here at length we part;
From this moment, never
Shalt thou wring my heart.
[She sings.

732
[ACT I.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Yet this tear-drop stealing,
Yet this throb of pain,
Tell me, past concealing,
I'm thy slave again.
List'ning saints! befriend me;
Love! my peace restore;
Pride! thy spirit lend me;
All will soon be o'er.
VENTOSO and the COUNTESS hurry in.
Coun. 'Tis he! he's in the porch. Go, turn
him back.
Tell him, I'll not receive him.
Not for a cargo!-
Ven. [Agitated]
I go?-turn?-
Whom?
Lorenzo! girl.
Vic.
Ven.
Vic. Lorenzo!-Heavens!-I dare not meet
him now.
Coun. Where's the child flying to?
Vic.
Let me begone,
Or see me die before you. [She rushes out.
Ven. Let me begone, and deal with him
yourself.
Coun. Here you must stay.
Ven. [Listening] Let me but get my sword;
There's battery and bloodshed in his heels.
LORENZO enters, in high animation.
Lor. My noble father! Countess mother too!
I heard of your good fortune at the port,
And give you joy! I came on wings to you.
Where is Victoria? [They stand sullenly.
Is she ill?
Coun.
Lor. Then, all is well.
Ven.
him?
No! well.
What shall I say to
[Aside
How
go the wars? You've had hard fighting, Sir?
Lor. Blows, as was natural; beds, as it
pleased Fate,
Under the forest-trees, or on the sands,-
Or on the billows. Where's Victoria, mother?
Coun. Mother, forsooth!
Ven. You had rare plundering in Morocco;
-Silks,
The genuine Persian-Cachmere shawls-
Lor.
None, none.
Ven. Bottles of Attar-jewels!
Lor.
Not a stone!
Where is my love? [He calls] Victoria!
Ven. [Gravely]
Hear me, Sir;
Our house has had new honours,-large estates
Have found their heirs in us.
Lor.
Coun. How he flames out!
Ven.
I've heard all this.
It is the custom here
That like shall wed with like-
Lor.
Custom of fools!
No! wise and worldly, but not made for us.
I am plain spoken;-love her-know no art,
But such as is the teaching of true love;
And as I won, will wear her. Count, your hand:
This is to try me.-Yet, what's in your speech,
That thus it hangs so freezing on your lip?
Out with the worst at once. Your answer,
Lord.
Ven. Our name's ennobled.
Coun.
Are you answered now!
My child, unless she find a noble spouse,
Shall die unmarried.
Lor. [In sudden dejection] Is it come
'Tis true, I should have learnt humility:
True, I am nothing; nothing have-but hope!
I have no ancient birth,-no heraldry;-
[Contemptuously]
No motley coat is daub'd upon my shield;
I cheat no rabble, like your charlatans,
By flinging dead men's dust in idiot's eyes;
I work no miracles with buried bones;
With shrivell'd parchments, pluck'd from moul-
I belt no broken and distemper'd shape
dy shelves;
Yet, if I stoop'd to talk of ancestry,
I had an ancestor, as old and noble
As all their quarterings reckon - mine was
Adam!
Coun. 'Twere best stop there, You knew
the fisherman.
By the Palazza!
Ven. [To the Countess]-Will you have
swords out?
[Aside.
Lor. The man who gave me being, though
no Lord,
Was Nature's nobleman,-an honest man!
Unpedestall'd, but on his lowly grave,
And prouder am I, at this hour to stand,
Than if I tower'd upon a monument
High as the clouds with rotten infamy.
[Calls]-Come forth, sweet love! and tell
them how they've wrong'd
Your constant faith.
Ven. [To the Countess, aside]-He'll have
the house down else.
Coun. You shall be satisfied. Now, mark
my words! [She goes out.
Lor. [Turning on Ventoso-What trea-
chery's this?
Your answer, Sir. I'll not be scorn'd in vain!
Ven. Saint Anthony save us! I foresaw
it all-
Left here alone with this-rhinoceros! [Aside.
[To Lorenzo]- Nay, Captain, hear but rea-
son; let's be friends.
My wife-all womankind must have their will-
Please her, and buy a title.
Lor. Title,-fool!
Ven. Then half the world are fools. The
thing's dog-cheap,
Down in the market, fifty below par;
They have them at all prices-stars and strings;
Aye, from a ducat upwards-you'll have choice,
Blue boars, red lions, hogs in armour, goats,
Swans with two necks, gridirons and geese ¹)!
By Jove,
My doctor, nay, my barber, is a knight,
And wears an order at his button-hole,
Like a field marshal.
VICTORIA enters, urged by the COUNTESS.
LORENZO rushes over to her.
Lor. Victoria, love! I hnew thou wert un-
chang'd,
As is thy beauty. Aye, this faithful lip
Keeps its true crimson, and this azure eye,
As blue as heaven, is, far as heaven, above
Our fickleness of nature.
Vic.
Sir! this is painful.
Stand beside me now. [To the Countess, aside.
1) This produces a ludricous effect to a Londoner, these
blue boars, etc. are the signs of some of the well known
inns in London.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
733
PRIDE SHALL HAVE FALL.
We know you- most honour'd gentleman-¡Her hand's like ice.-Those women!
A cavalier accomplished.
You will find
Vic. [Feebly]
Others more worthy of your love.-Farewell- Where's Leonora?
I do beseech you, Sir, forget this day,
And with it-me.
[She sinks into the Countess's Arms.
Coun. [To Lor.]- Are you convinced at
last?
Ven. You see the tide's against you. [To Lor.
Lor.
All's undone!
Victoria, look upon me!-
See the face
Of one to whom you were heart, wealth
and world!
When the sun scorch'd us,-when the forest-
shade,
Worse than the lances of the fiery Moor,
Steep'd us in poisonous dews, -I thought
of you,
[Sustaining her.
Lead me in.
Coun.
Run away, no doubt.
Call her, to help my Lady to her couch.
Ven. [Musing]-Lorenzo's wrath is roused.
He'll find revenge.
He'll loose his comrades at us, hunt us down,
We'll be the scoff o' the city. All's undone.
Coun. The girl shall have a Noble - she's
a match
For a Magnifico.
For any man!
Ven.
Had she her mother's tongue.
[He Calls Leonora.]
LEONORA Comes in.
[Aside.
[Exeunt.
Leon. Did I not hear my name, and loud-
ly, too?
Or was't some spirit hous'd within these walls,
That, hearing it a hundred times a day,
Echoes the sound by instinct?
I kiss'd this picture [Taking out her minia-
ture] and was well again.
When others slept, I follow'd every star,
That stoop'd upon Palermo, with my prayers!
'Twas my name!
In battle with the Moor, I thought of you,
Am I found out? Then, serenades farewell;
Worshipp'd your image with a thousand vows, Love-speeches by the moonlight, and sweet
And would have fac'd ten thousand of their spears
dreams,
To bring back honours, which before your feet, For convent bars and bolts, vespers and veils,
Where lay my heart already, should be laid. Till hope and beauty, like twin flowers, decay.
In health and sickness, peril, victory,
For want of cherishing.
I had no thought untwin'd with your true love.
Coun. [To Ventoso]-Why don't you talk
to him?-
No blood of mine
Shall link with any trooper of them all.
I'll have no knapsacks in my family: [To Lor.
I'll have no barracks, and no Hectors here;
No captains, with their twenty wives apiece,
Scuffling about my house; no scarlet rogues,
Who think their tags and feathers title good
To noble heiresses.
Ven. [Agitated]-Wife, lead her in-
Those women-Oh, those women!-plague
on plague!
[Aside.
[To Lorenzo] Come here again-to-morrow
-when you will-
But leave us now.
[To the Countess] The girl will die.
[To Lorenzo]
LEONORA Sings.-[Spanish.]
Welcome duty,
Welcome
Farewell beauty;
matins, vespers, veils and tapers!
Welcome fasting,
Everlasting;
Welcome quarrels, scandal, sulks and vapours!
Welcome weeping,
Never sleeping;
Farewell dances,
Plays, romances,
With a lira la, etc.
[Slowly.
Turn
their skins blue, green and yellow,
No! let creatures
Without features
Farewell chanting,
Farewell canting,
Good day. Farewell Nuns so meck, and Monks so mellow.
Lor. [To Victoria]-One word.
Vic. My parents have commanded, Sir,
And I-I must-obey them.
[She is overpowered.
Lor. [In anguish]-Faith's gone to heaven.
I should have sworn, the gold
Of India could not thus have slain true love!
Victoria, hear me.
[To Ventoso] Where's your honour, Sir?
[Turning away contemptuously.
No; I'll not stoop my free, recovered heart,
To play the mendicant. Farewell to love:
Henceforth, let venerable oaths of men,
And women's vow's, tho' all the stars of heaven
Were listening,-be forgotten,-light as dust!
Go, woman! [She weeps]-Tears!-aye, all
the sex can weep!
Be high and heartless! I have done with thee!
[Rushes out.
Vic. Lorenzo!-Lost for ever!-
Coun. Would the fool follow him?
Ven.
[She holds her.
Speak kinder, wife,
Welcome wooing,
Billet-douxing,
Cards, quadrilling,
Flirting, killing,
With a lira, la, etc.
ACT II.
[Spiritedly.
SCENE I. A Billiard Room.
-
The COLONEL is beside the Table, betting.
The MAJOR and CORNET playing.
Col. I am not yet in despair, Cornet.
Maj. Be't what you please with him, Colonel,
We have the game,-pauls to pistoles. Play.
[He plays]-Missed it, by the glory of the
Twentieth.
Cor. Here; Marker! hold this meerschaum.
[Giving his Pipe]-Beat me! Spadaccino!
I beat the Venetian marker, who could whis-
per the balls into the pockets; a fellow who
had pillaged the whole Senate ;-Corpo di San
Januario! Beat me?
Maj. The Venetian marker! I have beat
734
[ACT II.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

every marker, from the Hill of Howth to the volve the character of the corps. In a tavern
Peak of Teneriffe. I have brought home this too!
muff [Taking off his Cap] full of ducats Maj. [Sheathing his Sabre] Colonel, I
and doubloons, since I have handled a cue drew merely for quiet's sake.-[Laughing]
in his Sicilian Majesty's service.
And now that it's all over, what the devil
Cor. It was handsomely filled-for once! was it all about?
[To the Cornet.
Play. [He misses]-Diavolo! Confound this Cor. Major, you should have understood
coffee-house game. Hazard and high life for the language of my feelings.
Maj. How should I understand it, my dear?
Maj. Ha, ha! the Cornet is a young soldier: I never heard them speak a syllable before.
be soon tires of being in the way of the balls. Col. Not another word, Major. Here's some
Now for a cannon¹). Play. [He misses]--one at the door. This quarrel must not be
That's all ill luck.
made a town-talk. [Lorenzo enters, and
Cor. Cannon!-muffs and meerschaums-throws himself on a Chair, dejectedly] Oh,
you always fire great guns. Play. [He plays] it's Lorenzo! why, man, what's the matter
-Mark two.
[To the Marker. with you?-any bad news, Captain?
me!
Maj. [Angrily] Great guns! That is, I[The Cornet and Major return to the Table]
imagine-
Cor. The sublime dejection of a disastrous
[Aside to the Major.
Cor. [Interrupting him]-Rather-
Maj. That I exaggerate, [More irritated.
Cor. Very generously.
Maj. That I colour 2).
Cor. Never!-no man alive can charge you
with a propensity to blushing.
Maj. Count Carmine-I have never found
occasion for it. I wish I could say as much
for all my friends, Cornet my dear.
Cor. Diavolo! Do you mean to insult me?
This hurts my honour.
love.
Cor. [Plays]-Game.
Col. Lorenzo, will you play?
Lor. Excuse me, Colonel; I am not in spi-
rits; I beg I may not disturb any one.
Cor. Quite gone out! Dull as a select
party of the first distinction, 'pon honour.
Col. Stir, Lorenzo! This doubloon for the
doctor who will find out his distemper.
[Flinging Money on the Table.
Maj. Poh! it's the military epidemic-the
Maj. By the glory of the Twentieth, no man coming on of the half-pay;-a cursed com-
can cure it easier-plaster it with your vanity. plication of disorders.
Cor. Draw, Sir!
Lor. [Gradually recovering] The simple
Maj. The Cornet has got his fighting fact is, my good friends, I am rather out of
moustaches on-I must humour him. Draw, temper just now-I have been extremely in-
Sir! Here goes my bill of exchange.
sulted.
Col. What are you both about? [Inter-
posing]-Cornet, I must request -- We shall
be taken for a fighting regiment.
Cor. Impossible!-Excuse me, Colonel. [He
takes off his cap to the Colonel, and glances
within it.]-My mirror! the left moustache
quite dishevelled.
Maj. The coxcomb's at his looking glass,
by the glory of the Twentieth!
All. Insulted!
Maj. You had a fair thrust for it, I hope?
[Sternly.
Lor. No, confound it, that was out of the
question. 'Twas by a woman.
Cor. Oh, jilted! nothing more? Ha, ha! It
might have happened to the handsomest man
in the service; for example - But on what
grounds were you turned out? [To Lorenzo.
Lor. Turned out, Sir?
Cor. [Arranging his Moustachio] - One
moment, You would not have a gentleman
fight, like a footman, in a state of utter bru-patriated, made horrible.
tality-all blowse.
Cor. Mille pardons! I mean, exiled, ex-
Maj. Come on, Sir.
Col. Eh?-The infidelity all on one side, I
suppose,-or-
Cor. Were you miscellaneous in the house?
Pray, who is the fair deceiver, after all?
Lor. Old Ventoso's daughter. Now let me
alone.
Cor. [To the Major] I make it a rule ne- Maj. Were you in doubt whether you
ver to be disturbed at my toilet. [To the Co-were most in love with the daughter, the
lonel] My beard's three quarters of an hour mother, or the grandmother?
too dark. Now, Sir, to correct insolence!
[He draws his Sabre.
Maj. Now, Sir! to chastise insolence past
correction! [They fight a few passes--the
Colonel and other Officers interpose.
Col. He by the public gardens: the late
Col. Gentlemen, gentlemen, put up your merchant indeed?
[Haughtily.
swords. Fight in the street, if you will. If Maj. Old Figs and Raisins? Ha, ha, ha!
one of you be killed here, we shall have the Cor. Absolutely:-old Allspice and Sugar-
quarrel put in the bill 3).-[Laughing] Offi-canes! Muffs and meerschaums!
cers, I command you to stop. This will in-
1) Carambolage.
Col. So, Captain, the old trafficker refused
to take you into the firm? [Haughtily.
2) To colour is the genteel word for exaggerate, or lie;
but the last word is absolutely proscribed in England,
under pain of a duel followed by death at least.
5) A company of Englishmen being assembled at dinner,
the Waiter fell down in a fit; a wager was instantly
laid, that the poor fellow would die, and on the other
side that he would not; the doctor arriving, was
hindered from interfering, and told of the bet: "But might have turned to trade
the man will die," said the doctor, "Oh! never mind,
Maj. The veteran grocer did not like the
green recruit. Ha, ha!
Cor. The green!-superb! How pictures-
que!-The Major's from the Emerald Isle ¹).
[They laugh.
Twentieth! you
in your full uni-
[To Lorenzo.
Maj. By the glory of the
put him in the bill," was the answer: i, e. charge it form, my boy.
to our account.
1) Ireland is called the green or Emerald isle.

SCENE 2.]
735-
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Cor. Hung out your shabrac for an apron.
Maj. Cut soap with your sabre.
Col. And made a scale of your sabretache.
Maj. For the regular sale and delivery of
salt, pepper,
Col. And Indigo.
Cor. No; that's for the Blues¹),
Maj. And eyes, like hock in green glasses.
Col. With, as I presume, no small share
of the Tartar at bottom.
Cor. Tartar! Muffs and meerschaums! Hot-
tentot!
Lor. [Starting from his Chair]-Colonel!
I can listen to this no longer. I insist upon
Lor. Gentlemen, I find I must bid you it that the subject shall be dropped. You
good night. This depresses-this offends me. don't know the lady. She's lovely, incom-
I'm in no temper for jesting.
parable.
Maj. Aye, aye, a Venus of course.
[Half aside.
Cor. Yes, if ever there was one at the Cape 1).
[Half aside.
Col. Poh! Lorenzo, no parting in ill hu-
mour. We all know you to be a capital,
high-flavour'd fellow; but, as one of us, you
might have consulted your rank,-the honour
of the regiment,-in this city connexion. Col. You may leave the lady to her natu-
Cor. By all that's dignified, one of the Ro-ral fate, the trader is rich. She will throw
yal Sicilian, the Twentieth!-should not be herself away, according to the manner of all
conscious of the existence of any thing un-women who have money, and the business
der a Duke.
Maj. He may nod to a General, eh?-now
and then;-Cornet.
Cor. When the streets are empty,-but, he
should be familiar with no man-
Col. Under a Prince of the blood.
Cor. Nor with him, unless on guard at
Court.
Lor. [Half laughing]-Gentlemen, I am
perfectly sensible of our infinite superiority-
but-
will be done by some scoundrel with a plau-
sible leg, a romance on his tongue, and a
pair of dice in his pocket.
Lor. That will be the most appropriate of
all punishments! Her pride shall be mortified.
She shall make some degrading match.
Maj. Some Sicilian Quack.
All. [murmur] Sicilian!
Col. Or French Valet!
Cor. Or English Blacklegs, or-
Maj. No farther Westward2), Sir, if you
[Stopping him.
Maj. But what? By St. Patrick, Captain, please.
I don't comprehend.
[Haughtily. Cor. But where are we to find this im-
Lor. I never expected that you would, Ma-postor?
jor O'Shannon. [To the Rest]-Unfortunate- Maj. Ha, ha, ha! Sweet simplicity of youth!
ly, all the world are not so accessible to find an impostor? Why, man, you'll find
conviction. The venerable lady of the man-him in ninety-nine out of a hundred, and
sion's last words to me were, that she would that of the best company. But I'll find him
not suffer a daughter of hers to marry any for you within a hundred yards of this spot.
Trooper of us all.
All. Trooper! [In various Irritation]
Col. Beelzebub! Trooper?
Cor. Muffs and meerschaums!
Mai. By the glory of the Twentieth!
[Toge-
ther.]
Lor. Gentlemen of the Twentieth-that was
the very word.
Maj. I'll go instantly, and challenge the
whole house, from the Count to the kitchen
maid.
Cor. Let us send all the farriers to shoe
the horses in front of these parvenus; we'll
hammer them deaf.
Col. Or order the trumpeters to practise
six hours a night under their balcony.
[Laughing.
Cor. Or, to take signal vengeance-
Maj. Aye, to exterminate the whole neigh-
bourhood-
Cor. No man has it more in his power
than yourself, Major;-sing them one of your
-national melodies.
[They laugh, the Colonel pacifies the Major]
Col. What kind of existence) is this dan-
gerous jilt? Have you seen her, gentlemen?
Maj. I have a hundred times. She was
always on parade when I was officer of the
day. A tough affair, with a vinegar visage;
a compound of-
Cor. Her old father's cellars.
Col. A claret complexion.
Maj. Blue-ruin lips).
Cor. Tongue thick as Tokay.
1) There is an English regiment called the Oxford blues.
9) Being.
3) Hollands gin.
You know my friend is governor of the jail;
I beg his Generalship's pardon, of the Castle.
Col. The jail is in the next street, I think.
Let us go there directly, and pick out a rogue
for our purpose.
Lor. He must not be a ruffian; I will not
have her insulted; the fellow must be decent.
Maj. My love, he shall be magnificent; as
fine as a Duke, or a Drum-Major. He shall be as
full of fuss and feathers as a new laid Aide-
de-Camp.
Lor. It shall be so. Her pride shall be her
shame. I could disdain myself for wasting a
thought upon them! a race of weak, presump-
tuous, purseproud-
Col. But the direct offence,-a little coquet-
ry, a little female tyranny?
Cor. Both as natural to the sex as lips and eyes.
Lor. My dear Pistrucci, [To the Colonel]
don't ask me any farther. The matter is too
ridiculous, considering what they were. No-
thing less than-Yet why should I not say it?
nothing less than my want of noble birth-
of family-
Col. Poh! They are a family of fools. A
soldier's noblest pedigree is his honour. Let
him look to posterity.
Maj. Aye, to posterity. Let him make his
forefathers out of that. What business has a
soldier to be looking behind him; by the
glory of the Twentieth-
1) The Cape of Good Hope. We remember the Hot-
tentot Venus,
2) Farther westward would be towards Ireland, the Ma-
jor's country.
735
[ACT II.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

Cor. To the jail, to the jail. I shall take Laz. Here, Master, I give you
remorseless vengeance. The affair's regimen- the law."
tal; the whole Corps has been insulted most
superlatively
schaums!
"Success to
[Drinks.
Jail. Why, Lazaro, that toast's against trade;
Trooper! Muffs and meer- for if there were no rogues, there would be
no jails.
Lor. Yet, upon second thoughts-I-should
rather-
Col. What, man! relenting, retracting?
Cor. You are pledged from frill to fetlock.
Maj. He's at the lady's feet within this half
hour. Who'll take ten to one?
Laz. Aye, Master, but for one rogue that
the law frightens, it makes twenty.
Jail. Ha! ha! here then's "Success to the
law," you sly old politician.
Laz. Politician! Lord, Sir, don't take away
my character. But will you look at this paper.
Lor. Never; by all that's manly, never. I
[Gives him a Letter.
abjure the sex. Do as you will for me. I will Jail. Eh, what? "Admit," "prisoners."
never look at one of them with complacency [Reads]-The Major's hand: let them in, by
again. I must leave you now. I will rejoin all means. [Lazaro goes]-That fellow has
you at the jail. All have been insulted, and been bribed by the Major: I know it. But
I-Women!-compounds of vanity, perfidy, we heads of departments must overlook those
pride! My brain, my brain! [He rushes out. things now and then; he'll do as much for
Cor. Envy, hatred, malice.-
me another time. [Noise of Chains falling]
Here they are, sad dogs; our morals will be
ruined.
Maj. Well, we can match them in censo-
riousness, at least, Cornet. Poh, poh! The
only way for a man of honour to look at a
pretty woman's faults, is to shut his eyes ¹).
Col. Now, to find our scapegrace.
Maj. To be sure; quick as an Irish quar-
rel, Colonel. To the jail, gentlemen.
Cor. To the jail-If it must be so, and
yet-Diavolo! 'twill soil my spurs. I'd rather
be tried by a court-martial of old women.
Maj. Aye, Cornet, every one by his peers 2).
-By the glory of the Twentieth!
-
[Exeunt, laughing.
SCENE II. A Hall in the Jail.-Night.
The JAILOR comes in. He calls.
Jail. Ho! Lazaro! lock up, lock up; make
haste, bring me those keys. Let the prison-
ers have their water: I love to treat the dogs
well. And, d'ye see, let me have my wine.
[He sings.
For let who will swing,
Your Jailor's a King.
The COLONEL, MAJOR, and CORNET come
in; LAZARO leading them, with a Lantern.
Laz. [Outside]-This way, gentlemen; keep
clear of the blackhole,-have a care of the
rope:-this way, gentlemen.
Cor. Where are we, fellow? This is "dark-
ness visible" a cavern-an absolute mine.
Muffs and meerschaums!
Jail. Aye, Master Officer, we have a few
deep¹) ones here, and of the first families
too-ha, ha, ha!
Maj. [Advancing]-Gentlemen! let me in-
troduce you to Siguior Jeronimo Stiletto, the
guardian angel of Palermo, the author of half
its virtues; a gentleman at the head of his
profession, I assure you. Signior, we wish
to see a parade of your best ruffians.
Jail. By all means, Major;-Lazaro, give
the word within. [Lazaro goes] Ah, Major,
you're in luck-never had a fuller calendar,
[He sits at the Table] No; your king is-prospect of a glorious session!
not to be compared to your jailor; for my [The Prisoners come in, with Lazaro; the
subjects never mutiny; my will is the law; Jailor ranges, and displays them.]
and as long as there's virtue in iron, I have There, gentlemen of the Hussars, there's a
all my Commons within a ring fence. La- turn out-right face, rascal!-and a fine burg-
zaro, I say. [Lazaro comes in with a Fla-lary face too.
gon]. Sit down, you old rogue, and fill me
a cup. [Drinks]
Master anker right as a ruby! Now,
do you think we
do
this, if we had a brace of wives after us?
By no means, Master Lazaro-fill, fill!
JAILOR [sings].
For your bachelor's happy,
And o'er his brown nappy
He'll drink down the sun and the moon, brave
boys;
But the husband's a wretch,
That longs for Jack Ketch,
And a rope's end can't ease him too soon,
brave boys,
And a rope's end can't ease him too soon!
Laz. Master, here's a whole mob of officers
outside, roaring away to get in.
[Showing a Prisoner.
Col. Capital; broad, bold and bloodletting.
Jail. There's a handsome petty larceny-
shy as a cat.
[Showing a Prisoner.
Cor. Exquisitely thievish-felony to the tips
of his fingers.
Maj. A Noah's ark; a gathering of all the
unclean. [To one of the Prisoners] Pray
what brought you here, my lad?
1st Pri. My morality. I was a gambler,
grew ashamed of my profession, and took to
the road 2).
Cor. The road! exquisite-mended your
ways. Turned Field Officer, you hear, Ma-
jor. And you, my coy friend? [To a Pri
2d Pri. I was a money dealer; jobbed in
the funds.
Maj. From the stocks) to the jail-the
Jail. To get into jail? Well, likely enough course of nature.
they may, all in good time; but not to-night.
I'll not have lambs disturbed for of-
Col. [To a third]-And you, Sir, were, I
ficers unhang'd-fill yourself a glass, and give presume, not quite immaculate-a thorough
me a toast.
1) A good Irish bull, or blunder.
2) Equals.
give rogue?
[They fill.
1) A cunning fellow.
2) Turned highway-robber.
3) Stocks, the funds; and stocks, a punishment.

SCENE 2.]
737
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
3d Pri. I was a contractor.
Cor. Conviction, in a word.
Maj. These are poor devils. Have you no-
thing better; nothing more showy, nothing
highercrested, Signior Jeronimo?
Tor. I knew it; ardent spirits; every soul
of them-seizers¹).
Maj. Caesars! Well done. This is our
man-[To the Hussars]-I like the fellow-
he's the freshest rascal!
Jail. Better! I hope you don't mean to Tor. Jailor, I will not be disturbed for any
hurt my feelings, Major. Nothing better! man. Why am I brought out before these,
never had a finer family since-
-fellows in livery? This gaol is my house;
Cor. Billiards and the brogue¹) came into my freehold; my goods and chattels. My
fashion, Major O'Shannon.
Maj. Hazard and high life will do just as
well, Cornet Count Carmine.
very straw's my own; untouchable, but by
myself and the rats.
Maj. Here's a freeholder!
Col. With a vote for the galleys.
[Imitating.
Jail. [Pondering]-Yet, what was I think-
ing of? there's one, a famous fellow, a first Tor. [Turning to the Prisoners, haran-
rate-brought in last night-an old acquaint- gues burlesquely]-Gentlemen of the jail-
ance-the most dashing dog about town-a
[Prisoners cheer.
tip-top-gallant; a supernaculum.
Col. A decided speech! pa
Cor. Out of the orator's way! Muffs and
meerschaums! [The Prisoners lift Torrento
Col. Out with him at once, were he the
Grand Turk.
Maj. Show your lion. Turn him out of on a Bench, laughing and clamouring.
his cage.
Tor. [Haranguing]-Are we to suffer our-
Cor. Yes, if he be not-indelicately ragged. selves to be molested in our retirement, in
[Lazaro goes,-a Noise is heard within. our domestic circle; in the loveliness of our
Jail. Now, he's coming; but take care, private lives; in our otium cum dignitate?
stand back, gentlemen. He's a desperate dog; Gentlemen of the jail! [Cheering]-Is not
fierce as a tiger. Last night he broke the our residence here for our country's good?
heads of the whole patrol. Here he comes, [Cheering]-Would it not be well for the
in full roar.
country if ten times as many, that hold their
[Torrento, with his dress torn from the heads high, outside these walls, were now in-
last night's riot, is dragged in by the side them?-[Cheering]-I scorn to appeal
Turnkeys-he resists, clamouring outside to your passions, but shall we suffer our
as he comes.]
honourable straw, our venerable bread and
Tor. Why, you scoundrels, you renega-water, our virtuous slumbers, and our useful
does, you dogs in office-what's this for? To days, to be invaded, crushed, and calcitrated,
be dragged out of my first sleep in my dun- by the iron boot-heel of arrogance and auda-
geon, to look in the faces of such a confound- city? [Cheering]-No! freedom is like the
edly ugly set of cannibals.
air we breathe, without it we die!-No! every
Jail. Bring him along. [He is forced in. man's cell is his castle. By the law, we live
Tor. [Continuing to Struggle] - Cannot here; and should not all that live by the law,
I sleep, or starve as I like? I'll blow up the die by the law?-Now, gentlemen, a gene-
prison. I'll massacre the jailor. I'll do worse ral cheer! here's Liberty, Property, and Pu-
-I'll let the law loose on you-Villains. rity of principle! Gentlemen of the jail!-
Jail. Poh! Master Torrento, you need not
be in such a passion. You used to have no
objection to good company-ha, ha, ha! He
has been moulting his feathers a little last
night.
[To the Hussars.
Tor. Company-Banditti! Who are those
fellows? Are they all hangmen?
[Looking at the Hussars.
Maj. A mighty handsome idea, by the glory
of the Twentieth.
[Laughing.
Col. Sirrah! you must see that we are of
ficers. Take care.
[They carry him round the Hall.
Loud Cheering.
Jail. Out with ye, ye dogs! No rioting!
Turnkeys [Calls]-The black hole, and double
irons. [He drives them off, and follows them.
Cor. A dungeon-Demosthenes! Muffs and
meerschaums.
Maj. A regular 2) field preacher, on my
conscience.
Col. [To Tor.]-So then, we must not fix
our head-quarters here.
Tor. Confound me if I care, if your head-
Ho-quarters and all your other quarters were
fixed here.
Tor. Officers!-aye, sheriff's Officers.
nest housekeepers, with very rascally coun-
tenances.
Cor. Muffs and meerschaums!-Very im-
pudently conjectured.
Tor. Well then, parish Officers! Hunters
of brats, beggars, and light bread.
Maj.[Laughing]-Another guess for your life.
Col. Insolence! Sirrah, we are in Ilis Ma-
jesty's service.
Col. No insolence, Sir. What are you?
Tor. A gentleman,
[Haughtily.
Cor. Psha! every body's a gentleman now.
Col. Aye, that accounts for the vices of
the age.
Tor. A gentleman, Sir, by the old title of
liking pleasure more than trouble; play more
than money; love more than marriage; fight-
Tor. Oh! I understand-Custom-house Of-ing more than either; and any thing more
ficers. Tubs, tabacco, and thermometers. than the unparalleled impudence of your ques-
[They murmur. tions.
Maj. Sirrah! do you mean this to me?
Cor. Cut off the scoundrel's head!
[Half drawing his Sabre. Il-
1) The Irish have a peculiar accent in speaking English:
they pronounce some of the letters very strangely, and
this is called the brogue,
Tor. Aye, Sirrah! and to every honourable
1) Excise Officers.
2) The word regular is sometimes slang for complete.
93
738
[ACT II.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

person present. I never drink a health with- say? [To the Major]-I will reconnoitre the
out sending the toast round. In matters of lady.
contempt, I make it a point of honour to be Lor. You shall have five hundred crowns!
impartial.
Maj. The Governor will take my word for
Col. [To Tor.]-Be-quiet, fellow. [To the your re-appearance, and I shall rely upon
Major-Are you hit, Major? ha, ha, ha! We yours-with proper attendance.
Aside.
have a service for you. [To Torrento. Tor. Undoubtedly. I shall be tired of the
world; that is, of fools and fresh air, in half
[Contemptuously. the time. But if you catch me here again-
Col. A constable of France, if you like. You
[Aside.
shall be major, colonel, or general, just as you Lor. [To the Hussars]-Can we trust this
please. You shall have a week's liberty, and fellow?-Who are you? [To Torrento.
five hundred crowns for your campaign. Tor. By St. Agatha, I don't know. I may
Cor. On the staff,1) 'pon honour.
Tor. A constable.
Tor. A general! What high-road am I to be the son of a king or a cobbler, for any
invade? Look ye, Sirs, I am a soldier: un- thing I can tell. I am at this hour without
lucky a little, I own.-I am here for running purse, profession, or prospect. A sort of half-
a puppy through the lungs, who insulted me. pay animal on the muster-roll of human nature.
[Looking at the Cornet] But whatever comes Cor. How did the dog escape suspension
of that affair, I will do nothing further to dis- so long?
grace my cloth.
Cor. Considering present appearances, it
would be superlatively difficult.
Maj. To retrieve your character, you must
turn your coat, my dear.
Tor. To your business,
whose throat am I-
to your business;
Maj. You must marry a prodigiously fine
woman; young, and so forth.
Lor. No equivocation, Sir. You have served?
Was it in the Sicilian?
Tor. Yes, in every service in its turn. I
smoked my first campaign in Algiers; fiddled
my second in Italy; quadrilled my third in
France; and diced, drank, boxed and billiarded
my fourth in England; and to this hour I
cannot tel! in which of them all-Impudence
is the best talent-a Lie the most current coin
Cor. Lead to "The Hymeneal Altar." "Hap--or Canting the most in fashion.
py man, blushing bride," 2) and so forth. Cor. Surprising-you did'nt make your
Col. Rich besides-worth a plum.
fortune.
I dare say.
Cor. The Grocer!-Worth a great many, Lor. I cannot think of this insult, with com-
[Aside. mon calmness. Victoria, Victoria! [He takes
out a Miniature]-Was this a face for tre-
achery?
[The Major takes it.
Maj. A fine creature. She might make me
treacherous any day in the week.
Tor. Is that the affair? Good night to you,
gentlemen. [Going] I have reasons against it.
I am better engaged. Marry! - when I can
be hanged any time I like. If it were in Eng-
land, indeed, I could put a rope round her
neck-3)
Lor. [Agitated]-I cannot talk of this. I
submit all to your disposal; but let her be
Cor. To extinguish-Eh-
treated gently. She has made life hateful to
Tor. What! in a commercial country.-me!-I am ashamed of this weakness.-The
No, no.-Sell her, make a quiet house, and pride of her upstart family cannot be too se-
five shillings into the bargain. Glorious tri-verely punished. [To Torrento]- Offer her
umph of reason!
but the slightest insult, and I will hunt you
through the world.-Would I were in my
grave!
[He rushes out.
Tor. Gentlemen, there is no time to be lost.
My toilette-my toilette!
Cor. A new idea, 'pon honour. A prodi-
gious reconciler to matrimony. England; ah!
do I mistake?-the Country, where they make
the bank paper and bad port.
Tor. Aye, mermaids and members of par-
liament.
LORENZO comes in.
Col. Lorenzo at last!
Lor. I beg pardon, -I have been detained
by-important business.
Maj. Poh! we understand. Examining whe-
ther Old Ventoso's premises are as accessible
to you as to the rest of the world. Your wife's
to be looked for there, my hero. [To Tor.
Tor. Old Ventoso's! A capital expedient to
see Leonora. [Aside]-How much did you
1) Staff of a regiment; and the staff of a constable.
2) The usual expressions in an account of a marriage in-
serted in the newspapers.
3) Alluding to the old existing law, intended to put in
the power of the poor man to get rid of a bad wife
Cor. The fellow shall have my whole war-
establishment. My parade moustaches, my
velvet boots, my embroidered toothpicks-
Tor. But my stud, my team, gentlemen. A
swindler's nothing unless he drives four in
hand.
Col. True, true! Major, you can lend him
your bays for a day or two.
Cor. Bays!) much more easily lent than
one's laurels, Major.
Laughing.
Maj. What, Sir? [The Colonel pacifies
him]-I will lend him a sabre as long as the
Straits of Gibraltar, and a meerschaum that
smokes like Mount Etna;-a devilish deal more
smoke than fire-like a young soldier, Cornet,
my dear.
Col. He shall have my last uniform.
Tor. No, Colonel; my morals and my ward-
as well as the rich one. The woman must consent to robe may have sat light enough upon me,
have a rope placed round her neck and to be brought but they shall both sit lighter, before I take
and the buyer thus renders himself responsible for the up the abandoned habits 2) of the Hussars.
to market, when she is sold to the highest bidder;
debts of the lady whom he has purchased; while the
seller is happily delivered from them; for otherwise
the man is always hound to pay his wife's debts,
whether they live together or not.
1) Bay-horses, and a crown of honourable bays.
2) The left-off cloaths; and, bad conduct.
[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
739
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

I must have carte-blanche for a hotel, an equi-
page, a wardrobe,-or here 1 stay.
Col. Carte-blanche! The fellow will make
us bankrupt. He'll break the regiment.
Tor. Break¹) the regiment? No!-I don't
aspire to be a national benefactor.
Maj. Bravo! your scheme?
Tor. The whole affair needs not cost you
a sequin. It can be done on credit. Why,
if it were not done on credit, nobody would
take me for a man of fashion. When the
cash is called for, you have only to follow the
most approved examples; take the benefit 2)-
of these walls, and,-sponge.
Maj. How the devil did he get his know-
ledge of first principles?
Cor. The haut-ton to a hair.-How rapidly
the rascal fashionizes!-You can give him the
lady's picture, Major. It will be his com-
mission.
-
Maj. Undoubtedly when he is ready to
start. But what title shall we give our com-
missioner?
Nor love nor scorn can wring me more.
I lov'd, how deeply lov'd! Oh, Heaven!
To thee, to thee the pang is known;
Yet, traitor! be thy crime forgiven,
Mine be the shame, the grief alone!
The maddening hour when first we met,
The glance, the smile, the vow you gave:
The last wild moment haunt me yet;
I feel they'll haunt me to my grave!-
Down, wayward heart, no longer heave;
Thou idle tear, no longer flow;
And may that Heav'n he dar'd deceive,
Forgive, as I forgive him now.
Too lovely, ob, too lov'd, farewell!
Though parting rends my bosom strings,
This hour we part!-The grave shall tell
The thought that to my spirit clings.
Thou pain, above all other pain!
Thou joy, all other joys above!
Again, again I feel thy chain,
And die thy weeping martyr-LOVE.
Cor. Let me see,-Duke of Monté-Pulciano, Are lovers' oaths! There's not a light in heaven
Vic. Oh! what decaying, feeble, fickle things
Sauterne, Côte rôtie, or Vin de Graves.
scorns;
Tor. No, no. Those are "familiar as house-But he has sworn by; not a wandering air,
hold names;" they are in every body's mouth. To love me, serve me, through all sorrows,
But he has loaded with his burning vows,
Maj. I have it.-There's the old Prince de
Pindemonté, that all Naples was talking about
a year or two ago. He has been roving Eu-Aye, though I trampled him: and yet one
rope for some stray son of his. You have no
objection to be the heir? [To Torrento, Spoke, too, in maiden duty, casts him off,
Tor. The heir? I'll be the Prince himself,
or nothing. Prince de Pindemonté! the very
title for me. Brilliant-irresistible! My prin-
cipality is settled. I'll be a model to the blood!
[Parading about.
Col. I see a difficulty in this: suppose the
Prince should hear of this assumption of his
name?
word,
Like a loos'd falcon! No! he never loved.
Enter LEONORA.
Leon. Victoria! sister! there's a sight abroad-
What, weeping?
Vic. [Embarrassed]-Girl, 'tis nothing-
Chance-'tis done.
Leon. Nothing, sweet sister! here are heavy
signs
Cor. Or the son, by accident, know his own
father?
[Laughing. Of a pained spirit; sighs upon your lips,
Maj. Pob, poh!-a mighty unlikely sort of Blushes, that die away like summer-hues
thing in this country.
On the cropt rose; and here's a heaving heart,
The very beat of woe! (She presses her
Hand upon Victoria's side.)
[4 distant flourish of Horns is heard.
Vic. What sounds are those?
Leon. I flew to tell you, there's a sight i'
th' Square,
Col. Well, Major, to our quarters, and let
us give this diplomatist his final instructions.
Maj. [Calls-A word, Signior Jeronimo.
[The Major converses with him.
Jail. You will be responsible, Major? - A
week! You may be wanted, you know, [To
Torrento] by that time. Good night, your
honours. Sure to see them again, some time
or other.-Ha, ha!
[Aside. Exit.
Maj. [To Tor.] Forwards. Come, Cupid.
Cor. Cupid, ha, ha, ha! Follow us.
Worth all the faithless lovers in the world!
Vic. Let's rail at love.
[Musing
Leon. [Laughing]-Aye, a whole summer's
day.
Vic. Love is the lightest folly of the earth;
[To Torrento. An infant's toy, that reason throws away;
Tor. [Pushing forwards]-Follow? Do A dream, that quits our eyelids with a touch;
you know to whom you speak? Follow me; A music, dying as it leaves the lip;
Hussars, follow the Prince de Pindemonté. A morning cloud, dissolv'd before the sun;
Cor. The Prince !-Muffs and meerschaums! Love is the very echo of weak hearts;
[Exeunt, laughing. The louder for their emptiness; a shade,
A colour of the rainbow;-vanity! [world.
Leon. [Laughing]-She will forswear the
[4 flourish of distant Music.
Ven. [Outside, Calling] Marcello-Pedro-
Vic. My father's voice-'tis angry-
ACT III.
SCENE 1.-An Apartment, with a Balcony.
VICTORIA alone.
Farewell! I've broke my chain at last!
I stand upon life's fatal shore!
The bitterness of death is past,
1) To break the funds of the regiment; and to break, or
disband the regiment.
2) Alluding to the insolvent debtor's act.
Leon.
Here's a shade.
We can escape. [They go behind the Screen.
VENTOSO comes in.
Ven. More plagues for me; they'll have my
life at last.
740
[ACT III.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

[Calls]-Pisanio! Fabian! Pestilence on your
tribe;
Would I were rid of you.
A Noble's life!
What is it, after all, but gall and gout,
Clamour for quiet, etiquette for ease,
Watching for sleep, for comfort drudgery?
To feed a liveried rabble at your cost,
That rob you to your face!-Pisanio, ho!
[Calls.
The slaves are deaf or drunk.
To waste the night,
That Nature made for sleep, in routs and balls!
To stuff your wives and daughters' heads with
whims,
That bring lean beggary within the house!
I'll fling it off at once; sell all, burn all,
I'll fly to Abyssinia-to the world's end,
Before the moon is old.
Ven. Let me go down! What clamour's in
the house?
Coun. You'd have it, that we must be all
undone,-
A bye-word!-not a husband would be found
In Sicily for one of us! Look here,
Here is the letter; the despatch; the prize!
(They gather round to look over it; she
repels them.)
Keep off your hands, no soul shall read a line;
I have perus'd it; 'tis a prodigy! [She reads.
"His Highness the Prince de Pindemonté,
Duke of Tofano, Count of Vendittá." (And
twenty other names besides.) [Reads] "To
the Count Ventoso, these. Having heard of
the rare beauty of the Signora your daughter;
we are disposed to honour your house with
the alliance of our illustrious family. We
shall, therefore, in pursuance of this our prince-
Vic. [Coming from behind the Screen.]ly
'Tis some new trouble, we must quiet him.
What has displeased you, Sir? [To Ventoso.
Ven. Look there-look there-
The road is full of soldiers, coming straight-
Leon. Where, my dear father?
She runs to the Window.
Where, but to this house?
Where else can any mischief light on earth?
Ven.
arms!
I will have cannon planted at my gate.
Those are Lorenzo's rogues.
Vic.
Lorenzo's? No!
He has forgotten us-for ever. [Aside.
[4 flourish of Music.-Leonora at the
Window]
Leon. Here comes the loveliest pageant! all
the porch
Is fill'd with horsemen, capp'd and cloak'd in
Now they dismount.
[gold.
Ven. [Hurrying out]-Unheard of villany!
[He is met by the Countess, who stops
him at the Door.
What rable's this?
inclination, go to your Palazza this eve-
ning; and, having approved of your daughter,
shall forthwith marry her." Signed--"PINDE-
MONTE," et caetera, et caetera, et caetera.
Vic. Most sovereign insolence! Send his
letter back.
Leon. This is bold wooing, sister!
Ven.
There's no talk
Of dower, of borrowing money, let me see-
'Tis writ like a grandee.
Coun.
The finest thing
I ever read. Saints! how it smells of musk!
'Tis true court-language, birth in every line;
He is my son-in-law. Now, listen all s
[To Leon] You to your chamber, till you're
sent for, child.
Vic. I shall go with her.
Coun.
Your silks, your laces.
Yes; to get your pearls,
Leon. [Laughing] Must I have no chance?
Coun. Wise mothers all push off the elder
first,
Else she may hang upon their hands for life.
[To Vic.] Curl those wild locks. Heaven help
me, here's a head!
[The Countess enters, holding up a large
Letter, wrapped in Silk. She urges [To Ven.] I'll give the answer to the Page
Ventoso back. Victoria and Leonora
come round her.]
Coun. What rabble? You are wise,
And all the world are fools! This letter, Count,
Comes from-
Ven.
Coun.
From Lucifer!
Aye, rack your brains;
I'm but a simple woman, have no head,
No eyes, no ears; the world would run astray
But for the men, those great philosophers!
Vic. Dear mother, is't good news?
Leon.
Some noble fête?
Coun. Count, read this name.
Ven. [Reads] "The Prince de Pindemonté."
Leon. [Aside]-Charming title.
Ven.
I think I've heard the name.
He wants to borrow money, like them all!
Coun. When I shut out that captain, that
buff-belt,
That low-blooded strappado, that half-pay,
The world must go to wreck. My Lady there
[To Victoria.
Forswore her meals, and march'd in tears to bed.
And you, you wisehead, second Solomon-
[Ventoso trying to escape, she stands in
his way.
myself.
Blushing, forsooth! that colour's out of date,
Unknown among grandees. Look sallow, girl!
The men are all for sentiment this week.
Ven. My mind misgives me; 'tis a world
of rogues;
I'll sift this Page's brains. [Going, he returns.
tri Yet, mark me, wife:
No wasteful fooleries; no banquettings;
No feedings of this most illustrious-fool,
Who flings his pearl of liberty away.
I will have no carouse.
[He goes toward the Door.
Coun. We'll try that point. [Half_aside.
[She rings. Servants come in.] [up;
Where are your brother knaves? Let all come
I'll have a fete to night. Take out the bowls;
The silver gilt; we sup in the purple room:
I'll show his Highness plate. Fabricio, fiy
And hire the opera singers-
[Ventoso, returning in great Agitation.
Ven. Have I ears?
Victoria and Leonora approach him
soothingly.
Vic. Shall we attend you, Sir?
Leon.
Be pacified.

SCENE 2.]
741
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Ven. Stay with that mad woman! The Why, there was not a hill-top round the Bay,
world's gone mad!
But in our thoughts was made a monument,
Inscribed with gentle memories of Love!
Princes and fêtes in old Ventoso's house?
I'll die not worth a ducat. Plague on plague! Upon yon mount our cottage should be built,
[He rushes out. The Countess follow-Unmatched since Paradise;-upon the next,
ing him.
A beacon should be raised, to light me home
Coun. Let him rave on. His wife will ma- From the Morocco wars; the third should bear
nage him.
[She goes out. The marble beauty of the patron saint,
That watch'd me in the field-
Vic. Who is this Prince?
Leon.
Be sure the man is young,
Handsome, and rich, who has so wise a taste.
Lorenzo too will suffer, 'tis revenge.
Return'd at last?
Enter SPADO.
Vic. [Indignantly]-Twill be a deep re- Have you brought back the picture? Where
venge! It shall be done.
was't found?
I'll wed this Prince, were he the lowest slave Or give it without words.
That ever bronzed beneath a Moorish sun.
Enter PISANIO.
Pisan. My lady waits your presence-
Leon. [To Victoria]
Revenge! if there is wit in woman.
For the fête!
[To Victoria.
The bridal star is lighted,
Vic. [Dejectedly]
'Tis a lamp
[She points to the Window] Look!
Lit in a sepulchre.
They sing.-Trio.-(Spanish.)
TELL us, thou glorious Star of eve!
What sees thine eye?
Wherever human hearts can heave,
Man's misery!
Life, but a lengthened chain;
Youth, weary, wild and vain;
Age on a bed of pain,
Longing to die!
Yet there's a rest!
Where earthly agonies
Awake no sighs
In the cold breast.
Tell us, thou glorious Star of eve!
Sees not thine eye
f
Some spot, where hearts no longer heave,
In thine own sky?
Where all Life's wrongs are o'er,
Where Anguish weeps no more,
Where injur'd Spirits soar,
Never to die?
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A chamber in LORENZO's Quarters,
with a Viranda opening on the Sea.
Evening. A Servant waiting. LORENZO
searching among some Papers at a Table.
Lor. Victoria's picture lost!-Yet how 'twas
lost,
Baffles all thought; - 'twas lodged upon my
heart,
Where it lay ever, my companion sweet,
Feeding my melancholy with the looks,
Whereon once lived my love.
[To the Attendant] Go, boy; take horse,
And hurry back that loiterer.
How lovely thro' those vapours soars the moon!
Like a pale spirit, casting off the shroud
As it ascends to Heaven!
[He rises, and goes to the Casement.
Woman's all false.
Victoria! at this hour what solemn vows,
What deathless contracts, lovely hopes, rich
dreams,
Were uttered in the presence of the moon!
Spa.
I've ranged the city,
Ransacked the jewel mart, proclaimed the loss,
With offer of reward, throughout the streets,
Yet still it is unfound.
Lor.
I'll not believe it.
You have played truant! 'tis not three days,
since
I sav'd you from the chain.
Spa. en
I know it well.
Signior Torrento, with whom I had-starved,
Left me to rob, or perish in the streets.
Lor. I'll make the search myself; bring me
my cloak.
Spa. [Going, returns]-There are grand
doings in the square to-night;
The Villa is lit up.
Lor.
The Count Ventoso's!
Spa. From ground to roof, the walls are
in a flame
With lamps, and burning torches; blazoned
shields
[hang,
Fill all the casements, from which chaplets
And bridal banners;
Then, the companies
Of city music, in their gay chaloupes,
Play on the waters; all the square is thick
With gazing citizens.
Lor. [Musing]-Ventoso's house?
Spa. I wish 'twere burnt; there never came
a night,
This bitter week, but found me at its gate,
Shiv'ring, and singing with my gay Signior.
[In surprise.
Lor. Torrento!
Spa. Nay, I saw the lady come,
Ready to make a love march.
Lor.
Spa. [Bowing]
Lor. She could not
[To Spado]
Spa. Twelve hours
Lor.
The very day I landed.
Falsehood!
Truth!
sink so deep. [Aside.
When was this seen?
before you hired me.
'Twas the day,-
Woman, woman!
your sunk
eyes
This was your fainting; this the secret shame,
That chok'd your voice, filled
with tears,
Made your cheek burn, then take death's sud-
elden hue;
This was the guilty memory, that shook
Your frame at sight of me.
[To Spado] or What did you hear?
Spa. Nothing! but that some luckless, lov-
ing dog,
Some beggar suitor, some old hanger-on,
Was just kick'd out amid the general laugh.
Lor. Insult and infamy!
For what? for whom? [Half aside.
742
[ACT IV.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

Spa. For a Magnifico-a Don of dons.
A Prince-sups there to-night.
Lor. [Musing]
And for that knave,
That prison-prince, was all their jubilee?
So much the better! When the mask's torn
off,
Twill make surprise the sharper; Shame,
more shame;
The rabble's laugh strike with a louder roar
Into their startled ears-
[To Spado]
[Musing]
Some paper, Sir.
That slave shall marry her!
They run to the net
Faster than scorn could drive them.
Let them run.
[He writes, reading at intervals.
Spa. That's a love-letter-I know it, by his
being so desperately puzzled.And I'm to be
the minister of the tender passion-the Car-
rier-dove-Cupid's postmaster-general.
Lor. "I have abandoned," "Marry her,"
"Five hundred crowns more" [He rises.
This-Signior Desperado, shall revenge me;
I'll make them all a sport, a common tale!
[He folds the Letter, addresses it, and
reads.]
"To His Highness, the Prince de Pindemonté."
A sounding title, made to win the sex;
Fit bait for vanity.
[To Spado]
Take this with speed
[A distant sound of the Chorus is heard.]
He starts.]
How will Victoria bear
The sudden shames, the scorns, the miseries,
Of this wild wedlock; the companionship
Of the rude brawlers, gamblers, and loose
knaves,
That then must make her world?
[Dejectedly]
Her heart will break,
And she will perish; and my black revenge
Will thus have laid her beauty in the grave.
[Rising suddenly]-He shall not marry her.
[Calls]-Is Spado there?
[The Chorus is heard more distantly.
A Servant enters.
Sero. Signior, he's gone! He left the house
on the spur.
[Calls]
Lor. My letter! 'twill ruin all!
Bring me my horse.
I will unmask the plot of my revenge;
And having saved her, sever the last link
That binds me to the world.
[He rushes out, the Chorus passing away.
ACT IV.
SCENE 1.-VENTOSO's House.
A handsome Apartment; a beaufet with
plate; a showy Chair in the centre. Ser-
vants are arranging the Room.
LEONORA glides in.
Leon. Grand preparations! All the dancers
come!
To his palazza; if the Prince be gone,
Follow to Count Ventoso's. [He drops his
head on the Table]-Oh, Victoria!
Spa. [Takes the Letter, peeps into it]-Oh, were Torrento here! but he is lost!
"Five hundred crowns."-A draft on His High-The merriest fellow that e'er woke the night
ness, no doubt. I'll draw a draught on him, With the sweet music of a lover's vows.
too-a draught on his cellar. When the high [A low Symphony of Horns is heard
contracting parties deal in loans, the ambas- without, which continues till the Song.
sadors have a right to their per centage. Oh, silver sounds! whence are ye? From the
thrones,
[Exit.
[Music heard outside,-Approaching]
SEPTETT. (French.)
Joy to Ventoso's halls!
Eve on the waters falls,
Crimson and calm.
Stars are awake on high,
Winds in sweet slumber lie,
Dew-dipt, the blossoms sigh,
All breathing balm.
Come, gallant masquers! all
Come to our festival,
Deck'd in your pride.
Beauty and birth are there,
Joy to the lovely Pair!
May time and sorrow spare
Bridegroom and Bride!
Lor. What words are those? "Joy to Ven-
toso's halls;"
And I, who should have been the foremost
there,
Must be an exile! [Disturbed] Married!-
honest and to-night!
Tis but the song of the streets!
[Indignantly]-Have they not scorned me,
-broken bond and oath;
Taunted birth!-'Tis justice. Let them
feel!
[Musing]-I may be noble! Paulo's dying
my
words
Had mystery in them-
—
That spirits make of the empurpled clouds,
Or from the sparkling waters, or the hills,
Upon whose leafy brows the evening star
Lies like a diadem! O, silver sounds!
Breathe round me till love's mother, slow-
paced Night,
Hears your deep summons in her shadowy cell.
Air.-(Spanish.)
Oh! sweet 'tis to wander beside the hush'd
wave,
When the breezes in twilight their pale
pinions lave,
And Echo repeats, from the depths of her
cave,
The song of the shepherds' returning!
And sweet 'tis to sit, where the vintage fes-
toon, my love,
Lets in, like snow-flakes, the light of the
moon, my love;
And to the castanet
Twinkle the merry feet,
And beauty's dark eyes are burning, my
love.
But sweeter the hour, when the star hides
its gleam,
And the moon in the waters has bath'd her
white beam,
And the world and its woes are as still as
a dream;
For then, joy the midnight is winging:

SCENE 1.]
743
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Then, comes to my window the sound of
thy lute, my love,
Come tender tales, when its thrillings are
mute, my love:
[love!
Oh, never morning smil'd
On visions bright and wild,
Such as that dark hour is bringing, my
The COUNTESS enters, followed by BERNARDO,
with plate.
Coun. Bernardo, set those cups on the
beaufet,
These tankards in the middle. [She gazes]
There's a sight!
Where are the covers? What's the man about?
Must I do all the work with my own hands?
[To another]-Bring out the bowl! Heaven
knows for what you're fed.
Bring out, I say, my mother's christening bowl.
(Saints rest the time, I seldom left it dry.)
the t
Softly, Sir,
China's not iron. Blockhead! by my life,
I wish the world were peopled without men!
(This night will kill me.)
[To another]-Where's your master, knave?
Ven.-[Entering exultingly.]
Here, Countess! I have news for you,-the
Prince!
Bern. [Entering, announces]-His High-
ness the Prince de Pindemonté.
[The Septett begins. A train of Valets,
richly dressed, enter. TORRENTO, mag-
nificently Costumed, follows, and flings
himself into the Chair; the Valets ran-
ging themselves behind.]
SEPTETT and CHORUS.
Hail! to proud Palermo's city,
Fam'd for all that's rich and rare;
Fam'd for women, wise, yet pretty--
Miracles-as women are.
Fam'd for churches, without slumber;
Fam'd for statesmen above sale;
Fam'd for judges, no law lumber;
To the world's ninth wonder, hail!
Prince, to proud Palermo, hail!
[TORRENTO, reclining himself indolently.]
Tor. Bravo! bravissimo, superb. - Begone!
I'm weary of you. [The Singers retire.
Showy pictures, plate,
Tapestry. - 'Twill do.
[Aside.
[To Bernardo]-Pray, fellow, who are those,
Bowing beside me?
[To an Attendant]-Carlo, bring my musk.
Coun. [To Ventoso]-Address the Prince-
[Aside.
Not I, for all the world!
Coun. Stand forth, my Lord.-The Count
Ventoso, Prince.
Ven.
He's the true Phoenix!-I have heard of him
Through all the 'Change,-a bird of Paradise!
A man of gold and silver! a true mine!
Lord of Calabria! I shall be a duke!
Why, he could buy the bank of Venice; sleep
Bedded on ingots; play at dice with gems,
Common as counters.-Prince de Pindemonté, [To Ventoso]-I will address his Highness.
Next to the Italian throne!
Coun.
Ven. Most mighty! most magnificent!
Coun. The man's tongue-tied!
[Aside.
Thanks to the stars, Most noble, puissant, and illustrious Prince,
Most glorious news! I dream'd of it last night; Whose virtues, dignities, and ancient birth,
Saw golden showers, proud dames and cavaliers, This day both honour and eclipse our house.
All silk and diamonds.
Ven. Eclipse our house!
Ven.
Signior Stefano
Well knows the name. I thought to tell you,
love,
This new acquaintance asked himself to-night;
We must endure him; he's a gentleman,
Landed to-day from Naples, with a hond,
A debt of our late kinsman's, whose discharge
Would swallow half the estate.
Coun.
I've done with trade.
I'll have no fellows, black as their own bales,
To meet my son-in-law. [Flourish of Music.
The Prince arrived!
You must receive his Highness with a speech;
Lay on the flattery thick; trumpet his name;
Your great men have great ears.
Ven. I make a speech!
I'd take a tiger by the beard as soon.
You'll entertain his Highness. I have aches,-
The night air's bad for agues. I'm asleep:
Cannot I steal away? I hate grandees!
I've had them on my books.
Coun.
Here you must stay.
[To a Servant]-Call in the singers.
Enter SINGERS. She ranges them.
Now, as his Highness enters, sing the stave
You sang for the King's entry. Sing it out;
I'll have no whisperings for my money.
[Flourish of Clarinets and Horns outside.]
"His Highness the Prince de Pindemonte"
is announced by successive, Servants
outside.
[Attempting to harangue.
Tor. [Half aside] Rival orators!
Honour! This moment there are ten grandees
Waiting, with each an heiress in his hand;
I leave them to despair. The Emperor
Offered me three archduchesses at once,
With provinces for portions. I declined.
Ven. [Haranguing]-This day eclipse our
house!
Coun.
A Grand Signior!
Tor. Aye, there's my whisker'd friend, the
A brilliant spirit, spite of Mahomet, [Ottoman,
The finest judge in Europe of champagne-
He would have given his haram, wife and all.
Ven. His wife!-a wise old Turk.
Tor.
[Aside, laughing.
Where is the bride?
Coun. She waits your Highness' bidding.
Ven. [To the Countess] Listen, wife;
No tyranny. She must not be compelled.
[Aside.
Coun. [To Ventoso aside]-Hold your wise
tongue-if she's a child of mine,
I'd make her wed a hippopotamus. [Exit.
Ven. A hippopotamus! [Laughing]-Twixt
son and wife
I might turn showman.
Tor. [Advances towards a Picture] A
noble picture,
Count-a Tintoret?
Ven. Some martyrdom, or marriage - all
the same.
[Aside.
744
[ACT IV.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

But Prince,-my Titian,-worth its weight in Given to Lorenzo! [Aside, anxiously]-Was
gold. [Pointing to a Picture.
it lost by chance? [To Tor.
Tor. [Exultingly]-Yes; by such chance
as hangs upon the die!
Bernardo. [Announces]-The Signior Ste-
fano. [He enters haughtily.
remony.
Ste. So, Count, your servant! Use no ce- To me rich fortune! for this crystal round,
Like a bright lamp, first lit me to the shrine,
Where I have turned-idolater.
Vic.
A showy house.-Those brawling citizens
Have blocked your gates. I fought my way;
-'tis hot;
Here, lacquey, take my cloak.
[Sits.
His stake!
Lost among gamblers! [Aside] Let me look
on't, Sir!
Now, where's your son-in law. [To Ventoso. I'll drive him from my heart. [Aside] Has
His Highness' chair!
Ven.
St. Anthony!-He'll see you.-"Tis the Prince.
[Pointing.
Rise, honest friend!
Would you be sent to the galleys? Here's
my wife-
Rise, if you'd keep your ears-She'll talk to
you.
This is the wildest fellow of them all. [Aside.
The Countess! Prince.nd Jogall L
Coun. [Leading in Victoria, veiled] -
Prince de Pindemonté,
This is the hand too honour'd-
Ste.
Pindemonté!
[Aside.
A bold usurper.
Tor. "Tis Leonora! I must talk her dumb,
Or else Torrento's name is on her lips,
And so my Princedom's vanished. [Aside.
[Affectedly, as Victoria approaches.]
'Tis an enchanted vision! Ha! she comes-
There's music in her motion. All the air
Dances around her. Venus! There's a foot,
So light and delicate, that it should tread
Only on flowers, which, amorous of its touch,
Should sigh their souls out, proud of such
Saute sweet death.
So glides upon her clouds the queen of Love!
So sovereign Juno won the heart of Jove.
Ste. [Aside]-A high-flown wooer! Now,
-that face! Oh, Heaven,
There's no similitude! Deceived- deceived-
No touch of the voice, no glance! I'll try him
had deep
it a name?
Tor. [Holds it playfully from her-Ste-
fano advances to him.]
Ste. [Sternly]-Give her the picture! What!
resist the wish
Told in the glistening of a fair maid's eye!
When I was young, I should have ranged
the earth,
Plung'd in the billows of the angry sea,
Defied the hungry desert, leap'd the moon!
Rather than see my lady's rosy lip
Pale with soliciting. Give her the picture.
[Stefano grasps it, and gives it to Victoria,
who retires, overwhelmed.
Vic. Lorenzo! cruel, faithless Lorenzo!
[Exit.
Tor. Count, what buffoon is this? the lady
fled!-
Taking my soul with her. Gonsalvo-ho!
Seize this old bravo-to the jail with him,
The deepest dungeon, He may lodge in mine.
[Aside-Attendants approach.
Coun. The deepest dungeon!-
Ven.
Pardon, gracious Prince,
He's old, light-headed, is my guest to-night;
He knows your Highness well.
Tor.
Betrayed, blown up. [Aside.
Know me? Impossible!
Coun.
He know the Prince!
Out with him, husband.
Ste.
I will spare his shame. [Aside.
Lady, some mercy! I am old, and time,
That makes such havoc in a lady's cheek,
May cloud an old man's brains; I had mistook
Your Highness for a famous reprobale:
'Twas in Algiers;-he wore the turban then;
A gambling, fighting, roving, spendthrift knave,
[He lifts the Veil, and stands surprised. Familiar with all jails. I'll lay my life,
Coun. He's struck at once! [Aside to Count. He's deep this hour in knavery, plotting thick,
Countess, I'll be a duke! To drain some dotard's purse, beguile some
Ere I have done with him.
-Tor. [To Victoria] Transcendent one!-
The countenance that would befit this shape,
Must be a miracle. Nay, envious veil!
maid,
Ven.
Ste. As sure as he's a prince--old Vanity.
[Aside. Or lead some ancient idiots by the
Tor. A paragon of beauty! and alone? As easily as asses. And his name,
To the Countess. I think-'twas called-Torrento!
Has she no sister-witchery?
Coun.
Fit to be looked at-
Ven.
None-none-
But a girl, a child,
Still at her sampler. Here's the heiress, Prince!
Tor. Then 'twas some cunning witch of Sicily,
Some chamberer, that winds her mistress' silk,
A bright-eyed gipsy with a silver tongue,
That won my serenades.
[Aside.-
[He Takes a Miniature from his bosom,
and gazes on it.
'Tis beautiful!
A ruby lip, a cheek carnation-dyed.
A deep, love-darting eye! The recreant slave!
He should have treasur'd it, as monks their beads,
A thing to pray by.
Fic.
'Tis my miniature,
Tor.
ears,
[Looking on Tor.
Still unhang'd?
Torrento!
Ste. His time will come, my Prince.
Ven. [Aside to Countess]
Can he be living? old Anselmo's son,
The rightful heir, whose coming thrusts us out
From title and estate?
Coun. [Aside, angrily, to Ventoso]-I know
he's dead,-
As deep as seas can drown him.
Signior Stefano,
Where is that varlet?
Tor. [Fixing his eye upon him]-Not
in Sicily.-
Ste. This sounds of Curiosity; beware!
'Twas woman's sin in paradise.
Ven.
And since-

SCENE 2.]
745
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Coun. 'Tis woman's privilege; 'tis the salt Ven. There's a proud step, the frown of a
of the earth.
grandee!
Tor. He must be bribed. I'll lead them Poh! I'll be one next week! I'll learn the step!
from the scent;
I'll give as fierce a frown--as cool a stare;
[Aside. Look dignity with any duke alive.
I'll rhapsodize the fools.
CURIOSITY!
True, lady, by the roses on those lips,
Both man and woman would find life a waste,
But for the cunning of-Curiosity!
She's the world's witch, and through the world
she runs,
The merriest masquer underneath the moon!
To beauties, languid from the last night's rout,
She comes with tresses loose, and shoulders
wrapt
I'll strut with all the blood of Charlemagne !
Coun. [Calling].
Count!
Must I stay here all night?
Tor.
Countess--your slave!
What jewels would you choose to wear in
church?
My noble father; there's a hunting lodge,
In my Calabrian woods. The toy is yours.
A trifling thing of fifty thousand crowns,
If you have friends who wish for pension,
place,
Give me your ear.
[To Ventoso.
I made the Minister. [Aside]-Be what they
will,
[south,
In morning shawls; and by their pillow sits, Now is their time to ask.
Telling delicious tales of-lovers lost,
Fair rivals jilted, scandals, smuggled lace,
The hundredth Novel of the Great Unknown!
And then they smile, and rub their eyes, and Consuls, commissioners-east, west, north,
I will provide for them. Lead on, my Lord!
And wonder what's o'clock, then sink again;
And thus she sends the pretty fools to sleep. Breathe sweet, ye flutes! Ye dancers, lightly
[A Dance his heard within.
yawn,
She comes to ancient dames,--and stiff as steel,
In hood and stomacher, with snuff in hand,
She makes their rigid muscles gay with news
Of Doctors' Commons, matches broken off,
Blue-stocking frailties, cards, and ratafia;
And thus she gives them prattle for the day.
She sits by ancient politicians, bowed
As if a hundred years were on her back;
Then peering through her spectacles, she reads
A seeming journal, stuff'd with monstrous tales
Of Turks and Tartars; deep conspiracies,
(Born in the writer's brain;) of spots in the sun,
Pregnant with fearful wars. And so they shake,
And hope they'll find the world all safe by morn.
And thus she makes the world, both young
and old,
Bow down to sovereign CURIOSITY!
move,
For life is rapture, when 'tis crown'd by love!
[Ventoso leads. The Countess is handed
etc.
by Torrento, who moves round her
to the Music.
SCENE II-A Saloon, decorated for a Fête,
opening on the Garden, with a view of
the Bay. Illuminated boats, fireworks,
The Dance has begun. Towards
its close, TORRENTO, handing the COUN-
TESS, with VENTOSO leading the way, enters.
Tor. Magnificent! Incomparable! Superior
to my friend the grand Signior's fêtes-to Na-
dess of the night! Where is your lovely
ples-to the Tuileries-superb! But the god-
daughter?
Coun. She will be here by-and-bye. Seek
Ste. The knave has spirit, fire, a cunning for her, Bernardo.
tongue;
Can it be he?-and yet, that countenance.
[Aside.
Coun. Your Highness sups with us? We
have a dance;
A hurried thing. My daughter will return.
She's gone into the air-the night breeze stirs.
You'll honour us?
[earth-
Tor. [Affectedly]-P'll follow you thro'
By Cupid's bow, by his empurpled wings,
By all his arrows-quiver'd in those eyes.
Coun. He's an angelic man! [Aside.
[He leads her owards the Door.
Friend Stefano,
There's no ill blood; be gay; you'll come with
Ven.
us
Would he were in the dungeon--Renegade!
[Aside. I
Ste. I'll see that girl. Truth, stain'd and
scorn'd by man,
Makes woman's heart its temple. [Aside] To
your dance?
No-while there's freshness in the open sky,
Silence in night, fragrance in breathing flowers,
Or music in the murmnr of the waves!-
I'll walk in the garden. Leave me:-I'll come
back
[A Tumult is heard outside. The Dancers
retire.]
Coun. What can be the meaning of all this
noise? Street serenaders! Voices prodigiously
high!
Tor. But set in a prodigiously low key. A
quarrel among the footmen.
[The Noise increases.
Ven. They are breaking into the house.
Worse and worse. [He hurries to the Door.
Tor. [Listening]-It's more like breaking out
of prison. A bravura of bars, with a running
accompaniment of chains-linked sweetness
long drawn out." [Lorenzo's voice heard
outside, through the Clamour.
Lor. The Count will see me. The Count
shall see me. Out of my way, scoundrels-
will cut the throat of the first that stops me.
[He bursts into the Saloon, forcing the
Attendants before him.
Coun. The Captain!--Insult.
Ven. The Captain!-Bloodshed. [Aside.
Tor. The Captain!-(Ruin.)
Enter LORENZO.
[Aside.)
[Together.
Lor. Count, I come to-[Sees Torrento]
By supper time.-I'll know the truth this night. -Oh! you here, Sir.-Give me my letter this
[Aside-he goes. instant.
94

746
[ACT IV.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Tor. What do you mean?--I have no let-hundred dozen of that guitar-scraper, that
ter.-What, in the name of confusion, brings sighing Cavaliero, that pays me my wages now,
you here?-You'll destroy your own scheme. and be hanged to him. My master!
[Aside.
Lor. All's safe, then. [Aside] - Count, I
make no apology. I have come to render you
the most essential service;-to warn you, that
you are on the brink of disgrace,-that your
family are about to be plunged into contempt,
vexation and shame,-that this marriage is-a
mockery! and this Prince-an impostor!
Tor. An explosion! All's over-I have no-
thing to do but to make a run for it.-The door
crowded.) [Aside]-Count, you can't believe
this? You should know me better.
[Sees Lorenzo, and runs out.
[TORRENTO glances over the Letter.]
Tor. "Five hundred crowns more."-[Aside]
Psba! contemptible!
I
Lor. What devil owed me a grudge, when
wrote that letter.
[Aside.
Ven. I should like to see the inside of that
paper, Sir.
Tor. Bad policy, that. [Aside] No, spare
him. [In his ear] Merely a begging letter:-
"Pressure of the times-tax upon pipe-clay 1)-
deficiency of shoes." Beginning, as usual, with
Ven. Here's a discovery! An earthquake! sycophancy, and ending with supplication.
Is this possible? [To Torrento]-Why, he Ven. [Peeping over his shoulder, reads]
has not a word to say in his defence. No "Scoundrel!" A very original compliment. 1
Prince!-Yet I thought I could not be mista- must see that letter. [He seizes it, and reads]
ken, he was so monstrously impudent.-There -"Scoundrel!" Nothing very sycophantic yet.
was something in old Stefano's hints, after all. Lor. [Attempting to obtain the Letter]
Know you better! Sir, I don't choose to ex-Count, I must insist. That letter is mine;
tend my acquaintance in your line at present. written for the purpose of relieving you from
The world is full of impostors!
all future trouble on this painful subject.
Tor. Count, it is impossible. Private cor-
respondence-seal of secrecy-tale of distress-
[Reaching at the Letter.
Ven. [Reads]-"Scoundrel!"-
Coun. Can I believe my eyes! - He seems
mightily cast down. [Looking at Torrento.
Ven. Aye-cast 1) for transportation.
Tor. The girl's worth fighting for. I'll battle
it out. [Aside. To Lorenzo]-Sir, my in-
sulted honour scorns to defend itself but by
my sword. Dare you draw?
Tor. Confound it! You have read that three
times.
That
Ven. [Reads]-"I am determined to take
[He half draws his Sword. no further interest in Count Ventoso's family."
Lor. [Bursting into a contemptuous Laugh] -Very proper; just what Count Ventoso wishes.
Draw! and with you! Go, draw corks.-The Lor. There-there, read no more.
devil take his impudence! Begone, Sir! was my entire object. [Interposing] Tear
Coun. There will be suicide; I shall faint. that letter.
Tor. Countess, I respect your delicacy.
[Sheathes his Sword] You shall have proof sonal respect for that pedigree of fools." Pho-
Ven. [Reads]-"I have abandoned all per-
Coun. Fools! A libel on the whole nobility.
Tor. The Captain's in a hopeful way.
irresistible of my rank and honour. You, Sir,
shall hear of me to-morrow. [To Lorenzo.
Lor. Count and Countess, I congratulate
[Aside.
you. This is true triumph! Leave the house. Ven. [Reads]-"No contempt can be too
His rank and honour, ha, ha! He will not severe for the bloated vanity of the vulgar
find a gentleman in the whole circuit of the Mother;-
[He laughs, aside.
island to vouch for his character, his property, Coun. Excellent! I like it extremely. Bloat-
or his title. [As Torrento retires, Spado tot-ed! So, Sir, this is your doing. [Going up to
ters in behind, Drunk, holding up a Letter. Lorenzo]-Bloated vanity! He deserves to be
Spa. A letter, my Lord Count. [The At-racked-bastinadoed. Husband, throw that
tendants attempt to hold him] Dog, would letter into the fire!
you stop royal correspondence? would you rob Lor. Count, hear me; hear reason. Will
the mail? Is the Prince de Pindemonté here? you be plundered and disgraced? Will you
[Totters about] Keeps mighty good wine in have your family degraded, and your daughter
his Palazza. I'll drink his health any time in duped? Read no more of that unfortunate letter.
the twenty-four hours. A letter for the-
Prince de Pindemonté.
-
Lor. Spado! [Rushes forward]-That's my
letter, Sirrah.
Tor. Spado! [Seizes the Letter]-That's my
letter.
Coun. Horribly inebriated. We shall come
at the truth at last.
Ven. I must have a line or two yet. [Reads]
"Or the inanity of that meagre com-
pound of title and trade, the-ridiculous Fa-
ther." [To Lorenzo]-Death and daggers, Sir!
Is this all you have to say? What excuse?
What reason? Out of my house! Inanity-
meagre! Out, out! Go! [He tears the Letter]
I'll bring an action! Title and trade! There is
Ven. I wish they were all three looking the impostor. [Pointing to Lorenzo] - Out
for it at the bottom of the deepest well in of the house, I say!
Sicily.
[Aside. Coun. Out of the house! Prince, let us leave
Tor. Here, Count and Countess, is convin- him to himself.
cing proof! his own letter,-for the fellow can Tor. His whole story is palpably a fable.
write,-addressed to me! [Reads]-"To his-I think I have peppered the Hussar pretty
Highness the Prince de Pindemonté."
handsomely. Beat him by the odd trick at
Spa. You the Prince-ha, ba! a prince of last; trumped the Captain's knave. [Aside.
good fellows; always liked him. Worth a
[Leading off the Countess towards the
1) Condemned.
Door.
The soldiers use pipe-clay to clean their regimentals.

[ACT V. SCENE 1.]
747
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Coun. Come, if the Captain want amuse-| Col. Let it pass, Major. Forgive the Cornet
ment, let him laugh at himself. I can assure his brains; you'll quarrel with no man about
him the subject is inexhaustible.
trifles.
[Exit with Torrento. Maj. Very true, Colonel. But I can't help
Ven. [Looking at Lorenzo]-A fine figure wondering what makes the Cornet always so
for the picket or the pillory. Meagre inanity hard upon love and the ladies. I should have
-Title and trade!
[Exit Ventoso. thought him the most successful wooer in
Lor. Now is my light extinguished! Now the corps.
the world
To me is but a melancholy grave,
Wherein my love lies buried. Life, farewell!
Ste. [To an Attendant without]-Gone to
the banquet?-
[He sees Lorenzo.
Who are you?-Speak!-Let me but hear
your voice-
You are not native here.
Lor.
What wonderer's this?
Out of my way, old man!"
[Attempting to pass him.
Ste.
The very voice!
The living likeness! Hold, my heart! One
word--
Your name?-
Lor.
Ste.
'Tis infamous!
'Tis noble blood
blood! Begone!
Cor. Ha, ha! You compliment.- He civilizes.
[Aside] Major, a glass of wine.
Col. Conciliatory claret? Major.
Maj. No; it's too cold for the occasion.
Here, Cornet, a generous bumper of Madeira.
My countrymen always go for their healths
to Madeira.
Cor. And for their morals to Port-Jack-
son 1), I think they call it. [Aside to the
Colonel] But now, Major, be candid. Why
did you think me likely to succeed with
the sex?
-
Maj. Because the dear creatures are so
fond of their own faces, that they always
choose a fellow as like themselves as they can.
By the glory of the Twentieth!
Cor. Diavolo! you shall answer for this.
[Rising angrily.
Col, Poh! Swallow it with your wine.
Lor. [With a bitter laugh]-Mine-noble Here's Lorenzo; he'll laugh at you. Wel-
come, Captain. We must be on parade be-
Tempt me no further-for this hour, my mind fore the new Viceroy in half an hour. The
Is feverish-bitter-thick with sullen thoughts, order, I see, reached you in good time.
That touch on madness.
That fills your veins.
I will go
Ste.
with you.
Lor. Tho' 'twere into my grave!-then fol-
low me.
[Lorenzo rushes out-Stefano gazing
on him.
ACT V.
LORENZO enters.
Lor. In the worst time possible, Colonel.
I cannot obey it. I would rather throw up
my commission.-Victoria is to be married
to-night.
[Dejectedly..
Col. Rapid manoeuvring, that. Marriage in
full gallop. Hymen turned into a hussar.
Maj. His old rank was in the rifle corps.-
Ha, ha!
SCENE I.-The Mess Room¹).-Sabres, Caps,
etc. hung up. The COLONEL, MAJOR, and
CORNET at Table, after Dinner.
Cor. Throw up his commission! Muffs and
Cor. The actual Prince de Pindemonté ar- meerschaums! Wear plain clothes, and be
rived, and to be proclaimed Viceroy to night!-taken for a doctor or a lawyer, or some such
We shall be broke, every soul of us; ex- abomination. The man's crazed.-Try if he'll
coriated of fur, lace and feather, for life; ut- stand a glass of water. [Aside to Major.
terly nonentified! Muffs and meerschaums. Maj. No; water proves nothing in the corps.
Col. This arrival is certainly most unex- All hussars have the hydrophobia 2) by nature.
pected and unlucky. Is there any thing of Lor. Those people about Victoria make a
the Prince in the evening paper, Major? bugbear of me. It is to prevent presumed
Maj. [Glancing over it]-Heads of columns, disturbance from me, that this unfortunate
paragraphs, rank and file. [Reads] "Mar- ceremony is thus hurried; and is to take place
riage in high life-Grand boxing match: Fa- in an old castle a league out of town.
shionable boarding school-Capital man-traps: Col. And are we to buy or blow up your
The comet- New tale of the Isle of Sky: castle?
Polar passage: voyage to the moon." Ila, ha! Lor. None of the family have ever visited
not a syllable, Colonel.
it. It was left to the old Count to dispose of
Col. One of the aides-de-camp has just taken in some way or other. Their ignorance seemed
the order for parade to Lorenzo's quarters. to allow me a chance of rescuing Victoria
This love is a formidable thing, when it keeps from ruin. Spado has already ordered our
a man from messing. The lady's picture is grooms to drive their Prince, and be hanged
certainly striking.
Maj. She's a beauty of the first water. She
should lodge in my heart on a lease for
and as long as she liked after.
to him, and his cavalcade, round the suburbs,
and, under cover of night, lodge them in the
ever, jail instead of their castle. I shall then burst
upon them, and break up the imposture at
Aye) A hit at the Irish gentlemen, who take refuge in this
Col. Lodge in your heart, Major?
and in your head!-love reigns a tyrant, if
he reigns at all.
Cor. In the Major's head! Muffs and meer-
schaums, would you put the lady into un-
furnished lodgings?
1) Dining Room..
Island to avoid their creditors; the Major only hears
the word Port (wine), the Irish being a wine-drinking
nation are influenced to good deeds by drinking Port;
Jackson, as heard by the Colonel, finishes the stroke;
Port Jackson is in Botany bay, and thus the wit of
this phrase is perfectly clear.
2) An aversion to water.

748
[ACT V.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
once, by flinging the impostor into his dungeon But now away with you, every man to his
before their eyes. -[Spado enters.]-And cell.-What! grumbling? Why, you dogs,
here's Spado. What have you done? Have you ought to think yourselves the luckiest
you settled their reception with the jailor. fellows alive to be here.
Are the grooms prepared? Are the cavalcade
going?
[To Spado.
Spa. Signior, the cavalcade are gone. I saw
them off: a grand show, Sir, private as it was!
The old Count and Countess full of bustle-
blunders and Brussels lace, according to custom;
the bride full of blushes and tears, according
to custom; and the bride's maids, servant
maids, and maids of all descriptions, full of
laughing and impudence, tattle and white top-
knots, also according to custom. I will be
revenged on some of them, yet.
Lor. Silence, Sir!-will you be kicked out!
of the room?
Cor. According to custom. [Spado goes.
Col. Yet, Lorenzo, if the affair be so close
upon beginning, we can all go with you.
We have still half an hour before parade.
Song.-JAILOR and Chorus.
He who lives in a jail
Will never turn pale,
With a dun at his tail,
For his bolts are his bail;
He may dance, drink, and sing,
As free as his king,
From Monday to Monday morning.
(CHORUS repeats.)
When once he's here,
At the world he may jeer,
And pay no more debts than a prince or a peer,
But take his fling,
Till he takes his swing,
All on a Monday morning.
Jail. Off with you, here comes the party.
Away, you hounds! [Exeunt Lazaro and
Lor. My dear Colonel, I must insist on Prisoners.] - Here they live without rent,
going alone. I know the result of having tithe, or taxes, and do as little for it as if they
used the Viceroy's name; and no man shall were so many lords; and yet they will
be implicated in my misfortunes. On this hour grumble!
may depend every future moment of my life.
I must go, were I never to return. [Exit.
[Major, Colonel, and Cornet,
buckling on their Sabres.
[Exit.
[4 Door is unlocked, and the Count,
Countess, and Torrento, highly
dressed, come in.
Tor. Upon my honour, Count, this is the
Maj. [Calls]-Wait a moment. Off like a most singular looking castle. And what a
rocket. You shan't go alone, unless you take detestable atmosphere of rank tobacco, and
us along with you; that's plain. [Exit. vinegar wine! Your friend must have lived
Col. That's plain; yes, plain Irish, Major.-like a bashaw or a bandit, and this was the
Forwards!
[Exit, laughing. black hole.
Cor. [Equipping himself]-Detestable, to Ven. The Marquis was a singular man,
be hurried in one's making up 1). Irish!- certainly. Very gloomy, very ancient; a very
The Major's blunders spring up as thick as ghostly habitation.
blossoms in one of his own potatoe fields. Coun. Husband, husband, its a very fine
Perdition to all straps, strings, and stay-laces, castle; our reception was quite royal, sen-
I say. [Trying to put on his Accoutre-tinels on the walls, lighted torches, draw-
ments.]-Chin-stays and chokebands! Dia- bridges up, altogether a very grand affair.
volo! Sebastian, my sal volatile. [He calls]- Tor. [Aside]-It has the look of a jail,
My tailor has been taking measure of some the smell of a jail-it feels like a jail. [To Ven.]
one for the half pay 2)-no allowance for Why have you brought me to this detestable
dinner. Viva! there's a form. The Major was place? A wedding in this-condemned cell?
right. Irresistible! "C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'a- Ven. Excellent name!-very appropriate for
[Exit, singing. the ceremony-chains for life. Ha, ha, ha!
Tor. Chains for life-capital jest-ha, ha,
SCENE II-A Hall in the Jail, with a rude ha! [He forces a Laugh, which gradually
attempt at decoration on the Walls. A diminishes.] A prodigious smell of thieves.
Wreath of tarnished Flowers, festooning
mour."
[Aside.
a grated Window. Prisoners are busy Coun. Prince, this is but the reception room;
removing Chains and Bolts. Some are I orderered the grand baronial hall to be
sitting at a small Table, drinking. The prepared for the ceremony-and this is, I
JAILOR comes in hastily, with LAZARO. suppose, the door. [Tries it.] Bless me, it
Jail. Hurry, hurry!-Off with yourselves is lock'd.
and your table. By St. Januarius, this looks
-
Tor. [Runs over to it] Lock'd, aye, and
showy, gay, quite in the gala style, Lazaro. double lock d. [Aside. Angrily to Ventoso.]
I wish we had the floor chalked 3); we might For what purpose is this locking up, Sir?
have a quadrille Ha, ha, ha! [A Noise of And at this early hour too; it's against all rule.
Chains outside.]-Hurry, hurry! We are to Ven. Your Highness! this can be nothing
have grand visitors to-night. Rather an odd but the carefulness of the servants. My friend,
place for a wedding, to be sure.-What would the Marquis, was a very particular man, and
you say to being one of the brides-maids, La- locked up every thing, himself included. He
zaro-ha, ha, ha! [The Prisoners laugh.]
1) Dressing.
2) The poor half-pay Officers are the butt of many a
joke, from those who are in full pay.
3) The floor of a ball-room, in England, is generally
chalked with figures representing a landscape, etc. in
order to prevent the dancers from slipping.
was a great buyer of all sorts of oddities,
curiosities, and monstrosities. He built this
castle for a show, and then shut it up like a
prison. You have heard of the Marquis Chiar'
Oscuro?
Tor. The Marquis! unquestionably-my
most particular friend. Ha, ha! that explains

SCENE 2.]
749
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
the whole matter, and this was the castle;-fire by friction, she would be a volcano.
I heard of his sale at the Antipodes. He had Maj. Every one to his taste; but if the
a wing of the original Phoenix-Pope Joan's daughter be like the mamma, I would as soon
marriage articles-Queen Elizabeth's wedding marry a mermaid.-Where can Lorenzo be?-
ring-a wig of Dido of Carthage-and a pair I will go for him-They'll be off.
of pantaloons made for Don Bellianis of Greece. Col. Gathering nerve on the terrace--for-
[They laugh] But the ladies-
sooth-they'll escape-stay, Cornet.
Cor. Stay in this den and be devoured ¹)?-
'Pon honour-No.
[They go out.
Coun. The coxcombs! - Open the door, I
say.
[Calling.
Ven. Aye, where are the ladies? always
late, always lingering.
-
[Ventoso enters, handing in Leonora.
Ven. Your Highness- my daughter. Any
news of the priest?
Coun. I have left them in another apart-
ment till the arrival of the priest. There must
be no hurry, no precipitation. Marriage is a Tor. They are unlocking. [Listening] Three
serious thing.
locks! That's the twist of a turnkey, I'll be
Ven. Yes, your Highness; it is as little of sworn to it, in any jail in the world. [Aside.
a joke as any thing in the world. But let us
begin. One is not the more reconciled to
the dose, by looking at it. [Aside] I will
run after the ladies.
[He hurries out. Leon. Torrento! Is it possible? [In surprise.
Tor. And a very gallant run for your age.- Tor. Leonora, by what wonder has this
But now, my charming Countess, for on my happened? I am delighted beyond expression.
honour, with that bloom on your cheek, and I have a thousand questions to ask. Count
that brilliancy in your eyes, I can't bring my- and Countess, excuse me a moment.
self to call you-Mother-in-law. Now-
Leon. And is this a time to ask? I am
[Voices of the Hussars without. overwhelmed with surprise, with sorrow, with
Hussars. Ha, ha, ha!-By the glory of the shame. I thought that you had fled from
Twentieth-excellent, down with bar, bolt, and Palermo. I lived only in the hope of your
chain-Muffs and meerschaums-Allspice and return. But to find you here, my sister's
sugar canes-
[The Hussars burst in. bridegroom-you the Prince!-Traitor, I will
Maj. Bravo! just in time; the turtle's under unmask you.
the net. Colonel, let's have a laugh at the Tor. Hush! one word. I will satisfy all
Cornet. [Aside] - Cornet, may I have the your doubts; I expected to meet you; I have
honour of introducing you to-the Bride. been as much deceived as yourself. I'll marry
Coun. The whole barrack broke loose, as none but you. I swear, by the brightness of
I'm an honest woman!-[To Torrento] your eyes, by every star-
Bride! what do the monsters mean?
-
Leon. Ah! yours, I fear, are wandering
Tor. The Hussars! found out and followed. stars.
[He leads her up the Stage.
-Bride-the old Countess-Ha, ha! [Aside]- Coun. A mighty handsome reception, in-
Don't mind their insolence. Those gentlemen deed! The Prince's affability is charming.
are court jesters, paid for making themselves 'Tis all the way in high life. Friendships are
ridiculous; and by all that's absurd, they earn as quickly made there as-
their money. Away, Lady.
Ven. They are unmade. He's prodigiously
[They approach the Door. affable. Why, it's absolute love-making. [Calls]
Cor. [Surveying her with his Glass] - Your Highness, the bride is coming. By St.
The Bride! a very antique susceptibility-a Agnes, he forgets her, as much as if they had
grand climacteric, touched by the heavenly been married a month.
passion.
Col. It must have been something heavenly;
for nothing earthly could have done it.
Maj. Yes; like an old tree, set on fire by
lightning.
VICTORIA, attended by Bridemaids, enters.
LORENZO enters from an opposite Door.
[Irresolutely.
Lor. Victoria!
Vic. Lorenzo!
[She is overwhelmed.
[To the Count] There's a dimness on my eyes!
Save me, my father. I would rather look
Upon the pale and hollow front of death,
Than meet that glance.
Cor. [Still approaching]-Victim of Cu-
pid-Maiden innocenc-Virgin virago!
[Aside, to the Hussars.
Coun. [Bursting away from Torrento,
and fellowing the Cornet]-Why, you red
mountebank!-you impudent man-milliner!-
you thing of mummery and moustaches-you
King's bad bargain-you apology for a man- There lies the door. Begone!
you trooper-
All. "Trooper!"
Maj. It's the old lady herself! Countess
Figs and Raisins, by the glory of the Twen-
tieth!
Col. Let me see her with the naked eye.
Ginger and Cayenne to the life!
Cor. The venerable charmer that insulted
the whole regiment. The old horse - marine!
Bless me, how she prances! Why don't you
stop her-Colonel-Major-
Maj. I would as soon stop a chain-shot.
Col. I would as soon stop an avalanche.
Cor. Avalanche! If the tongue could take
Lor. [Advancing] Victoria! if your heart-
Coun. Stand back, plebeian! Marry with
your like.
Ven. [Calling to Torrento]-Prince! take
your bride.
[Aside.
Those wives and daughters!
Lor. Scorn'd, aspers'd, disdain'd,
For blood, that flows as hotly in my veins
As in an emperor's.
Can birth bequeath
Mind to the mindless; spirit to the vile;
Valour to dastards; virtue to the knave?-
'Tis nobler to stand forth the architect
Of our own fame, than lodge i' the dusty halls
Of ancestry!-To shine before the world,
Like sunrise from the dusk, than twinkle on
1) By little animals.
750
[ACT V.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.

In far and feeble starlight!
Here we part;
One kiss, fair traitress! [He kisses her]
like cold and sweet.
And now the world's before me.
must fly the country. Our pride has had a fall.
Ven. Aye: now boast-now triumph. A
Death-fall!-and so hard a one, that may I be in
the Gazette 1), if I ever try a fall again. Here,
Victoria; Leonora, help to bear up your mother's
griefs. Hers is a heavy case, a very weighty
concern, indeed. She see through a rogue!
She might as well see to the end of a suit in
Chancery. Pride-ruin-madness! [Exeunt.
SCENE III. An Apartment in VENTOSO's
House. VICTORIA and LEONORA come in.
This be all,
Early or late, Lorenzo's epitaph:
That he had deem'd it nobler, to go forth,
Steering his sad and solitary prow
Across the ocean of adventurous deeds,
Than creep the lazy track of ancestry.
They be the last of theirs, I first of mine.
Vic. Lorenzo, hear me.
TORRENTO and LEONORA re-appear.
Coun. Will she kneel to him? Can she
endure this insult? Prince, take your bride.
[To Torrento.
Vic. At home again! Stay with me, Leo-
nora-My brain is wild. I can scarcely think
that we have escaped from that hideous prison.
Did not Lorenzo upbraid me, cast me off?-
I will take the veil.
Enter PISANIO.
Leon. Take the veil! take nothing but
Tor. Who dares insult her? That rioter courage. Your beauty might kill a whole regi-
come again! Sir, the man who offends this ment of officers, instead of pining for one.
lady must not live.
[Lorenzo turns. I would not give a sigh to save the whole
Lor. I had forgot!-Vagabond,-Ho-Jai-army-list-Yet, I feel some strange, delightful
lor! Fling this impostor into the dungeon hope, that all will yet be well-Your Prince,
from which I took him.
you see, was one of my adorers-In coming
[Ventoso and the Females in surprise. to marry you, he thought he was come to
Tor. Draw, and defend yourself! [The marry me- Monstrous impudence in either
Jailor, Lazaro, and Assistants, rush in case. I shall have him yet for all that, if I'm
behind Torrento, and pinion him. The woman.
[Aside.
Hussars return] Stiletto! 'Tis the jail-com-
pletely tricked, trapped, trepanned. What's Pisan. Ladies, your immediate attendance
all this for? [To the Jailor]-Handcuffs-at the palace is commanded by order of the
'tis against prison rules- I have not broke Viceroy, the Prince de Pindemonté.
bounds-I'll give bail to any amount-a thou- Vic. The Impostor!-Viceroy! impossible!
sand sequins-ten-twenty thousand. The Leon. Torrento, Viceroy! incredible! Got
Count will go security. [Aside] Count, I say-out of prison-got into the palace-He is the
[Calling. great sublime of impudence. I adore him
Ven. I am deaf. Security! Swindler! How for his ingenuity.--Can the news be true?
shall we escape?
Pisan. Nothing more certain; the nobility
Leon. Undone-undone. Save him, dear are going in crowds to the palace-the Count
father, save him.
and Countess have been summoned, and are
already gone. The guards are on parade:-
and one of the officers is now waiting below,
Lor. Off with that culprit to his dungeon. to have the honour of escorting you, when
Tor. Count and Countess, this is a con- the carriage returns.
Jail. Restive! Ho! on with the handcuffs,
Lazaro. The bosom friends!
spiracy. I will have justice!-vengeance!- Leon. Runs to the Mirror] - Heavens,
Scoundrels! high treason!-injur'd prince! what a head! the damp of that odious prison
Pindemonté!-
[He is carried off. has made me the very emblem of a weeping
Ven. Let us escape. Security indeed! Here willow. Come, sister, dear Victoria, rise!
is security with a vengeance-locks and bars-Will you wear plumes or roses? But smile,
to find myself in a jail! Open the door! and you will conquer. You can then return,
[They knock. and-take the veil, if you choose.
[She attempts arrange her Dress,
Victoria repels her.
Col, [A Bugle sounds] Officers! the call
to parade. Troopers! Pride! Ha, ha, ha!
Troopers! Birth-Pride! ha, ha!
[He urges the Major and
Cornet out, laughing.
Trio.-(Italian.).
VICTORIA,
Lor. Count and Ladies, farewell. We have Spirit of Love! the heart still deceiving;
met for the last time. You, Victoria, have Still, on the dim eye delicious dreams weaving;
suffered for the crime of inconstancy; you, Still, with sad pleasure the torn bosom heaving;
Count, for the folly of being a slave to the Go! I'm thy slave and thy victim no more!
will of women; you, Countess, for the violence
LEONORA.
of your temper; and all for your common Spirit of Hope! from thy light pinions shedding
crime, Pride! Farewell for ever, [Exit. Flowers where the steps of young Passion are
Vic. If sorrow-shame-penitence! - Oh,
treading,
Lorenzo!-He's gone.
PISANIO.
Sunny hues over life's sullen clouds spreading,
Leon. If I can climb the walls, or under- Here, live or die, at thy shrine I adore!
mine the dungeon, or dry up the moat, or
bribe the guards, my true Torrento-my un-Spirit of Joy! on those bosoms descending,
fortunate Torrento-shall not linger another Come, like the day-star, the weary night ending:
day in prison.
[Aside. Come, like the bow with the summer storm
blending,
Coun. Undone-insulted-laughed at-I shall
never be able to hold up my head again. Wel 1) Bankrupts are inserted in the Gazette.

SCENE 4.]
751
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Bid all the anguish of true love be o'er.
VICTORIA.
Love!-from my bosom-the traitor disdaining!
LEONORA.
If I am scorned, I shall die uncomplaining.
PISANIO.
No bitter tear must those rich cheeks be staining;
No thought of woe must those young hearts
be paining.
VICTORIA.
Spirit of love, etc. etc.
SCENE IV. And Last. A Saloon in the
Palace. Attendants in waiting. STEFANO,
with papers.
Ste. Those documents-the similitude of his
features form evidence irresistible. Now, to
add conviction to conviction. Ho, Sir, has
the Signior Torrento been brought from the
jail? Have the Count Ventoso and his family
been summoned to the palace?
you would be worthy of the throne yourself.
Spy! This to a man of honour!
Ven. Friend Stefano, a man of honour may
be like a debt of honour-a very roguish affair.
Coun. I insist on seeing his Highness! Keep
your distance, Sir!
-
Ste. Yes, Madam, if I would preserve my
ears. I never ran foul of such a fire-ship
before. - [Aside]-Your Prince you shall see.
You would make the best match since the fall
of Babel.
[He goes out.
The COLONEL, MAJOR, and CORNET, enter
at the opposite Door.
Maj. Ha, ha-A mighty fine discovery for
Lorenzo-one of his fathers-
Cor. Charming-Nature to the last, Major-
exquisitely Hibernian!
Maj. Perhaps no such mighty blunder, after
all-make it your own case, Cornet. What,
angry? Poh, shake hands.
Cor. 'Pon honour, no-but by sentence of
Officer. [Outside] "Room for the Count a Court-Martial.
and Countess Ventoso."
Col. Well, Lorenzo deserves it all; as capi-
Ste. Come already! I shrink instinctively tal a fellow as ever wore spur.
from the volley of that woman's tremendous
tongue.
[He walks aside.
The COUNT and COUNTESS enter, led by the
OFFICER. Servants range themselves in
the distance.
4
Coun. [Sees them]-The Hussars!
Ven. Are you sure we're not in jail again?
[To Countess.
Col. Ho! the Count and Countess. Come,
don't turn away; let us be friends.
Cor. Her Ladyship! Excuse me, Colonel-
Coun. Now, husband, what have you to say the Hussars never notice the Heavys 1).
for your wisdom? Solomon! -The Prince's Maj. Pob, nonsense, man! Your Ladyship,
seizure was clearly a conspiracy. Here we he aspires to the honour of a salute.
are, by the express command of his Highness Cor. Me! Diavolo! I'll never come in con-
the Prince de Pindemonté, my son-in-law! tact with that harpy again, but in a cuirass-
Ven. It's all a riddle-all moonshine to me. Muffs and meerschaums!
In jail and out of jail at once! He must be a Col. Well, then, let me introduce the Ma-
conjuror-an eater of fire and a swallower of jor-He comes from the land of gallantry;
small swords. But, why was I sent for here?- the country where they raise men for ex-
I see it-to squeeze money out of me-a for-portation.
ced loan.
Coun. Wise head! the Prince has sent for
my daughters. Depend upon it, there will be
a wedding to-night, and this is a very pretty
apartment for the ceremony. On my virtue,
I should like a suite here, with a handsome
pension.
Maj. Aye, to improve the modesty of man-
kind, your Ladyship.
Ven. But what-what were you saying of
Lorenzo?
Maj. He is this moment closeted with the
Viceroy,-one of the Cabinet, my dear.
Col. A grand discovery, heir to a superb
Ven. I don't doubt you, my love; a taste estate! In his infancy he had been sent from
for the public money is not uncommon in
either sex.
Italy with a large sum in jewels to his family
banker in Cadiz-one Anselmo.
Ven. Anselmo!
Coun. Our kinsman!
[Aside.
Coun. But, bless me! there's your Signior
Stefano. I before suspected him of being a
Jew, but now I am sure of it. Nothing else Col. Yes; an old villain, who embezzled the
could have such access to people of quality. money, and ran away with the boy to this
Ste. Count, those papers-these- [Aside. island; where he brought up Lorenzo as a
Coun. This is no time to talk of your af- peasant's son. The rogue died only some
fairs Retire! I cannot give you my counte- months ago.
nance here.
Ven. St. Anthony!-had he no son?
Ste. Retire! Countenance! Upon my honour, Col. What, am I to trace a scoundrel's
Madam, your ladyship's countenance is one whole genealogy!
of the last presents that could excite my gra- Cor. But did you hear the name of the
titude.
present heir?
Ven. He can't bear for five minutes what Col. No, not I. Some old accomplice; he
I have been bearing these forty years. [Aside. will be stripped of course.
Coun. He's a spy of Lorenzo's: but, rather Maj. Oh, what's the use of his name-some
than give my daughter to that buff-belt, I'd old trafficker--he will be sent to the galleys,
marry her to the Khan of Tartary!
to a certainty.
Ven. Now she's in for it.- [Aside]-Man, Cor. Yes; if he have any hemp or rats-
make your escape.
[To Stefano. bane in his establishment, he may take the
Ste. Intolerable! - [Aside]-Khan of Tar-benefit of his own stock in trade.
tary! Madam, if the tongue made the Tartar, 1) Heavy horse-Dragoons.

752
[ACT V.
PRIDE SHALL HAVE A FALL.
Coun. Undone!
Ven. I don't believe a word of your story!
I'll not part with a sequin -I'll go to law
firt,-I'll go to ruin first!
Col. You the heir!
Cor. Muffs and meerschaums!
Maj. Law-ruin-aye, they generally go
together, my old friend.
Cor. An alliance perfectly matrimonial, Count.
[Voices within] "Room for his Highness the
Prince!-room!"
Enter ATTENDANTS, announcing the VICEROY.
Flourish of Music. Enter STEFANO, splen-
didly dressed, and attended by the Hus-
SARS.
Coun. [Advances] Your most gracious High-
ness. [She recognises him] Stefano the Vice-
roy! what have I said to him-I could bite
off my tongue!
[Aside to Ventoso.
Ven. Well resolved, Countess; do so, and
we shall both be quiet for life. Stefano the
[Laughter. viceroy!-We shall both be sent to the galleys.)
Tor. [Within] Asses and idiots! out of my
[Aside.
way, you pampered buffoons! Must I never Ste. Count, I have heard something about a
stir without a rabble of you grinning at my love affair in your family. I have certainly
heels? [He enters] The Count and Count- no right to insist upon the Captain's being
ess! Confusion! what brought them here? your son-in-law-Lorenzo, what have you to
say for yourself?
Lor. Nothing, my Lord, [Leading Victoria]
but to express my delight, my happiness, at
this day's discovery; my reverence, my love.
[They kneel,
[The Hussars stand aside, laughing.
Coun. Your Highness's commands-
Ven. Your Highness's orders-your-
Tor. I am overwhelmed! I can submit to
the indignity of disguise no longer.-[Aside]
Count and Countess-I am no prince-no-
TORRENTO and LEONORA return.
body-nothing-but one of the thousand luck-
less children of chance, who fight their ob- Ven. Aye, flattery does every thing here.
scure way through the world.-[Victoria and Ste. Well, Madam, as he cannot have the
Leonora enter. He approaches Leonora]-honour of being your son-in-law, I am afraid
We must part, my love. I am unworthy of he must be content with Rise, Sir! stand
you; and from this hour I care not on what forth the son of the Viceroy of Sicily, of
sea or shore fortune may fling me!
Stefano, Prince de Pindemonte. Come to your
father's arms, my long-lost, late-found son, my
gallant son!
Leon. No, Torrento! we part no more. I
have been unwise, and you unfortunate. But
here I swear to follow you with constancy as
strong as life or death. We are one.
[They go up the Stage.
Coun. Impudence unparalleled! No Prince!
Ven. I appeal to the Viceroy. Impostor!
—
Lor. My father! my generous, noble father!
All. His son!-Viva! viva!
Vic. My lord and love!
Leon. Happy Victoria!
Ste. There, Sir, go mollify the Countess.
Col. The business is tolerably complete, -But, if you find her as tough a subject-as I
Major. Their pride's down upon the knees ¹), did)-[Aside] Now, take your bride, and be
like a cast charger-it will carry the mark happy.
beyond all cure.
Maj. Aye, like a scar on a fine woman's
reputation-it will go on widening for life-
Cor. They will be in no want of our trum-
peters now they will be blown every step
they go.
Enter LORENZO, unperceived but by
VICTORIA.
[To Lorenzo.
The HUSSARS approach.
Officers. We congratulate you, Prince.
Lady, we wish you all happiness. [To Victoria.
Ste. How I obtained the knowledge of my
son, how I preserved my incognito as Viceroy
till the search was complete-you shall hear
at the banquet, to which I now invite you all.
LORENZO, and all, advance.
Lor. My love, all must be forgiven and for- Lor. Fair ladies, nobles, gallant cavaliers!
gotten. I have the most delightful intelligence-This day shall be a bright one in the web
the happiest discovery. I have just been Wherein our lives are pictur'd-Thro' all years
with the-
This shall be holiday-The prison gates
Shall know no envious bars; rich pageantries
Coun. The Captain! another impostor-Shall paint our love-tale; children's merry
another stolen match-He a man of family?
the Hussar?
[The Countess sees him.]
tongues
Shall lisp our names; and old men, o'er their
fires,
Lor. Countess, if honour and attachment,
long tried, can entitle me to this lady's hand-Flourish their cups above their hoary heads,
Vic. My father! if duty, if love, if feelings And drink our memory! Come in, sweet love!
pained to agony can move you- [Kneeling.
[To Victoria.
Ven. Another daughter gone! By all means, Col. There's a fine girl on her own hands,
Madam. What next? Is there any thing else Cornet;-[Pointing to Leonora]-No hus-
you would have, Captain? We're in the jail band for the lady.
again! Gang of thieves!-[To Countess Cor. Excuse me, Colonel, we, the Twen-
Sir, is there any thing about me that strikes tieth, are not connubial. But if the girl want
your taste?-[Going up to the Hussars]-a husband, I'll state the circumstance on pa-
Or your's, Sir? - My watch and scals -my rade.-Muffs and meerschaums!
purse. Does any gentleman take a fancy to
the Countess? No! that stock lies on hand.
1) A horse which has fallen has generally a mark on its
knee, thus losing two-thirds of its value.
Tor. Your Highness! since you have the
art of finding out sons, perhaps you can find
out fathers too. Pray, whose son am I? some-
body's, I suppose?

ROSINA.
753
Ste. In tracing the Captain, I accidentally before them! What army shall I raise? What
fell in with your career. I mistook you for cabinet shall I pension? What kingdom shall
each other. I found your errors more of the I purchase? What emperor shall I annihilate?
head than the heart. You have your liberty. I'll have Mexico for a plate-chest, and the
Count, you must resign your title.
Ven. With all my heart.
Ste. And, with them, Anselmo's estate.
Ven. Not the money-not the money-I
have an old prejudice in favour of the money.
Coun. I'm thunderstruck.
Ste. Torrento, stand forth; you are Ansel-
mo's heir! you are the banker's son!
Mediterranean for a fish-pond. I'll have a
loan as long as from China to Chili. I'll have
a mortgage on the moon! Give me the purse,
let who will carry the sceptre.
Count and Countess, you shall keep your
titles, and be as happy as mirth, money, and
macaroni can make you.
[To Leonora and the rest.]
Maj. Then, upon my conscience, there'll be Now! to the banquet. Having fix'd our fates
a mighty great run on the bank.
With freedom, title, fortune, loving mates! -
Tor. [In Exultation]-A banker's son, If I have erred, 'twas youth, love, folly;-here,
magnificent! a golden shower!-Leonora, my With generous hearts around, I scorn to fear-
love, we'll have a wedding worthy of bankers. Where heroes judge, and beauty pleads the
What trinkets will you have? the Pitt dia-
cause,
mond, or the Great Mogul? A banker, my Who talks of censure? Give me your applause.
angel! 'Tis your bankers that sweep the world
OPERA.
ROSINA.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
INKLE AND YARICO.
BEGGAR'S OPERA.
THE DUENNA.
FRANCES BROOKE.
THIS lady, whose maiden name was Moore, was the daughter of a clergyman, and the wife of the Rev. John
Brooke, rector of Colney, in Norfolk, of St. Augustine, in the city of Norwich, and chaplain to the garrison of Quebec.
Her husband died Jan. 21, 1789; and she herself on the 26th of the same month, at Sleaford, at the house of her son,
who had a preferment in that part of the country. Mrs. Brooke was a lady of first-rate abilities, and as remarkable for
gentleness and suavity of manners, as for her literary talents. She wrote and published some admirable novels (among
which were, Lady Julia Mandeville, Emily Montague, Marquis of St. Forlaix, and The Excursion); a periodical
paper, called The Old Maid, and a translation of Millot's Elements of the History of England.
ROSINA,
Comic Opera, by Mrs. Brooke. Acted at Covent Garden 1783. The story of this piece is founded on that of
Palemon and Lavinia (in Thomson's Seasons), or Boaz and Ruth, in the Scripture, and was performed with great
applause. It has, however, the disadvantage of wanting the grace of novelty, and the pleasure of surprise; as must
always be the case with scriptural stories, or others of notoriety. The music, by Shield, is charming, and can never
fail of attracting attention. Of all the petite pieces that are exhibited on the British stage, Rosina is perhaps the least
offensive to the severe moralist; as it corrects the mind, while it pleases the senses,
MR. BELVILLE.
CAPTAIN BELVILLE.
WILLIAM.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ROSINA.
DORCAS.
PHOEBE,
RUSTIC.
1st IRISHMAN.
2nd IRISHMAN.
SCENE. A Village in the North.
-
Reapers, Gleaners,
Servants, etc.
SCENE opens and discovers a rural prospect: on the left side a little hill with trees
at the top; a spring of water rushes from the side, and falls into a natural bason
below: on the right side a cottage, at the door of which is a bench of stone. At
a distance a chain of mountains. The manor-house in view. A field of corn fills
up the scene.
In the first act the sky clears by degrees, the morning vapour disperses, the sun rises,
and at the end of the act is above the horizon: at the beginning of the second he
is past the height, and declines till the end of the day. This progressive motion
should be made imperceptibly, but its effect should be visible through the two acts.
95

754
[ACT 1.
ROSINA.
SCENE I.
ACT I.
sweetheart? But you are so proud you won't
let our young men come a near you. You
After the Trio, the Sun is seen may live to repent being so scornful.
AIR.
to rise: the Door of the Cottage is open,
a Lamp burning just within; DORCAS,
seated on a Bench, is spinning; ROSINA When William at eve meets me down at
and PHOEBE, just within the Door, are
measuring Corn; WILLIAM comes from
the top of the Stage; they sing the fol-
lowing Trio.
When the rosy morn appearing
Paints with gold the verdant lawn,
Bees on banks of thime disporting,
Sip the sweets, and hail the dawn.
Warbling birds, the day proclaiming,
Carol sweet the lively strain;
They forsake their leafy dwelling,
To secure the golden grain.
See, content, the humble gleaner,
Take the scatter'd ears that fall!
Nature, all her children viewing,
Kindly bounteous, cares for all.
[William retires.
Ros. See! my dear Dorcas, what we glean'd
yesterday in Mr. Belville's field!
[Coming forward, and showing the Corn
at the Door.
Dor. Lord love thee! but take care of thy-
self: thou art but tender.
Ros. Indeed it does not hurt me. Shall I
put out the lamp?
Dor. Do, dear; the poor must be sparing.
[Rosina going to put out the Lamp, Dor-
cas looks after her and sighs; she re-
turns hastily.
Ros. Why do you sigh, Dorcas?
Dor. I canno' bear it: it's nothing to Phoebe
and me, but thou wast not born to labour.
[Rising and pushing away the Wheel.
Ros. Why should I repine? heaven, which
deprived me of my parents, and my fortune,
left me health, content, and innocence. Nor
is it certain that riches lead to happiness. Do
you think the nightingale sings the sweeter
for being in a gilded cage?
Dor. Sweeter, I'll maintain it, than the
poor little linnet that thou pick'dst up half
starved under the hedge yesterday, after its
mother had been shot, and brought'st to life
in thy bosom. Let me speak to his honour,
he's main kind to the poor.
Ros. Not for the world, Dorcas, I want
nothing; you have been a mother to me.
Dor. Would I could! Would I could! I
ha' worked hard and 'arn'd money in my
time; but now I am old and feeble, and am
push'd about by every body. More's the pity,
say; it was not so in my young time; but
the world grows wickeder every day.
the stile,
How sweet is the nightingale's song!
Of the day I forget the labour and toil,
Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.
By her beams, without blushing, I hear him
complain,
And believe every word of his song:
You know not how sweet 'tis to love the
dear swain,
Whilst the moon plays yon branches among.
[During the last Stanza William appears
at the end of the Scene, and makes
Signs to Phabe; who, when it is finish-
ed, steals softly to him, and they dis-
appear.
Ros. How small a part of my evils is po-
verty! And how little does Phoebe know the
heart she thinks insensible! the heart which
nourishes a hopeless passion. I blest, like
others, Belville's gentle virtues, and knew not
that 'twas love. Unhappy! lost Rosina!
AIR.
The morn returns, in saffron drest,
But not to sad Rosina rest.
The blushing morn awakes the strain,
Awakes the tuneful choir;
But sad Rosina ne'er again
Shall strike the sprightly lyre.
Rust. [Without] To work, my hearts of
oak, to work; here the sun is half an hour
high, and not a stroke struck yet.
Enter RUSTIC, singing, followed by Reapers.
AIR.
Rust. See, ye swains, yon streaks of red
Call you from your slothful bed:
Late you till'd the fruitful soil;
See! where harvest crowns your toil!
Cho. Late you till'd the fruitful soil;
See! where harvest crowns your toil.
Rust. As we reap the golden corn,
Che.
Laughing Plenty fills her horn:
What would gilded pomp avail
Should the peasant's labour fail?
What would gilded pomp avail
Should the peasant's labour fail?
Ripen'd fields your cares repay,.
Sons of labour haste away;
Bending, see the waving grain,
Crown the year, and cheer the swain.
Cho. Bending, see the waving grain,
Rust.
Rust.
Ros. Your age, my good Dorcas, requires all the
rest; go into the cottage, whilst Phoebe and market?
I join the gleaners, who are assembling from
every part of the village.
Dor. Many a time have I carried thy dear
mother, an infant, in these arms; little did I
think a child of hers would live to share my
poor pittance. But I wo'not grieve thee.
[Dorcas enters the Cottage, looking back
affectionately at Rosina.
Pho. What makes you so melancholy, Ro-
sina? Mayhap it's because you have not a
Crown the year, and cheer the swain.
Hist! there's his honour. Where are
lazy Irishmen I hir'd yesterday at
Enter BELVILLE, followed by two Irishmen
and Servants.
1 Irish. Is it us he's talking of, Paddy?
Then the devil may thank him for his good
commendations.
Bel. You are too severe, Rustic; the poor
fellows came three miles this morning; there-
fore I made them stop at the manor-house to
take a little refreshment.

SCENE 1.]
755
ROSINA.
1 Irish. Bless your sweet face, my jewel, Bel. There are twenty coveys within sight
and all those who take your part. Bad luck of my house, and the dogs are in fine order.
to myself, if I would not, with all the veins Capt. B. The gamekeeper is this moment
of my heart, split the dew before your feet leading them round. I am fir'd at the sight.
in a morning.
[To Belville.
Rust. If I do speak a little cross, it's for
your honour's good.
[The Reapers cut the Corn, and make
it into Sheaves. Rosina follows, and gleans.
Rust. [Seeing Rosina] What a dickens
does this girl do here? Keep back; wait till
the reapers are off the field; do like the other
gleaners.
Ros. [Timidly] If I have done wrong, sir,
I will put what I have glean'd down again.
[She lets falls the Ears she had gleaned.
Bel. How can you be so unfeeling, Rustic?
She is lovely, virtuous, and in want. Let fall
some ears, that she may glean the more.
Rust. Your honour is too good by half.
Bel. No more: gather up the corn she has
let fall. Do as I command
you.
Rust. There, take the whole field, since his
honour chooses it.
[Putting the Corn into her Apron.
Ros. I will not abuse his goodness.
[Retires, gleaning.
2 Irish. Upon my soul now, his honour's
no churl of the wheat, whate'er he may be
of the barley ¹).
Bel. [Looking after Rosina] What be-
witching softness! There is a blushing, bash-
ful gentleness, an almost infantine innocence
in that lovely countenance, which it is im-
possible to behold without emotion! She turns
this way: What bloom on that cheek! 'Tis
the blushing down of the peach.
AIR.
Her mouth, which a smile,
Devoid of all guile,
Half opens to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.
More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath
At the dawning of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,
Or the blossoms of May.
Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, in a Riding-dress.
Capt. B. Good morrow, brother; you are
early abroad.
AIR.
By dawn to the downs we repair,
With bosoms right jocund and gay,
And gain more than pheasant or hare-
Gain health by the sports of the day.
Mark! mark! to the right hand, prepare-
See Diana!-she points!-see, they rise-
See, they float on the bosom of air!
Fire away! whilst loud echo replies
Fire away!
Hark! the volley resounds to the skies!
Whilst echo in thunder replies!
In thunder replies,
And resounds to the skies,
Fire away! Fire away! Fire away!
But where is my little rustic charmer? O!
there she is: I am transported. [Aside] Pray,
brother, is not that the little girl whose dawn-
ing beauty we admired so much last year?
Bel. It is, and more lovely than ever. I
shall dine in the field with my reapers to-day,
brother: will you share our rural repast, or
have a dinner prepar'd at the manor-house?
Capt. B. By no means: pray let me be of
your party: your plan is an admirable one,
especially if your girls are handsome.
walk round the field, and meet you at dinner
time.
I'll
[Exeunt Belville and Rustic. Captain
Belville goes up to Rosina, gleans a few
Ears, and presents them to her; she
refuses them, and runs out; he follows
her.
Enter WILLIAM, speaking at the side Scene.
Will. Lead the dogs back, James; the cap-
tain won't shoot to day. [Seeing Rustic and
Phoebe behind] Indeed, so close! I don't half
like it.
Enter RUSTIC and PHOEBE.
Rust. That's a good girl! Do as I bid you,
and you shan't want encouragement.
[He goes up to the Reapers, and William
comes forward.
Will. O no, I dare say she won't. So, Mrs.
Phoebe!
Pho. And So, Mr. William, if you go to
that!
Will. A new sweetheart, I'll be sworn;
and a pretty comely lad he is: but he's rich,
and that's enough to win a woman.
Bel. My dear Charles, I am happy to see
you. True, I find, to the first of September 2).
Capt. B. I meant to have been here last
night, but one of my wheels broke, and I was Pho. I don't desarve this of you, William:
obliged to sleep at a village six miles distant, but I'm rightly sarved, for being such an easy
where I left my chaise, and took a boat down fool. You think, mayhap, I'm at my last
the river at day-break. But your corn is not prayers; but you may find yourself mistaken.
off the ground.
Will. You do right to cry out first; you
Bel. You know our harvest is late in the think belike that I did not see you take that
north; but you will find all the lands clear'd posy from Harry.
on the other side the mountain.
Capt. B. And pray, brother, how are the
partridges this season?
1) He gives his bread away willingly enough; but he
seems to keep his drink all to himself-Beer being
made from malt and hops.
Pho. And you, belike, that I did not catch
you tying up one, of cornflowers and wild ro-
ses, for the miller's maid; but I'll be fool'd
no longer; I have done with you, Mr. Wil-
liam.
2) The captain is a sportsman, and does not forget the 1st The miller's maid loves the ground I walk on.
Will. I shan't break my heart, Mrs. Phoebe.
of September, the beginning of the shooting-season

756
[ACT I.
ROSINA.
DUETT.WILLIAM and PHOEBE.
Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled to fifty fair
maids,
And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see!
But of all the fair maidens that dance on
the green,
The maid of the mill for me.
you
Dor. 'Tis very kind.-And old age-
Ros. He'll tell that himself.
[Goes into the Cottage.
Dor. I thought so.-Sure, sure, 'tis no sin
to be old.
Capt. B. You must not judge of me by
others, honest Dorcas. I am sorry for your
Pho. There's fifty young men have told me misfortunes, and wish to serve you.
fine tales,
And call'd me the fairest she:
But of all the gay wrestlers that sport
on the green,
Young Harry's the lad for me.
Will. Her eyes are as black as the sloe in
the hedge,
Her face like the blossoms in May,
Her teeth are as white as the
shorn flock,
Dor. And to what, your honour, may I
owe this kindness?
Capt. B. You have a charming daughter-
Dor. I thought as much. A vile, wicked
man!
[Aside.
thousand resources in London; the moment
Capt. B. Beauty like hers might find a
she appears there, she will turn every head.
Dor. And is your honour sure her own
new-won't turn at the same time?
Her breath like the new-made hay.
Pho. He's tall and he's straight as the
poplar tree,
His cheeks are as fresh as the rose;
He looks like a squire of high degree
When drest in his Sunday clothes.
Will. I've kiss'd and I've prattled, etc.
Pho. There's fifty young men, etc.
[Exeunt on different Sides of the Stage.
ROSINA runs across the Stage; CAPTAIN
BELVILLE following her.
Capt. B. Stay and hear me, Rosina. Why
will you fatigue yourself thus? Only homely
girls are born to work. Your obstinacy is
vain; you shall hear me.
Ros. Why do you stop me, sir? My time
is precious. When the gleaning season is
over, will you make up my loss?
Capt. B. Yes.
Ros. Will it be any advantage to you to
make me lose my day's work?
Capt. B. Yes.
Ros. Would it give you pleasure to see
me pass all my days in idleness?
Capt. B. Yes.
Ros. We differ greatly then, sir. I only
wish for so much leisure as makes me return
to my work with fresh spirit. We labour all
the week, 'tis true; but then how sweet is
our rest on Sunday!
AIR.
Whilst with village maids I stray,
Sweetly wears the joyous day;
Cheerful glows my artless breast,
Mild content the constant guest.
Capt. B. Mere prejudice, child; you will
know better. I pity you, and will make your
fortune.
Capt. B. She shall live in affluence, and
take care of you too, Dorcas.
Dor. I guess your honour's meaning; but
you are mistaken, sir. If I must be a trouble
to the dear child, I had rather owe my bread
to her labour than her shame.
[Goes into the Cottage, and shuts the Door.
Capt. B. These women astonish me; but I
won't give it up so.
A
I
Enter RUSTIC, crossing the Stage.
word with you, Rustic.
Rust. I am in a great hurry, your honour;
am going to hasten dinner.
Capt. B. I shan't keep you a minute. Take
these five guineas.
Rust. For whom, sir?
Capt. B. For yourself. And this purse.
Rust. For whom, sir?
Capt. B. For Rosina; they say she is in
distress, and wants assistance.
Rust. What pleasure it gives me to see
you so charitable! You are just like your
brother.
Capt. B. Prodigiously.
Rust. But why give me money, sir?
Capt. B. Only to-tell Rosina there is a
person who is very much interested in her
happiness.
Rust. How much you will please his ho-
nour by this! He takes mightily to Rosina,
and prefers her to all the young women in
the parish.
Capt. B. Prefers her! Ah! you sly rogue!
[Laying his Hand on Rustic's Shoulder.
Rust. Your honour's a wag; but I'm sure
I meant no harm.
Capt. B. Give her the money, and tell her
she shall never want a friend; but not a word
to my brother.
Ros. Let me call my mother, sir: I am young, Rust. All's safe, your honour. [Exit Capt.
and can support myself by my labour; but Belville] I don't vastly like this business. At
she is old and helpless, and your charity will the captain's age, this violent charity is a little
be well bestow'd. Please to transfer to her duberous ¹). I am his honour's servant, and
the bounty you intended for me.
it's my duty to hide nothing from him. I'll
go seek his honour; O, here he comes.
Enter BELVILLE.
Capt. B. Why-as to that-
Ros. I understand you, sir; your compas-
sion does not extend to old women.
Capt. B. Really-I believe not.
Enter DORCAS.
Ros. You are just come in time, mother.
I have met with a generous gentleman, whose
charity inclines him to succour youth.
Bel. Well, Rustic, have you any intelli-
gence to communicate?
Rust. A vast deal, sir. Your brother be-
gins to make good use of his money; he bas
given me these five guineas for myself, and
this purse for Rosina.
1) Dubious.

SCENE 1.]
757
ROSINA.
Bel. For Rosina! 'Tis plain he loves her.
[Aside] Obey him exactly; but as distress
renders the mind haughty, and Rosina's situa-
tion requires the utmost delicacy, contrive to
execute your commission in such a manner
that she may not even suspect from whence
the money comes.
Rust. I understand your honour.
Bel. Have you gain'd any intelligence in
respect to Rosina?
Rust. I endeavour'd to get all I could from
the old woman's grand daughter; but all she
knew was, that she was no kin to Dorcas,
and that she had had a good bringing-up; but
here are the labourers.
Enter DORCAS, ROSINA, and PHOEBE.
Bel. But I don't see Rosina. Dorcas, you
must come too, and Phoebe.
Dor. We can't deny your honour.
Ros. I am asham'd; but you command, sir.
Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, followed by the
Reapers.
FINALE.
Bel. By this fountain's flow'ry side,
Drest in nature's blooming pride,
Where the poplar trembles high,
And the bees in clusters fly;
Whilst the herdsman on the hill
Listens to the falling rill,
Pride and cruel scorn away,
Let us share the festive day.
Taste our pleasures ye who may,
Ros. This is Nature's holiday.
Bel. Simple Nature ye who prize,
Life's fantastic forms despise.
Cho. Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Capt. B. Blushing Bell, with downcast eyes,
Sighs and knows not why she sighs;
Tom is near her-we shall know-
How he eyes her-Is't not so?
Cho. Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Will. He is fond, and she is shy;
He would kiss her!-fie!-ch, fie!
Mind thy sickle, let her be;
By and by she'll follow thee.
Cho. Busy censors, hence, away;
This is Nature's holiday.
Rust.
Dor.
Now we'll quaffthe nut-brown ale,
Then we'll tell the sportive tale;
All is jest, and all is glee,
All is youthful jollity.
Cho. Taste our pleasures ye who may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Pho.
Irish Girl.
1 Irish.
Lads and lasses, all advance,
Carol blithe, and form the dance;
Trip it lightly while you may,
This is Nature's holiday.
Cho. Trip it lightly while you may,
This is Nature's holiday.
[All rise; the Dancers come down the Stage
through the Sheaves of Corn, which are
removed; the Dance begins, and finishes
the Act.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The sume.
Enter RUSTIC.
Rust. This purse is the plague of my life;
I hate money when it is not my own. I'H
e'en put in the five guineas he gave me for
myself: I don't want it, and they do. They
certainly must find it there. But I hear the
cottage-door open.
[Retires a little.
Enter DORCAS and ROSINA from the Cottage.
DORCAS with a great Basket on her Arm,
filled with Skeins of Thread.
Dor. I am just going, Rosina, to carry
this thread to the weaver's.
Ros. This basket is too heavy for you:
pray let me carry it.
[Takes the Basket from Dorcas, and
sets it down on the Bench.
Dor. No, no.
[Peevishly.
Ros. If you love me, only take half; this
evening, or to-morrow morning, I will carry
the rest. [Takes Part of the Skeins out of the
Basket and lays them on the Bench, look-
ing affectionately on Dorcas] There, be
angry with me if you please.
Dor. No, my sweet lamb, I am not angry;
but beware of men.
Ros. Have you any doubts of my conduct,
Dorcas?
Dor. Indeed I have not, love; and yet I
am uneasy.
Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE, unperceived.
whilst I carry
Go back to the reapers, whilst I
thread.
Ros. I'll go this moment.
this
Dor. But as I walk but slow, and 'tis a
good way, you may chance to be at home
before me; so take the key.
Ros. I will.
Capt. B. [Aside, while Dorcas feels in
her Pockets for the Key] Rosina to be at
home before Dorcas! How lucky! I'll slip in-
to the house, and wait her coming, if 'tis till
midnight.
[He goes unperceived by them into the Cottage.
Dor. Let nobody go into the house.
Ros. I'll take care; but first I'll double-lock
the door.
[While she is locking the Door, Dorcas,
going to take up the Basket, sees the Purse.
Dor. Good lack! What is here! a purse,
as I live!
Ros. How!
Dor. Come, and see; 'tis a purse indeed.
Ros. Heav'ns! 'tis full of gold.
Dor. We must put up a bill at the church-
gate, and restore it to the owner. The best
way is to carry the money to his honour,
and
get him to keep it till the owner is found.
You shall go with it, love.
Ros. Pray excuse me, I always blush so.
Dor. 'Tis nothing but childishness: but his
honour will like your bashfulness better than
too much courage.
[Exit.
Ros. I cannot support his presence-my
embarrassment-my confusion-a stronger sen-
sation than that of gratitude agitates my heart.
-Yet hope in my situation were madness.

758
[ACT II.
ROSINA.
AIR.
heart;
Sweet transports, gentle wishes go!
In vain his charms have gain'd my
Since fortune, still to love a foe,
And cruel duty, bid us part.
Ah! why does duty chain the mind,
And part those souls which love has join'd?
Enter WILLIAM.
Pray, William, do you know of any body
that has lost a purse?
Will. I knows nothing about it.
Ros. Dorcas, however, has found one.
Will. So much the better for she.
If chance some fairing caught her eye,
The riband gay or silken glove,
With eager haste I ran to buy;
For what is gold compar'd to love?
My posy on her bosom plac'd,
Could Harry's sweeter scents exhale!
Her auburn locks my riband grac'd,
And flutter'd in the wanton gale.
With scorn she hears me now complain,
Nor can my rustic presents move:
Her heart prefers a richer swain,
And gold, alas! has banish'd love.
Will. [Coming back] Let's part friendly
Ros. You will oblige me very much if you howsomever. Bye¹), Phoebe: I shall always
will carry it to Mr. Belville, and beg him to
keep it till the owner is found.
Will. Since you desire it, I'll go:
it shan't
be the lighter for my carrying.
Ros. That I am sure of, William.
Enter РHoebe.
[Exit.
Pho. There's William; but I'll pretend not
to see him.
AIR.
Henry cull'd the flow'ret's bloom,
Marian lov'd the soft perfume,
Had playful kiss'd, but prudence near
Whisper'd timely in her ear,
Simple Marian, ah! beware;
Touch them not, for love is there.
Throws away her Nosegay. While she is
singing, William turns, looks at her,
whistles, and plays with his Stick.
Will. That's Harry's posy; the slut likes
me still.
Pho. That's a copy of his countenance, I'm
sartin; he can no more help following me nor
he can be hang'd.
[Aside. William crosses again, singing.
Of all the fair maidens that dance on the green,
The maid of the mill for me.
Pho. I'm ready to choke wi' madness; but
I'll not speak first, an I die for't.
[William sings, throwing up his Stick
and catching it.
Will. Her eyes are as black as the sloe in
the hedge,
Her face like the blossoms in May.
Pho. I can't bear it no longer-you vile,
ungrateful, parfidious-But it's no matter-
I can't think what I could see in you-Harry
loves me, and is a thousand times more hand-
somer. [Sings, sobbing at every Word.
Of all the gay wrestlers that spost on the green,
Young Harry's the lad for me.
wish you well.
Phoe. Bye, William.
[Cries, wiping her Eyes with her Apron.
Will. My heart begins to melt a little.
[Aside] I lov'd
[Aside] I lov'd you very well once, Phoebe :
but you are grown so cross, and have such
vagaries-
Pho. I'm sure I never had no vagaries
with you, William. But go; mayhap Kate
may be angry.
Will. And who cares for she? I never
minded her anger, nor her coaxing neither,
till you were cross to me.
Pho. [Holding up her Hands] O the fa-
ther! I cross to you, William?
Will. Did not you tell me, this very morn-
ing, as how you had done wi' me?
Pho. One word's as good as a thousand.
Do you love me, William?
Will. Do I love thee? Do I love dancing
on the green better than thrashing in the
barn? Do I love a wake; or a harvest-home?
Pho. Then I'll never speak to Harry again.
the longest day I have to live.
Will. I'll turn my back o'the miller's maid
the first time I meet her.
Pho. Will you indeed, and indeed?
Will. Marry will I; and more nor that,
I'll go speak to the parson this moment-I'm
happier-zooks, I'm happier nor a lord or a
squire of five hundred a year.
DUETT.PHOEBE and WILLIAM.
Pho. In gaudy courts, with aching hearts,
The great at fortune rail:
The hills may higher honours claim,
But peace is in the vale.
Will.
Will. He's yonder a reaping: shall I call
him?
[Offers to go. Both.
Phoe. My grandmother leads me the life
of a dog; and it's all along of you.
Will. Well, then she'll be better temper'd
now.
Pho. I did not value her scolding of a
brass farthing, when I thought as how you
were true to me.
Will. Wasn't I true to you? Look in my
face, and say that.
AIR.
When bidden to the wake or fair,
The joy of each free-hearted swain,
Till Phoebe promis'd to be there,
I loiter'd, last of all the train.
See high-born dames, in rooms of state,
With midnight revels pale;
No youth admires their fading charms,
For beauty's in the vale,
Amid the shades the virgin's sighs
Add fragrance to the gale:
So they that will may take the hill,
Since love is in the vale.
[Exeunt, Arm in Arm.
Enter BELVILLE.
Bel. I tremble at the impression this lovely
girl has made on my heart. My cheerfulness
has left me, and I am grown insensible even
to the delicious pleasure of making those happy
who depend on my protection.
AIR.
Ere bright Rosina met my eyes,
How peaceful pass'd the joyous day!
1) Good bye, shortened from good be with you.

SCENE 1.]
759
ROSINA.
In rural sports I gain'd the prize,
Each virgin listen'd to my lay.
But now no more I touch the lyre,
No more the rustic sport can please;
I live the slave of fond desire,
Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease.
The tree that in a happier hour,
It's boughs extended o'er the plain,
When blasted by the lightning's power,
Nor charms the eye, nor shades the swain. I
Since the sun rose, I have been in continual
exercise; I feel exhausted, and will try to
rest a quarter of an hour on this bank.
[Lies down on a Bank by the Fountain.
Gleaners pass the Stage, with sheaves of
Corn on their Heads; last ROSINA, who
comes forward singing.
AIR.-ROSINA.
Light as thistle-down moving, which floats on
the air,
Sweet gratitude's debt to this cottage I bear:
Of autumn's rich store I bring home my part,
The weight on my head, but gay joy in my
heart.
Bel. To what motive do I owe this tender
attention?
Ros. Ah, sir! do not the whole village
love you?
Bel. You tremble; why are you alarm'd?
DUETT.-BELVILLE and ROSINA.
Bel. [Taking her Hand] For you, my sweet
maid, nay, be not afraid,
[Ros. withdraws her Hand.
feel an affection which yet wants a name.
Ros. When first-but in vain-I seek to
explain,
What heart but must love you? I blush, fear,
and shame-
Bel. Why thus timid, Rosina? still safe by
my side,
Let me be your guardian, protector, and guide,
Ros. My timid heart pants-still safe by
your side,
Be
you my protector, my guardian, iny guide.
Bel. Why thus timid. etc.
Ros. My timid heart pants, etc.
Bel. Unveil your mind to me, Rosina. The
graces of your form, the native dignity of
What do I see? Mr. Belville asleep? I'll your mind which breaks through the lovely
steal softly-at this moment I may gaze on simplicity of your deportment, a thousand
him without blushing. [Lays down the Corn, circumstances concur to convince me you
and walks softly up to him] The sun points were not born a villager.
full on this spot; let me fasten these branches Ros. To you, sir, I can have no reserve.
together with this riband, and shade him from A pride, I hope an honest one, made me
its beams-yes-that will do-But if he should wish to sigh in secret over my misfortunes.
wake-[Takes the Riband from her Bosom, Bel. [Eagerly] They are at an end.
and ties the Branches together] How my Ros. Dorcas approaches, sir! she can best
heart beats! One look more-Ah! I have relate my melancholy story.
wak'd him.
[She flies, and endeavours to hide her-
self against the Door of the Cottage,
turning her Head every instant.
Bel. What noise was that?
Enter DORCAS.
Dor. His honour here? Good lack! How
sorry I am I happen'd to be from home. Troth,
I'm sadly tir'd.
[Half raising himself. Bel. Will you let me speak with you a
Ros. He is angry-How unhappy I am!-moment alone, Dorcas?
How I tremble!
[Aside. Dor. Rosina, take this basket.
Bel. This riband I have seen before, and
on the lovely Rosina's bosom-
[Exit Rosina, with the Basket.
Bel. Rosina has referr'd me to you, Dor-
[He rises, and goes toward the Cottage. cas, for an account of her birth, which I have
Ros. I will hide myself in the house. [Ro-long suspected to be above her present situa-
sina, opening the Door, sees Capt. Belville, tion.
and starts back] Heavens! a man in the house! Dor. To be sure, your honour, since the
Capt. B. Now, love assist me!
dear child gives me leave to speak, she's of as
[Comes out and seizes Rosina; she breaks good a family as any in England. Her mo-
from him, and runs affrighted across ther, sweet lady, was my bountiful old master's
the Stage; Belville follows; Captain daughter, squire Welford, of Lincolnshire. His
Belville, who comes out to pursue her, estate was seiz'd for a mortgage of not half
sees his Brother, and steals off at the its value, just after young madam was mar-
other Scene; Belville leads Rosina back. ried, and she ne'er got a penny of her por-
Bel. Why do you fly thus, Rosina? What tion.
can you fear? You are out of breath.
Bel. And her father?
Ros. O, sir!-my strength fails-[Leans Dor. Was a brave gentleman too, a colo-
on Belville, who supports her in his Arms] nel. His honour went to the Eastern Indies,
Where is he?-A gentleman pursued me--- to better his fortune, and madam would go
[Looking round. with him. The ship was lost, and they, with
Bel. Don't be alarm'd, 'twas my brother- all the little means they had, went to the
he could not mean to offend you.
bottom. Young madam Rosina was their on-
Ros. Your brother! Why then does he ly child; they left her at school; but when
not imitate your virtues? Why was he here? this sad news came, the mistress did not care
Bel. Forget this: you are safe. But tell me, for keeping her, so the dear child has shar'd
Rosina, for the question is to me of import- my poor morsel.
ance, have I not seen you wear this riband?
Ros. Forgive me, sir; I did not mean to
disturb you. I only meant to shade you from
the too great heat of the sun.
of
Bel. But her father's name?
Dor. Martin; colonel Martin.
Bel. I am too happy; he was the friend
my father's heart: a thousand times have

760
[ACT II.
ROSINA.
I heard him lament his fate. Rosina's virtues offended almost past forgiveness. Will the
shall not go unrewarded.
offer of my hand repair the injury?
Dor. Yes, I know'd it would be so. Hea-
ven never forsakes the good man's children.
Bel. I have another question to ask you,
Dorcas, and answer my sincerely, is her heart
free?
Bel. If Rosina accepts it, I am satisfied.
Ros. [To Belville] Will you, sir, suffer?
-This hope is a second insult. Whoever
offends the object of his love is unworthy of
obtaining her.
Dor. To be sure, she never would let any Bel. This noble refusal paints your charac-
of our young men come a near her; and yet-ter. I know another, Rosina, who loves you
Bel. Speak: I am on the rack.
with as strong, though purer ardour:-but if
Dor. I'm afeard-she mopes and she pines allowed to hope-
-But your honour would be angry-I'm
afeard the captain-
Ros. Do not, sir, envy me the calm de-
light of passing my independent days with
Dorcas; in whom I have found a mother's
[Aside. tenderness.
Bel. Then my foreboding heart was right.
Enter RUSTIC.
Rust. Help, for heaven's sake, sir! Rosi-
na's lost-she is carried away- J
Bel. Rosina!
Enter CAPTAIN BELVILLE.
Capt. B. [Confusedly] Don't be alarmed-
let me go-I'll fly to save her.
Bel. With me, sir-I will not lose sight
of you. Rustic, hasten instantly with our
reapers. Dorcas, you will be our guide. [Exit.
Rust. Don't be frightened, sir; the Irishmen
have rescued her: she is just here,
Enter the Two Irishmen.
Dor. Bless thec, my child; thy kindness
melts my heart.
Bel. Do you refuse me too then, Rosina?
[Rosina raises her Eyes tenderly on Bel-
ville, lowers them again, and leans on
Dorcas.
Dor. You, sir? You?
Ros. My confusion-my blushes-
Bel. Then I am happy! My life! my Rosina!
Pho. Do you speak to his honour, William.
Will. No; do you speak, Phoebe.
Pho. I am asham'd-William and I, your
honour-William pray'd me to let him keep
[Exit. me company-so he gain'd my good will to
have him; if so be my grandmother consents.
[Courtesying, and playing with her Apron.
Will. If your honour would be so good to
speak to Dorcas.
1 Irish. [To Dorcas] Dry your tears, my
jewel; we have done for them.
Dor. Have you sav'd her? I owe you more
than life.
1 Irish. Faith, good woman, you owe me
nothing at all. I'll tell your honour how it
was. My comrades and I were crossing the
meadow, going home, when we saw thera
first; and hearing a woman cry, I look'd up,
and saw them putting her into a skiff against
her will. Says I, "Paddy, is not that the
clever little crater that was glaning in the
field with us this morning?"-"Tis so, sure
enough," says he.-"By St. Patrick," says I,
"there's enough of us to rescute 1) her." With
that we ran for the bare life, waded up to
the knees, laid about us bravely with our
shillelays 2), knock'd them out of the skiff,
and brought her back safe: and here she co-
mes, my jewel.
Re-enter RUSTIC, leading ROSINA, who throws
herself into DORCAS's Arms.
Dor. I canno' speak-Art thou safe?
Bel. I dread to find the criminal.
Bel. Dorcas, you must not refuse me any
thing to-day. I'll give William a farm.
Dor Your honour is too kind-take her,
William, and make her a good husband.
Will. That I will, dame.
Will. Pho. [To Belville] Thank your ho-
nour.
Belville joins their Hands, they bow and
courtesey.
Will. What must I do with the purse,
your honour? Dorcas would not take it.
Bel. I believe my brother has the best right.
Capt. B. 'Tis yours, William; dispose of it
as you please.
Will. Then I'll give it to our honest Irish-
men, who fought so bravely for our Rosina.
Bel. You have made good use of it, Wil-
liam; nor shall my gratitude stop here.
Capt. B. Allow me to retire, brother. When
I am worthy of your esteem, I will return,
and demand my rights in your affection.
Bel. You must not leave us, brother. Re-
sume the race of honour; be indeed a sol-
Rust. Your honour need not go far a field, dier, and be more than my brother-be my
I believe; it must have been some friend of friend.
the captain's, for his French valet commanded
the party.
Capt. B. I confess my crime; my passion
for Rosina hurried me out of myself.
Be.
FINALE.
To bless, and to be blest, be ours,
Whate'er our rank, whate'er our
powers;
Bel. You have dishonour'd me, dishonour'd
the glorious profession you have embrac'd-
But be gone, I renounce you as my brother, Capt. B. On some her gifts kind fortune
and renounce my ill-plac'd friendship.
Capt. B. Your indignation is just; I have
1) Rescue.
2) Oak-sticks.-The Irish are famous for the use of the
stick; it is generally a piece of oak, and the regular
size is as big round as their wrist, and the exact length
their arm.
showers,
Who reap, like us, in this rich scene.
Capt. B. Yet those who taste her bounty less
The sigh malevolent repress,
And loud the feeling bosom bless,
Which something leaves for want
to glean.

[ACT 1. SCENE 1.]
761
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Ros.
How blest am I, supremely blest!
Since Belville all his soul exprest,
And fondly clasp'd me to his breast:
I now may reap-how chang'd the
scene!
But ne'er can I forget the day,
When all to want and woe a prey,
Soft pity taught his soul to say,
"Unfeeling Rustic, let her glean!"
Rust.
Dor.
Will.
Phoe.
Cho.
The hearts you glad your own display,
The heav'ns such goodness must repay;
And blest through many a summer's day,
Full crops you'll reap in this rich scene;
And O! when summer's joys are o'er,
And autumn yields its fruits no more,
New blessings be there yet in store,
A For winter's sober hours to glean.
And O! when summer's joys are o'er, etc.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE,
Comic Opera, by Isaak Bickerstaff. Acted 1762, at Covent Garden. This performance, though compiled from
Charles Johnson's Village Opera, Wycherley's Gentleman Dancing-Master, Marivaux's Jeu de l'Amour et du Hazard,
and other musical pieces, yet met with so much favour from the town, that it was acted the first season almost as
many times as The Beggar's Opera had formerly been, and nearly with as much success. It certainly has the merit of
being inoffensive in its tendency, probable in its incidents, spirited in its action, agreeable for its ease and regularity,
and natural in the delineation of character.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SIR W. MEADOWS.
YOUNG MEADOWS.
JUSTICE WOODCOCK.
HAWTHORN.
EUSTACE.
HODGE.
ROSETTA.
LUCINDA.
DEBORAH WOODCOCK.
MADGE.
ACT I.
SCENE I-4 Garden, with Statues, Foun-
tains, and Flower-pots.
Several Arbours appear in the side Scenes;
ROSETTA and LUCINDA are discovered at
work, seated upon two Garden-chairs.
DUETT.
Ros. HOPE! thou nurse of young desire,
Fairy promiser of joy,
Painted vapour, glowworm fire,
Temp'rate sweet, that ne'er can
Luc. Hope! thou earnest of delight,
Softest soother of the mind,
Balmy cordial, prospect bright,
Surest friend the wretched find:
Both. Kind deceiver, flatter still,
Deal out pleasures unpossest;
With thy dreams my fancy fill,
And in wishes make me blest.
Luc. Heigho!-Rosetta!
cloy:
For shame, you a lover!
More firmness discover;
Take courage, nor here longer mope;
Resist and be free,
Run riot, like me,
And, to perfect the picture, elope.
Luc. And is this your advice?
Ros. Positively.
Luc. Here's my hand; positively I'll follow
it-I have already sent to my gentleman, who
is now in the country, to let him know he
may come hither this day; we will make use
of the opportunity to settle all preliminaries-
And then-But take notice, whenever we de-
camp, you march off along with us.
Ros. Oh! madam, your servant; I have no
inclination to be left behind, I assure you--
But you say you got acquainted with this
spark, while you were with your mother during
her last illness at Bath, so that your father
has never seen him.
Luc. Never in his life, my dear; and, I am
confident, he entertains not the least suspicion
Ros. Well, child, what do you say?
Luc. "Tis a sad thing to live in a village a of my having any such connexion: my aunt,
hundred miles from the capital, with a pre- indeed, has her doubts and surmises; but, be-
posterous gouty father, and a superannuated sides that my father will not allow any one
maiden aunt.-I am heartily sick of my situation. to be wiser than himself, it is an established
Ros. And with reason-But 'tis in a great maxim between these affectionate relations,
measure your own fault: here is this Mr. never to agree in any thing.
Eustace, a man of character and family; he Ros. Except being absurd; you must allow
likes you, you like him: you know one ano-
ther's minds, and yet you will not resolve to
make yourself happy with him.
AIR.
Whence can you inherit
So slavish a spirit?
Confin'd thus, and chain'd to a log!
Now fondled, now chid,
Permitted, forbid:
'Tis leading the life of a dog.
they sympathize perfectly in that- But, now
we are on the subject, I desire to know what
I am to do with this wicked old justice of
peace, this father of yours? He follows me
about the house like a tame goat.
Luc. Nay, I'll assure you he hath been a
wag in his time you must have a care of
yourself.
Ros. Wretched me! to fall into such hands,
who have been just forced to run away from
my parents to avoid an odious marriage-
96

762
[ACT I.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Ros. Indeed, Lucinda, you are very silly.
Luc. Indeed, Rosetta, that blush makes you
You smile at that now; and I know you think:
me whimsical, as you have often told me; but
you must excuse my being a little over-deli- look very handsome.
cate in this particular.
AIR.
My heart's my own, my will is free,
And so shall be my voice;
No mortal man shall wed with me,
Till first he's made my choice.
Let parents rule, cry nature's laws,
And children still obey;
And is there then no saving clause,
Against tyrannic sway?
Luc. Well, but my dear, mad girl-
Ros. Blush! I am sure I don't blush.
Luc. Ha, ha, ha!
Ros. Pshaw! Lucinda, how can you be so
ridiculous?
Luc. Well, don't be angry, and I have done-
But suppose you did like him, how could you
help yourself? [Exeunt into an Arbour.
Enter young MEADOWS.
Young M. Let me see-on the fifteenth of
June, at half an hour past five in the morning,
[Taking out a Pocket-book] I left my father's
Ros. Lucinda, don't talk to me-Was your house unknown to any one, having made free
father to go to London; meet there by acci- with a coat and jacket of our gardener's that
dent with an old fellow as wrong-headed as fitted me, by way of a disguise; so says my
himself; and, in a fit of absurd friendship, pocket-book: and chance directing me to this
agree to marry you to that old fellow's son, village, on the twentieth of the same month
whom you had never seen, without consulting I procured a recommendation to the worship-
your inclinations, or allowing you a negative, ful justice Woodcock, to be the superintendant
in case he should not prove agreeable- of his pumpkins and cabbages, because I would
Luc. Why I should think it a little hard, let my father see, I chose to run any lengths,
I confess yet, when I see you in the charac- rather than submit to what his obstinacy would
ter of a chambermaid-
have forced me, a marriage against my in-
Ros. Is is the only character, my dear, in clination, with a woman I never saw. [Puts
which I could hope to lie concealed; and, I up the Book, and takes up a Watering-
can tell you, I was reduced to the last ex-pot] Here I have been three weeks, and in
tremity, when, in consequence of our old that time I am as much altered as if I had
boarding-school friendship, I applied to you to changed my nature with my habit.-'Sdeath,
receive me in this capacity; for we expected to fall in love with a chambermaid: And yet,
the parties the very next week.
if I could forget that I am the son and heir
of Sir William Meadows. But that's impossible.
Luc. But had not you a message from your
intended spouse, to let you know he was as
little inclined to such ill-concerted nuptials as
you were?
Ros. More than so; he wrote to advise me,
by all means, to contrive some method of
breaking them off; for he had rather return
to his dear studies at Oxford: and, after that,
what hopes could I have of being happy with
him?
AIR.
O! had I been by fate decreed
Some humble cottage swain;
In fair Rosetta's sight to feed.
My sheep upon the plain;
What bliss had I been born to taste,
Which now I ne'er must know!
Ye envious powers! why have ye plac'd
My fair one's lot so low?
Luc. Then you are not at all uneasy at the
strange rout you must have occasioned at Ha! who was it I had a glimpse of as I pass'd
home? I warrant, during this month you have by that arbour? Was it not she sat reading
been absent-
there? the trembling of my heart tells me my
eyes were not mistaken-Here she comes.
[Retires. Rosetta comes down
from the Arbour.
Ros. Oh! don't mention it, my dear; I have
had so many admirers, since I commenced
Abigail ¹), that I am quite charmed with my
situation-But hold, who stalks yonder in the Ros. Lucinda was certainly in the right of
yard, that the dogs are so glad to see? it; and yet I blush to own my weakness even
Luc. Daddy Hawthorn, as I live! He is to myself - Marry, hang the fellow for not
come to pay my father a visit; and never being a gentleman.
more luckily, for he always forces him abroad. Young M. I am determined I won't speak
By the way, what will you do with yourself to her. [Turning to a Rose-tree, and plucking
while I step into the house to see after my the Flowers] Now or never is the time to
trusty messenger, Hodge?
conquer myself: besides, I have some reason
Ros. No matter; I'll sit down in that arbour, to believe the girl has no aversion to me: and,
and listen to the singing of the birds: you as I wish not to do her an injury, it would
know I am fond of melancholy amusements. be cruel to fill her head with notions of what
Luc. So it seems, indeed: sure, Rosetta, can never happen. [Hums a Tune] Pshaw!
none of your admirers had power to touch rot these roses, how they prick one's fingers!
your heart; you are not in love, I hope? Ros. He takes no notice of me; but so
Ros. In love! that's pleasant: who do you much the better; I'll be as indifferent as he
suppose I should be in love with, pray? is. I am sure the poor lad likes me; and if
Luc. Why, let me see-What do you think I was to give him any encouragement, I sup-
of Thomas, our gardener? There he is at the pose the next thing he talked of would be
other end of the walk - He's a pretty young buying a ring, and being asked in church-
man, and the servants say, he's always writing Oh, dear pride, I thank you for that thought.
verses on you.
1) Servant-maid.
Young M. Hah, going without a word! a
look!-I can't bear that-Mrs. Rosetta, I am

SCENE 2.]
763
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
gathering a few roses here, if you please to
take them in with you.
Haw. Am I here? Yes: and, if you had
been where I was three hours ago, you would
Ros. Thank you, Mr. Thomas, but all my find the good effects of it by this time: but
lady's flower-pots are full.
you have got the lazy, unwholesome, London
Young M. Will you accept of them for fashion of lying abed in a morning, and there's
yourself, then? [Catching hold of her] What's gout for you-Why, sir, I have not been in
the matter? you look as if you were angry bed five minutes after sunrise these thirty
with me.
Ros. Pray let go my hand.
Young M. Nay, pr'ythee, why is this? you
shan't go, I have something to say to you,
Ros. Well, but I must go, I will go; I de-
sire, Mr. Thomas-
AIR.
Gentle youth, ah, tell me why
Still you force me thus to fly?
Cease, oh! cease to persevere;
Speak not what I must not hear;
To my heart its ease restore;
Go, and never see me more.
years, am generally up before it; and I never
took a dose of physic but once in my life, and
that was in compliment to a cousin of mine,
an apothecary, that had just set up business.
Jus. W. Well but, master Hawthorn, let
me tell you, you know nothing of the matter;
for, I say, sleep is necessary for a man; ay,
and I'll maintain it.
Haw. What, when I maintain the con-
trary?-Look you, neighbour Woodcock, you
are a rich man, a man of worship, a justice of
peace, and all that; but learn to know the
respect that is due to the sound from the in-
[Exit. firm; and allow me that superiority a good
Young M. This girl is a riddle-That she constitution gives me over you-Health is the
loves me I think there is no room to doubt; greatest of all possessions; and 'tis a maxim
she takes a thousand opportunities to let me with me, that a hale cobler is a better man
see it: and yet, when I speak to her, she will than a sick king.
hardly give me an answer; and, if I attempt Jus. W. Well, well, you are a sportsman.
the smallest familiarity, is gone in an instant- Haw. And so would you be too, if you
I feel my passion for her grow every day would take my advice. A sportsman! why
more and more violent-Well, would I marry there is nothing like it: I would not exchange
her?- would I make a mistress of her if I the satisfaction I feel, while I am beating the
could?-Two things, called prudence and lawns and thickets about my little farm, for
honour, forbid either. What am I pursuing, all the entertainment and pageantry in Christ-
then? A shadow. Sure my evil genius laid endom.
this snare in my way. However, there is one
comfort, it is in my power to fly from it; if
so, why do I hesitate? I am distracted, unable
to determine any thing.
AIR.
Still in hopes to get the better
Of my stubborn flame I try;
Swear this moment to forget her,
And the next my oath deny.
Now, prepar'd with scorn to treat her,
Ev'ry charm in thought I brave,
Boast my freedom, fly to meet her,
And confess myself a slave.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-A Hall in JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S
House.
Enter HAWTHORN, with a Fowlingpiece in
his Hands, and a Net with Birds at his
Girdle.
AIR.
There was a jolly miller once,
Liv'd on the river Dee;
AIR.
Let gay ones and great,
Make the most of their fate,
From pleasure to pleasure they run;
Well, who cares a jot,
I envy them not,
While I have my dog and my gun.
For exercise, air,
To the fields I repair,
With spirits unclouded and light;
The blisses I find,
No stings leave behind,
But health and diversion unite.
Enter HODGE.
Hodge. Did your worship call, sir?
Jus. W. Call, sir; where have you and the
rest of these rascals been? but I suppose I
need not ask You must know there is a
statute, a fair for hiring servants, held upon
my green to-day; we have it usually at this
season of the year, and it never fails to put
He work'd and sung from morn till night; all the folks hereabout out of their senses.
No lark more blithe than he.
And this the burthen of his
For ever us'd to be-
I care for nobody, not I,
If no one cares for me.
song,
House, here, house! what all gadding,
abroad! house, I say, hilli-ho, ho!
Hodge. Lord, your honour, look out, and
see what a nice show they make yonder; they
had got pipers, and fiddlers, and were dancing
as I came along, for dear life-I never saw
such a mortal throng in our village in all my
all born days again.
Jus. W. [Without] Here's a noise, here's
a racket! William, Robert, Hodge! why does
not somebody answer? Odds my life, I believe
the fellows have lost their hearing!
Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK.
Haw. Why, I like this now, this is as it
should be.
Jus. W. No, no, 'tis a very foolish piece of
business; good for nothing but to promote
idleness and the getting of bastards: but I shall
take measures for preventing it another year,
and I doubt whether I am not sufficiently
Oh, master Hawthorn! I guessed it was some authorized already; for by an act passed Anno
such madcap-Are you there?
undecimo Caroli primi, which empowers a

764
[ACT L.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
justice of peace, who is lord of the manor-
Haw, Come, come, never mind the act; let
me tell you, this is a very proper, a very use-
ful meeting; I want a servant or two myself,
I must go see what your market affords;
and you shall go, and the girls, my little Lucy
and the other young rogue, and we'll make a
day on't as well as the rest.
Luc. So! give it me.
[Reads the Letter to herself.
Hodge. Lord a mercy! how my arm achs
with beating that plaguy beast: I'll he bang'd
if I won'na' rather ha' thrash'd half a day,
than ha' ridden her.
Luc. Well, Hodge, you have done your
business very well.
Jus. W. I wish, master Hawthorn, I could Hodge. Well, have not I now?
teach you to be a little more sedate: why Luc. Yes-Mr. Eustace tells me in this letter,
won't you take pattern by me, and consider that he will be in the green lane, at the other
your dignity? Odds heart, I don't wonder end of the village, by twelve o'clock - You
you are not a rich man; you laugh too much know where he came before.
ever to be rich.
Haw. Right, neighbour Woodcock! health,
good humour, and competence, is my motto:
and, if my executors have a mind, they are
welcome to make it my epitaph.
AIR.
The honest heart, whose thoughts are clear
From fraud, disguise, and guile,
Need neither fortune's frowning fear,
Nor court the harlot's smile.
The greatness that would make us grave
Is but an empty thing;
What more than mirth would mortals have?
The cheerful man's a king.
Enter LUCINDA.
Luc. Hist, hist, Hodge!
Hodge, Who calls? here am I.
Luc. Well, have you been?
[Exit.
Hodge. Been, ay, I ha' been far enough,
an that be all: you never knew any thing fall
out so crossly in your born days.
Luc. Why, what's the matter?
Hodge. Ay, ay.
Luc. Well, you must go there; and wait
till he arrives, and watch your opportunity to
introduce him, across the fields, into the little
summer-house, on the left side of the garden.
Hodge. That's enough. Wh
Luc. But take particular care that nobody
sees you.
Hodge. I warrant you.
Luc. Nor for your life drop a word of it
to any mortal.
Hodge. Never fear me.
Luc. And, Hodge-
AIR. HODGE.
Well, well, say no more;
Sure you told me before;
I see the full length of my tether;
Do you think I'm a fool,
That I need go to school?
I can spell you and put you together.
A word to the wise,
Will always suffice;
Addsniggers, go talk to your parrot;
I'm not such an elf,
Though I say it myself,
But I know a sheep's head from a carrot.
[Exit.
Hodge. Why you know, I dare not take a
horse out of his worship's stables this morning,
for fear it should be missed, and breed ques-
tions; and our old nag at home was so cruelly
beat i'th' hoofs, that, poor beast, it had not a
foot to set to ground; so I was fain to go to Luc. How severe is my case! Here I am
farmer Ploughshare's, at the Grange, to bor- obliged to carry on a clandestine correspondence
row the loan of his bald filly; and, would you with a man in all respects my equal, because
think it? after walking all that way-de'el from the oddity of my father's temper is such, that
me, if the crossgrained toad did not deny me I dare not tell him I have ever yet seen the
the favour.
Luc. Unlucky!
Hodge. Well, then I went my ways to the
King'shead in the village, but all their cattle
were at plough: and I was as far to seek
below at the turnpike: so at last, for want of
a better, I was forced to take up with dame
Quickset's blind mare.
Luc. Oh, then you have been?
Hodge. Yes, yes, I ha' been.
Luc. Pshaw! Why did not you say so
at once?
Hodge. Ay, but I have had a main tire-
some jaunt on't, for she is a sorry jade at best.
Luc. Well, well, did you see Mr. Eustace,
and what did he say to you?-Come, quick-
have you e'er a letter?
Hodge. Yes, he gave me a letter, if I ha'na'
lost it.
Luc. Lost it, man!
Hodge. Nay, nay, have a bit of patience:
adwawns, you are always in such a hurry
[Rummaging his Pockets] I put it some-
where in this waiscoat pocket. Oh, here
it is.
person I should like to marry-But perhaps
he has quality in his eye, and hopes, one day
or other, as I am his only child, to match me
with a title vain imagination!
AIR.
Cupid, god of soft persuasion,
Take the helpless lover's part:
Seize, oh seize some kind occasion,
To reward a faithful heart.
Justly those we tyrants call,
Who the body would enthral;
Tyrants of more cruel kind,
Those, who would enslave the mind.
What is grandeur? foe to rest,
Childish mummery at best.
Happy I in humble state;
Catch, ye fools, the glittering bait.
SCENE III-A Field with a Stile.
Enter HODGE, followed by MADGE.
Hodge. What does the wench follow me
for? Odds flesh, folk may well talk, to see you

SCENE 4.]
765
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
I wish I was a maid again,
And in my own country.
[Exit.
dangling after me every where, like a tantony
pig 1): find some other road, can't you; and
don't keep wherreting me with your nonsense. SCENE IV.-A Green, with the Prospect of
Madge. Nay, pray you, Hodge, stay, and
let me speak to you a bit.
Hodge. Well; what sayn you?
Madge. Dear heart, how can you be so
barbarous? and is this the way you serve me
after all; and won't you keep your word, Hodge?
Hodge. Why no I won't, I tell you; I have
chang'd my mind.
Madge. Nay but surely, surely-Consider
Hodge, you are obligated in conscience to
make me an honest woman.
Hodge. Obligated in conscience! How am
I obligated?
Madge. Because you are; and none but the
basest of rogues would bring a poor girl to
shame, and afterwards leave her to the wide
world.
a Village, and the Representation of a
Statute or Fair.
Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, HAWTHORN, MRS.
DEBORAH WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, ROSETTA,
young MEADOWS, HODGE, and several
country People.
Hodge. This way, your worship, this way.
Why don't you stand aside there? Here's his
worship a coming.
Countrymen. His worship!
Jus. W. Fie, fie, what a crowd's this! Odd,
I'il put some of them in the stocks. [Striking
Fellow] Stand out of the way, sirrah.
Haw. For shame, neighbour. Well, my lad,
are you willing to serve the king?
a
Countryman. Why, can you list me? Serve
the king, master? no, no, I pay the king, that's
enough for me. Ho, ho, ho!
Haw. Well said, Sturdy-boots.
Jus. W. Nay, if you talk to them, they'll
answer you.
Hodge. Bring you to shame! Don't make
me speak, Madge; don't make me speak.
Madge. Yes do, speak your worst.
Hodge. Why then, if you go to that, you
were fain to leave your own village down in
the west, for a bastard you had by the clerk Haw. I would have them do so, I like they
of the parish, and I'll bring the man shall say should.-Well, madam, is not this a fine sight?
it to your face.
I did not know my neighbour's estate had
Madge. No, no, Hodge, 'tis no such thing, been so well peopled.-Are all these his own
'tis a base lie of farmer Ploughshare's-But I tenants?
know what makes you false-hearted to me, Mrs. D. More than are good of them, Mr.
that you may keep company with young ma- Hawthorn. I don't like to see such a parcel
dam's waiting-woman; and I am sure she's of young bussies fleering with the fellows.
no fit body for a poor man's wife.
Haw. There's a lass. [Beckoning to a
Hodge. How should you know what she's country Girl]-Come hither, my pretty maid.
fit for. She's fit for as much as you, may- What brings you here? [Chucking her under
hap; don't find fault with your betters, Madge. the Chin] Do you come to look for a service?
Enter young MEADOWS.
Oh! master Thomas, I have a word or two
to say to you; pray did not you go down the
village one day last week with a basket of
something upon your shoulder?
Country G. Yes, an't please you.
Haw. Well, and what place are you for?
Country G. All work, an't please you.
Jus. W. Ay, ay, I don't doubt it; any work
you'll put her to.
Mrs. D. She looks like a brazen one-Go,
hussy.
Young M. Well, and what then?
Hodge. Nay, not much, only the hostler at Haw. Here's another. [Catching a Girl that
the Greenman was saying, as how there was goes by] What health, what bloom!-This is
a passenger at their house as see'd you go by, nature's work; no art, no daubing. Don't be
and said he know'd you; and axt a mort of asham'd, child; those cheeks of thine are enough
questions-So I thought I'd tell you.
to put a whole drawing-room out of counte-
Young M. The devil! ask questions about nance.
me! I know nobody in this part of the coun- Hodge. Now, your honour, now the sport
try; there must be some mistake in it. Come will come: The gut-scrapers are here, and
hither, Hodge.
[Exit with Hodge. some among them are going to sing and dance.
Madge. A nasty, ungrateful fellow, to use Why there's not the like of our statute, mun,
me at this rate, after being to him as I have.-in five counties; others are but fools to it.
Well, well, I wish all poor girls would take Servant-man. Come, good people, make a
warning by my mishap, and never have nothing ring; and stand out, fellow servants, as many
to say to none of them.
AIR.
How happy were my days, till now!
I ne'er did sorrow feel;
I rose with joy to milk my cow,
Or turn my spinning-wheel.
My heart was lighter than a fly,
Like any bird I sung,
Till he pretended love, and I
Believ'd his flatt'ring tongue.
Oh the fool, the silly, silly fool,
Who trusts what man may be;
1) St. Anthony's pig.
of you as are willing, and able, to bear a
bob 1). We'll let my masters and mistresses
see we can do something at least; if they
won't hire us, it shan't be our fault. Strike
up the Servants' Medley.
MEDLEY and CHORUS.
Housem. I pray ye, gentles, list to me:
young, and strong, and clean, you see:
I'll not turn tail to any she,
I'm
For work that's in the county.
Of all your house the charge I take,
I wash, I scrub, I brew, I bake;
And more can do than here I'll speak,
Depending on your bounty.
1) To take a part in the song.

766
[ACT II.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Footm. Behold a blade, who knows his trade
In chamber, hall, and entry:
And what though here I now appear,
I've serv'd the best of gentry.
A footman would you have,
I can dress, and comb, and shave;
For I a handy lad am:
On a message I can go,
And slip a billet-doux,
With your humble servant, madam.
Cookm. Who wants a good cook, my hand
they must cross;
For plain wholesome dishes I'm ne'er at a loss;
And what are your soups, your ragouts, and
your sauce,
Compar'd to the beef of old England,
Compar'd to old English roast beef?
Cart. If you want a young man, with a
true honest heart,
Who knows how to manage a plough and
cart,
a
Here's one for your purpose, come take me
and try;
You'll say you ne'er met with a better nor I.
Ge ho, Dobbin, etc.
Chorus. My masters and mistresses, hither
repair;
What servants you want, you'll find in our fair;
Men and maids fit for all sorts of stations
there be;
And, as for the wages, we shan't disagree.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-A Parlour in JUSTICE
COCK'S House.
Luc. My father, and my aunt!
Eust. The devil! What shall we do?
Luc. Take no notice of them, only observe
me.-[Speaks aloud to Eustace] Upon my
word, sir, I don't know what to say to it,
unless the justice was at home; he is just
stepp'd into the village with some company;
but, if you'll sit down a moment, I dare swear
he will return-[Pretends to see the Justice]
-O! sir, here is my papa!
Jus. W. Here is your papa, hussy! Who's
this you have got with you? Hark you, sirrah,
who are you, ye dog? and what's your busi-
ness here?
Eust. Sir, this is a language I am not used to.
Jus. W. Don't answer me, you rascal-I am
a justice of the peace; and if I hear a word
out of your mouth, I'll send you to jail, for
all your lac'd hat.
Mrs. D. Send him to jail, brother, that's right.
Jus. W. And how do you know it's right?
How should you know any thing's right?-
Sister Deborah, you are never in the right.
Mrs. D. Brother, this is the man I have been
telling you about so long.
Jus. W. What man, goody Wiseacre?
Mrs. D. Why the man your daughter has
an intrigue with: but I hope you will not be-
lieve it now, though you see it with your own
eyes-Come, hussy, confess, and don't let your
father make a fool of himself any longer.
Luc. Confess what, aunt? This gentleman
is a music-master: he goes about the country,
WOOD-teaching ladies to play and sing; and has been
recommended to instruct me; I could not turn
him out when he came to offer his service;
and did not know what answer to give him
till I saw my papa.
Enter LUCINDA and EUSTACE.
Luc. Well, am I not a bold adventurer, to
bring you into my father's house at noon-day?
Though, to say the truth, we are safer here
than in the garden; for there is not a human
creature under the roof besides ourselves.
Eust. Then why not put our scheme into
execution this moment? I have a post-chaise
ready.
Luc. Fie: how can you talk so lightly? I
protest I am afraid to have any thing to do
with you; and my aunt Deborah says-
Eust. What! by all the rapture my heart
now feels-
Luc. Oh, to be sure, promise and vow; it
sounds prettily, and never fails to impose upon
a fond female.
Jus. W. A music-master?
Eust. Yes, sir, that's my profession.
Mrs. D. It's a lie, young man; it's a lie.
Brother, he is no more a music-master, than
I am a music-master.
Jus. W. What then you know better than
the fellow himself, do you? and you will be
wiser than all the world?
Mrs. D. Brother, he does not look like a
music-master.
Jus. W. He does not look! ha! ha! ha!
Was ever such a poor stupe! Well, and what
does he look like, then? But I suppose you
mean he is not dressed like a music-master.
Why, you silly wretch, these whipper-snappers
Eust. Well, I see you've a mind to divert set up for gentlemen now-a-days, and give
yourself with me; but I wish I could prevail themselves as many airs as if they were people
on you to be a little serious.
of quality.-Hark you, friend, I suppose
Luc. Seriously then, what would you desire you don't come within the vagrant act? You
me to say? I have promised to run away with have some settled habitation-Where do you
you; which is as great a concession as any live?
reasonable lover can expect from his mistress.
Eust. Yes; but, you dear provoking angel,
you have not told me when you will run away
with me.
Luc. Why that, I confess, requires some
consideration.
Eust. Yet remember, while you are deliber-
ating, the season, now so favourable to us,
may elapse, never to return.
Mrs. D. It's an easy matter for him to tell
you a wrong place.
Jus. W. Sister Deborah, don't provoke me.
Mrs. D. I wish, brother, you would let me
examine him a little.
Jus. W. You shan't say a word to him, you
shan't say a word to him.
Mrs. D. She says he was recommended here,
brother; ask him by whom.
Jus. W. No, I won't now, because you
Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK and MRS. DEBO- desire it.
RAH WOODCOCK.
Jus. W. Hoity-toity; who have we here?
Luc. If my papa did ask the question, aunt,
it would be very easily resolved.

SCENE 2.]
767
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Mrs. D. Who bid you speak, Mrs. Nimble-
chops? I suppose the man has a tongue in
his head to answer for himself.
Then hoity-toity,
Whisking, frisking,
Green was her gown upon the grass;
Jus. W. Will nobody stop that prating old Oh! such were the joys of our dancing days.
woman's mouth for me? Get out of the room.. Eust. Very well, sir, upon my word.
Mrs. D. Well, so I can, brother; I don't Jus. W. No, no, I forget all those things
want to stay: but, remember, I tell you, you now; but I could do a little at them once;--
will make yourself ridiculous in this affair: Well, stay and eat your dinner, and we'll
for through your own obstinacy, you will have talk about your teaching the girl-Lucy, take
your daughter run away with, before your face. your master to your spinnet, and show him
Jus. W. My daughter! who will run away what you can do-I must go and give some
with my daughter?
orders; then hoity-toity, etc.
Mrs. D. That fellow will.
Jus. W. Go, go, you are a wicked, censo-
rious woman.
Luc. Why sure, madam, you must think
me very forward, indeed.
[Exit.
Luc. My sweet, pretty papa, your most obe-
dient humble servant; ha, ha, ha! was ever
so whimsical an accident? Well, sir, what do
you think of this?
Eust. Think of it! I am in amaze.
Jus. W. Ay, she judges of others by herself; Luc. O your awkwardness! I was frighten-
I remember when she was a girl, her mother ed out of my wits, lest you should not take
dared not trust her the length of her apron- the hint; and, if I had not turned matters so
string; she was clambering upon every fel-cleverly, we should have been utterly undone.
low's back.
Mrs. D. I was not.
Jus. W. You were.
Luc. Well, but why so violent?
AIR.
Believe me, dear aunt,
If you rave thus and rant,
You'll never a lover persuade;
The men will all fly,
And leave you to die,
Oh, terrible chance! an old maid.
How happy the lass,
Must she come to this pass,
Who ancient virginity 'scapes!
"Twere better on earth
Have five brats at a birth,
Than in hell be a leader of apes.
[Exit Mrs. D.
Jus. W. Well done, Lucy, send her about
her business; a troublesome, foolish creature,
does she think I want to be directed by her?
Come hither, my lad, you look tolerable
honest.
Eust. 'Sdeath! why would you bring me
into the house? we could expect nothing else:
besides, since they did surprise us, it would
have been better to have discovered the truth.
Luc. Yes, and never have seen one another
afterwards. I know my father better than you,
do; he has taken it into his head I have no
inclination for a husband; and let me tell you
that is our best security; for if once he has
said a thing, he will not be easily persuaded
to the contrary.
Eust. And pray what am I to do now?
Luc. Why, as I think all danger is pretty
well over, since he hath invited you to dinner
with him, stay; only be cautious of your be
haviour; and, in the mean time, I will consi-
der what is next to be done.
Eust. Had not I better go to your father?
Luc. Do so, while I endeavour to recover
myself a little out of the flurry this affair has
put me in.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-A Garden.
Enter ROSETTA, musing.
Ros. If ever poor creature was in a pitiable
Eust. I hope, sir, I shall never give you condition, surely I am. The devil take this
cause to alter your opinion.
fellow, I cannot get him out of my head; and
Jus. W. No, no, I am not easily deceived, yet I would fain persuade myself I don't care
I am generally pretty right in my conjectures. for him: well, but surely I am not in love:
-You must know, I had once a little notion let me examine my heart a little: I saw him
of music myself, and learned upon the fiddle; kissing one of the maids the other day; I could
I could play the Trumpet Minuet, and But- have boxed his ears for it, and have done
tered Peas, and two or three tunes. I remem- nothing but find fault and quarrel with the
ber, when I was in London, about thirty years girl ever since. Why was I uneasy at his
ago, there was a song, a great favourite at toying with another woman? what was it to
our club at Nando's Coffee-house; Jack Pickle me? Then I dream of him almost every night
used to sing it for us, a droll fish! but 'tis an-but that may proceed from his being gene-
old thing, I dare swear you have heard of it rally uppermost in my thoughts all day:-Oh!
often.
AIR.
When I followed a lass that was froward
and shy,
Oh! I stuck to her stuff, till I made her
comply;
Oh! I took her so lovingly round the waist,
And I smack'd her lips and held her fast:
When hugg'd and haul'd,
She squeal'd and squall'd;
But, though she vow'd all I did was in vain,
Yet I pleas'd her so well that she bore it
again :
worse and worse!-Well, he is certainly a
pretty lad; he has something uncommon about
him, considering his rank:-And now let me
only put the case, if he was not a servant,
would I, or would I not, prefer him to all the
men I ever saw? Why, to be sure, if he was
not a servant-In short, I'll ask myself no
more questions, for the further I examine, the
less reason I shall have to be satisfied.
AIR.
How bless'd the maid, whose bosom
No headstrong passion knows;

768
[ACT II.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Her days in joy she passes,
Her nights in calm repose.
Where'er her fancy leads her,
No pain, no fear invades her;
But pleasure,
Without measure,
From every object flows.
Enter Young MEADOWS.
Ros.
When things are not fit,
We should calmly submit;
No cure in reluctance we find:
Young M. Then thus I obey,
Tear your image away,
And banish you quite from my
mind.
Ros. Well, now I think I am somewhat
easier: I am glad I have come to this expla-
Young M. Do you come into the garden, nation with him, because it puts an end to
Mrs. Rosetta, to put my lilies and roses out things at once.
of countenance; or, to save me the trouble of
Young M. Hold, Mrs. Rosetta, pray stay a
watering my flowers, by reviving them? The moment-The airs this girl gives herself are
sun seems to have hid himself a little, to give intolerable: I find now the cause of her be-
you an opportunity of supplying his place. haviour; she despises the meanness of my con-
Ros. Where could he get that now? he dition, thinking a gardener below the notice
never read it in the Academy of Compliments. of a lady's waiting-woman: 'sdeath, I have a
Young M. Come, don't affect to treat me good mind to discover myself to her.
with contempt; I can suffer any thing better Ros. Poor wretch! he does not know what
than that. In short, I love you; there is no to make of it: I believe he is heartily morti-
more to be said: I am angry with myself for fied, but I must not pity him.
it, and strive all I can against it; but, in spite
of myself, I love you.
Ros. Really, Mr. Thomas, this is very im-
proper language; it is what I don't understand;
I can't suffer it, and, in short, I don't like it.
Young M. Perhaps you don't like me?
Ros. Well, perhaps I don't.
Young M. Nay, hut 'tis not so; come, con-
fess you love me.
Young M. It shall be so: I will discover
myself to her, and leave the house directly-
Mrs. Rosetta-[Starting back]-Plague on it,
yonder's the justice come into the garden!
Ros. O Lord! he will walk round this way:
pray go about your business; I would not for
the world he should see us together.
Young M. The devil take him; he's gone
across the parterre, and can't hobble here this
half hour: I must and will have a little con-
Ros. Confess! indeed I shall confess no such
thing: besides, to what purpose should I con-versation with you.
fess it?
Young M. Why, as you say, I don't know
to what purpose; only, it would be a satis-
faction to me to hear you say so; that's all.
Ros. Why, if I did love you, I can assure
you, you would never be the better for it-
Women are apt enough to be weak! we can-
not always answer for our inclinations, but it
is in our power not to give way to them;
and if I was so silly, I say if I was so indis-
creet, which I hope I am not, as to entertain
an improper regard, when people's circum-
stances are quite unsuitable, and there are
obstacles in the way that cannot be surmounted-
Ros. Some other time.
Young M. This evening, in the greenhouse,
at the lower end of the canal; I have some-
thing to communicate to you of importance.
Will you meet me there?
Ros. Meet you!
Young M. Ay; I have a secret to tell you;
and I swear, from that moment, there shall be
an end of every thing betwixt us.
Ros. Well, well, pray leave me now.
Young M. You'll come then?
Ros. I don't know, perhaps I may.
Young M. Nay, but promise.
Ros. What signifies promising; I may break
Young M. Oh! to be sure, Mrs. Rosetta, to my promise-but, I tell you, I will.
be sure: you are entirely in the right of it- Young M. Enough-Yet, before I leave you,
I-know very well you and I can never come let me desire you to believe, I love you more
together.
than ever man loved woman; and that when
Ros. Well then, since that is the case, as I relinquish you, I give up all that can make
I assure you it is, I think we had better be- my life supportable.
have accordingly.
Young M. Suppose we make a bargain,
then, never to speak to one another any more?
Ros. With all my heart.
Young M. Nor look at, nor if possible think
of, one another?
Ros. I am very willing.
Young M. And as long as we stay in the
house together, never to take any notice?
Ros. It is the best way.
Young M. Why, I believe it is-Well, Mrs.
Rosetta-
Ros.
DUET T.
Be gone-I agree;
From this moment we're free;
Already, the matter I've sworn:
Young M. Yet let me complain
Of the fates that ordain-
A trial so hard to be borne.
AIR.
Oh! how shall I, in language weak,
My ardent passion tell;
Or form my falt'ring tongue to speak
That cruel word, farewell?
Farewell-but know, though thus we part,
My thoughts can never stray:
Go where I will, my constant heart
Must with my charmer stay.
Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK.
[Exit.
Ros. What can this be that he wants to
tell me? I have a strange curiosity to hear it,
methinks-well-
Jus. W. Hem! hem! Rosetta!
Ros. So, I thought the devil would throw
hima in my way; now for a courtship of a
different kind; but I'll give him a surfeit-Did
you call me, sir?

SCENE 1.]
769
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Jus. W. Ay, where are you running so fast?
Ros. I was only going into the house, sir.
Jus. W. Well, but come here; come here,
I say. [Looking about] How do you do,
Rosetta?
Ros. Thank you, sir, pretty well.
Jus. W. Why you look as fresh and bloomy
to-day-Adad, you little slut, I believe you are
painted, push
y
Ros. O sir! you are pleased to compliment.
Jus. W. Adad, I believe you are-let me try-
Ros. Lord, sir!
Ros. Won't you, sir?
Jus. V. Not I.
Ros. But won't you indeed, sir?
Jus. W. Why I tell you I won't.
Ros. Ha, ha, ha!
Jus. W. Hussy, hussy!
Ros. Ha, ha, ha!-Your servant, sir, your
servant.
[Exit.
Jus. W. Why, you impudent, audacious-
Enter HAWTHORN.
Haw. So, so, justice at odds with gravity!
Jus. W. Ha! friend Hawthorn!
Jus. W. What brings you into this garden his worship playing at romps!--Your servant,
so often, Rosetta? I hope you don't get eating sir.
green fruit and trash; or have you a hanker-
ing after some lover in dowlass, who spoils
my trees by engraving truelovers'-knots on them, I
with your horn- and buck-handled knives? II
see your name written upon the ceiling of the
servants'-hall, with the smoke of a candle;
and I suspect-
Haw. I hope I don't spoil sport, neighbour:
thought I had the glimpse of a petticoat as
came in here.
Jus. W. Oh! the maid. Ay, she has been
gathering a sallad-But come hither, master
Hawthorn, and I'll show you some alterations
Ros. Not me, I hope, sir-No, sir, I am of I intend to make in my garden.
another guess mind, I assure you; for I have Haw. No, no, I am no judge of it; besides,
heard say, men are false and fickle-
I want to talk to you a little more about this
Jus. V. Ay, that's your flaunting, idle, -Tell me, sir Justice, were you helping your
W.
young fellows; so they are: and they are so maid to gather a sallad here, or consulting
damn'd impudent, I wonder a woman will her taste in your improvements, eh? Ha, ha,
have any thing to say to them; besides, all ha! Let me see, all among the roses; 'egad, I
that they want is something to brag of, and like your notion: but you look a little blank
tell again.
upon it: you are ashamed of the business then,
are you?"
Ros. Why I own, sir, if ever I was to make
a slip, it should be with an elderly gentleman
-about seventy, or seventy-five years of age.
Jus. W. No, child, that's out of reason;
though I have known many a man turned of
threescore with a hale constitution.
Ros. Then, sir, he should be troubled with
the gout, have a good, strong, substantial,
winter cough-and I should not like him the
worse-if he had a small touch of the rheumatism.
Jus. VV. Pho, pho, Rosetta, this is jesting.
Ros. No, sir; every body has a taste, and
I have mine.,
Jus. W. Well but, Rosetta, have you thought
of what I was saying to you?
Ros. What was it, sir?
Jus. W. Ab, you know, you know well
enough, hussy.
Ros. Dear sir, consider what has a poor
servant to depend on but her character? And
I have heard you gentlemen will talk one thing
before, and another after.
Jus. W. I tell you again, these are the idle,
flashy, young dogs: but when you have to do
with a staid, sober man-
Ros. And a magistrate, sir?
Jus. V. Right; it's quite a different thing
-Well, shall we, Rosetta, shall we?
Ros. Really, sir, I don't know what to say
to it.
AIR.
Young I am, and sore afraid:
Would you hurt a harmless maid?
Lead an innocent astray?
Tempt me not, kind sir, I pray.
Men too often we believe;
And, should you my faith deceive,
Ruin first, and then forsake,
Sure my tender heart would break.
Jus. W. Why, you silly girl, I won't do
you any harm.
AIR.
Oons! neighbour, ne'er blush for a trifle
like this;
What harm with a fair one to toy and to
kiss?
The greatest and gravest-a truce with gri-
mace-
Would do the same thing, were they in the
same place.
No age, no profession, no station is free;
That power, resistless, no strength can oppose,
To sovereign beauty mankind bends the knee:
We all love a pretty girl-under the rose.
Jus. W. I profess, master Hawthorn, this is
all Indian, all Cherokee language to me; I
don't understand a word of it.
Haw. No, may be not: well, sir, will you
read this letter, and try whether you can un-
derstand that? it is just brought by a servant,
who stays for an answer.
Jus. W. A letter, and to me? [Taking the
Letter] Yes, it is to me; and yet I am sure
it comes from no correspondent that I know
of. Where are my spectacles? not but I can
see very well without them, master Hawthorn;
but this seems to be a sort of a crabbed hand.
[Reads.
Sir, I am ashamed of giving you this
trouble; but I am informed there is an
unthinking boy, a son of mine, now dis-
guised and in your service, in the capacity
of a gardener:-Tom is a little wild, but
an honest lad, and no fool either, though
I am his father that say it. Tom-oh, this
is Thomas, our gardener; I always thought
that he was a better man's child than he ap-
peared to be, though I never mentioned it.
Haw. Well, well, sir, pray let's hear the
rest of the letter.
97

770.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
[ACT II.
Jus. W. Stay, where is the place? Oh, here: the manners to knock at the door first-What
-I am come in quest of my runaway, and does the wench stand for?
write this at an inn in your village, while Madge. I want to know if his worship's at
I am swallowing a morsel of dinner: be- home?
cause, not having the pleasure of your Hodge. Well, what's your business with
acquaintance, I did not care to intrude, his worship?
without giving you notice. Whoever this Madge. Perhaps you will hear that-Lookye,
person is, he understands good manners. I Hodge, it does not signify talking, I am come,
beg leave to wait on you, sir; but desire once for all, to know what you intends to do;
you would keep my arrival a secret, par- for I won't be made a fool of any longer.
ticularly from the young man.
WILLIAM MEADOWS.
I'll assure you, a very well worded, civil let-
ter. Do you know any thing of the person
who writes it, neighbour?
Haw. Let me consider-Meadows-by dad,
I belive it is sir William Meadows of North-
amptonshire; and, now I remember, I heard
some time ago that the heir of that family
had absconded, on account of a marriage that
was disagreeable to him. It is a good many
years since I have seen sir William, but we
were once well acquainted: and, if you please,
sir, I will go and conduct him to the house.
Jus. W. Do so, master Hawthorn, do so-
But what sort of a man is this sir William
Meadows? Is he a wise man?
Haw. There is no occasion for a man that
has five thousand pounds a year, to be a con-
jurer; but I suppose you ask that question
because of this story about his son; taking it
for granted, that wise parents make wise children.
Jus. W. No doubt of it, master Hawthorn,
no doubt of it-I warrant we shall find now,
that this young rascal has fallen in love with
some mynx, against his father's consent-Why,
sir, if I had as many children as king Priam
had, that we read of at school, in the destruc-
tion of Troy, not one of them should serve
me so.
Haw. Well, well, neighbour, perhaps not;
but we should remember when we were young
ourselves; and I was as likely to play an old
don such a trick in my day, as e'er a spark in
the hundred; nay, between you and me, I had
done it once, had the wench been as willing
as I.
AIR.
My Dolly was the fairest thing!
Her breath disclos'd the sweets of spring;
And if for summer you would seek,
'Twas painted in her eye, her cheek;
Her swelling bosom, tempting ripe,
Of fruitful autumn was the type:
But, when my tender tale I told,
I found her heart was winter cold.
Hodge. You won't?
Madge. No, that's what I won't, by the best
man that ever wore a head; I am the make-
game of the whole village upon your account;
and I'll try whether your master gives you
toleration in your doings.
Hodge. You will?
Madge. Yes, that's what I will, his worship
shall be acquainted with all your pranks, and
see how you will like to be sent for a soldier.
Hodge. There's the door; take a friend's
advice, and go about your business.
Madge. My business is with his worship;
and I won't go till I sees him.
Hodge. Look you, Madge, if you make any
of your orations here, never stir if I don't set
the dogs at you-Will you be gone?
Madge. I won't.
Hodge. Here, Towzer, [Whistling] whu,
whu, whu.
AIR.
Was ever poor fellow so plagu'd with a
vixen?
Zawns! Madge, don't provoke me, but
mind what I say;
You've chose a wrong parson for playing
your tricks on,
So pack up your alls and be trudging
away;
You'd better be quiet,
And not breed a riot;
'Sblood, must I stand prating with you here
all day?
I've got other matters to mind;
Mayhap you may think me an ass;
But to the contrary you'll find;
A fine piece of work by the mass!
Enter ROSETTA.
Ros. Sure I heard the voice of discord here
-as I live, an adınirer of mine, and, if I mis-
take not, a rival-I'll have some sport with
them-how now, fellow servant, what's the
matter?
Hodge. Nothing, Mrs. Rosetta, only this
young woman wants to speak with his wor-
Jus. VV. Ah, you were always a scape-grace ship-Madge, follow me.
rattle-eap.
Madge. No, Hodge, this is your fine madam;
Haw. Odds heart, neighbour Woodcock, but I am as good flesh and blood as she, and
don't tell me, young fellows will be young have as clear a skin too, tho'f I mayn't go so
fellows, though we preach till we're hoarse gay; and now she's here, I'll tell her a piece
again; and so there's an end on't. [Exeunt. of my mind.
SCENE III. JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Hall.
Enter HODGE and MADGE.
Hodge. So, mistress, who let you in?
Madge. Why, I let myself in.
Hodge. Indeed! Marry come up! why then
pray let yourself out again. Times are come!
to a pretty pass; I think you might have had
Hodge. Hold your tongue, will you?
Madge. No, I'll speak if I die for it.
Ros. What's the matter, I say?
Hodge. Why nothing, I tell you;-Madge-
Madge. Yes, but it is something; it's all
along of she, and she may be ashamed of
herself.
Ros. Bless me, child, do you direct your
discourse to me?

SCENE 4.]
771
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Madge. Yes, I do, and to nobody else; there
was not a kinder soul breathing than he was
till of late; I had never a cross word from him
till he kept you company; but all the girls
about say, there is no such thing as keeping
a sweetheart for you.
Ros. Do you hear this, friend Hodge?
Hodge. Why, you don't mind she, I hope;
but if that vexes her, I do like you, I do; my
mind runs upon nothing else; and if so be as
you was agreeable to it, I would marry you
to-night, before to-morrow.
Madge. You're a nasty monkey; you are
parjur'd, you know you are, and you deserve
to have your eyes tore out.
Hodge. Let me come at her-I'll teach you
to call names, and abuse folk.
Madge. Do; strike me;-you a man!
Ros. Hold, hold-we shall have a battle here
presently, and I may chance to get my cap
tore off-Never exasperate a jealous woman,
'tis taking a mad bull by the horns-Leave
me to manage her.
But go up to town in the waggon next week;
A service in London is no such disgrace,
And Register's office will get me a place:
Bet Blossom went there, and soon met with
a friend:
say
Folks in her silks she's now standing
an end!
Then why should not I the same maxim
pursue,
And better my fortune as other girls do?
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-A Chamber.
Enter ROSETTA and LUCINDA.
Ros. Ha! ha! ha! Oh admirable, most de-
lectably ridiculous. And so your father is
content he should be a music-master, and will
have him such, in spite of all your aunt can
say to the contrary?
Luc. My father and he, child, are the best
companions you ever saw: and have been
singing together the most hideous duets! Bob-
bing Joan, and Old Sir Simon the King: heaven
knows were Eustace could pick them up: but
he has gone through half the contents of Pills
Hodge. You manage her! I'll kick her.
Ros. No, no, it will be more for my credit,
to get the better of her by fair means-I war- to purge Melancholy with him.
rant I'll bring her to reason.
Ros. And have you resolved to take wing
Hodge. Well, do so then-But may I de- to-night?
pend upon you? when shall I speak to the Luc. This very night, my dear: my swain
parson?
will go from hence this evening, but no fur-
Ros. We'll talk of that another time-Go. ther than the inn, where he has left his hor-
Hodge. Madge, good bye.
[Exit. ses; and, at twelve precisely, he will be with
Ros. The brutality of this fellow shocks me! a post-chaise at the little gate that opens from
-Oh men, men-you are all alike-A bumkin the lawn into the road, where I have promised
here, bred at the barn door; had he been to meet him.
company.
Luc. We shall slip out when the family are
asleep, and I have prepared Hodge already.
Well, I hope we shall be happy.
Ros. Never doubt it.
AIR.
brought up in a court, could he have been Ros. Then depend upon it, I'll bear you
more fashionably vicious! show me the lord,
squire, colonel, or captain of them all, can
outdo him!
[the place any longer.
Madge. I am ready to burst, I can't stay in
Ros. Hold, child, come hither.
Madge. Don't speak to me, don't you.
Ros. Well, but I have something to say to
you of consequence, and that will be for your
good; I suppose this fellow promised you
marriage.
[vail'd upon me.
Madge. Ay, or he never should have pre-
Ros. Well, now you see the ill consequence
of trusting to such promises: when once a
man hath cheated a woman of her virtue, she
has no longer hold of him; he despises her
for wanting that which he hath robb'd her of;
and, like a lawless conqueror, triumphs in the
ruin he hath occasioned.
Madge. Nan!
In love should there meet a fond pair,
Untutor'd by fashion or art;
Whose wishes are warm and sincere,
Whose words are th' excess of the heart:
If ought of substantial delight,
On this side the stars can be found,
'Tis sure when that couple unite,
And Cupid by Hymen is crown'd.
Enter HAWTHORN.
Haw. Lucy, where are you?
Luc. Your pleasure, sir.
Ros. Mr. Hawthorn, your servant.
Haw. What my little water-wagtail!-The
very couple I wish'd to meet: come hither
Ros. However, I hope the experience you
have got, though somewhat dearly purchased,
will be of use to you for the future; and, as
to any designs I have upon the heart of your both of you.
lover, you may make yourself easy, for I as- Ros. Now, sir, what would you say to both
sure you I shall be no dangerous rival; so go of us?
your ways and be a good girl. [Exit. Haw. Why, let me look at you a little-
Madge. Yes-I don't very well understand have you got on your best
gowns, and your
her talk, but I suppose that's as much as to best faces? If not, go and trick yourselves out
say she'll keep him all to herself; well, let her, directly, for I'll tell you a secret-there will
who cares? I don't fear getting better nor he be a young bachelor in the house, within these
is any day of the year, for the matter of that: three hours, that may fall to the share of one
and I have a thought come into my head, that, of you, if you look sharp-but whether mi-
may be, will be more to my advantage.
AIR.
Since Hodge proves ungrateful, no further
I'll seek;
stress or maid-
Ros. Ay, marry, this is something; but how
do you know whether either mistress or maid
will think him worth acceptance?

772
[ACT III.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
Haw. Follow me, follow me; I warrant you. matters stood, I was quite astonished, as a
Luc. I can assure you, Mr. Hawthorn, I am body may say; and could not believe it partly;
very difficult to please.
Ros. And so am I, sir.
Haw. Indeed!
TRIO.
Well come, let us hear what the swain must
possess,
Who may hope at your feet to implore with
success?
Ros. He must be first of all
Straight, comely, and tall:
Luc. Neither awkward,
Ros. Nor foolish,
Luc. Nor apish,
Ros. Nor mulish;
Luc. Nor
Ros.
yet
till her young friend that she is with here,
assured me of the truth on't:-Indeed, at last,
I began to recollect her face, though I have
not set eyes on her before, since she was the
height of a full grown greyhound.
Haw. Well, sir William, your son as yet
knows nothing of what has happened, nor of
your being come hither; and, if you'll follow
my counsel, we'll have some sport with him.
He and his mistress were to meet in the
garden this evening by appointment, she's gone
to dress herself in all her airs; will you let
me direct your proceedings in this affair?
Sir W. With all my heart, master Haw-
thorn, with all my heart; do what you will
should his fortune be small. with me, say what you please for me; I am
Haw. What think'st of a captain?
Luc. All bluster and wounds!
Haw. What think'st of a squire?
Ros. To be left for his hounds.
Luc.
Ros.
Haw.
Ros.
Luc.
The youth that is form'd to my mind,
Must be gentle, obliging, and kind;
Of all things in nature love me;
Have sense both to speak and to see-
Yet sometimes be silent and blind.
'Fore George, a most rare matri-
monial receipt;
Observe it, ye fair, in the choice
of a mate;
Remember 'tis wedlock determines
your fate.
ACT III.
SCENE I. A Parlour in JUSTICE WOOD-
COCK'S House.
Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWs, followed by
HAWTHORN.
so overjoyed, and so happy-And may I never
do an ill turn¹) but I am very glad to see
you too; ay, and partly as much pleased at
that as any thing else, for we have been merry
together before now, when we were some
years younger; well, and how has the world
gone with you, master Hawthorn, since we
saw one another last?
Haw. Why, pretty well, sir William, I
have no reason to complain; every one has a
mixture of sour with his sweets: but, in the
main, I believe, I have done in a degree as
tolerably as my neighbours.
AIR.
The world is a well-furnish'd table,
Where guests are promisc'ously set;
We all fare as well as we are able,
And scramble for what we can get.
My simile holds to a tittle,
Some gorge, while some scarce have a
taste;
But if I'm content with a little,
Enough is as good as a feast.
Enter ROSETTA.
Sir W. Well, this is excellent, this is mighty
good, this is mighty merry, faith; ha! ha! ha!
was ever the like heard of? that my boy, Tom, Ros. Sir William, I beg pardon for detain-
should run away from me, for fear of being ing you, but I have had so much difficulty in
forced to marry a girl he never saw; that she adjusting my borrowed plumes.-
should scamper from her father, for fear of Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but
being forced to marry him; and that they they fit you to a T, and you look very well,
should run into one another's arms this way so you do: Cocksbones, how your father will
in disguise, by mere accident; against their chuckle when he comes to hear this!-Her fa-
consents, and without knowing it, as a body ther, master Hawthorn, is as worthy a man
may say? May I never do an ill turn, master as lives by bread, and has been almost out of
Hawthorn, if it is not one of the oddest ad- his senses for the loss of her-But tell me,
ventures partly-
hussy, has not this been all a scheme, a piece
How. Why, sir William, it is a romance, of conjuration between you and my son? Faith,
a novel, a pleasanter history by half than the I am half persuaded it has, it looks so like
loves of Dorastus and Faunia: we shall have hocus-pocus, as a body may say.
ballads made of it within these two months, Ros. Upon my honour, sir William, what
setting forth how a young squire became a has happened has been the mere effect of
serving-man of low degree; and it will be chance; I came hither unknown to your son,
stuck up with Margaret's Ghost, and the Spa- and he unknown to me: I never in the least
nish Lady, against the walls of every cottage suspected that Thomas the gardener was other
in the country.
than his appearance spoke him; and least of
Sir W. But what pleases me best of all, all, that he was a person with whom I had
master Hawthorn, is the ingenuity of the girl. so close a connexion. Mr. Hawthorn can testify
May I never do an ill turn, when I was called the astonishment I was in when he first in-
out of the room, and the servant said she formed me of it; but I thought it was my
wanted to speak to me, if I knew what to duty to come to an immediate explanation
make on't: but when the little gipsy ¹) took with you.
me aside, and told me her name, and how Sir W. Is not she a neat wench, master
1) Little gipsy. little rogue, little baggage, and a thou-Hawthorn? May I never do an ill turn, but
1) Sir William means, may I never do a good turn.
sand other littles, are merely terms of endearment.

SCENE 1.]
773
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
she is-But you little, plaguy devil, how came become of Lucinda? Sir William waits for
this love affair between you?
me, I must be gone. Friendship, a moment
Ros. I have told you the whole truth very by your leave; yet as our sufferings have
ingenuously, sir: since your son and I have been mutual, so shall our joys; I already lose
been fellow servants, as I may call it, in this the remembrance of all former pains and an-
house, I have had more than reason to suspect xieties.
he has taken a liking to me; and I will own,
with equal frankness, had I not looked upon
him as a person so much below me, I should
have had no objection to receive his courtship.
Haw. Well said, by the lord Harry, all
above board, fair and open.
Ros. Perhaps I may be censured by some
for this candid declaration; but I love to speak
my sentiments; and I assure you, sir Wil-
liam, in my opinion, I should prefer a gar-
dener with your son's good qualities, to a
knight of the shire without them.
Haw. Well but, sir, we lose time-is not
this about the hour appointed to meet in the
garden?
Ros. Pretty near it.
AIR.
The traveller benighted,
And led through weary ways,
The lamp of day new lighted,
With joy the dawn surveys.
The rising prospects viewing,
Each look is forward cast;
He smiles, his course pursuing,
Nor thinks of what is past.
[Exit.
Hodge. Hist, stay! don't I hear a noise?
Luc. [Without] Well, but dear, dear aunt-
Mrs. D. [Without] You need not speak to
me, for it does not signify.
Hodge. Adwawns, they are coming here!
Haw. Oons then, what do we stay for? ecod, I'll get out of the way-Murrain take it,
Come, my old friend, come along; and by the this door is bolted now-So, so.
way we will consult how to manage your
interview.
Sir W. Ay, but I must speak a word or
two to my man about the horses first.
[Exeunt Sir W. and Haw.
Enter HODGE.
Ros. Well-What's the business?
Hodge. Madam-Mercy on us, I crave
pardon!
Ros. Why, Hodge, don't you know me?
Hodge. Mrs. Rosetta!
Enter MRS. DEBORAH WOODCOCK, driving
in LUCINDA before her.
Mrs. D. Get along, get along: you are a
scandal to the name of Woodcock: but I was
resolved to find you out; for I have suspected
you a great while, though your father, silly
man, will have you such a poor innocent.
Luc. What shall I do?
Mrs. D. I was determined to discover what
you and your pretended music-master were
about, and lay in wait on purpose: I believe
Ros. Ay.
he thought to escape me, by slipping into the
Hodge. Know you! ecod, I don't know closet when I knocked at the door; but I was
whether I do or not: never stir, if I did not even with him; for now I have him under
think it was some lady belonging to the strange lock and key; and please the fates, there he
gentlefolks: why, you ben't dizen'd this way shall remain till your father comes in: I will
to go to the statute dance presently, be you? convince him of his error, whether he will or
Ros, Have patience and you'll see:- but is not.
there any thing amiss that you came in so
abruptly?
Hodge. Amiss! why there's ruination.
Ros. How?-where?
Hodge. Why, with miss Lucinda: her aunt
has catch'd she and the gentleman above stairs,
and overheard all their love discourse.
Ros. You don't say so!
Hodge. Ecod, I had like to have pop'd in
among them this instant; but, by good luck,
I heard Mrs. Deborah's voice, and run down
again as fast as ever my legs could carry me.
Ros. Is your master in the house?
Hodge. What, his worship! no no, he is
gone into the fields to talk with the reapers
and people.
Ros. Poor Lucinda! I wish I could go up to
her; but I am so engaged with my own af-
fairs-
Hodge. Mistress Rosetta!
Ros. Well.
Hodge. Odds bobs, I must have one smack
of your sweet lips.
Luc. You won't be so cruel, I am sure you
won't: I thought I had made you my friend
by telling you the truth.
Mrs. D. Telling me the truth, quotha! did
I not overhear your scheme of running away
to-night, through the partition? did I not find
the very bundles pack'd up in the room with
you, ready for going off? No, brazenface, I
found out the truth by my own sagacity, though
your father says I am a fool, but now we'll
be judged who is the greatest-And you, Mr.
Rascal, my brother shall know what an honest
servant he has got.
Hodge. Madam!
Mrs. D. You were to have been aiding and
assisting them in their escape, and have been
the go-between, it seems, the letter-carrier!
Hodge. Who, me, madam!
Mrs. D. Yes, you, sirrah.
Hodge, Miss Lucinda, did I ever carry a
letter for you? I'll make my affidavy ¹) before
his worship-
Mrs. D. Go, go, you are a villain, hold your
Ros. Oh, stand off; you know I never al-tongue.
low liberties.
Luc. I own, aunt, I have been very faulty
Hodge. Nay, but why so coy? there's rea- in this affair; I don't pretend to excuse my-
son in roasting of eggs; I would not deny self; but we are all subject to frailties; con-
you such a thing.
Ros. That's kind: ha, ha, ba-But what will 1) Affidavit.

774
[ACT III.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
[Exit.
And all their discourse is of marriage.
SCENE II.-A Greenhouse.
Enter Young MEADOWS.
sider that, and judge of me by yourself; you
were once young and inexperienced as I am.
Mrs. D. This is mighty pretty, romantic
stuff! but you learn it out of your play-books
and novels. Girls in my time had other em-
ployments, we worked at our needles, and Young M. I am glad I had the precaution
kept ourselves from idle thoughts: before I was to bring this suit of clothes in my bundle,
your age, I had finished with my own fingers though I hardly know myself in them again,
a complete set of chairs and a firescreen in they appear so strange, and feel so unweildy.
tent-stitch; four counterpanes in Marseilles However, my gardener's jacket goes on no
quilting; and the creed and the ten command-more. I wonder this girl does not come;
ments in the hair of our family: it was fram'd [Looking at his Watch] perhaps she won't
and glaz'd, and hung over the parlour chim- come. Why, then I'll go into the village,
ney-piece, and your poor, dear grandfather take a post-chaise, and depart without any
was prouder of it than of e'er a picture in further ceremony.
his house. I never looked into a book, but
when I said my prayers, except it was the
Complete Housewife, or the great family re-
ceipt-book: whereas you are always at your
studies! Ah, I never knew a woman come to
good, that was fond of reading.
Luc. Well pray, madam, let me prevail on
you to give me the key to let Mr. Eustace
out, and I promise I never will proceed a step
further in this business without your advice
and approbation.
AIR.
How much superior beauty awes,
The coldest bosoms find;
But with resistless force it draws,
To sense and sweetness join'd.
The casket, where, to outward show,
The workman's art is seen,
Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.
Hark! she comes.
Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS and HAW-
Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS and HAW-
THORN.
Mrs. D. Have I not told you already my
resolution? - Where are my clogs and my
bonnet? I'll go out to my brother in the fields;
I'm a fool, you know, child; now let's see Young M. Confusion! my father! What can
what the wits will think of themselves-Don't this mean?
hold me-
[Exit. Sir W. Tom, are not you a sad boy, Tom,
Luc. I'm not going; I have thought of a to bring me a hundred and forty miles here
way to be even with you, so you may do as -May I never do an ill turn, but you deserve
you please.
[Exit. to have your head broke; and I have a good
Hodge. Well, I thought it would come to mind, partly-What, sirrah, don't you think
this, I'll be shot if I didn't-So here's a fine it worth your while to speak to me?
job- But what can they do to me?-They Young M. Forgive me, sir; I own I have
can't send me to gaol for carrying a letter, been in a fault.
seeing there was no treason in it; and how Sir W. In a fault! to run away from me
was I obligated to know my master did not because I was going to do you good-May 1
allow of their meetings:-The worst they can never do an ill turn, Mr. Hawthorn, if I did
do is to turn me off, and I am sure the place not pick out as fine a girl for him, partly, as
is no such great purchase-indeed, I should any in England! and the rascal run away
be sorry to leave Mrs. Rosetta, seeing as how from me, and came here and turn'd gardener.
matters are so near being brought to an end And pray what did you propose to yourself,
betwixt us; but she and I may keep company Tom? I know you were always fond of bo-
all as one; and I find Madge has been speaking tany, as they call it; did you intend to keep
with Gaffer Broadwheels, the waggoner, about the trade going, and advertise fruit-trees and
her carriage up to London: so that I have got flowering-shrubs, to be had at Meadows'
rid of she, and I am sure I have reason to be nursery
main glad of it, for she led me a wearisome
life-But that's the way of them all.
AIR.
A plague o'these wenches, they make such
a pother,
When once they have let'n a man have
his will;
They're always a whining for something or
other,
And cry he's unkind in his carriage.
What tho'f he speaks them ne'er so fairly,
Still they keep teazing, teazing on:
You cannot persuade 'em
Till promise you've made 'em;
And after they've got it,
They tell you-add rot it,
Their character's blasted, they're ruin'd,
done:
Then to be sure, sir,
There is but one cure, sir,
Haw. No, sir William, I apprehend the
young gentleman designed to lay by the pro-
fession; for he has quitted the habit already.
Young M. I am so astonished to see you
here, sir, that I don't know what to say: but
I assure you, if you had not come, I should
have returned home to you directly. Pray,
sir, how did you find me out?
Sir W. No matter, Tom, no matter: it was
partly by accident, as a body may say; but
what does that signify?-tell me, boy, how
stands your stomach towards matrimony: do
you think you could digest a wife now?
Young M. Pray, sir, don't mention it: I shall
always behave myself as a dutiful son ought:
I will never marry without your consent, and
I hope you won't force me to do it against
un-my own.
Sir WV. Is not this mighty provoking, master
Hawthorn? Why, sirrab, did you ever see the
lady I designed for you?

SCENE 2.]
775
LOVE IN A VILLAGE.
father in this matter.
Young M. Sir, I don't doubt the lady's me- kind of embarrassment, and I don't wonder
rit; but, at present, I am not disposed- at it; but this letter, which I received from
Haw. Nay but, young gentleman, fair and him a few days before I left my father's house,
softly; you should pay some respect to your will, I apprehend, expound the riddle. He
cannot be surprised that I ran away from a
Sir W. Respect, master Hawthorn! I tell gentleman who expressed so much dislike to
you he shall marry her, or I'll disinherit him! me; and what has happened, since chance
there's once. Look you, Tom, not to make has brought us together in masquerade, there
any more words of the matter, I have brought is no occasion for me to inform him of.
the lady here with me, and I'll see you con- Young M. What is all this? Pray don't
tracted before we part; or you shall delve and make a jest of me!
plant cucumbers as long as you live.
Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, Tom,
Young M. Have you brought the lady here, if it is not truth! this is my friend's daughter.
sir? I am sorry for it.
Young M. Sir!
Sir W. Why sorry? What, then, you won't Ros. Even so; 'tis very true, indeed. In
marry her? We'll see that! Pray, master Haw-short, you have not been a more whimsical
thorn, conduct the fair one in. Ay, sir, you gentleman, than I have a gentlewoman; but
may fret and dance about, trot at the rate of you see we are designed for one another,
fifteen miles an hour, if you please; but, marry 'tis plain.
whip me, I'm resolved.
Enter ROSETTA.
Haw. Here is the lady, sir William.
Sir W. Come in, madam; but turn your
face from him-he would not marry you be-
cause he had not seen you: but I'll let him
know my choice shall he his, and he shall
consent to marry you before he sees you, or
not an acre of estate Pray, sir, walk this
way.
Young M. I know not, madam, what I ei-
ther hear or see; a thousand things are crowd-
ing on my imagination; while, like one just
awakened from a dream, I doubt which is
reality, which delusion.
Sir W. Well then, Tom, come into the
air a bit, and recover yourself.
Young M. Nay, dear sir, have a little pa-
tience; do you give her to me?
Sir W. Give her to you! ay, that I do,
and my blessing into the bargain.
Young M. Sir, I cannot help thinking your Young M. Then, sir, I am the happiest man
conduct a little extraordinary; but, since you in the world! I inquire no further; here I fix
urge me so closely, I must tell you my af- the utmost limits of my hopes and happiness.
fections are engaged.
Sir W. How, Tom, how?
DUETT.
Young M. I was determined, sir, to have Young M. All I wish in her obtaining,
got the better of my inclination, and never
have done a thing which I knew would be
disagreeable to you.
Ros.
Young M.
Ros.
Fortune can no more impart:
Let my eyes, my thoughts explaining,
Speak the feelings of my heart.
Joy and pleasure never ceasing,
Love with length of years increasing,
Thus my heart and hand surrender,
Here my faith and truth I plight;
Constant still, and kind and tender,
May our flames burn ever bright!
Haw. Give you joy, sir; and you, fair lady
Sir W. And pray, sir, who are your affec-
tions engaged to? Let me know that.
Young M. To a person, sir, whose rank Together.
and fortune may be no recommendation to
her, but whose charms and accomplishments
entitle her to a monarch. I am sorry, sir,
it's impossible for me to comply with your
commands, and I hope you will not be of--And, under favour, I'll salute you too, if
fended if I quit your presence,
Sir W. Not I, not in the least: go about
your business.
Young M. Sir, I obey.
Haw. Now, madam; is the time.
there's no fear of jealousy.
Young M. And may I believe this? Pr'ythee
tell me, dear Rosetta!
Ros. Step into the house, and I'll tell you
every thing; I must entreat the good offices
[Rosetta advances. Young Meadows turns of sir William and Mr. Hawthorn immedia-
round and sees her.
AIR. ROSETTA.
---
When we see a lover languish
And his truth and honour prove,
Ah! how sweet to heal his anguish,
And repay him love for love.
Sir W. Well, Tom, will you go away from
me now?
Haw. Perhaps, sir William, your son does
not like the lady; and, if so, pray don't put
a force upon his inclination.
Young M. You need not have taken this
method, sir, to let me see you are acquainted
with my folly, whatever my inclinations are.
Sir W. Well but, Tom, suppose I give my
consent to your marrying this young woman?
Young M. Your consent, sir?
Ros. Come, sir William, we have carried
the jest far enough: I see your son is in a
tely; for I am in the utmost uneasiness about
my poor friend, Lucinda.
Haw. Why, what's the matter?
Ros. I don't know; but I have reason to
fear I left her just now in very disagreeable
circumstances: however I hope if there's any
mischief fallen out between her father and
her lover-
Haw. The music-master! I thought so.
Sir W. What, is there a lover in the case?
May I never do an ill turn, but I am glad,
so I am! for we'll make a double wedding;
and, by way of celebrating it, take a trip to
London, to show the brides some of the plea-
sures of the town. And, master Hawthorn,
you shall be of the party-Come, children, go
before us.
Haw. Thank you, sir William; I'll go in-
to the house with you, and to church to see

776
[ACT III.
LOVE IN A VILLAGE
the young folks married; but as to London, heartily your servant; may I never do an ill
I beg to be excused,
turn, but I am glad to meet you.
AIR.
If ever I'm catch'd in those regions of smoke,
That seat of confusion and noise,
May I ne'er know the sweets of a slumber
unbroke,
Nor the pleasure the country enjoys.
Nay more, let them take me, to punish my sin,
Where, gaping, the cocknies they fleece;
Clap me up with their monsters, cry, masters
walk in,
And show me for twopence a- piece.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.-JUSTICE WOODCOCK'S Hall.
Enter JUSTICE WOODCOCK, MRS. DEBORAH
WOODCOCK, LUCINDA, EUSTACE, and HODGE.
Mrs. D. Why, brother, do you think I
can't hear, or see, or make use of my senses?
I tell you, I left that fellow locked up in her
closet; and, while I have been with you, they
have broke open the door, and got him out
again.
Jus. VV. Pray, sir William, are you ac-
quainted with this person?
Sir W. What, with Jack Eustace? why
he's my kinsman: his mother and I were cou-
sin-germans once removed, and Jack's a very
worthy young fellow; may I never do an ill
turn, if I tell a word of a lie.
Jus. W. Well but, sir William, let me tell
you, you know nothing of the matter; this
man is a music-master; a thrummer of wire,
and a scraper of catgut, and teaches my daugh-
ter to sing.
Sir W. What, Jack Eustace a music-master!
no, no; I know him better.
Eust. 'Sdeath, why should I attempt to car-
ry on this absurd farce any longer;-What
that gentleman tells you is very true, sir; I
am no music-master, indeed.
Jus. W. You are not, you own it then?
Eust. Nay more, sir, I am, as this lady has
represented me, [Pointing to Mrs. Deborah]
your daughter's lover: whom, with her own
Jus. W. Well, you hear what they say. consent, I did intend to have carried off this
Mrs. D. I care not what they say; it's you night; but now that sir William Meadows
encourage them in their impudence-Harkye, is here, to tell you who and what I am, I
bussy, will you face me down that I did not throw myself upon your generosity; from
lock the fellow up?
which I expect greater advantages than I could
Luc. Really, aunt, I don't know what you reap from any imposition on your unsuspi-
mean; when you talk intelligibly, I'll answer cious nature.
Mrs. D. Well, brother, what have you to
you.
Eust. Seriously, madam, this is carrying say for yourself now? You have made a pre-
the jest a little too far.
Mrs. D. What, then, I did not catch you
together in her chamber, nor overhear your
design of going off to-night, nor find the
bundles packed up-
Eust. Ha, ha, ha.
Luc Why, aunt, you rave.
Mrs. D. Brother, as I am a Christian wo-
man, she confessed the whole affair to me
from first to last; and in this very place was
down upon her marrow-bones for half an
hour together, to beg I would conceal it from you.
Hodge. Oh Lord! Oh Lord!
Mrs. D. What, sirrah, would you brazen
me too! Take that.
[Boxes him.
Hodge. I wish you would keep your hands
to yourself! you strike me, because you have
been telling his worship stories.
Jus. W. Why, sister, you are tipsy!
Mrs. D. I tipsy, brother!-1-that never
touch a drop of any thing strong from year's
end to year's end; but now and then a little
anniseed water, when I have got the colic.
cious day's work of it! Had my advice been
taken! Oh, I am ashamed of you; but you
are a weak man, and it can't be help'd; how-
ever, you should let wiser heads direct you.
Luc. Dear papa, pardon me.
Sir W. Ay, do, sir, forgive her; my cou-
sin Jack will make her a good husband, I'll
answer for it.
Ros. Stand out of the way, and let me
speak two or three words to his worship.-
Come, my dear sir, though you refuse all the
world, I am sure you can deny me nothing:
love is a venial fault-You know what I mean.
-Be reconciled to your daughter, I conjure
you, by the memory of our past affections-
What, not a word?
AIR.
Go, naughty man, I can't abide you;
Are then our vows so soon forgot?
Ah! now I see if I had tried you,
What would have been my hopeful lot.
But here I charge you-Make them happy;
Luc. Well, aunt, you have been complain- Come, be a dear, good natur'd
Bless the fond pair, and crown their bliss:
pappy,
ing of the stomach-ach all day; and may have
And I'll reward you with a kiss.
taken too powerful a dose of cordial.
your
Jus. W. Come, come, I see well enough Mrs. D. Come, turn out of the house, and
how it is; this is a lie of her own invention, be thankful that my brother does not hang
ty make herself appear wise: but, you simple- you, for he could do it; he's a justice of
ton, did you not know I must find you out? peace;-turn out of the house, I say:-
Enter SIR WILLIAM MEADOWS, HAWTHORN,
ROSETTA, and young MEADOWS.
Young M. Bless me, sir! look who is yonder.
Sir W. Cocksbones, Jack, honest Jack, are
you there?
Eust. Plague on't, this rencounter is un-
lucky-Sir William, your servant.
Sir W. Your servant, again; and again,
Jus. W. Who gave you authority to turn
him out of the house?-be shall stay where
he is.
Mrs. D. He shan't marry my niece.
Jus. W. Shan't he! but I'll show you the
difference now; I say he shall marry her,
and what will you do about it?
Mrs. D. And you will give him your estate
too, will you?

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
777
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Jus. W. Yes, I will.
to make up the company of your statute ball;
yonder's music too, I see; shall we enjoy
Mrs. D. Why I'm sure he's a vagabond.
Jus. W. I like him the better; I would have ourselves?
him a vagabond.
Mrs. D. Brother, brother!
Haw. Come, come, madam, all's very well;
and I see my neighbour is what I always
thought him, a man of sense and prudence.
Sir W. May I never do an ill turn, but I
say so too.
Jus. W. Here, young fellow, take my daugh-
ter, and bless you both together; but hark
you, no money till I die, Sister Deborah,
you're a fool.
Mrs. D. Ah brother, brother, you're a silly
old man.
Haw. Adds me, sir, here are some of your
neighbours come to visit you, and I suppose
Enter Villagers, etc.
If so, give me your hand.
Jus. W. Why here's my hand, and we
will enjoy ourselves. Heaven bless you both,
children, I say-
FINALE.
Hence with cares, complaints, and frowning,
Welcome jollity and joy;
Ev'ry grief in pleasure drowning,
Mirth this happy night employ:
Let's to friendship do our duty,
Laugh and sing some good old strain;
Drink a health to love and beauty-
May they long in triumph reign,
THE MAID OF THE MILL,
Com. Opera, by Isaac Bickerstaffe. Acted at Covent Garden 1765. This is taken from Richardson's novel of
Pamela, and ran thirty-five nights. In the year 1782, Mr. O'Keeffe added several airs to it, with which it was revived
with applause. It has since been reduced to an afterpiece, and performed in that state at Covent Garden. It has been
observed, that, "like Pamela, this is one of those delusions which frequently destroy the proper subordination of society.
The village beauty, whose simplicity and innocence are her native charms, smitten with the reveries of rank and splen-
dour, becomes affected and retired, disdaining her situation and every one about her."-We do not believe, however,
that many instances of this could be adduced.
LORD AIMWORTH.
SIR HARRY SYCAMORE.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GILES.
RALPH.
MERVIN.
LADY SYCAMORE.
PATTY.
FAIRFIELD.
THEODOSIA.
FANNY.

Gipsies, Millers, etc.
I.
ACT I.
no doubt but you'll find enow for a body to do.
Fair. What dost mutter? Is't not a strange
SCENE 1-4 rural Prospect, with a Mill plague that thou canst never go about any
at Work Several People employed
about it; on one Side a House, PATTY read thing with a good will; murrain take it, what's
ing in the Window; on the other a Barn, come o'er the boy? So then thou wilt not
where FANNY sits mending a Net; GILES set a hand to what I have desired thee?
appears at a distance in the Mill; FAIR-Pat do do some thing then? I thought when
Ralph. Why don't you speak to suster
FIELD and RALPH taking Sacks from a she came home to us, after my old lady's
Cart.
CHORUS.
Free from sorrow, free from strife,
O how blest the miller's life!
Cheerful working through the day,
Still he laughs and sings away.
Nought can vex him,
Nought perplex him,
While there's grist to make him gay.
DUETT.
Let the great enjoy the blessings
By indulgent fortune sent:
What can wealth, can grandeur offer,
More than plenty and content?
Fair. Well done, well done; 'tis a sure
sign work goes on merrily when folks sing
death, she was to have been of some use in
the house; but instead of that, she sits there
all day, reading outlandish books, dressed like
a fine madumasel; and the never a word you
says to she.
Fair. Sirrah, don't speak so disrespectfully
of thy sister; thou wilt never have the tithe
of her deserts.
Ralph. Why, I'll read and write with her
for what she dares; and as for playing on
the hapsichols 1), I thinks her rich godmother
might have learn'd her something more pro-
perer, seeing she did not remember to leave
her a legacy at last.
Fair. That's none of thy business, sirrah.
Ralph. A farmer's wife painting pictures,
at it. Stop the mill there; and dost hear, and playing on the hapsicols; why I'll be
son Ralph, hoist yon sacks of flour upon this hang'd now, for all as old as she is, if she
cart, lad, and drive it up to lord Aimworth's: knows any more about milking a cow, thari
coming from London last night with strange I do of sewing a petticoat.
company, no doubt there are calls enough for Fair. Ralph, thou hast been drinking this
it by this time.
morning.
Ralph. Ay, feyther, whether or not, there's) Harpsichord.
98

778
[ACT I.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Ralph. Well, if so be as I have, it's no-
thing out of your pocket, nor mines neither.
Fair. Who has been giving thee liquor,
sirrah?
Ralph. Why it was wind¹)-a gentleman
guve me.
Fair. A gentleman!
Ralph. Yes, a gentleman that's come piping
hot from London: he is below at the Cat and
Bagpipes; Icod he rides a choice bit of a nag.
I dare to say she'd fetch as good as forty
pound at ever a fair in all England.
Fair. A fig's end for what she'd fetch; mind
thy business, or by the lord Harry-
Ralph. Why I won't do another hand's
turn to-day now, so that's flat.
Fair. Thou wilt not-
Fair. Well, Patty, master Goodman, my
lord's steward has been with me just now,
and I find we are like to have great doings;
his lordship has brought down sir Harry Sy-
camore and his family, and there is more
company expected in a few days.
Pat. I know sir Harry very well; he is by
marriage a distant relation of my lord's.
Fair. Pray what sort of a young body is the
daughter there? I think she used to be with you
at the castle, three or four summers ago, when
my young lord was out upon his travels.
Pat. Oh! very often; she was a great fa-
vourite of my lady's: pray, father, is she
come down?
Fair. Why you know the report last night,
about my lord's going to be married. By
Ralph. Why no I wont; so what argufies what I can learn she is; and there is likely
your putting yourself in a passion, feyther? to be a nearer relationship between the fa-
I've promised to go back to the gentleman; milies, ere long. It seems his lordship was
and I don't know but what he's a lord too; not over willing for the match, but the friends
and mayhap he may do more for me than you on both sides in London pressed it so hard:
then there's a swinging fortune: master Good-
Fair. Well, son Ralph, run thy gait; but man tells me, a matter of twenty or thirty
remember I tell thee, thou wilt repent this thousand pounds.
untowardness.
thinks of.
Ralph. Why, how shall I repent it? May-
hap you'il turn me out of your service;
match; with all hearts-Icod I don't care three
brass pins.
AIR.
Pat. If it was a million, father, it would
not be more than my lord Aimworth deser-
aves; I suppose the wedding will be celebrated
here at the mansion-house.
If that's all you want, who the plague will
be sorry?
'Twere better by half to dig stones in a quarry;
For my share, I'm weary of what is got by't:
S'flesh! here's such a racket, such scolding
and coiling,
You're never content, but when folks are a toiling,
And drudging like horses from morning till
night.
You think I'm afraid, but the diff'rence to
show you,
First yonder's your shovel; your sacks too
throw you;
Henceforward take care of your matters who
will:
They're welcome to slave for your wages
who need'em;
Fair. So it is thought, as soon as things
can be properly prepared-And now, Patty,
if I could but see thee a little merry-Come,
bless thee, pluck up thy spirits-To be sure
thou hast sustained, in the death of thy lady,
a heavy loss; she was a parent to thee; nay,
and better, inasmuch as she took thee when
thou wert but a babe, and gave thee an edu-
cation which thy natural parents could not
afford to do.
Pat. Ah! dear father, don't mention what
perhaps has been my greatest misfortune.
Fair. Nay then, Fatty, what's become of
all thy sense that people talk so much about?
I-But I have something to say to thee which
I would have thee consider seriously-I believe
I need not tell thee, my child, that a young
maiden, after she is marriageable, especially if
she has any thing about her to draw people's
notice, is liable to ill tongues, and a many
cross, accidents; so that the sooner she's out of
harm's way the better. I say, then, a young
[Exit. woman's best safeguard is a good husband.
Fair. Dear heart, dear heart! I protest this Now there is our neighbour, farmer Giles;
ungracious boy puts me quite beside myself. he is a sober, honest, industrious, young fel-
Patty, my dear, come down into the yard a low, an done of the wealthiest in these parts;
little, and keep me company-and you, thieves, he is greatly taken with thee; and it is not
vagabonds, gipsies, out here! 'tis you de- the first time I have told thee I should be
bauch my son.
[Drives off Gipsies. glad to have him for a son-in-law.
Tol lol de rol lol, I have purchas'd my freedom,
And never hereafter shall work at the mill.
Enter PATTY from the House.
AIR.
-
PATTY.
In love to pine and languish,
Yet know your passion vain;
To harbour heart-felt anguish,
Yet fear to tell your pain:
What powers unrelenting,
Severer ills inventing,
Can sharpen pangs like these;
Where days and nights tormenting,
Yield not a moments case?
1) The country way of pronouncing wine.
Pat. And I have told you as often, father,
I would submit myself entirely to your direc-
tion; whatever you think proper for me is so.
Fair. Why that's spoken like a dutiful,
sensible girl; get thee in, then, and leave me
to manage it-Perhaps our neighbour Giles
is not a gentleman; but what are the greatest
part of our country gentlemen good for?
Pat. Very true, father. [Exit into the Cottage.
Enter GILES.
Giles. Well, master Fairfield, you
and
miss Pat have had a long discourse together:
did you tell her that I was come down?

SCENE 1.]
72
THE MAID OF THE MILL,
779
Fair, No, in truth, friend Giles; but I men-
tioned our affair at a distance; and I think
there is no fear,
Giles. That's right-and when shall us--
You do know I have told you my mind often
and often.
Fair. Farmer, give us thy hand; nobody
doubts thy good will to me and my girl; and
you may take my word, I would rather give
her to thee than another; for I am main cer-
tain thou wilt make her a good husband.
Giles. Thanks to your kind opinion, mas-
ter Fairfield; if such be my hap, I hope there
will be no cause of complaint,
Ah, you little cunning vixen!
I can see your roguish smiles.
Addslids! my mind is so possest,
Till we're sped, I shan't have rest.
Only say the thing's a bargain,
Here an you like it,
Ready to strike it,
There's at once an end of arguing:
I'm her's, she's mine;
Thus we seal, and thus we sign.
[Exit.
Re-enter PATTY from the Cottage,
Fair. Paity, child, why wouldst not thou
open the door for our neighbour Giles?
Pat. Really, father, I did not know what
was the matter.
Fair. And I promise thee my daughter will
make thee a choice wife. But thou know'st,
friend Giles, that I, and all belongs to me, Fair. Well, our neighbour Giles will be
have great obligations to lord Aimworth's fa- here another time; he'll be here again pre-
mily; Patty, in particular, would be one of sently. He's gone up to the castle, Patty:
the most ungrateful wretches this day breath-thou know'st it would not be right for us to
ing, if she was to do the smallest thing do any thing without giving his lordship in-
contrary to their consent and approbation. telligence, so I have sent the farmer to let
Giles. Nay, nay, 'tis well enough known to him know that he is willing, and we are
all the country she was the old lady's darling. willing, and, with his lordship's approbation-
Fair. Well, master Giles, I'll assure thee Pat. Oh, dear father-what are you going
she is not one whit less obliged to my lord to
himself. When his mother was taken off so Fair. Nay, child, I would not have stirr'd
suddenly, and his affairs called him up to a step for fifty pounds, without advertising
London, if Patty would have remained at the his lordship beforehand.
castle, she might have had the command of
all; or if she would have gone any where
else, he would have paid for her fixing, let
the cost be what it would.
say?
Pat. But surely, surely, you have not done
this rash, this precipitate thing?
Fair. How rash, how is it rash, Patty? I
don't understand thee.
Giles. Why, for that matter, folks did not Pat. Oh, you have distress'd me beyond
spare to say, that my lord had a sort of a imagination-but why would you not give
sneaking kindness for her himself: and I re-me notice, speak to me first?
member, at one time, it was rife all about
the neighbourhood, that she was actually to
be our lady.
Fair. Why han't I spoken to thee an hun-
dred times? No, Patty, 'tis thou that wouldst
distress me, and thou'lt break my heart.
Pat. Dear father!
Fair. Pho, pho! a pack of woman's tales.
Giles. Nay, to be sure they'll say any thing. Fair. All I desire is to see thee well set-
Fair. My lord's a man of a better way of tled; and now that I am likely to do so, thou
thinking, friend Giles-but this is neither here art not contented. I am sure the farmer is
nor there to our business-Have you been at as sightly a clever lad as any in the country;
the castle yet?
and is he not as good as we?
Giles. Who, I! bless your heart I did not
hear a syllable of his lordship's being come
down, till your lad told me.
Pat. 'Tis very true, father, I am to blame;
pray forgive me.
[Exit,
Fair. Forgive thee! Lord help thee, my
Fair. No! why then go up to my lord, let child, I am not angry with thee; but quiet
him know you have a mind to make a match thyself, Patty, and thou'lt see all this will
with my daughter, hear what he has to say turn out for the best.
to it, and afterwards we will try if we can't Pat. What will become of me?-My lord
settle matters.
will certainly imagine this is done with my
Giles. Go up to my lord? Icod, if that be consent-Well, is he not himself going to be
all, I'll do it with the biggest pleasure in life. married to a lady, suitable to him in rank,
-But where's miss Pat? Might not one ax suitable to him in fortune, as this farmer is
her how she do?
Fair. Never spare it; she's within there.
Giles. I sees her-old rabbit it, this hatch
is locked now-miss Pat-miss Patty--she
makes believe not to hear me,
Fair. Well, well, never mind, thou'lt come
and eat a morsel of dinner with us.
Giles. Nay, but just to have a bit of a joke
with her at present-miss Pat, I say won't
you open the door?
AIR.
Hark! 'tis I, your own true lover;
After walking three long miles,
One kind look at least discover,
Come and speak a word to Giles.
You alone my heart I fix on:
to me; and under what pretence can I re-
fuse the husband my father has found for me?
Shall I say that I have dared to raise my in-
clinations above my condition, and presumed
to love where my duty taught me only gra-
titude and respect? Alas! who could live in
the house with lord Aimworth, see him, con-
verse with him, and not love him! I have
this consolation, however, my folly is yet un-
discover'd to any; else, how should I be ri-
diculed and despised! nay, would not my
lord himself despise me, especially if he knew
that I have more than once construed his na-
tural affability and politeness into sentiments
as unworthy of him, as mine are bold and
extravagant. Unexampled vanity.

780
[ACT I. SCENE 2.]
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
AIR.
Ah! why should fate, pursuing
A wretched thing like me,
Heap ruin thus on ruin,
And add to misery?
The griefs I languish'd under
In secret let me share;
But this new stroke of thunder
Is more than I can bear.
[Exit.
Theo. Her fondness indeed is very exira-
ordinary.
Sir H. Besides, could you give up the pro-
spect of being a countess, and mistress of this
fine place?
Theo. Yes, truly, could I.
AIR.
With the man that I love, was I destin'd to
dwell,
SCENE II.-4 Chamber in LORD AIMWORTH'S Retreats the most harren, most desert, would be
On a mountain, a moor, in a cot, in a cell;
More pleasing than courts or a palace to me.
House.
Enter SIR HARRY SYCAMORE and THEODOSIA. Let the vain and the venal in wedlock aspire
Sir H. Well but, Theodosia, child, you are To what folly esteems, and the vulgar admire;
quite unreasonable.
I yield them the bliss, where their wishes
are plac'd,
Theo. Pardon me, papa, it is not I am un-
reasonable, but you; when I gave way to my Insensible creatures! 'tis all they can taste.
Enter LADY SYCAMORE.
Lady S. Sir Harry, where are you?
Sir H. Here, my lamb.
inclinations for Mr. Mervin, he did not seem
less agreeable to you and my mamma than
he was acceptable to me. It is therefore you
have been unreasonable, in first encouraging
Mr. Mervin's addresses, and afterwards for- Lady S. I am just come from looking over
bidding him your house; in order to bring his lordship's family trinkets.-Well, miss Sy-
me down here, to force me on a gentleman-camore, you are a happy creature, to have
Sir H. Force you, Dossy ¹), what do you diamonds, equipage, title, and all the blessings
mean? By the la, I would not force you on of life poured thus upon you at once.
the czar of Muscovy.
Theo. Blessings, madam! Do
Do you think
Theo. And yet, papa, what else can I call then I am such a wretch as to place my fe-
it? for though lord Aimworth is extremely at-licity in the possession of any such trumpery?
tentive and obliging, I assure you he is by Lady S. Upon my word, miss, you have
no means one of the most ardent of lovers. a very disdainful manner of expressing your-
Sir H. Ardent, ah! there it is; you girls self; I believe there are very few young wo-
never think there is any love, without kissing men of fashion, who would think any sacri-
and hugging; but you should consider, child, fice they could make too much for them.-
my lord Aimworth is a polite man, and has Did you ever hear the like of her, sir Harry?
been abroad in France and Italy, where these Sir H. Why, my dear, I have just been
things are not the fashion: I remember when talking to her in the same strain, but what-
I was on my travels, among the madames ever she has got in her head--
and signoras, we never saluted more than the
tip of the ear.
Theo. Really, papa, you have a very strange
opinion of my delicacy.
Sir H. Well come, my poor Dossy, I see
you are chagrin'd, but you know it is not my
fault; on the contrary, I assure you, I had
always a great regard for young Mervin, and
should have been very glad-
Lady S. Oh, it is Mr. Mervin, her gentle-
man of Bucklersbury.-Fie, miss, marry a cit!
Were is your pride, your vanity; have you
nothing of the person of distinction about you?
Sir H. Well but, my lady, you know I
am a piece of a cit myself, as I may say, for
my great-grandfather was a dry-salter.
Theo. And yet, madam, you condescended
to marry my papa.
Lady S, Well, if I did, miss, I had but five
thousand pounds to my portion, and sir Harry
knows I was past eight-and-thirty before I
Theo. How then, papa, could you join in
forcing me to write him that strange letter,
never to see me more? or how indeed could
I comply with your commands? what must would listen to him.
he think of me?
Sir H. Nay, Dossy, that's true, your mam-
Sir H. Ay, but hold, Dossy, your mamma ma own'd eight-and-thirty before we were
convinced me that he was not so proper a
son-in-law for us as lord Aimworth.
Theo. Convinced you! Ah, my dear papa,
you were not convinced.
Sir H. What, don't I know when I am
convinced?
Theo. Why no, papa; because your good
nature and easiness of temper is such, that
you pay more respect to the judgment of
mamma, and less to your own, than you
ought to do.
married: but by the la, my dear, you were
a lovely angel; and by candle-light nobody
would have taken you for above five-and-
twenty.
Lady S. Sir Harry, you remember the last
time I was at my lord duke's.
Sir H. Yes, my love, it was the very day
your little bitch Minxey pupt.
Lady S. And pray what did the whole fa-
mily say? my lord John, and my lord Tho-
mas, and my lady duchess in particular?
Cousin, says her grace to me-for she always
called me cousin
Sir H. Well, but Dossy, don't you see how
your mamma loves me? If the tip of my little
finger does but ache, she's like a bewitched Theo. Well but, madam, to cut this matter
woman; and if I was to die, I don't believe short at once, my father has a great regard
she would outlive the burying of me: nay, for Mr. Mervin, and would consent to our
she has told me as much herself.
1) Dossy is an abbreviation of Theodosia.
union with all his heart.
Lady S. Do you say so, sir Harry?

SCENE 2.]
781
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Sir H. Who I, love!
Lord A. Upon my word, farmer, you have
Lady S. Then all my care and prudence made an excellent choice-It is a god-daughter
are come to nothing.
Sir H. Well, but stay, my lady-Dossy,
you are always making mischief.
Theo. Ah! my dear sweet-
Lady S. Do, miss, that's right, coax-
Theo. No, madam, I am not capable of
any such meanness.
Lady S. 'Tis very civil of you to contradict
me however.
Sir H. Eh! what's that-hand's off, Dossy,
don't come near me.
AIR.
Why how now, miss pert,
Do you think to divert
My anger by fawning and stroking?
Would you make me a fool,
Your plaything, your tool?
Was ever young minx so provoking?
Get out of my sight!
"Twould be serving you right,
To lay a sound dose of the lash on:
Contradict your mamma!
I've a mind by the la-
But I won't put myself in a passion.
[Exit Theo.
Enter LORD AIMWORTH and GILES,
Lord A. Come, farmer, you may come in,
there are none here but friends.-Sir Harry,
your servant.
Sir H. My lord, I kiss your lordship's hands
-I hope he did not overhear us squabbling.
of my mother's, madam, who was bred up
under her care, and I protest I do not know
a more amiable young woman.-But are you
sure, farmer, that Patty herself is inclinable
to this match?
Giles. O yes, my lord, I am sartain of that.
Lord A. Perhaps then she desired you to
come and ask my consent?
Giles. Why as far as this here, my lord;
to be sure, the miller did not care to publish
the bans, without making your lordship ac-
quainted-But I hope your honour's not an-
gry with I.
Lord A. Angry, farmer! why should you
think so?- what interest have I in it to be
angry?
Sir H. And so, honest farmer, you are
going to be married to little Patty Fairfield?
She's an old acquaintance of mine: how long
have you and she been sweethearts?
Giles. Not a long while, an please your
worship.
Sir H. Well, her father's a good warm
fellow; I suppose you take care that she brings
something to make the pot boil?
Lady S. What does that concern you, sir
Harry? How often must I tell you of medd-
ling in other people's affairs?
Sir H. My lord, a penny for your thoughts¹).
Lord A. I beg your pardon, sir Harry;
upon my word, I did not think where I was.
Giles. Well then, your honour, I'll make
[Aside. bold to be taking my leave; I may say you
Lord A. Well now, master Giles, what is gave consent for miss Patty and I to go on.
you have got to say to me? If I can do Lord A. Undoubtedly, farmer, if she ap-
you any service, this company will give you proves of it: but are you not afraid that her
leave to speak.
education has rendered her a little unsuitable
for a wife for you?
it
Giles. I thank your lordship; I has not got
a great deal to say; I do come to your lord-
ship about a little business, if you'll please to
give me the hearing.
Lord A. Certainly, only let me know what
it is.
Giles. Why, an please you, my lord, being
left alone, as I may say, feyther dead, and all
the business upon my own hands, I do think
of settling and taking a wife, and am come
to ax your honour's consent.
Lord A. My consent, farmer! if that be ne-
cessary, you have it with all my heart-I hope
you have taken care to make a prudent choice.
Giles. Why I do hope so, my lord.
Lord A. Well, and who is the happy fair
one? Does she live in my house?
Giles. No, my lord, she does not live in
your house, but she's a parson of your ac-
quaintance.
Lord A. Of my acquaintance!
Giles. No offence, I hope, your honour.
Lord A. None in the least: but how is she
Lord A. None in the least: but how is she
an acquaintance of mine?
Lady S. Oh, my lord, if the girl's handy-
Sir H. Oh, ay-when a girl's handy-
Giles. Handy! Why, saving respect, there's
nothing comes amiss to her; she's cute at
every varsal kind of thing.
AIR.
Odd's my life, search England over,
An you match her in her station,
I'll be bound to fly the nation:
And be sure as well I love her.
Do but feel my heart a beating,
Still her pretty name repeating;
Here's the work 'tis always at,
Pitty, patty, pat, pit, pat.
When she makes the music tinkle,
What on yearth can sweeter be?
Then her little eyes so twinkle,
'Tis a feast to hear and see.
Sir H. By dad, this is a good, merry fellow;
is not he, love? with his pitty patty-And so,
my lord, you have given your consent that
he shall marry your mother's old housekeep-
Ah, well, I can see-
Giles. Your lordship do know miller Fair-er.
field?
Lord A. Well-
Giles. And Patty Fairfield, his daughter,
my lord?
Lord A. Ay, is it her you think of marrying?
Giles. Why if so be as your lordship has
no objection; to be sure we will do nothing
without your consent and approbation.
1)
[Exit.
A young lady being once melancholy and thoughtful
in the presence of a gentleman for whom she had a
sort of a tendre, which was returned on his part also,
though neither party knew the sentiments of the other,
was thus accosted by the gentleman; "A penny for
your thoughts." (I will give you a penny for your
thoughts.) "For the other odd (remaining) eleven
pence you shall have thoughts and thinker," answered
the lady; the gentleman produced a shilling, and the
lady consented to marry him -This is now often used,
but not necessarily implying this meaning.

782
[ACT 1.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Lord A. Nobody doubts, sir Harry, that have not something to spare for poor Fanny
you are very clear-sighted.
the gipsy.
Sir H. Yes, yes, let me alone, I know what's Ralph. I tell you, Fan, the gentleman has
what; I was a young fellow once myself; no change about him; why the plague will
and I should have been glad of a tenant to you be so troublesome?
take a pretty girl off my hands now and then,
as well as another.
Lord A. I protest, my dear friend, I don't
understand you.
Fan. Lord, what is it to you, if his hon-
our has a mind to give me a trifle? Do
pray, gentleman, put your hand in your
pocket.
Lady S. Nor nobody else-Sir Harry, you Mer. I am almost distracted! Ungrateful
are going at some beastliness now.
Theodosia, to change so suddenly, and write.
Sir H. Who I, my lady? Not I, as I hope me such a letter! However, I am resolved
to live and breathe; 'tis nothing to us you to have my dismission face to face; this let-
know, what my lord does before he's married: ter may be forced from her by her mother,
when I was a bachelor, I was a devil among who I know was never cordially my friend:
the wenches myself; and yet I vow to George, I could not get a sight of her in London, but
my lord, since I knew my lady Sycamore, here they will be less on their guard; and
and we shall be man and wife eighteen years, see her I will, by one means or other,
if we live till next Candlemas-day, I never Fan. Then your honour will not extend
your charity?
had to do-
Lady S. Sir Harry, come out of the room,
I desire.
Sir H. Why, what's the matter, my lady,
I did not say any harm?
Lady S. I see what you are driving at, you
want to make me faint,
Sir H. I want to make you faint, my lady?
Lady S. Yes, you do-and if you don't
come out this instant I shall fall down in the
chamber-I beg, my lord, you won't speak
to him. Will you come out, sir Harry?
Sir H. Nay but, my lady!
Lady S. No. I will have you out.
AIR.
I am young, and I am friendless,
And poor, alas! withal;
Sure my sorrows will be endless;
In vain for help I call.
Have some pity in your nature,
To relieve a wretched creature,
Though the gift be ne'er so small.
[Mervin gives her Money.
May you, possessing every blessing,
Still inherit, sir, all you merit, sir,
And never know what it is to want;
Sweet heaven your worship all happiness
grant!
[Exit.
Ralph. Now I'll go and take that money
from her; and I have a good mind to lick
her, so I have.
Mer. Pho, pr'ythee stay where you are.
Ralph. Nay, but I hate to see a toad so
devilish greedy.
Mer. Well, come, she has not got a great
deal, and I have thought how she may do me
a favour in her turn.
[Exeunt Sir Harry and Lady Sycamore.
Lord A. This worthy baronet and his lady
are certainly a very whimsical couple; how-
ever, their daughter is perfectly amiable in
every respect: and yet I am sorry I have
brought her down here; for can I in honour
marry her, while my affections are engaged
to another? To what does the pride of con-
dition and the censure of the world force me!
Must I then renounce the only person that
can make me happy; because, because what?
because she's a miller's daughter? Vain pride
and unjust censure! Has she not all the gra-
ces that education can give her sex, improved
by a genius seldom found among the highest?
Has she not modesty, sweetness of temper, the devil.
and beauty of person, capable of adorning a Mer. Oh, she is-I fancy I understand you.
rank the most exalted? But it is too late to Well, in that case, friend Ralph--Your na-
think of these things now; my hand is pro-me's Ralph, I think?
Ralph. Ay, but you may put that out of
your head, for I can tell you she won't.
Mer. How so?
Ralph. How so, why she's as cunning as
mised, my honour engaged: and if it was not Ralph. Yes, sir, at your service, for want
so, she has engaged herself; the farmer is a of a better.
person to her mind, and I have authorized
their union by my approbation.
AIR.
The madman thus, at times, we see,
With seeming reason blest;
His looks, his words, his thoughts are free,
And speak a mind at rest,
But short the calms of ease and sense,
And ah! uncertain too,
While that idea lives from whence
At first his frenzy grew.
SCENE III.A Village.
[Exit.
Enter RALPH, with MERVIN in a riding Dress,
followed by FANNY.
Mer. I say then, friend Ralph, in that case,
we will remit the favour you think of, till the
lady is in a more complying humour, and
try if she cannot serve me at present in some
other capacity-There are a good many gip-
sies hereabout, are there not?
Ralph. Softly-I have a whole
gang of
them here in our barn; I have kept them
about the place these three months, and all
on account of she.
Mer. Really.
-
Ralph. Yea, but for your life don't say
a word of it to any Christian-I am in love
with her.
Mer. Indeed!
Ralph. Feyther is as mad with me about
it as old Scratch; and I gets the plague
and
Fan. Ah, pray, your honour, try if you all of anger; but I don't mind that.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
783
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Mer. Well, friend Ralph, if you are in Fan.
love, no doubt you have some influence over
your mistress; don't you think you could
prevail upon her, and her companions, to Ralph.
supply me with one of their habits, and let
me go up with them to-day to my lord Giles.
Aimworth's?
Fan.
Ralph. Why, do you want to go a mum-Ralph.
ming?1) We never do that here but in the
Christmas holidays.
Mer. No matter; manage this for me, and
manage it with secrecy, and I promise you Pat.
shall not go unrewarded.
Giles.
Ralph. Oh, as for that, sir, I don't look
for any thing: I can easily get you a bundle
of their rags; but I don't know whether you'll Fan.
prevail on them to go up to my lord's, be-
cause they are afraid of a big dog that's in Ralph.
the yard; but I'll tell you what I can do; I Fan.
can go up before you and have the dog fast-Giles.
ened, for I know his kennel.
[Exit. Pat.
Mer. That will do very well-By means of All.
this disguise I shall probably get a sight of
her; and I leave the rest to love and fortune.
A I R.
Why quits the merchant, blest with ease,
The pleasures of his native seat,
To tempt the dangers of the seas,
And climes more perilous than these,
'Midst freezing cold, or scorching heat?
He knows the hardships, knows the pain,
The length of way, but thinks it small;
The sweets of what he hopes to gain,
Undaunted, make him combat all. [Exit.
SCENE IV.- The Mill.
This is a thing the most oddest,
Some folks are so plaguily modest:
Were we in the case,
To be in their place,
We'd carry it off with a different face.
Thus I take her by the lily hand,
So soft and white:
Why now that's right;
And kiss her too, mon, never stand.
What words can explain
My pleasure-my pain?
It presses, it rises,
My heart it surprises,
I can't keep it down, though I'd never
so fain.
So here the play ends,
The lovers are friends.
Hush.
Tush!
Nah!
Phaw!
What torments exceeding, what joys
are above,
The pains and the pleasures that wait
upon love.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-A marble Portico, ornamented
with Statues, which opens from LORD
AIMWORTH'S House; two Chairs near the
Front.
Enter LORD AIMWORTH, reading.
the situation I am now in show me to most
Lord A. In how contemptible a light would
of the fine men of the present age? In love
with a country girl; rivalled by a poor fellow,
Enter PATTY, RALPH, GILES, and FANNY.
one of my meanest tenants, and uneasy at it!
Giles. So his lordship was as willing as If I had a mind to her, I know they would
the flowers in May-and as I was coming tell me I ought to have taken care to make
along, who should I meet but your father-myself easy long ago, when I had her in my
and he bid me run in all haste and tell you power. But I have the testimony of my own
-for we were sure you would be deadly heart in my favour; and I think, was it to do
glad.
again, I should act as I have done. Let's see
Pat. I know not what business you had to what we have here. Perhaps a book may
go to my lord's at all, farmer.
compose my thoughts. [Reads, and throws
Giles. Nay, I only did as I was desired-the Book away] It's to no purpose; I can't
Master Fairfield bid me tell you moreover, as read, I can't think, I can't do any thing.
how he would have you go up to my lord,
out of hand, and thank him.
Ralph. So she ought; and take off those
clothes, and put on what's more becoming
her station: you know my father spoke to
you of that this morning too.
Pat. Brother, I shall obey my father.
QUARTETTO.-PATTY, GILES, RALPH, and
FANNY.
Pat. Lie still, my heart; oh! fatal stroke,
That kills at once my hopes and me.
Giles. Miss Pat!
Pat.
Giles.
What!
Nay, I only spoke.
Ralph. Take courage, mon, she does but joke.
Come, suster, somewhat kinder be.
AIR.
Ah! how vainly mortals treasure
Hopes of happiness and pleasure,
Hard and doubtful to obtain!
By what standards false we measure;
Still pursuing
Ways to ruin,
Seeking bliss, and finding pain!
Enter PATTY.
Pat. Now comes the trial: no, my sentence
is already pronounced, and I will meet my
fate with prudence and resolution.
Lord A. Who's there?
Pat. My lord!
Lord A. Patty Fairfield!
Pat. I humbly beg pardon, my lord, for
1) The mummers are generally a number of young men
who go about in the country towns, dressed up with pressing so abruptly into your presence: but
fine gold and silver paper sewed to their cloaths. I was told I might walk this way; and I am
at Christmas time, to get something for repeating an old come by my father's commands to thank your
mystery in rhyme, something about St. George and
the Dragon, I remember a couple of lines thus:
"I am the bold St. George, the knight,
Go forth with sword and shield to fight."
lordship for all your favours.
Lord A. Favours, Patty; what favours? I
have done you none: but why this metamor-

784
[ACT II.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
life-time.
phosis? I protest, if you had not spoke, I Pat. Upon my knees, upon my knees I pray
should not have known you; I never saw you it; may every earthly bliss attend you! may
wear such clothes as these in my mother's your days prove an uninterrupted course of
delightful tranquillity; and your mutual friend-
Pat. No, my lord, it was her ladyships ship, confidence, and love, end but with your
pleasure I should wear better, and therefore I lives
obeyed; but it is now my duty to dress in a Lord A. Rise, Patty, rise; say no more-
manner more suitable to my station and future I suppose you'll wait upon miss Sycamore
prospects in life.
before you go away-at present I have a little
Lord A. I am afraid, Patty, you are too business-As I said, Patty, don't afflict your-
humble-come sit down nay, I will have it self: I have been somewhat hasty with regard
so. [They sit] What is it I have been told to the farmer; but since I see how deeply you
to-day, Patty? It seems you are going to be are interested in his affairs, I may possibly
alter my designs with regard to him - You
Pat. Yes, my lord.
know-you know, Patty, your marriage with
Lord A. Well, and don't you think you him is no concern of mine-I only speak-
could have made a better choice than farmer
Giles? I should imagine your person, your
accomplishments, might have entitled you to My passion in vain I attempt to dissemble:
look higher.
married.
Pat. Your lordship is pleased to over-rate
little merit: the education I received in
my
your family does not entitle me to forget my
origin; and the farmer is my equal.
Lord 4. In what respect? The degrees of
rank and fortune, my dear Patty, are arbitrary
distinctions, unworthy the regard of those who
consider justly; the true standard of equality
is seated in the mind: those who think nobly
are noble.
AIR.
Th' endeavour to hide it, but makes it appear:
Enraptur'd I gaze; when I touch her I tremble,
And speak to and hear her with falt'ring
and fear.
By how many cruel ideas tormented!
My blood's in a ferment; it freezes, it burns!
This moment I wish, what the next is repented;
While love, rage, and jealousy rack me by
turns.
Enter GILES.
[Exit.
Pat. The farmer, my lord, is a very honest man. Giles. Miss Pat- Odd rabbit it, I thought
Lord A. So he may: I don't suppose he his honour was here; and I wish I may die
would break into a house, or commit a rob- if my heart did not jump into my mouth-
bery on the highway: what do you tell me of Come, come down in all haste; there's such a
his honesty for?
rig below as you never knew in your born
Pat. I did not mean to offend your lordship. days. There's as good as forty of the tenants,
Lord A. Offend! I am not offended, Patty; men and maidens, have got upon the lawn
not at all offended - But is there any great before the castle, with pipers and garlands;
merit in a man's being honest?
just for all the world as tho'f it was May-
Pat. I don't say there is, my lord.
day; and the quality's looking at them out of
Lord A. The farmer is an ill-bred, illiterate the windows-'tis as true as any thing; on
booby; and what happiness can you propose account of my lord's coming home with his
to yourself in such a society? Then, as to his new lady.
person, I am sure -- But perhaps, Patty, you
like him; and if so, I am doing a wrong thing.
Pat. Upon my word, my lord-
Pat. Well, and what then?
Giles. Why I was thinking, if so be as
you would come down, as we might take a
Lord A. Nay, see you do: he has had the dance together: little Sall, farmer Harrow's
good fortune to please you; and in that case daughter, of the green, would fain have had
you are certainly in the right to follow your me for a partner; but I said as how I'd go
inclinations. I must tell you one thing, Patty, for one I liked better, one that I'd make a
however I hope you won't think it unfriendly partner for life.
of me-but I am determined farmer Giles shall
not stay a moment on my estate after next
quarter-day.
Pat. I hope, my lord, he has not incurred
your displeasure-
Pat. Did you say so?
Giles. Yes; and she was struck all of a
heap-she had not a word to throw to a dog-
for Sall and I kept company once for a
little bit.
Lord A. That's of no signification. - Could Pat. Farmer, I am going to say something
I find as many good qualities in him as you to you, and I desire you will listen to it at-
do, perhaps-But 'tis enough, he's a fellow 'Itentively. It seems you think of our being
don't like; and as you have a regard for him, married together.
I would have you advise him to provide
himself,
Pat. My lord, I am very unfortunate.
Lord A. She loves him, 'tis plain. [Aside]
Come, Patty, I would not willingly do any
thing to make you uneasy. - Have you seen
miss Sycamore yet?-I suppose you know she
and I are going to be married?
Pat. So I hear, my lord.-Heaven make you
both happy.
Lord A. Thank you, Patty; I hope we shall
be happy.
Giles. Think! why I think of nothing else;
it's all over the place, mun, as how you are
to be my spouse; and you would not believe
what game folks make of me.
Pat. Shall I talk to you like a friend, far-
mer?-You and I were never designed for
one another; and I am morally certain we
should not be happy.
Giles. Oh! as for that matter, I never has
no words with nobody.
Pat. Shall I speak plainer to you then-I
don't like you.

SCENE 2.]
785
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Giles. No!
Theo. Oh, infinite! infinite! To see the
Pat. On the contrary, you are disagreeable cheerful, healthy-looking creatures, toil with
to me.
such a good will! To me there were more
genuine charms in their awkward stumping
Giles. Am I?
Pat. Yes, of all things: I deal with you and jumping about, their rude measures, and
sincerely.
homespun finery, than in all the dress, splen-
Giles. Why, I thought, miss Pat, the affair dour, and studied graces of a birth-night ball-
between you and I was all fix'd and settled. room.
of it.
Pat. Well, let this undeceive you-Be as- Pat. 'Tis a very uncommon declaration to
sured we shall never be man and wife. No be made by a fine lady, madam; but certainly,
offer shall persuade, no command force me.- however the artful delicacies of high life may
You know my mind, make your advantage dazzle and surprise, nature has particular at-
[Exit. tractions, even in a cottage, her most unadorned
Giles. Here's a turn! I don't know what to state, which seldom fails to affect us, though
make of it: she's gone mad, that's for sartin; we can scarce give a reason for it.
wit and learning have crack'd her brain. But Theo. But you know, Patty, I was always
hold, she says I baint to her mind-mayn't a distracted admirer of the country; no dam-
all this be the effect of modish coyness, to do sel in romance was ever fonder of groves
like the gentlewomen, because she was bred and purling streams: had I been born in the
among them? And I have heard say, they will days of Arcadia, with my present propensity,
be upon their vixen tricks till they go into the instead of being a fine lady, as you call me,
very church with a man.-There can no harm I should certainly have kept a flock of sheep.
come of speaking with master Fairfield, how- Pat. Well, madam, you have the sages,
ever.-Odd rabbit it, how plaguy tart she was-poets, and philosophers of all ages, to coun-
I am half vex'd with myself now that I let tenance your way of thinking.
her
go off so.
AIR.
When a maid, in way of marriage,
First is courted by a man,
Let un do the best he can,
She's so shamefac'd in her carriage,
'Tis with pain the suits began.
Tho'f mayhap she likes him mainly,
Still she shams it coy and cold;
Fearing to confess it plainly,
Lest the folks should think her bold.
But the parson comes in sight,
Gives the word to bill and coo;
'Tis a diff'rent story quite,
And she quickly buckles too.
-
[Exit.
Theo. And you, my little, philosophical
friend, don't you think me in the right too?
Pat. Yes indeed, madam, perfectly.
AIR.
Trust me, would you taste true pleasure,
Without mixture, without measure,
No where shall you find the treasure
Sure as in the silvan scene:
Blest, who, no false glare requiring,
Nature's rural sweets admiring,
Can, from grosser joys retiring,
Seek the simple and serene.
Enter MERVIN and FANNY.
[Exit.
Mer. Yonder she is seated; and, to my
SCENE II. A View of LORD AIMWORTH'S wish, most fortunately alone. Accost her as
House and Improvements; a Seat under I desired.
a Tree, and part of the Gardenwall,
Theo. Heigho!
with a Chinese Pavilion over it. Several Fan. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady
country People appear dancing, others bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send
looking on; among whom are, MERVIN, you a good husband, and a great many of them.
disguised, RALPH, FANNY, and a Number
Theo. A very comfortable wish, upon my
of Gipsies.
word: who are you, child?
Fan. A poor gipsy, an please you, that goes
After the Dancers go off, THEODOSIA and about begging from charitable gentlemen and
PATTY enter through a Gate supposed ladies-If you have e'er a coal or bit of whi-
to have a Connexion with the principal ting in your pocket, I'll write you the first
Building.
letter of your sweetheart's name, how many
Theo. Well then, my dear Patty, you will husbands you will have, and how many children,
run away from us: but why in such a hurry? my lady: or, if you'll let me look at your
I have a thousand things to say to you. line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long
Pat. I shall do myself the honour to pay or short, happy or miserable.
my duty to you some other time, madam; at Theo. Oh! as for that, I know it already-
present I really find myself a little indisposed. you cannot tell me any good fortune, and
Theo. Nay, I would by no means lay you therefore I'll hear none. Go about your business.
under any restraint. But methinks the enter- Mer. Stay, madam, stay; [Pretending to
tainment we have just been taking part of, lift a Paper from the Ground] you have
should have put you into better spirits: I am dropp'd something-Fan, call the young gen-
not in an over merry mood myself, yet I could tlewoman back.
not look on the diversion of those honest folks,
without feeling a certain gaieté de coeur.
Fan. Lady, you have lost-
Theo. Pho, pho, I have lost nothing.
Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropp'd it
Pat. Why, indeed, madam, it had one cir-
cumstance attending it, which is often wanting as you got up from the chair.-Fan, give it
to more polite amusements; that of seeming
to give undissembled satisfaction to those who
were engaged in it.
to
her honour.
Theo. A letter with my address!
[Takes the Paper and reads.
99

786
[ACT II.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Dear Theodosia!-Though the sight of and I are going to take a walk-My lady, will
me was so disagreeable to you, that you you have hold of my arm?
charged me never to approach you more, Lady S. No, sir Harry, I choose to go by
I hope my hand-writing can have nothing myself.
to frighten or disgust you. I am not far Mer. Now love assist me![Turning to
off; and the person who delivers you this the Gipsies] Follow, and take all your cues
can give you intelligence.
from me-Nay but, good lady and gentleman,
Come hither, child: do you know any thing you won't go without remembering the poor
of the gentleman that wrote this?
Fan. My lady-
gipsies.
Sir H. Hey! here is all the gang after us.
Gip. Pray, your noble honour.
Lady S. Come back into the garden; we
be covered with vermin.
Theo. Make haste, run this moment, bring
me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with
impatience; tell him I will go, fly any where-shall
Mer. My life, my charmer!
Theo. Oh, heavens!-Mr. Mervin!
Enter SIR HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE.
Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we
are not running for a wager.
Sir H. Hough, hough, hough.
Lady S. Hey-day, you have got a cough;
I shall have you laid upon my hands presently.
Sir H. No, no, my lady, it's only the old
affair.
Lady S. Come here, and let me tie this
handkerchief about your neck; you have put
yourself into a mucksweat already. [Ties a
Handkerchief about his Neck] Have you
taken your Bardana this morning? I warrant
you no now, though you have been complaining
of twitches two or three times, and you know
the gouty season is coming on. Why will
you be so neglectful of your health, sir Harry?
I protest I am forced to watch you like an
infant. [During this Speech, Mervin gives
Theodosia a Letter.
Sir H. My lovey takes care of me, and I
am obliged to her.
Gip. Out of the bowels of your com-
miseration.
Lady S. They press upon us more and more:
yet that girl has no mind to leave them: I
shall swoon away.
Sir H. Don't be frighten'd, my lady; let me
advance.
AIR.
You vile pack of vagabonds, what do
I'll maul you, rascallions,
Ye tatterdemallions-
ye
mean?
If one of them comes within reach of my caue.
Such cursed assurance,
'Tis past all endurance.
Nay, nay, pray come away.
They're liars and thieves;
And he that believes
Their foolish predictions,
Will find them but fictions,
A bubble that always deceives. [Exeunt.
Re-enter FANNY and Gipsies.
Fan. Oh! mercy, dear-The gentleman is
so bold, 'tis well if he does not bring us into
trouble. Who knows but this may be a justice
of peace?-And see, he's following them into
the garden!
Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me
then, since you are satisfied I never speak but
for your good.-I thought, miss Sycamore, 1 Gip. Well, 'tis all your seeking, Fan.
you were to have followed your papa and Fan. We shall have warrants to take us
me into the garden-How far did you go with up, I'll be hang'd else. We had better run
that wench?
away; the servants will come out with sticks
to lick ¹) us.
Theo. They are gipsies, madam, they say.
Indeed I don't know what they are.
Lady S. I wish, miss, you would learn to
give a rational answer.
Re-enter MERVIN, with Gipsies.
Mer. Cursed ill fortune-She's gone; and
Sir H. Eh! what's that? [gipsies! Have we perhaps I shall not have another opportunity-
gipsies here? Vagrants, that pretend to a know- And you, ye blundering blockhead, I won't
ledge of future events; diviners; fortune-tellers! give you a halfpenny-Why did not you clap
Fan. Yes, your worship; we'll tell your to the garden door when I called to you, be-
fortune, or her ladyship's, for a crum of bread fore the young lady got in? The key was on
or a little broken victuals: what you throw to the outside, which would have given me some
your dogs, an please you.
time for an explanation.
Sir H. Broken victuals, hussy! How do you 2 Gip. An please your honour, I was dubus 2).
think we should have broken victuals?-If we Mer. Dubus! plague choke ye - However,
were at home, indeed, perhaps you might get it is some satisfaction that I have been able
some such thing from the cook: but here we to let her see me, and know where I am.
are only on a visit to a friend's house, and [Turning to the Gipsies]-Go, get you gone,
have nothing to do with the kitchen at all. all of you, about your business.
Lady S. And do you think, sir Harry, it is
necessary to give the creature an account?
[Exeunt Gipsies.
Theo. [Appears in the Pavilion] Disap-
Sir H. No, love, no; but what can you say peared, fled!-Oh, how unlucky this is! Could
he not have patience to wait a moment?
Mer. I know not what to resolve on.
Theo. Hem!
to obstinate people?-Get you gone, bold face-
I once knew a merchant's wife in the city,
my lady, who had her fortune told by some
of those gipsies. They said she should die at
such a time; and I warrant, as sure as the
day came, the poor gentlewoman actually died
with the conceit.-Come, Dossy, your mamma
Mer. I'll go back to the garden-door.
Theo. Mr. Mervin!
Mer. What do I see?'Tis she, 'tis she
1) To beat us.
*) Dubious.

SCENE 2.]
787
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
-
herself! Oh, Theodosia!-Shall I climb the royster and touzle one so? If Ralph was to
wall and come up to you?
see you, he'd be as jealous as the vengeance.
Mer. Hang Ralph! Never mind him.-There's
a guinea for thee.
Theo. No; speak softly: sir Harry and my
lady sit below, at the end of the walk.-How
much am I obliged to you for taking this
trouble!
Mer. When their happiness is at stake,
what is it men will not attempt? - Say but
you love me then.
Theo, What proof would you have me
ive you?-I know but of one: if you please,
give
I am willing to go off with
you.
Mer. Are you?-Would to heaven I had
brought a carriage!
Theo. How did you come?-Have
horses?
you not
Mer. No; there's another misfortune. - To
avoid suspicion, there being but one little
public-house in the village, I dispatched my
servant with them about an hour ago, to wait
for me at a town twelve miles distant, whither
I pretended to go; but alighting a mile off, I
equipp'd myself and came back as you see:
neither can we, nearer than this town, get a
post-chaise.
Fan. What, a golden guinea?-
Mer. Yes; and if thou art a good girl, and
do as I desire thee, thou shalt have twenty.
Fan. Ay, but not all gold.
Mer. As good as that is.
Fan. Shall I though, if I does as you bids me?
Mer. You shall.
Fan. Precious heart! He's a sweet gentle-
man-Icod, I have a great mind-
Mer. What art thou thinking about?
Fan. Thinking, your honour?-Ha, ha, ha!
Mer. Indeed, so merry.
Fan. I don't know what I am thinking
about, not I- Ha, ha, ha?-Twenty guineas!
Mer. I tell thee thou shalt have them.
Fan. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Mer. By heaven, I am serious.
Fan. Ha, ha, ha!-Why then I'll do what-
ever your honour pleases.
Mer. Stay here a little, to see that all keeps
quiet: you'll find me presently at the mill,
where we'll talk further.
Theo. You say you have made a confidant
of the miller's son:-return to your place of
rendezvous My father has been asked this
moment, by lord Aimworth, who is in the
garden, to take a walk with him down to the
mill: they will go before dinner; and it shall Oh,
be hard if I cannot contrive to be one of the
company.
Mer. And what then?
Theo. Why, in the mean time, you may
devise some method to carry me from hence;
and I'll take care you shall have an oppor-
tunity of communicating it to me.
Mer. Well, but dear Theodosia-
-
DUETT. THEODOSIA and MERVIN.
Hist, hist! I hear my mother call-
Pr'ythee be gone;
We'll meet anon:
Catch this and this-
Blow me a kiss,
In pledge-promis'd truth, that's all.
Farewell!-and yet a moment stay:
Something beside I had to say:
Well, 'tis forgot;
No matter what-
Love grant us grace;
The mill's the place:
She calls again. I must away.
Fan. Please your honour, you were so kind
as to say you would remember my fellow
travellers for their trouble: and they think I
have gotten the money.
Mer. Oh, here; give them this-[Gioes her
Money] And for you, my dear little pilot,
you have brought me so cleverly through my
business, that I must-
Fan. Oh, Lord!-your honour-[Mervin
kisses her] Pray don't-kiss me again.
AIR.
Yes, 'tis decreed, thou maid divine,
I must, I will possess thee:
what delight within my arms to press thee!
To kiss and call thee mine!
Let me this only bliss enjoy;
That ne'er can waste, that ne'er can cloy:
All other pleasures I resign.
Why should we dally;
Stand shilli-shally:
Let fortune smile or frown?
Love will attend us;
Love will befriend us;
And all our wishes crown,
Enter RALPH.
[Exit.
Fan. What a dear, kind soul he is!--Here
comes Ralph-I can tell him, unless he makes
me his lawful wife, as he has often said he
would, the devil a word more shall he speak
to me.
Ralph. So, Fan, where's the gentleman?
Fan. How should I know where he is?
What do you ask me for?
Ralph. There's no harm in putting a civil
question, be there? Why you look as cross
and ill-natured-
Fan. Well, mayhap I do- and mayhap I
have wherewithal for it.
Ralph. Why, has the gentleman offered any
thing uncivil? Ecod, I'd try a bout ¹) as soon
as look at him.
Fan. He offer!-no-he's a gentleman every
inch of him: but you are sensible, Ralph, you
have been promising me, a great while, this,
and that, and t'other; and, when all comes to
all, I don't see but you are like the rest of them.
Ralph. Why, what is it I have promised?
Fan. To marry me in the church, you have
hundred times."
Ralph. Well, and mayhap I will, if you'll
have patience.
Mer. Again and again.-There's a thought
come into my head.-Theodosia will certainly
have no objection to putting on the dress of a
a sister of mine. So, and so only, we may
escape to-night.-This girl, for a little money,
will provide us with necessaries. [Aside.
Fan. Patience me no patience; you may
Fan. Dear gracious! I warrant you, now, do it now, if you please.
I am as red as my petticoat: why would you
1) I'll fight with him.

788
[ACT II.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Ralph. Well, but suppose I don't please? so to do: besides, I do partly know why he
I tell you, Fan, you're a fool, and want to did it; and I'll fish out the whole conjuration,
quarrel with your bread and butter; I have and go up to the castle and tell every syllable:
had anger enow from feyther already upon a shan't carry a wench from me, were he
your account, and you want me to come by twenty times the mon he is, and twenty times
more. As I said, if you have patience, may-to that again; and moreover than so, the first
hap things may fall out, and mayhap not. time I meet un, I'll knock un down, tho'f
Fan. With all my heart then; and now I 'twas before my lord himself; and he may
know your mind, you may go hang yourself. capias me for it afterwards an he wull.
Ralph. Ay, ay.
Fan. Yes, you may-who cares for you?
Ralph. Well, and who cares for you, an
you go to that?
Fan. A menial feller 1)-Go mind your mill
and your drudgery; I don't think you worthy
to wipe my shoes-feller.
Ralph. Nay but, Fan, keep a civil tongue
in your head: odds flesh! I would fain know
what fly bites all of a sudden now.
Fan. Marry come up, the best gentlemen's
sons in the country have made me proffers!
and if one is a miss, be a miss to a gentle-
man, I say, that will give one fine clothes,
and take one to see the show, and put money
in one's pocket.
Ralph. Whu, whu-[Fanny hits him a
Slap] What's that for?
Fan. What do you whistle for then? Do
you think I am a dog?
Ralph. Never from me, Fan, if I have not
a mind to give you, with this switch in my
hand here, as good a lacing 2)--
Fan. Touch me, if you dare: touch me,
and I'll swear my life against you.
Ralph. A murrain! with her damn'd little
fist as hard as she could draw.
AIR.
As they count me such a ninny,
So to let them rule the roast;
I'll bet any one a guinea,
They have scor'd without their host,
But if I don't show them, in lieu of it,
A trick that's fairly worth two of it,
Then let me pass for a fool and an ass.
To be sure yon sly cajoler
Thought the work as good as done,
When he found the little stroller
Was so easy to be won.
But if I don't show him, in lieu of it,
A trick that's fairly worth two of it,
Then let me pass for a fool or an ass. [Exit.
SCENE III-A Room in the Mill; two Chairs,
with a Table and a Tankard of Beer.
Enter FAIRFIELD and GILES.
Fair. In short, farmer, I don't know what
to say to thee. I have spoken to her all I
can; but I think children were born to pull
the grey hairs of their parents to the grave
with sorrow.
Giles. Nay, master Fairfield, don't take on
Fan. Well, it's good enough for you: I'm about it: belike miss Pat has another love;
not necessitated to take up with the impudence and if so, in heaven's name be't: what's one
of such a lowliv'd monkey as you are. A man's meat, as the saying is, is another man's
gentleman's my friend, and I can have twenty poison; tho'f some might find me well enough
guineas in my hand, all as good as this is. to their fancy, set in case I don't suit her's,
Ralph. Belike from this Londoner, eh? why there's no harm done.
Fan. Yes, from him-so you may take your
promise of marriage; I don't value it that-
[Spits] and if you speak to me, I'll slap your
chops again.
AIR.
Lord, sir, you seem mighty uneasy;
But I the refusal can bear:
I warrant I shall not run crazy,
Nor die in a fit of despair.
If so you suppose, you're mistaken;
For, sir, for to let you to know,
I'm not such a maiden forsaken,
Fair. Well but, neighbour, I have put that
to her; and the story is, she has no inclination
to marry any one; all she desires is, to stay
at home and take care of me.
Giles. Master Fairfield-here's towards your
good health.
Fair. Thank thee, friend Giles-and here's
towards thine. -I promise thee, had things
gone as we proposed, thou shouldst have had
one half of what I was worth, to the utter-
most farthing.
Giles. Why to be sure, master Fairfield, I
But I have two strings to my bow. [Exit. but, as to that matter, had I married, it should
am not the less obligated to your good will;
Ralph, Indeed! Now I'll be judg'd by any not have been for the lucre of gain; but if I
soul living in the world, if ever there was a do like a girl, do you see, I do like her; ay,
viler piece of treachery than this here: a couple and I'll take her, saving respect, if she had
of base, deceitful-after all my love and kind- not a second petticoat.
ness shown. Well, I'd be revenged; see an Fair. Well said- where love is, with a
I ben't- Master Marvint, that's his name, an little industry, what have a young couple to
he do not sham it: he has come here and be afraid of? And, by the lord Harry, for all
disguised unself; whereof 'tis contrary to law that's past, I cannot help thinking we shall
1) Fellow. The common people of England have an bring our matters to bear yet-young women,
idea that this word means a thief, (the word felon you know, friend Giles-
being probably pronounced in the french manner, might Giles. Why, that's what I have been thinking
have given rise to this idea) and consequently will
have it qualified by some well-meaning adjective, when with myself, master Fairfield.
it is used to them, or else they always take it ill.
We can say a good, young, fine, or handsome fellow,
but we must be careful of saying the word fellow,
alone.
2) Beating.
-
Fair. Come, then, mend thy draught.
Deuce take me if I let it drop so-But, in any
case, don't you go to make yourself uneasy.
Giles. Uneasy, master Fairfield; what good

SCENE 3.]
789
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
would that do?-For sarten, seeing how things and declares she will never marry at all.—
were, I should have been very glad had they But I know, my lord, she'll pay great respect
gone accordingly: but if they change, 'tis no to any thing you say; and if you'll but lay
fault of mine, you know.
your commands on her to marry him, I'm
sure she'll do it.
AIR.
Zooks! why should I sit down and grieve?
No case so hard, there mayn't be had
Some med'cine to relieve.
Here's what masters all disasters:
With a cup of nut-brown beer,
Thus my drooping thoughts I cheer:
If one pretty damsel fail me,
From another I may find
Return more kind;
What a murrain then should ail me!
All girls are not of a mind.
He's a child that whimpers for a toy;
So here's to thee, honest boy.
Enter LORD AIMWORTH.
Lord A. Who, I lay my commands on her?
Fair. Yes, pray, my lord, do; I'll send her
in to you, and I humbly beg you will tell her,
you insist upon the match going forward; tell
her, you insist upon it, my lord, and speak a
little angrily to her.
[Exit.
Lord A. Master Fairfield! What can be the
meaning of this?-Refuse to marry the farmer!
How, why?-My heart is thrown in an agi-
tation; while every step I take serves but to
lead me into new perplexities.
Enter PATTY.
I came hither, Patty, in consequence of our
[Exit. conversation this morning, to render your
change of state as agreeable and happy as I
could: but your father tells me you have fal-
Fair. O the goodness, his lordship's honour len out with the farmer; has any thing hap-
-you are come into a litter'd place, my noble pened since I saw you last to alter your good
sir-the arm-chair-will it please your honour opinion of him?
to repose you on this, till a better-
Lord A. Thank you, miller, there's no oc-
casion for either. I only want to speak a few
words to you, and have company waiting for
me without.
Fair. Without-wou't their honours favour
my poor hovel so far-
Pat. No, my lord, I am in the same opinion
with regard to the farmer now as I always
was.
Lord A. I thought, Patty, you loved him;
you told me
Pat. My lord!
Lord A. Weil, no matter-It seems I have
Lord A. No, miller, let them stay where been mistaken in that particnlar-Possibly
they are.-i find you are about marrying your your affections are engaged elsewhere: let me
daughter-I know the great regard my mother but know the man that can make you happy,
had for her; and am satisfied that nothing and I swear-
but her sudden death could have prevented Pat. Indeed, my lord, you take too much
her leaving her a handsome provision. trouble upon my account.
Fair. Dear, my lord, your noble mother,
you, and all your family, have heaped favours
on favours on my poor child.
Lord A. Whatever has been done for her
she has fully merited-
Fair. Why, to be sure, my lord, she is a
very good girl.
Lord A. Perhaps, Patty, you love somebody
so much beneath you, you are ashamed to
own it; but your esteem confers a value where-
soever it is placed: I was too harsh with
you this morning: our inclinations are not in
our own power; they master the wisest of us.
Pat. Pray, pray, my lord, talk not to me
Lord A. Poor old man-but those are tears in this style: consider me as one destined by
of satisfaction-Here, master Fairfield, to bring birth and fortune to the meanest condition and
matters to a short conclusion, here is a bill offices. Let me conquer a heart, where pride
of a thousand pounds,-Portion your daughter and vanity have usurped an improper rule;
with what you think convenient of it.
and learn to know myself.
tensions-
Lord A. I insist upon your taking it.-Put
it up, and say no more.
Fair. A thousand pounds, my lord! Pray Lord A. Or possibly, Patty, you love some
excuse me; excuse me, worthy sir; too much one so much above you, you are afraid to
has been done already, and we have no pre-own it-If so, be his rank what it will, he is
to be envied: for the love of a woman of vir-
tue, beauty, and sentiment, does honour to a
monarch. What means that downcast look,
Fair. Well, my lord, if it must be so: but those tears, those blushes? Dare you not con-
indeed, indeed-
fide in me?-Do you think, Patty, you have
Lord A. In this I only fulfil what I am sa- a friend in the world would sympathize with
tisfied would please my mother. As to my-you more sincerely than I?
self, I shall take upon me all the expenses of Pat. What shall I answer? [Aside]-No,
Patty's wedding, and have already given orders my lord; you have ever treated me with a
about it.
kindness, a generosity of which none but minds
Fair. Alas, sir, you are too good, too ge-like yours are capable: you have been my in-
nerous; but I fear we shall not be able to structor, my adviser, my protector: but, my
profit of your kind intentions, unless you will
condescend to speak a little to Patty.
Lord A, How speak!
Fair. Why, my lord, I thought we had
pretty well ordered all things concerning this
marriage; but all on a sudden the girl has
taken it into her head not to have the farmer,
lord, you have been too good: when our su-
periors forget the distance between us, we are
sometimes led to forget it too: had you been
less condescending, perhaps I had been happier.
Lord A. And have I, Patty, have I made you
unhappy; I, who would sacrifice my own fe-
licity to secure yours?

790
[ACT III.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Sir H. Let me speak-[Takes Lord Aim-
worth aside] a word or two in your lord-
Pat. I beg, my lord, you will suffer me to Giles. If his lordship's honour would be so
be gone: only believe me sensible of all your kind, I would acknowledge the favour as far
favours, though unworthy of the smallest. as in me lay.
Lord A. How unworthy?-You merit every
thing; my respect, my esteem, my friendship,
and my love!-Yes, I repeat, I avow it: your ship's ear.
beauty, your modesty, your understanding, has Theo. Well, I do like this gipsy scheme
made a conquest of my heart. But what a prodigiously, if we can but put it into execu-
world do we live in! that while I own this, tion as happily as we have contrived it.
while I own a passion for you, founded on
the justest, the noblest basis, I must at the
same time confess the fear of that world, its So, my dear Patty, you see I am come to
taunts, its reproaches.
return your visit very soon; but this is only
Put. Ah, sir, think better of the creature a call en passant-will you be at home after
you have raised, than to suppose I ever en-dinner?
Re-enter PATTY.
tertained a hope tending to your dishonour: Pat. Certainly, madam, whenever you con-
would that be a return for the favours I have descend to honour me so far: but it is what
received? I am unfortunate, my lord, but not I cannot expect.
criminal.
Lord A. Palty, we are both unfortunate:
for my own part, I know not what to say to
you, or what to propose to myself.
Theo. O fie, why not-
Giles. Your servant, miss Patty.
Pat. Farmer, your servant.
Sir H. Here, you goodman delver, I have
Pat. Then, my lord, 'tis mine to act as I done your business; my lord has spoke, and
ought; yet while I am honoured with a place your fortune's made: a thousand pounds at
in your esteem, imagine me not insensible of present, and better things to come; his lord-
so high a distinction, or capable of lightly turn-ship says he will be your friend.
ing my thoughts towards another.
Giles. I do hope, then, miss Pat will make
Lord A. How cruel is my situation!-I am all up.
here, Patty, to command you to marry the Sir H. Miss Pat, make up; stand out of the
man who has given you so much uneasiness. way, I'll make it up.
Pat. My lord, I am convinced it is for your
credit and my safety it should be so: I hope QUINTETTO.-SIR HARRY SYCAMORE, LORD
I have not so ill profited by the lessons of AIMWORTH, PATTY, GILES, and THEODOSIA.
your noble mother, but I shall be able to do Sir H. The quarrels of lovers, adds me!
my duty, wherever I am called to it: this will
they're a jest;
be my first support; time and reflection will
complete the work.
AIR.
Cease, oh, cease to overwhelm me
With excess of bounty rare;
What am I? What have I? tell me,
To deserve your meanest care?
'Gainst our fate in vain's resistance,
Let me then no grief disclose;
But, resign'd at humble distance,
Offer vows for your repose.
Lord A.
Pat.
Giles.
[Exit.
Theo.
Enter SIR HARRY SYCAMORE, THEODOSIA,
and GILES.
Sir H. No justice of peace, no bailiffs, no
head-borough!
Lord A. What's the matter, sir Harry?
Sir H. The matter, my lord-While I was
examining the construction of the mill with-
out, for I have some small notion of mechan-
ics, miss Sycamore had like to have been
run away with by a gipsy man.
I don't
Theo, Dear papa, how can you talk so?
Did not I tell you it was at my own desire
the poor fellow went to show me the canal?
Sir H. Hold your tongue, miss.
know any business you had to let him come
near you at all: we have stayed so long too:
your mamma gave us but half an hour, and
she'll be frightened out of her wits-she'll think
some accident has happened to me.
Lord A. I'll wait upon you when you please.
Sir H. O! but, my lord, here's a poor fel-
low; it seems his mistress has conceived some
disgust against him; pray has her father spoke
to you to interpose your authority in his be-
half?
Lord A.
Pat.
Pat.
Giles.
Sir H.
Come hither, ye blockhead, come
hither,
So now let us leave them together.
Farewell, then!
For ever!
I vow and protest,
'Twas kind of his honour,
To gain thus upon her;
We're so much beholden it can't
be exprest.
I feel something here,
'Twixt hoping and fear:
Haste, haste, friendly night,
To shelter our flight-
A thousand distractions are rend-
了
​ing my breast.
Oh mercy,
Oh dear!
Why, miss, will you mind when
you're spoke to, or not?
Must I stand in waiting,
While you're here a prating?
Lord A. May ev'ry felicity fall to your lot!
Theo.
Giles.
All.
She court'sies!-Look there,
What a shape, what an air!-
How happy! how wretched! how
tir'd am I!
Your lordship's obedient; your ser-
vant; good by.
SCENE I.-The
ACT III.
[Exeunt.
Portico to LORD AIMWORTH'S
House.
Enter LORD AIMWORTH, SIR HARRY, and
LADY SYCAMORE.
Lady S. A wretch! a vile inconsiderate

SCENE 1.]
791
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
wretch! coming of such a race as mine; and of horses in all England (but that he did only
having an example like me before her! now and then for his amusement)-And he
Lord A. I beg, madam, you will not disquiet used to say, my lord, that the female sex were
yourself: you are told here, that a gentleman good for nothing but to bring forth children,
lately arrived from London has been about and breed disturbances.
I
the place to-day; that he has disguised him- Lord A. The ladies were very little obliged
self like a gipsy, came hither, and had some to your ancestor, sir Harry: but for my part,
conversation with your daughter; you are have a more favourable opinion-
even told, that there is a design formed for Lady S. [Within] Sir Harry! Sir Harry!
their going off together; but possibly there Sir H. You are in the wrong, my lord:
may be some mistake in all this.
with submission, you are really in the wrong.
[Exit.
Sir H. Ay but, my lord, the lad tells us the
gentleman's name: we have seen the gipsies;
and we know she has had a hankering-
Enter FAIRFIELD.
Lord A. How now, master Fairfield, what
brings you here?
Fair. I am come, my lord, to thank you
Lady S. Sir Harry, my dear, why will you
put in your word, when you hear others
speaking-I protest, my lord, I'm in such con-
fusion, I know not what to say: I can hardly for your bounty to me and my daughter this
support myself.-
Lord A. This gentleman, it seems, is at a
little inn at the bottom of the hill.
Sir H. I wish it was possible to have a file
of musketeers, my lord; I could head them
myself, being in the militia; and we would go
and seize him directly.
morning, and most humbly to entreat your
lordship to receive it at our hands again.
Lord A. Ay-why, what's the matter?
Fair. I don't know, my lord: it seems your
generosity to my poor girl has been noised
about the neighbourhood; and some evil-minded
people have put it into the young man's head
Lord A. Softly, my dear sir; let us proceed that was to marry her, that you never would
with a little less violence in this matter, I be- have made her a present so much above her
seech you. We should first see the young deserts and expectations, if it had not been
lady-Where is miss Sycamore, madam? upon some naughty account: now, my lord,
Lady S. Really, my lord, I don't know; II am a poor man 'tis true, and a mean one;
saw her go into the garden about a quarter but I and my father, and my father's father,
of an hour ago, from our chamber window. have lived tenants upon your lordship's estate,
Sir H. Into the garden! perhaps she has got where we have always been known for honest
an inkling of our being informed of this affair, men; and it shall never be said, that Fairfield,
and is gone to throw herself into the pond. the miller, became rich in his old days, by the
Despair, my lord, makes girls do terrible things. wages of his child's shame.
'Twas but the Wednesday before we left Lon- Lord A. What then, master Fairfield, do
don, that I saw, taken out of Rosamond's- you believe-
pond, in St. James's Park, as likely a young Fair. No, my lord, no, heaven forbid: but
woman as ever you would desire to set your when I consider the sum, it is too much for
eyes on, in a new callimancoe petticoat, and
a pair of silver buckles in her shoes.
Lord A. I hope there is no danger of any
such fatal accident happening at present; but
will you oblige me, sir Harry?
Sir H. Surely, my lord-
Lord A. Will you commit the whole direc-
tion of this affair to my prudence?
Sir H. My dear, you hear what his lordship
says.
Lady S. Indeed, my lord, I am so much
asham'd, I don't know what to answer; the
fault of my daughter-
us; it is indeed, my lord, and enough to make
bad folks talk: besides, my poor girl is greatly
alter'd; she us'd to be the life of every place
she came into; but since her being at home,
I have seen nothing from her but sadness and
watery eyes.
Lord A. The farmer then refuses to marry
Patty, notwithstanding their late reconciliation?
Fuir. Yes, my lord, he does indeed; and
has made a wicked noise, and used us in a
very base manner: I did not think farmer
Giles would have been so ready to believe
such a thing of us.
Lord A. Don't mention it, madam; the fault Lord 4. Well, master Fairfield, I will not
has been mine, who have been innocently the press on you a donation, the rejection of which
occasion of a young lady's transgressing a does you so much credit; you may take my
point of duty and decorum, which otherwise word, however, that your fears upon this oc-
she would never have violated. But if you, casion are entirely groundless: but this is not
and sir Harry, will walk in and repose your- enough; as I have been the means of losing
selves, I hope to settle every thing to the ge- your daughter one husband, it is but just I
should get her another; and, since the farmer
Lady S. Come in, sir Harry. [Exit. is so scrupulous, there is a young man in the
Lord A. I am sure, my good friend, had I house here, whom I have some influence over,
known that I was doing a violence to miss and I dare say he will be less squeamish.
Sycamore's inclinations, in the happiness I Fair. To be sure, my lord, you have, in
proposed to myself-
all honest ways, a right to dispose of me and
neral satisfaction.
Sir H. My lord, 'tis all a case-My grand- mine as you think proper.
father, by the mother's side, was a very sen- Lord A. Go then immediately, and bring
sible man-he was elected knight of the shire Patty hither; I shall not be easy till I have
in five successive parliaments, and died high given you entire satisfaction. But, stay and
sheriff of his county a man of fine parts, fine take a letter, which I am stepping into my
talents, and one of the most curiousest docker study to write: I'll order a chaise to be got

792
[ACT III.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
ready, that you may go back and forward pretending you were struck blind by thunder
with greater expedition. [Exit Fairfield. and lightning.
AIR.
Let me fly-hence, tyrant fashion!
Teach to servile minds your law;
Curb in them each gen'rous passion,
Ev'ry motion keep in awe.
Shall I, in thy trammels going,
Quit the idol of my heart;
While it beats, all fervent, glowing?
With my life. I'll sooner part.
SCENE II.--A Village.
Enter RALPH, FANNY following.
Fan. Ralph, Ralph!
Ralph. What do you want with me, eh?
Fan. Lord, I never knowed such a man as
you are, since I com'd into the world; a body
can't speak to you, but you falls straightways
into a passion: I followed you up from the
house, only you run so, there was no such a
thing as overtaking you, and I have been wait-
ing there at the back door ever so long.
Fan. Pray don't be angry, Ralph.
Ralph. Yes, but I will though: spread your
cobwebs to catch flies; I am an old wasp,
and don't value them a button.
AIR.
When you meet a tender creature,
Neat in limb, and fair in feature;
Full of kindness and good nature,
Prove as kind again to she:
Happy mortal to possess her!
In your bosom warm and press her;
Morning, noon, and night caress her,
And be fond as fond can be.
But if one you meet that's frow-ard,
Saucy, jilting, and untow-ard,
Should you act the whining coward,
'Tis to mend her ne'er the wit:
Nothing's tough enough to bind her;
Then agog when once you find her,
Let her go and never mind her;
Heart alive, you're fairly quit.
Ralph. Well, and now you may go and
[Exit.
wait at the fore door, if you like it: but I fore- Fan. I wish I had a draught of water. I
warn you and your gang not to keep lurk- don't know what's come over me; I have no
ing about our mill any longer; for if you do, more strength than a babe: a straw would
I'll send the constable after you, and have fling me down.-He has a heart as hard as
you, every mother's skin, clapt into the county any parish officer; I don't doubt now but he
gaol: you are such a pack of thieves, one can't would stand by and see me whipt himself;
hang so much as a rag to dry for you: it was and we shall all be whipt, and all through my
but the other day that a couple of them came means-The devil run away with the gentle-
into our kitchen to beg a handful of dirty flour, man, and his twenty guineas too, for leading
to make them cakes, and before the wench me astray: if I had known Ralph would have
could turn about, they had whipped off three taken it so, I would have hanged myself be-
brass candlesticks and a pot-lid.
fore I would have said a word-but I thought.
he had no more gall than a pigeon.
Fan. Well, sure it was not I.
Ralph. Then you know, that old rascal that
you call father, the last time I catch'd him
laying snares for the hares, I told him I'd in-
form the gamekeeper, and I'll expose all-
Fan. Ah, dear Ralph, don't be angry with
me.
Ralph. Yes, I will be angry with you-what
do you come nigh me for?-You shan't touch
me-There's the skirt of my coat, and if you
do but lay a finger on it, my lord's bailiff is
here in the court, and I'll call him and give
you to him.
Fan. If you'll forgive me,
my knees.
AIR.
O! what a simpleton was I,
To make my bed at such a rate!
Now lay thee down, vain fool, and cry,
Thy truelove seeks another mate.
No tears, alack,
Will call him back,
No tender words his heart allure;
I could bite
My tongue through spite-
Some plague bewitch'd me, that's for sure.
-
SCENE III. A Room in FAIRFIELD'S House.
Enter GILES, followed by PATTY and
THEODOSIA.
I'll down on
go
Ralph.. I tell you I won't-No, no, follow
your gentleman; or go live upon your old
fare, crows and polecats, and sheep that die
of the rot; pick the dead fowl off the dung- Giles. Why, what the plague's the matter
hills, and quench your thirst at the next ditch, with you? What do you scold at me for? I
'tis the fittest liquor to wash down such dain- am sure I did not say an uncivil word as I
ties-skulking about from barn to barn, and do know of: I'll be judged by the young lady
lying upon wet straw, on commons, and in if I did.
green lanes-go and be whipt from parish to
parish, as you used to be.
Pat. 'Tis very well, farmer; all I desire is,
that you will leave the house: you see my
Fan. How can you talk so unkind? father is not at home at present; when he is,
Ralph. And see whether you will get what if you have any thing to say, you know where
will keep you as I did, by telling of fortunes, to come.
and coming with pillows under your apron, Giles. Enough said; I don't want to stay
among the young farmers wives, to make be- in the house, not I; and I don't much care
lieve you are a breeding, with the Lord Al-if I had never come into it.
mighty bless you, sweet mistress, you cannot Theo. For shame, farmer! Down on your
tell how soon it may be your own case. You knees, and beg miss Fairfield's pardon for the
know I am acquainted with all your tricks-outrage you have been guilty of.
and how you turn up the whites of your eyes, Giles. Beg pardon, miss, for what?-Icod,

SCENE 3.]
793
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
that's well enough; why I am my own master, and equip myself-All here is in such con-
ben't I?-If I have no mind to marry, there's fusion, there will no notice be taken.
no harm in that, I hope: 'tis only changing Mer. Do so; I'll take care nobody shall in-
hands. This morning she would not have me, terrupt you in the progress of your metamor-
and now I won't have she.
phosis [She goes in]- and if you are not
Pat. Have you!-Heavens and earth! I tedious, we may walk off without being seen
would prefer a state of beggary a thousand by any one.
times beyond any thing I could enjoy with Theo. [Within] Ha, ha, ha!-What a con-
you and be assured, if ever I was seemingly course of atoms are here! though, as I live,
consenting to such a sacrifice, nothing should they are a great deal better than I expected.
have compelled me to it but the cruelty of my Mer. Well, pray make haste; and don't
situation.
imagine yourself at your toilette now, where
Giles. O, as for that I believes you; but mode prescribes two hours for what reason
you see the gudgeon would not bite, as I told would scarce allow three minutes.
you a bit agone, you know: we farmers never Theo. Have patience; the outward garment
love to reap what we don't sow.
is on already; and I'll assure you a very good
Pat. You brutish fellow, how dare you talk-stuff, only a little the worse for the mending.
Giles. So, now she's in her tantrums agin, Mer. Imagine it embroidery, and consider
and all for no manner of yearthly thing. it is your wedding-suit.-Come, how far have
Pat. But be assured my lord will punish you got?
you severely for daring to make free with his
name.
Giles. Who made free with it? Did I ever
mention my lord? 'Tis a cursed lie.
Theo. Stay; you don't consider there's some
contrivance necessary. Here goes the apron,
flounced and furbelow'd with a witness-Alas!
alas! it has no strings! what shall I do? Come,
no matter; a couple of pins will serve-And
Giles. Why it is, miss-and I'll make her now the cap-oh, mercy! here's a hole in the
prove her words-Then what does she mean crown of it large enough to thrust my head
by being punished? I am not afraid of nobo-through.
Theo. Bless me, farmer!
dy, nor beholding to nobody, that I know of; Mer. That you'll hide with your straw hat;
while I pays my rent, my money, I believe, or if you should not-What, not ready yet?
is as good as another's: 1) 'egad, if it goes Theo. One minute more Yes, now the
there, I think there be those deserve to be work's accomplish'd.
punished more than I.
Pat. Was there ever so unfortunate a crea-
ture, pursued as I am by distresses and vexa-
tions?
Theo. My dear Patty-See, farmer, you
have thrown her into tears.
Giles. Why then let her cry.
Theo. Pray be comforted.
AIR. PATTY.
Oh leave me, in pity! The falsehood I scorn;
For slander the bosom untainted defies:
But rudeness and insult are not to be borne,
Though offer'd by wretches we've sense to
despise. [Exit Theodosia.
Of woman defenceless how cruel the fate!
Pass ever so cautious, so blameless her way,
Ill nature and envy lurk always in wait,
And innocence falls to their fury a prey.
[Exit.
Re-enter THEODOSIA, with MERVIN.
Theo. You are a pretty gentleman, are not
you, to suffer a lady to be at a rendezvous
before you?
Mer. Difficulties, my dear, and dangers-
None of the company had two suits of apparel;
so I was obliged to purchase a rag of one,
and a tatter from another, at the expense of
ten times the sum they would fetch at the
paper-mill.
[She comes out of the Closet disguised.
Re-enter GILES, with FAIRFIELD.
Mer. Plague, here's somebody coming.
[Retires with Theodosia.
Fair. As to the past, farmer, 'tis past; I
bear no malice for any thing thou hast said.
Giles. Why, master Fairfield, you do know
I had a great regard for miss Patty; but when
I came to consider all in all, I finds as how
it is not advisable to change my condition
yet awhile.
Fair. Friend Giles, thou art in the right;
marriage is a serious point, and can't be con-
sidered too warily.-Ha, who have we here?
-Shall I never keep my house clear of these
vermin?-Look to the goods there, and give
me a horsewhip-by the lord Harry, I'll make
an example-Come here, lady Lightfingers, let
me see what thou hast stolen.
Mer. Hold, miller, hold!
Fair. O gracious goodness! sure I know
this face-miss-young madam Sycamore-
Mercy heart, here's a disguise!
Theo. Discover'd!
Mer. Miller, let me speak to you.
Theo. What ill fortune is this!
Giles. Ill fortune-miss! I think there be
nothing but crosses and misfortunes of one
kind or other.
Fair. Money to me, sir! not for the world;
Theo. Well, where are they?
you want no friends but what you have al-
Mer. Here, in this bundle - and though I ready-Lack-a-day, lack-a-day, see how luckily
say it, a very decent habiliment, if you have I came in; I believe you are the gentleman to
art enough to stick the parts together: I've whom I am charged to give this, on the part
been watching till the coast was clear to bring of my lord Aimworth-Bless you, dear sir,
go up to his honour with my young lady-
closet there is a chaise waiting at the door to carry
you-I and my daughter will take another
them to you.
Theo. Let me see I'll slip into this
1) Symptoms of English liberty.
way.
[Exit.
100

794
[ACT III.
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Mer. Pr'ythee read this letter, and tell me
what you think of it.
Fair. My lord, I am very well content;
pray do not give yourself the trouble of say-
Theo. Heavens, 'tis a letter from lord Aim-ing any more.
worth! We are betrayed.
Mer. By what means I know not.
Theo. I am so frighted and flurried, that I
have scarce strength enough to read it. [Reads.
Ralph. No, my lord, you need not say
any more.
Fair. Hold your tongue, sirrah,
Lord A. I am sorry, Patty, you have had
Sir,It is with the greatest concern I this mortification.
find that I have been unhappily the occa-
Pat. I am sorry, my lord, you have been
sion of giving some uneasiness to you and troubled about it.
miss Sycamore: be assur'd, had I been ap- Fair. Well, come, children, we will not
prised of your prior pretensions, and the take up his honour's time any longer; let us
young lady's disposition in your favour, I be going towards home-Heaven prosper your
should have been the last person to inter- lordship; the prayers of me and my family
rupt your felicity. I beg, sir, you will do shall always attend you.
me the favour to come up to my house, Lord A. Miller, come back-Patty, stay-
where I have already so far settled mat- Fair. Has your lordship any thing further
ters, as to be able to assure you, that every to command us?
thing will go entirely to your satisfaction.
Mer. Well, what do you think of it?-a
Shall we go to the castle?"
Theo. By all means: and in this very trim;
to show what we are capable of doing, if my
father and mother had not come to reason.
Lord A. Why yes, master Fairfield, I have
word or two still to say to you-In short,
though you are satisfied in this affair, I am
not; and you seem to forget the promise I
made you, that, since I had been the means
of losing your daughter one husband, I would
find her another.
Fair. Your honour is to do as you please.
Lord A. What say you, Patty, will you
accept of a husband of my choosing?
[Exeunt Mervin and Theodosia.
Giles. So, there goes a couple! Icod, I be-
lieve old Nick has got among the people in
these parts. This is as queer a thing as ever
I heard of.-Master Fairfield and miss Patty, Pat. My lord, I have no determination;
it seems, are gone to the castle too; where, you are the best judge how I ought to act;
by what I larns from Ralph in the mill, my whatever you command, I shall obey.
lord has promised to get her a husband among Lord A. Then, Patty, there is but one per-
the servants. Now set in case the wind sets son I can offer you-and I wish, for your
in that corner, I have been thinking with my-sake, he was more deserving-Take me-
self who the plague it can be: there are no Pat. Sir!
unmarried men in the family, that I do know Lord A. From this moment our interests
of, excepting little Bob, the postillion, and are one, as our hearts; and no earthly power
master Jonathan, the butler, and he's a mat- shall ever divide us.
ter of sixty or seventy years old. I'll be shot Fair. O the gracious! Pally-my lord-
if it beant little Bob.-Icod, I'll take the way Did I hear right?-You, sir, you marry a
to the castle as well as the rest; for I'd fain child of mine!
see how the nail do drive. It is well I had Lord A. Yes, my honest old man, in me
wit enough to discern things, and a friend to you behold the husband designed for your
advise with, or else she would have fallen to daughter; and I am happy, that by standing
my lot. But I have got a surfeit of going a in the place of fortune, who has alone been
courting; and burn me if I won't live a ba- wanting to her, I shall he able to set her
chelor; for when all comes to all, I see no-merit in a light where its lustre will be ren-
thing but ill blood and quarrels among folk dered conspicuous.
that are maaried.
AIR.
Then hey for a frolicsome life!
I'll ramble where pleasures are rife;
Strike up with the free-hearted lasses,
And never think more of a wife.
Plague on it, men are but asses,
To run after noise and strife,
Had we been together buckl'd;
'Twould have prov'd a fine affair:
Dogs would have bark'd at the cuckold;
And boys, pointing, cry'd-Look there!
Fair. But good, noble sir, pray consider,
don't go to put upon¹) a silly old man: my
daughter is unworthy-Patty, child, why don't
you speak?
Pat. What can I say, father? what an-
swer to such unlook'd-for, such unmerited,
such unbounded generosity?
Ralph. Down on your knees, and fall a
crying.
[Ralph is checked by Fairfield, and they
go up the Stage.
Pat. Yes, sir, as my father says, consider
[Exit-your noble friends, your relations-It must
not, cannot be
SCENE IV.A grand Apartment in LORD
AIMWORTH'S House, opening to a View
of the Garden.
Enter LORD AIMWORTH, FAIRFIELD, PATTY,
and RALPH.
Lord A. Thus, master Fairfield, I hope I
have fully satisfied you with regard to the
falsity of the imputation thrown upon your
daughter and me-
Lord A. It must and shall-Friends! rela-
tions! from henceforth I have none, that will
not acknowledge you; and I am sure, when
they become acquainted with your perfections,
they will rather admire the justice of my choice,
than wonder at its singularity.
DUETT.-LORD AIMWORTH and PATTY.
Lord A. My life, my joy, my blessing,
1) To take advantage, to deceive.

SCENE 4.]
795
THE MAID OF THE MILL.
Pat
Lord A.
Both.
In thee each grace possessing,
All must my choice approve.
To you my all is owing;
O! take a heart o'erflowing
With gratitude and love.
Thus infolding,
Thus beholding,
One to my soul so dear;
Can there be pleasure greater?
Can there be bliss completer?
'Tis too much to bear.
Enter SIR HARRY, LADY SYCAMORE, THEO-
DOSIA, and MERVIN.
Enter GILES.
Giles. Ods bobs, where am I running-I
beg pardon for my audacity:
Ralph. Hip, farmer; come back, mon, come
back-Sure my lord's going to marry sister
himself, feyther's to have a fine house, and
I'm to be a captain.
Lord A. Ho, master Giles, pray walk in;
here is a lady who, I dare say, will be glad
to see you, and give orders that you shall
always be made welcome,
Ralph. Yes, farmer, you'll always be wel-
come in the kitchen.
Lord A. What, have you nothing to say
Sir H. Well, we have followed your lord- to your old acquaintance-Come, pray let the
ship's counsel, and made the best of a bad farmer salute you-Nay, a kiss-I insist up-
market-So, my lord, please to know our on it.
son-in-law that is to be.
Lord A. You do me a great deal of honour
-I wish you joy, sir, with all my heart.-And
now, sir Harry, give me leave to introduce
to you a new relation of mine-This, sir, is
shortly to be my wife.
Sir H. My lord!
Lady S. Your lordship's wife!
Lord A. Yes, madam.
Lady S. And why so, my lord?
Lord 4. Why, faith, ma'am, because I can't
live happy without her-And I think she has
too many amiable, too many estimable qua-
lities to meet with a worse fate.
Sir H. Well, but you are a peer of the
realm; you will have all the fleerers-
Sir H. Ha, ha, ha-hem!
Lady S. Sir Harry, I am ready to sink at
the monstrousness of your behaviour.
Lord A. Fie, master Giles, don't look so
sheepish; you and I were rivals, but not less
friends at present. You have acted in this
affair like an honest Englishman, wo scorned
even the shadow of dishonour, and thou shalt
sit rent-free for a twelvemonth.
Sir H. Come, shan't we all salute-With
your leave, my lord, I'll-
Lady S. Sir Harry!
FINALE.
Lord A. Yield who will to forms a martyr,
While unaw'd by idle shame,
Pride for happiness I barter,
Heedless of the millions' blame.
Thus with love my arms I quarter;
Women grac'd in nature's frame,
Ev'ry privilege, by charter,
Lord A. I know very well the ridicule that
may be thrown on a lord's marrying a mill-
er's daughter; and I own with blushes it has
for some time had too great weight with me:
but we should marry to please ourselves, not
other people; and, on mature consideration, Theo.
I can see no reproach justly merited by rais-
ing a deserving woman to a station she is
capable of adorning, let her birth be what
it will.
Sir H. Why 'tis very true, my lord. I once
knew a gentleman that married his cook-maid:
he was a relation of my own-You remember
fat Margery, my lady. She was a very good Sir H.
sort of woman, indeed she was, and made
the best suet dumplings I ever tasted.
Lady S. Will you never learn, sir Harry,
to guard your expressions?-Well, but give
me leave, my lord, to say a word to you.-
There are other ill consequences attending.
such an alliance.
Lord A. One of them I suppose is, that I,
a peer, should be obliged to call this good
old miller father-in-law. But where's the shame.
in that? He is as good as any lord in being
a man; and if we dare suppose a lord that
is not an honest man, he is, in my opinion,
the more respectable character. Come, master
Fairfield, give me your hand; from hence-
forth you have done with working: we will
pull down your mill, and build you a house
in the place of it; and the money I intended
for the portion of your daughter, shall now
be laid out in purchasing a commission for
your son.
Ralph. What, my lord, will you make me
a captain?
Lord A. Ay, a colonel, if you deserve it.
Ralph. Then I'll keep Fan.
Pat.
Have a right from man to claim.
Eas'd of doubts and fears presaging,
What new joys within me rise;
While mamma, her frowns assuaging,
Dares no longer tyrannise.
So long storms and tempests raging,
When the blust'ring fury dies,
Ah, how lovely, how engaging,
Prospects fair, and cloudless skies!
Dad, but this is wondrous pretty,
Singing each a roundelay;
And I'll mingle in the ditty,
Though I scarce know what to say.
There's a daughter brisk and witty;
Here's a wife can wisely sway:
Trust me, masters, 'twere a pity,
Not to let them have their way.
My example is a rare one;
But the cause may be divin'd:
Women want not merit-dare one
Hope discerning men to find.
O! may each accomplish'd fair one,
Bright in person, sage in mind,
Viewing my good fortune, share one
Full as splendid, and as kind.
Ralph. Captain Ralph my lord will dub me,
Soon I'll mount a huge cockade;
Mounseer shall powder, queue, and
club me,
'Gad, I'll be a roaring blade,
If Fan shall offer once to snub me,
When in scarlet all array'd;
Or my feather dare to drub me,
Frown your worst-but who's afraid?
Giles. Laugh'd at, slighted, circumvented,

796
YNKLE AND YARICO.
[ACT I.
And expos'd for folks to see't,
'Tis as tho'f a man repented
For his follies in a sheet.
But my wrongs go unresented,
Since the fates have thought them meet;
This good company contented,
All my wishes are complete.
[Exeunt.
GEORGE COLMAN JUNIOR
Is the son of the author of The Clandestine Marriage. With the precise time of his birth we are unacquainted; but
we suppose it to have been about the year 1767. He received his early education at Mr. Fountain's academy in Mary-
bone, at that time in high estimation. He was next sent to Westminster School, and afterwards entered at Christchurh
College, Oxford; but, for what reason we know not, he finished his education at King's College, Old Aberdeen; whence
he returned to London, and was entered of the Temple; with the design, it is said, to qualify him for the bar. But
if so, he early in life resigned Coke and Littleton in favour of the Muses. The consciousness of literary talents, and
an easy access to the public through the medium of his father's theatre, naturally directed his attention to the drama;
and his parent seemed to foster his genius; as he, in the prologue to the first play of his son's, announced him as "a
chip of the old block." When his father was seized with that malady which rendered him incapable of superintending
the theatre, Mr. Colman evinced a most commendable filial affection, by the great attention that he paid to him and
to the interests of his theatre. On the death of his father, His Majesty was pleased to transfer the patent to him;
and he has discharged the duties of manager with zeal and alacrity towards the public, and liberality towards authors
and actors. In private life Mr. Colman is social, convivial, and intelligent; and in the playful contentions of wit and
humour, and particularly that agreeable coruscation called repartee, he may perhaps be equalled, but, we think, has
rarely been excelled. In his heroic pieces, we observe a poetical vigour, a form of language, and a cast of sentiment,
that forcibly remind us of the very best of our ancient dramatic writers. In the spring of the year 1797, Mr. Colman
published My Nightgown and Slippers, a thin quarto, consisting of some amusing poetical trifles. In prologue and
epilogue, we cannot better compare Mr. Colman with any one than with the late Mr. Garrick. His compositions in
this way are very abundant, and excellent in their kind.
INKLE AND YARICO,
Opera by George Colman jun. 1787. The great success of this Opera in every theatre in the Kingdom, since its first
representation at the Haymarket, is justified by its real merit. The dialogue is not a collection of trite common places,
to connect the music; but is replete with taste, judgment, and manly feeling; the allusions to slavery (now so nobly
abolished) correspond with every British, every liberal, mind. The mal-à-propos offer of Inkle to sell his Yarico to
Sir Christopher, is an admirable incident; and indeed all the characters are as forcibly drawn, that the most trifling part
is effective. The pathetic story of Inkle and Yarico first attracted sympathy, from the narrative of Mr. Addison, in
the Spectator: to that affecting story, Mr. Colman was indebted only for the cold, calculating Inkle; and the gentle,
affectionate Yarico;-the rest of the characters and the developement of the whole are offspring of his abundant invention.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
INKLE.
SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY.
CAMPLEY.
MEDIUM.
TRUDGE.
MATE.
YARICO.
NARCISSA.
WOWSKI.
PATTY.
SCENE. First, on the Main of America: afterwards, in Barbadoes.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-An American forest.
Med. [Without] HILLI ho! ho!
Trudge. [Without] Hip! hollo!
to bring all the natives about us; and we shall
be stripped and plundered in a minute.
Trudge. Aye; stripping is the first thing
that would happen to us; for they seem to be
ho!-Hip!-woefully off for a wardrobe. I myself saw
three, at a distance, with less clothes than I
Enter MEDIUM and TRUDGE.
have when I get out of bed: all dancing about
Med. Pshaw! it's only wasting time and in black buff; just like Adam in mourning.
breath. Bawling won't persuade him to budge Med. This is to have to do with a schemer!
a bit faster. Things are all altered now; and, a fellow who risques his life, for a chance of
whatever weight it may have in some places, advancing his interest.-Always advantage in
bawling, it seems, don't go for argument, here. view! trying, here, to make discoveries that
Plague on't! we are now in the wilds of may promote his profit in England. Another
America.
Trudge. Hip, hillio-ho-hi!-
Botany Bay scheme, mayhap. Nothing else
could induce him to quit our foraging party,
Med. Hold your tongue, you blockhead, or- from the ship; when he knows every inhabi-
Trudge. Lord! sir, if my master makes no tant here is not only as black as a pepper-
more haste, we shall all be put to sword by corn, but as hot into the bargain-and I, like
the knives of the natives. I'm told they take a fool, to follow him! and then to let him
off heads like hals, and hang 'em on pegs in loiter behind. Why, nephew! why, Inkle!
their parlours. Mercy on us! my head aches
with the very thoughts of it. Holo! Mr. Inkle!
master; holo!
[Calling.
Trudge. Why, Inkle-Well! only to see
the difference of men! he'd have thought it
Med. Head aches! zounds, so does mine very hard, now, if I had let him call so often
with your confounded bawling. It's enough after me. Ah! I wish he was calling after

SCENE 1.]
797
INKLE AND YARICO.
me now, in the old jog-trot way, again. expensive plan for a trader, truly. What,
What a fool was I, to leave London for would you have a man of business come
foreign parts!-That ever I should leave Thread-abroad, scamper extravagantly here and there
needle-street, to thread an American forest, and every where, then return home, and have
where a man's as soon lost as a needle in a nothing to tell, but that he has been here and
bottle of hay!
there and every where? 'sdeath, sir, would
Med. Patience, Trudge! patience! If we you have me travel like a lord? Travelling,
once recover the ship-
uncle, was always intended for improvement;
Trudge. Lord, sir, I shall never recover and improvement is an advantage; and ad-
what I have lost in coming abroad. When vantage is profit, and profit is gain. Which,
my master and I were in London, I had such in the travelling translation of a trader, means,
a mortal snug birth of it! why, I was factotum. that you should gain every advantage of im-
Med. Factotum to a young merchant is no proving your profit. I have been comparing
such sinecure, neither.
the land, here, with that of our own country.
Trudge. But then the honour of it. Think Med. And you find it like a good deal of
of that, sir; to be clerk as well as own man. the land of our own country-cursedly en-
Only consider. You find very few city clerks cumbered with black legs 1), I take it.
made out of a man ¹), now-a-days. To be Inkle. And calculating how much it might
Med. You were?
king of the counting-house, as well as lord be made to produce by the acre.
of the bed-chamber. Ah! if I had him but
now in the little dressing room behind the
office; tying his hair, with a bit of red tape,
as usual.
Med. Yes, or writing an invoice with lamp-
black, and shining his shoes with an ink-bottle,
as usual, you blundering blockhead!
Trudge. Oh! if I was but brushing the ac-
counts, or casting up the coats! mercy on us!
what's that?
Med. That! what?
Trudge. Did'nt you hear a noise?
Med. Y-es-but-hush! Oh, heavens be
praised! here he is at last.
Now, nephew?
Enter INKLE.
Inkle. So, Mr. Medium.
Inkle. Yes; I was proceeding algebraically
upon the subject.
Med. Indeed!
Inkle. And just about extracting the square
root.
Med. Hum!
Inkle. I was thinking too, if so many na-
tives could be caught, how much they might
fetch at the West Indian markets.
Med. Now let me ask you a question, or
two, young cannibal catcher, if you please.
Inkle. Well.
Med. Aren't we bound for Barbadoes; partly
to trade, but chiefly to carry home the daughter
of the governor, Sir Christopher Curry, who
has till now been under your father's care,
in Threadneedle-street, for polite English edu-
cation?
Inkle. Granted.
Med. Zounds, one would think, by your
confounded composure, that you were walking
in St. James's Park, instead of an American Med. And isn't it determined, between the
Forest; and that all the beasts were nothing old folks, that you are to marry Narcissa as
but good company. The hollow trees, here, soon as we get there?
centry boxes, and the lions in 'em soldiers;
the jackalls, courtiers; the crocodiles, fine
women; and the baboons, beaus. What the
plague made you loiter so long?
Inkle. Reflection.
Inkle. A fixed thing.
Med. Then what the devil do you do here,
hunting old hairy negroes, when you ought
to be ogling a fine girl in the ship? Algebra,
too! you'll have other things to think of when
Med. So I should think; reflection generally you are married, I promise you. A plodding
comes lagging behind. What, scheming, I fellow's head, in the hands of a young wife,
suppose; never quiet. At it again, eh: what like a boy's slate after school, soon gets all
a happy trader is your father, to have so pru- its arithmetic wiped off: and then it appears
dent a son for a partner! why, you are the in its true simple state; dark, empty, and
carefullest Co. in the whole city. Never losing bound in wood, Master Inkle.
sight of the main chance; and that's the rea- Inkle. Not in a match of this kind. Why,
son, perhaps, you lost sight of us, here, on it's a table of interest from beginning to end,
old Medium.
the main of America.
Inkle. Right, Mr. Medium. Arithmetic, I
own, has been the means of our parting at
present.
Med. Well, well, this is no time to talk.
Who knows but, instead of sailing to a wed-
ding, we may get cut up, here, for a wedding
Trudge. Ha! a sum in division, I reckon. dinner: tossed up for a dingy duke perhaps,
[Aside. or stewed down for a black baronet, or eat
Med. And pray, if I may be so bold, what raw by an inky commoner?
mighty scheme has just tempted you to em-
ploy your head, when you ought to make Med. Who, I afraid! ha! ha! ha! no, not
use of your heels?
Inkle. Why, sure, you aren't afraid?
I! what the deuce should I be afraid of? thank
Inkle. My heels! here's pretty doctrine! do heaven, I have a clear conscience, and need
you think I travel merely for motion? a fine not be afraid of any thing. A scoundrel might
1) Double entendre. The second meaning, generally given not be quite so easy on such an occasion;
by the actor with an arch look at the upper-boxes, but it's the part of an honest man not to be-
the place of resort of the London clerks at the The- have like a scoundrel: I never behaved like a
atres, is, that there are very few clerks really men
now-a-days, they being rather dandyish and effemi- 1) Black legs, (slang) for Gamesters; and the blacks, or
nate in their dress.
negroes, have, of course, black legs.

798
[ACT I.
INKLE AND YARICO.
Scoundrel-for which reason I am an honest And the Eagle, I warrant you, looks like a
man, you know. But come-I hate to boast
of my good qualities.
goose.
But we merchant lads, tho' the foe we can't
maul,
Inkle. Slow and sure, my good, virtuous,
Mr. Medium! our companions can be but half
a mile before us: and, if we do but double Nor are paid,
their steps, we shall overtake 'em at one mile's Why we pay
end, by all the powers of arithmetic.
Med. Oh, curse your arithmetic! how are
we to find our way?
like fine king-ships, to fight at
ourselves well, without fighting
a call,
at all.
1st Sail. Avast! look a-head there. Here
Inkle. That, uncle, must be left to the doc- they come, chased by a fleet of black devils.
trine of chances.
[Exeunt. Midsh. And the devil a fire have I to give
'em. We han't a grain of powder left. What
SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest. A must we do, lad?
ship at anchor in the bay, at a small 2nd Sail. Do? sheer off, to be sure.
distance.
Enter SAILORS and MATE, as returning from spike!
foraging.
All. Come, bear a hand, Master Marlin-
Midsh. [Reluctantly] Well, if I must, I
Mate. Come, come, bear a hand 1), my must [Going to the other side and halloing
lads. Tho'f the bay is just under our bow-to Inkle, etc.] Yoho, lubbers! crowd all the
sprits, it will take a damned deal of tripping sail you can, d'ye mind me!
to come at it-there's hardly any steering clear
[Exit.
of the rocks here. But do we muster all Enter MEDIUM, running, as pursued by
hands? all right, think ye?
the Blacks.
1st Sail. All to a man-besides yourself, Med. Nephew! Trudge! run- scamper!
and a monkey-the three land lubbers 2), that scour-fly! zounds, what harm did I ever do,
edged away in the morning, goes for nothing, to be hunted to death by a pack of blood-
you know they're all dead may-hap, by this. hounds? why, nephew! Oh, confound your
Mate. Dead! you be-why, they're friends long sums in arithmetic! I'll take care of my-
of the captain; and, if not brought safe aboard self; and if we must have any arithmetic, dot
to-night, you may all chance to have a salt and carry one for my money. [Runs off.
eel for your supper-that's all. Moreover,
the young plodding spark, he with the grave,
foul-weather face, there, is to man the tight
little frigate, Miss Narcissa, what d'ye call her,
that is bound with us for Barbadoes. Rot 'em
for not keeping under way, I say! but come,
let's see if a song will bring 'em to. Let's
have a full chorus to the good merchant ship,
the Achilles, that's wrote by our Captain.
The Achilles, though christen'd, good ship,
'tis surmis'd,
From that old man of war, great Achilles, so
priz'd,
Was he, like our vessel, pray, fairly baptiz'd?
Ti tol lol, etc.
Poets sung that Achilles-if, now, they've an
itch
To sing this, future ages may know which is
which;
And that one rode in Greece-and the other
in pitch.
What tho' but a merchant ship-sure our
supplies:
Now your men of war's gain in a lottery lies,
And how blank they all look, when they can't
get a prize!
What are all their fine names? when no
rhino's behind,
The Intrepid, and Lion, look sheepish, you'll
find;
Whilst, alas! the poor Aeolus can't raise the
wind!
Then the Thunderer's dumb; out of tune the
Orpheus;
The Cercs has nothing at all to produce;
1) Make haste.
2) The elegant denomination given by sailors to persons
not belonging to the sea, to shew their superlative
contempt for every thing on dry land.
Enter INKLE and TRUDGE, hastily.
Trudge. Oh! that ever I was born, to leave
pen, ink, and powder, for this!
Inkle. Trudge, how far are the sailors be-
fore us?
Trudge. I'll run and see, sir, directly.
Inkle. Blockhead, come here. The savages
are close upon us; we shall scarce be able to
trees with me; they'll pass us, and we may
recover our party. Get behind this tuft of
then recover our ship with safety.
Trudge. [Going behind] Oh! Threadneedle-
street, Thread!-
Inkle Peace.
Trudge. [Hiding] needle-street.
[They hide behind trees. Natives cross.
After a long pause, Inkle looks
from the trees.
Inkle. Trudge.
Trudge. Sir.
[In a whisper.
Inkie. Are they all gone by?
Trudge. Won't you look and see?
Inkle. [Looking round] So, all's safe at
last. [Coming forward] Nothing like policy
in these cases; but you'd have run on, like a
booby! A tree, I fancy, you'll find, in future,
the best resource in a hot pursuit.
Trudge. Oh, charming! It's a retreat for a
king ), sir. Mr. Medium, however, has not
got up in it; your uncle, sir, has run on like
this time, I take it; who are now most likely
a booby; and has got up with our party by
at the shore. But what are we to do next, sir?
Inkle. Reconnoitre a little, and then proceed.
Trudge. Then pray, sir, proceed to recon-
noitre; for, the sooner the better.
Inkle. Then look out, d'ye hear, and tell
me if you discover any danger.
Trudge. Y-ye-s-yes; but-[Trembling.
1) Charles 2d. hid himself in a tree.

SCENE 3.]
799
INKLE AND YARICO.
Inkle. Well, is the coast clear?
This cavern may prove a safe retreat to us
Trudge. Eh! Oh lord!-Clear? [Rubbing for the present. I'll enter, cost what it will.
his eyes] Oh dear! oh dear! the coast will
soon be clear enough now, I promise you-
The ship is under sail, sir!
Inkle. Confusion! my property carried off
in the vessel,
Trudge. All, all, sir, except me.
Inkle. They may report me dead, perhaps;
and dispose of my property at the next island.
[Vessel under sail.
I
Trudge. Oh Lord! no, don't, don't - We
shall pay too dear for our lodging, depend on't.
Inkle. This is no time for debating. You
are at the mouth of it: lead the way, Trudge.
Trudge. What! go in before your honour!
know my place better, I assure you I right
walk into more mouths than one, perhaps.
[Aside.
Inkle. Coward! then follow me. [Noise again.
Trudge. Ah! there they go. [A gun fired] Trudge. I must, sir; I must! Ah Trudge,
That will be the last report 1) we shall ever Trudge! what a damned hole are you getting
hear from 'em, I'm afraid. That's as much into!
as to say, good by to ye. And here we are SCENE III.-4 cave, decorated with skins
left-two fine, full-grown babes in the wood!
Inkle. What an ill-timed accident! just too,
when my speedy union with Narcissa, at
-
[Exeunt.
of wild beasts, feathers, etc. a rude kind
of curtain, as door to an inner part.
Barbadoes, would so much advance my interests. Enter INKLE and TRUDGE, from mouth of
Something must be hit upon, and speedily;
but what resource?
on
the cavern.
[Thinking. Trudge. Why, sir! you must be mad to
Trudge. The old one-a tree, sir-'tis all go any farther.
we have for it now. What would I give, Inkle. So far, at least, we have proceeded
now, to be perched upon a high stool, with with safety. Ha! no bad specimen of savage
our brown desk squeezed into the pit of my elegance. These ornaments would be worth
stomach-scribbling away an old parchment!-something in England.-We have little to fear
But all my red ink will be spilt by an old here, I hope: this cave rather bears the pleasing
black pin of a negro.
face of a profitable adventure.
A voyage over seas had not enter'd my head,
Had I known but on which side to butter my
bread.
Heigho! sure I-for hunger must die!
I've sail'd, like a booby; come here in a squall,
Where, alas! there's no bread to be butter'd
at all!
Oho! I'm a terrible booby!
Oh, what a sad booby am I!
In London, what gay chop-house signs in the
street!
But the only sign here, is of nothing to eat.
Heigho! that I-for hunger should die!
My mutton's all lost; I'm a poor starving elf;
And for all the world like a lost mutton myself.
Oho! I shall die a lost mutton!
Oh! what a lost mutton am I!
For a neat slice of beef, I could roar like a bull;
And my stomach's so empty, my heart is
quite full.
Heigho! that I-for hunger should die!
But, grave without meat, I must here meet
my grave,
For my bacon, I fancy, I never shall save.
Oho! I shall ne'er save my bacon!
I can't save my bacon, not I!
Trudge. Hum! I was thinking
thinking, sir-if so many natives could be
caught, how much they might fetch at the
West India markets!
-
I was
Inkle. Scoundrel! is this a time to jest?
Trudge. No, faith, sir! hunger is too sharp
to be jested with. As for me, I shall starve
for want of food. Now you may meet a
luckier fate: you are able to extract the square
root, sir; and that's the very best provision
you can find here to live upon. But I!
[Noise at a distance] Mercy on us! here
they come again.
Trudge. Very likely, sir; but, for a pleasing
face, it has the cursed'st ugly mouth I ever
saw in my life. Now do, sir, make off as
fast as you can. If we once get clear of the
natives' houses, we have little to fear from
the lions and leopards; for, by the appearance
of their parlours, they seem to have killed all
the wild beasts in the country. Now pray,
do, my good master, take my advice, and run
away;
Inkle. Rascal! Talk again of going out, and
I'll flea you alive.
-
Trudge. That's just what I expect for coming
in. All that enter here appear to have had
their skin stript over their ears; and ours will
be kept for curiosities-We shall stand here,
stuffed, for a couple of white wonders.
Inkle. This curtain seems to lead to another
apartment: I'll draw it.
Trudge No, no, no, don't, don't. We may
be called to account for disturbing the com-
pany: you may get a curtain lecture, perhaps,
sir.
Inkle. Peace, booby, and stand on your
guard.
Trudge. Oh! what will become of us! some
grim seven-foot fellow ready to scalp us.
Inkle. By heaven! a woman!
[Yarico and Wowski, discovered asleep.
Trudge. A woman! [Aside-loud] But let
him come on; I'm ready-dam'me, I don't fear
facing the devil himself-Faith, it is a woman-
fast asleep, too.
Inkle. And beautiful as an angel!
Trudge. And, egad! there seems to be a
nice, little, plump, bit in the corner; only
she's an angel of rather darker sort.
Inkle. Hush! keep back-she wakes.
Inkle. Confusion! deserted on one side, and
pressed on the other, which way shall I turn?-Yarico.
1) Report of a gun: and report, an account of any thing
that has happened.
[Yarico comes forward- Inkle and
Trudge retire to the opposite sides
of the scene.
When the chace of day is done,
And the shaggy lion's skin,
Which, for us, our warriors win,

800
[ACT I.
INKLE AND YARICO.
Decks our cells, at set of sun;
Worn with toil, with sleep opprest,
I press my mossy bed, and sink to rest.
Then, once more, I see our train,
With all our chace renew'd again:
Once more, 'tis day,
Once more, our prey
Gnashes his angry teeth, and foams
in vain.
Again, in sullen haste, he flies,
Ta'en in the toil, again he lies,
Again he roars-and, in my slumbers,
Inkle. Our language!
dies.
Trudge. Zounds, she has thrown me into
a cold sweat.
Yarico. Hark! I heard a noise! Wowski,
awake! whence can it proceed?
[She wakes Wowski, and they both come
forward Yarico towards Inkle;
Wowski towards Trudge.
Yarr. Ah! what form is this?-are you a man?
Inkle. True flesh and blood, my charming
heathen, I promise you.
Yar. What harmony in his voice! what a
shape! How fair his skin too!- [Gazing.
Trudge. This must be a lady of quality, by
her staring.
Yar. Say, stranger, whence come you?
Inkle. From a far distant island; driven on
this coast by distress, and deserted by my
companions.
Yar. And do you know the danger that
surrounds you here? our woods are filled
with beasts of prey-my countrymen, too-
(yet, I think they couldn't find the heart)-
might kill you. It would be a pity if you
fell in their way-I think I should weep if
you came to any harm.
Trudge. O ho! it's time, I see, to begin
making interest with the chambermaid.
[Takes Wowski apart.
Inkle. How wild and beautiful! sure, there's
magic in her shape, and she has rivetted me
to the place. But where shall I look for sa-
fety? let me fly, and avoid my death.
decked in silks, my brave maid, and have a
house drawn with horses to carry you.
Yar. Nay, do not laugh at me--but is it so?
Inkle. It is, indeed!
Yar. Oh, wonder! I wish my countrywo-
men could see me-But won't your warriors
kill us?
Inkle. No, our only danger, on land, is here.
Yar. Then let us retire further into the
cave. Come-your safety is in my keeping.
Inkle. I follow you-Yet, can you run some
risque in following me?
DUET T.
Inkle. O say, simple maid, have you form'd
any notion
Of all the rude dangers in crossing
the ocean?
When winds whistle shrilly, ah!
won't they remind you,
To sigh, with regret, for the grot
left behind you?
Yar. Ah! no, I could follow, and sail the
world over,
Nor think of my grot, when I look
at my lover!
The winds which blow round us,
your arms for my pillow,
Will lull us to sleep, whilst we're
rock'd by each billow.
Both. O say then, my true love, we never
will sunder,
Nor shrink from the tempest, 'nor
dread the big thunder:
While constant, we'll laugh at all
changes of weather,
And journey, all over the world,
both together.
Trudge. Why, you speak English as well
as I, my little Wowski.
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. Iss! and you learnt it from a strange
man, that tumbled from a big boat, many
moons ago, you say!
Wows. Iss-teach me-teach good many.
Trudge. Then, what the devil made 'em so
surpris'd at seeing us! was he like me? [Wows.
Yar. Oh! no-But-[as if puzzled] well shakes her head] Not so smart a body, may-
then, die stranger, but, don't depart. But I hap. Was his face, now, round, and comely,
will try to preserve you; and if you are kill-and-eh! [Stroking his chin] Was it like
ed, Yarico must die too! Yet, 'tis I alone can mine?
save you: your death is certain without my Wows. Like dead leaf-brown and shrivel.
assistance; and indeed, indeed, you shall not Trudge. Oh, oh, an old shipwrecked sailor,
want it.
I warrant. With white and grey hair, eh,
my pretty beauty spot?
Wows. Iss; all white.
he put it in pocket.
Inkle. My kind Yarico! what means, then,
must be used for my safety?
Yar. My cave must conceal you: none enter
it, since my father was slain in battle. I will
bring you food, by day, then lead you to our
unfrequented groves, by moonlight, to listen
to the nightingale. If you should sleep, I'll
watch you, and wake you when there's danger.
Inkle. Generous maid! then, to you I will
owe my life; and whilst it lasts, nothing shall
part us.
Yar. And shan't it, shan't it indeed?.
Inkle. No, my Yarico! for, when an op-
portunity offers to return to my country, you
shall be my companion.
Yar. What! cross the seas!
Inkle. Yes. Help me to discover a vessel,
and you shall enjoy wonders. You shall be
When night come,
Trudge. Oh! wore a wig. But the old boy
taught you something more than English, I
believe.
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. The devil he did! What was it?
Wows. Teach me put dry grass, red hot,
in hollow white stick.
Trudge. Aye, what was that for?
Wows. Put in my mouth-go poff, poff.
Trudge. Zounds! did he teach you to smoke?
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. And what became of him at last?
What did your countrymen do for the poor
fellow?
Wows. Eat him one day-Our chief kill him.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
801
INKLE AND YARICO.
Trudge. Mercy on us! what damned sto- a little after their spouses. Well, as my master
machs, to swallow a tough old tar! though, seems king of this palace, und has taken his
for the matter of that, there's many of our Indian queen already, I'll e'en be usher of the
captains would eat all they kill, I believe! Ah, black rod here. But you have had a lover or
poor Trudge! your killing comes next. two in your time; eh, Wowski?
Wows. Oh iss-great many-I tell you.
[Anxiously.
[Running to him.
Trudge. No? why what shall I do, if I get
in their paws?
Wows. No, no-not you-no-
Wows. I fight for you!
Trudge. Will you? ecod she's a brave,
good-natured, wench! she'll be worth a hun-
dred of your English wives-Whenever they
fight on their husband's account, it's with him
instead of for him, I fancy. But how the
plague am I to live here?
Wows. I feed you-bring you kid..
White man, never go away-
Tell me why need you?
Stay, with your Wowski, stay:
Wowsky will feed you.
Cold moons are now coming in:
Ah don't go grieve me!
I'll wrap you in leopard's skin:
White man, don't leave me.
And when all the sky is blue,
Sun makes warm weather,
I'll catch you a cockatoo,
Dress you in feather.
When cold comes, or when 'tis hot
Ah don't go grieve me!
Poor Wowski will be forgot-
DUET.
Wows. Wampum, Swampum, Yanko, Lan-
ko, Nanko, Pownatowski,
Black men-plenty-twenty-fight
for me.
White man, woo you true?
Trudge. Who?
Wows. You.
Trudge. Yes, pretty little Wowski!
Wows. Then, I leave all and follow thee.
Trudge. Oh then turn about, my little
tawny tight one!
Don't you like me?
Wows. Iss, you're like the snow!
If you slight one.-
Trudge. Never, not for any white one:
You are beautiful as any sloe.
Wows. Wars, jars, scars, can't expose ye,
In our grot-
Trudge. So snug and cosey!
Wows. Flowers neatly
Pick'd shall sweetly
Make your bed.
Trudge. Coying, toying,
Both.
With a rosy posey,
When I'm dosey,
Bear-skin night-caps, too, shall
warm my head.
Bear-skin night-caps, etc. etc.
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
White man, don't leave me!
Trudge. Zounds! leopard's skin for winter
wear, and feathers for a summer's suit! Ha,
ha! I shall look like a walking hammer-cloth,
at Christmas, and an upright shuttlecock, in
the dog-days. And for all this, if my master SCENE I.-The Quay at Barbadoes.
and I find our way to England, you shall be
Enter several PLANTERS.
part of our travelling equipage; and, when I
get there, I'll give you a couple of snug rooms,
1st Plant. I saw her this morning, gentle-
on a first floor, and visit you every evening men, you may depend on't. My telescope
as soon as I come from the counting house. never fails me. I pop'd upon her as I was
Do you like it?
taking a peep from my balcony. A brave
Wows. Iss.
tight ship, I tell you, bearing down directly
Trudge. Damme, what a flashy fellow I for Barbadoes here.
shall seem in the city! I'll get her a white
boy 1) to bring up the tea-kettle. Then I'll
teach you to write and dress hair.
2d Plant. Ods my life! rare news! We
have not had a vessel arrive in our harbour
these six weeks.
Wows. You great man in your country? 3d Plant. And the last brought only madam
Trudge. Oh yes, a very great man. I'm Narcissa, our Governor's daughter, from Eng-
head clerk of the counting-house, and first land; with a parcel of lazy, idle, white folks
valet-de-chambre of the dressing-room. Ipounce about her. Such cargoes will never do for
parchments, powder hair, black shoes, ink pa- our trade, neighbour.
per, shave beards, and mend pens. But, hold; 4th Plant. No, no: we want slaves. A ter-
I had forgot one material point-you arn't rible dearth of 'em in Barbadoes, lately! but
married, I hope?
your dingy passengers for my money. Give
Wows. No: you be my
chum-chum! me a vessel like a collier, where all the lading
Trudge. So I will. It's best, however, to tumbles out as black as my hat. But are you
be sure of her being single; for Indian hus-sure, now, you aren't mistaken?
bands are not quite so complaisant as English
[To 1st Planter.
ones, and the vulgar dogs might thing of looking 1st Plant. Mistaken! 'sbud, do you doubt
1) In the time when people easily made great fortunes, my glass? I can discover a gull by it six lea-
in a short time, in the Indies, it was customary for gues off: I could see every thing as plain as
these persons to bring over with them a black boy to if I was on board.
wait at table, and act as lady's footman, (probably 2d Plant. Indeed! and what were her co-
from the idea that they would make better servants,
as not having the same ideas of liberty as an English lours?
servant) so that Trudge's idea of having a white boy
for black Wowski makes a laughable contrast, not
only of the lady with that of the boy; but also the or
custom that was, with that he pretended to introduce.]
1st Plant. Um! why English-or Dutch-
French-I don't exactly remember.
3d Plant. What were the sailors aboard?
101

802
[Аст II
INKLE AND YARICO.
collect.
1st Plant. Eh! why they were English too| Patty. Not I, ma'am, not I. But, if our
-or Dutch-or French-I can't perfectly re-voyage from England was so pleasant, it
wasn't owing to Mr. Inkle, I'm certain. He
4th Plant. Your glass, neighbour, is a little didn't play the fiddle in our cabin, and dance
like a glass to much: it makes you forget on the deck, and come languishing with a
every thing you ought to remember.
glass of warm water in his hand, when we
[Cry without, A sail, a sail. were seasick. Ah, ma'am, that water warm'd
1st Plant. Egad, but I'm right tho'. Now, your heart, I'm confident. Mr. Inkle; no, no!
gentlemen!
Captain Cam-
All. Aye, aye; the devil take the hindmost.
[Exeunt, hastily.
Enter NARCISSA and PATTY.
Nar. Freshly now the breeze is blowing;
As yon ship at anchor rides,
Sullen waves, incessant flowing,
Rudely dash against the sides:
So my heart, its course impeded,
Beats in my perturbed breast;
Doubts, like waves by waves succeeded,
Rise, and still deny it rest.
Patty. Well, ma'am, as I was saying-
Nar. Well, say no more of what you were
saying-Sure, Patty, you forget where you
are: a little caution will be necessary now, I
think.
Patty. Lord, madam, how is it possible to
help talking? We are in Barbadoes, here, to
be sure-but then, ma'am, one may let out a
little in a private morning's walk by ourselves.
Nar. Nay, it's the same thing with you in-
doors.
[for a gown.
Patty. I never blab, ma'am, never, as I hope
Nar. And your never blabbing, as you call
it, depends chiefly on that hope, I believe.
The unlocking my chest, locks up all
your
faculties. An old silk gown makes you turn
your back on all my secrets; a large bonnet
blinds your eyes; and a fashionable high hand-
kerchief covers your ears, and stops your
mouth at once, Patty.
Nar. There is no end to this! Remember,
Patty, keep your secrecy, or you entirely lose
my favour.
Patty. Never fear me, ma'am. But if some-
body I know is not acquainted with the
governor, there's such a thing as dancing at
balls, and squeezing hands when you lead up,
and squeezing them again when you cast down,
and walking on the quay in a morning. Oh,
I won't utter a syllable. [Archly] But re-
member, I'm as close as a patch-box. Mum's
the word, ma'am, I promise you.
This maxim let ev'ry one hear,
Proclaim'd from the north to the south;
Whatever comes in at your ear,
Should never run out at your mouth.
We servants, like servants of state,
Should listen to all, and be dumb;
Let others harangue and debate,
We look wise-shake our heads,-and are
mum.
The judge in dull dignity drest,
In silence hears barristers preach;
And then, to prove silence is best,
He'll get up, and give them a speech.
By saying but little, the maid
Will keep her swain under her thumb;
And the lover that's true to his trade,
Is certain to kiss, and cry mum. [Exit.
Nar. How awkward is my present situation!
promised to one, who, perhaps, may never
Patty. Dear ma'am, how can you think a again be heard of; and who, I am sure, if
body so mercenary! am I always teasing you he ever appears to claim me, will do it mere-
about gowns and gew-gaws, and fal-lals and ly on the score of interest-pressed too by
finery? Or do you take me for a conjuror, another, who has already, I fear, too much
that nothing will come out of my mouth but interest in my heart-what can I do? What
ribbons? I have told the story of our voyage, plan can I follow?
indeed, to old Guzzle, the butler, who is very
inquisitive; and, between ourselves, is the ug-
liest old quiz I ever saw in my life.
Enter CAMPLEY.
Camp. Follow my advice, Narcissa, by all
Nar. Well, well, I have seen him; pitted means. Enlist with me, under the best ban-
with the small-pox, and a red face.
ners in the world. General Hymen for my
Putty. Right, ma'am. It's for all the world money! little Cupid's his drummer: he has
like his master's cellar, full of holes and li- been beating a round rub-a-dub on our hearts,
quor. But, when he asks me what you and and we have only to obey the word of com-
I think of the matter, why I look wise, and mand, fall into the ranks of matrimony, and
cry, like other wise people who have nothing march through life together.
to say-All's for the best.
Nar. And, thus, you lead him to imagine I
am but little inclined to the match.
Nar. Then consider our situation.
Camp. That has been duly considered. In
short, the case stands exactly thus-your in-
tended spouse is all for money: I am all for
Patty. Lord, ma'am, how could that be?
Why, I never said a word about Captain love: he is a rich rogue: I am rather a poor
Campley.
honest fellow. He would pocket your fortune;
I will take you without a fortune in your
Nar. Hush! hush, for heaven's sake.
Patty. Ay! there it is now.-There, ma'am, pocket.
I'm as mute as a mackarel-That name stri- Nar. Oh! I am sensible of the favour, most
kes me dumb in a moment. I don't know gallant Captain Campley; and my father, no
how it is, but Captain Campley some how doubt, will be very much obliged to you.
or other has the knack of stopping my mouth Camp. Aye, there's the devil of it! Sir
oftener than any body else, ma'am.
Nar. His name again!-Consider.- Never
mention it; I desire you.
Christopher Curry's confounded good charac-
ter-knocks me up at once. Yet I am not
acquainted with him, neither; not known to

SCENE 1.]
803
INKLE AND YARICO.
him, even by sight; being here only as a pri-
vate gentleman on a visit to my old relation,
out of regimentals, and so forth; and not in-
troduced to the Governor as other officers of
the place: but then the report of his hospita-
lity-his odd, blunt, whimsical, friendship-his
whole behaviour-
Nar. All stare you in the face, eh, Campley?
Camp. They do, till they put me out of
countenance: but then again, when I stare
you in the face, I can't think I have any rea-
son to be ashamed of my proceedings-I stick
here, between my love and my principle, like
a song between a toast and a sentiment.
Nar. And, if your love and your principle
were put in the scales, you doubt which would
weigh most?
Camp. Oh, no! I should act like a rogue,
Why turn shilly-shally lover,
Only to prolong my pain?
When we woo the dear enslaver,
Boldly ask, and she will grant;
How should we obtain a favour,
But by telling what we want?
Should the nymph be found complying,
Nearly then the battle's won;
Parents think 'tis vain denying,
When half the work is fairly done.
[Exeunt.
Enter TRUDGE and WoWSKI, as from the
ship; with a dirty RUNNER from one of
the inns.
Run. This way, sir; if you will let me re-
and let principle kick the beam: for love, Nar-commend-
cissa, is as heavy as lead, and, like a bullet
Trudge. Come along, Wows! Take care
from a pistol, could never go through the of your furs, and your feathers, my girl.
heart, if it wanted weight.
Nar. Or rather like the pistol itself, that
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. That's right.-Somebody might
often goes off without any harm done. Your steal 'em perhaps.
fire must end in smoke, I believe.
Camp. Never, whilst-
Wows. Steal!-What that?
Trudge. Oh, lord! see what one loses by
Nar. Nay, a truce to protestations at pre-not being born in a Christian country.
sent. What signifies talking to me, when Run. If you would, sir, but mention to
you have such opposition from others? Why your master, the house that belongs to my
hover about the city, instead of boldy attack-master; the best accommodations on the
ing the guard? Wheel about, captain! face
the enemy! march! charge! rout 'em-Drive
'em before you, and then--
Camp. And then-
Nar. Lud have mercy on the poor city!
Mars would oft, his conquest over,
To the Cyprian goddess yield;
Venus gloried in a lover,
Who, like him, could brave the field.
Mars would oft, etc.
In the cause of battles hearty,
Still the God would strive to prove,
He, who fac'd an adverse party,
Fittest was to meet his love.
Hear then, captains, ye who bluster,
Hear the God of war declare,
Cowards never can pass muster;
Courage only wins the fair.
quay.
Trudge. What's your sign, my lad?
Run. The Crown, sir-Here it is.
Trudge. Well, get us a room for half an
hour, and we'll come: and hark'ee! let it be
light and airy, d'ye hear? My master has been
used to your open apartments lately.
sir.
Run. Depend on it.-Much obliged to you,
[Exit.
Wows. Who be that fine man? He great
prince?
Trudge. A prince-Ha! ha!-No, not quite
a prince-but he belongs to the crown. But
how do you like this, Wows? Isn't it fine?
Wows. Wonder!
Trudge. Fine men, eh!
Wows. Iss! all white; like you.
Trudge. Yes, all the fine men are like me:
as different from your people as powder and
ink, or paper and blacking.
Wows. And fine lady-Face like snow.
Enter PATTY, hastily.
Trudge. What! the fine ladies' complexi-
Patty. Oh lud, ma'am, I'm frightened out ons? Oh, yes, exactly; for too much heat very
of my wits! sure as I'm alive, ma'am, Mr. Ink- often dissolves 'em! Then their dress, too.
le is not dead; I saw his man, ma'am, just Wows. Your countrymen dress so?
now, coming ashore in a boat with other pas- Trudge. Better, better, a great deal. Why,
sengers, from the vessel that's come to the a young flashy Englishman will sometimes
island.
[Exit. carry a whole fortune on his back. But did
Nar. [To Camp.] Look'ye, Mr. Campley, you mind the women? All here- and there;
something has happened which makes me waive [Pointing before and behind] they have it
ceremonies. If you mean to apply to my fa-all from us in England. And then the fine
ther, remember that delays are dangerous. things they carry on their heads, Wowski.
Camp. Indeed!
Wows. Iss. One lady carry good fish-so
you know.
[Smiling
Nar. I mayn't be always in the same mind, fine, she call every body to look at her.
Trudge. Pshaw! an old woman bawling
Camp. Nay, then-Gad, I'm almost afraid flounders. But the fine girls we meet, here,
too-but living in this state of doubt is tor- on the quay-so round, and so plump!
ment. I'll e'en put a good face on the mat-
ter; cock my hat; make my bow; and try to
reason the Governor into compliance. Faint
heart never won a fair lady.
Why should I vain fears dicover,
Prove a dying, sighing swain?
Wows. You not love me now.
Trudge. Not love you! Zounds, have not I
given you proofs?
Wows. Iss. Great many: but now you get
here, you forget poor Wowski!
Trudge. Not I: I'll stick to you like wax.

804
[ACT II.
INKLE AND YARICO.
Wows. Ah, I fear! What make you love
me now?
Trudge. Gratitude, to be sure.
Wows. What that?
Trudge. Not she-she never went to mar-
ket in all her life.
Plant. I mean, is she for our sale of sla-
ves? Our Black Fair?
Trudge. Ha! this it is, now, to live without
education. The poor dull devils of her coun-it
try are all in the practice of gratitude, without
finding out what it means; while we can tell
the meaning of it, with little or no practice
at all.-Lord, lord, what a fine advantage
Christian learning is! Hark'ee, Wows!
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. Now we've accomplished our land-
ing, I'll accomplish you. You remember the
instructions I gave you on the voyage?
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. Let's see now-What are you to
do, when I introduce you to the nobility,
gentry, and others-of my acquaintance?
I
Trudge. A black fair! ha, ha, ha! You hold
on a brown green, I suppose.
Plant. She's your slave, I take it?
Trudge. Yes; and I'm her humble servant,
take it.
Plant. Aye, aye, natural enough at sea.-
But at how much do you value her?
Trudge. Just as much as she has saved me
My own life.
Plant. Pshaw! you mean to sell her?
Trudge. [Staring] Zounds! what a devil
of a fellow! Sell Wows!-my poor, dear,
dingy wife!
Plant. Come, come, I've heard your story
from the ship.-Don't let's haggle; I'll bid as
Wows. Make believe sit down; then get up. fair as any trader amongst us: but no tricks
Trudge. Let me see you do it. [She makes upon travellers, young man, to raise your
a low curtesy] Very well! And how are you price. Your wife, indeed! Why she's no
-
-
to recommend yourself, when you have no-Christian?
thing to say, amongst all our great friends? Trudge. No; but I am; so I shall do as
Wows. Grin-shew my teeth.
I'd be done by, Master Black-market: and, if
Trudge. Right! they'll think you lived with you were a good one yourself, you'd know,
people of fashion. But suppose you meet an that fellow-feeling for a poor body, who wants
old shabby friend in misfortune, that you don't your help, is the noblest mark of our religion-
wish to be seen to speak to-what would you I wouldn't be articled clerk to such a fellow
Wows. Look blind-not see him. [do? for the world.
Trudge. Why would you do that?
Plant. Hey-dey! The booby's in love with
Wows. 'Cause I can't see good friend in her! Why, sure, friend, you would not live
distress.
here with a black?
Trudge. That's a good girl! and I wish Trudge. Plague on't; there it is. I shall
every body could boast of so kind a motive, be laughed out of my honesty, here. But you
for such cursed cruel behaviour.-Lord! how may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little
some of your flashy banker's clerks have cut queer, perhaps, at showing her face-but,
me in Threadneedle-street. But come, though dam'me, if ever I do any thing to make me
we have got among fine folks, here, in an ashamed of showing my own. [xion—
English settlement, I won't be ashamed of my Plant. Why, I tell you, her very 'comple-
old acquaintance: yet, for my own part, I Trudge. Rot her complexion.-I'll tell you
should not be sorry, now, to see my old friend what, Mr. Fair-trader; if your head and heart
with a new face.-Odsbobs! I see Mr. Inkle were to change places, I've a notion you'd
-Go in, Wows;-call for what you like best. be as black in the face as an ink-bottle.
Wows. Then, I call for you-ah! I fear I Plant. Pshaw! The fellow's a fool-a rude
not see you often now. But you come soon-rascal-he ought to be sent back to the sava-
Remember when we walk'd alone,
ges, again. He's not fit to live among us
Christians..
And heard, so gruff, the lion growl;
And when the moon so bright it shone,
We saw the wolf look up and howl;
I led you well, safe to our cell,
While, tremblingly
You said to me,
--And kiss'd so sweet-dear Wowski tell,
How could I live without ye?
But now you come across the sea,
And tell me here no monsters roar;
You'll walk alone and leave poor me,
When wolves to fright you howl no more.
But ah! think well on our old cell,
Where, tremblingly,
You kiss'd poor me-
Perhaps, you'll say-dear Wowski tell,
How can I live without ye?
[Exit.
Trudge. Eh! oh! my master's talking to
somebody on the quay. Who have we here!
Enter first PLANTER.
Plant. Hark'ee, young man! Is that young
Indian of your's going to our market?
Trudge. Oh, here he is at last.
[Exit.
Enter INKLE, and a second PLANTER.
Inkle. Nay, sir, I understand your customs
well: your Indian markets are not unknown
to me.
2 Plant. And, as you seem to understand
business, I need not tell you that despatch is
the soul of it. Her name you say is-
Inkle. Yarico: but urge this no more, I beg
you. I must not listen to it: for to speak
freely, her anxious care of me demands, that
here, though here it may seem strange-I
should avow my love for her.
Plant. Lord help you, for a merchant!-It's
the first time I ever heard a trader talk of
love; except, indeed, the love of trade, and
the love of the Sweet Molly, my ship.
Inkle. Then, sir, you cannot feel my situation.
Plant, Oh yes, I can! We have a hundred
such cases just after a voyage; but they never
last long on land. It's amazing how constant
a young man is in a ship! But, in two words,
will you dispose of her, or no?

SCENE 2.1
805
INKLE AND YARICO.
Inkle. In two words then, meet me bere still the burthen of his song was- - prudence!
at noon, and we'll speak further on this sub- Prudence, Thomas, and you'll rise.-Early he
ject; and lest you think I trifle with your taught me numbers; which he said, and he
business, hear why I wish this pause. Chance said rightly, would give me a quick view of
threw me, on my passage to your island, loss and profit; and banish from my mind
among a savage people. Deserted, - defence- those idle impulses of passion, which mark
less,-cut off from my companions, my life young thoughtless spendthrifts. His maxims
at stake to this young creature I owe my rooted in my heart, and as I grew-they grew;
preservation;-she found me, like a dying bough, till I was reckoned, among our friends, a
torn from its kindred branches; which, as it steady, sober, solid, good young man; and all
drooped, she moistened with her tears. the neighbours called me the prudent Mr.
Plant. Nay, nay, talk like a man of this Thomas. And shall I now, at once, kick down
world.
the character which I have raised so warily?
Inkle. Your patience.-And yet your inter--Part with her-The thought once struck
ruption goes to my present feelings; for on me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me;
our sail to this your island-the thoughts of but, in her slumbers, she past her arm around
time mispent-doubt-fears-for call it what me, murmured a blessing on my name, and
you will-have much perplex'd me; and as broke my meditations.
your spires arose, reflections still rose with
them; for here, sir, lie my interests, great
connections, and other weighty matters-which
now I need not mention -
Plant. But which her presence here will
mar.
Inkle. Even so-And yet the gratitude I
owe her!
Plant. Pshaw! So because she preserved
your life, your gratitude is to make you give
up all you have to live upon.
Inkle. Why in that light indeed-This never
struck me yet, I'll think on't.
Enter YARICO and TRUDGE.
Yar. My love!
Trudge. I have been showing her all the
wigs and bales of goods we met on the quay,
sir.
Yar. Oh! I have feasted my eyes on wonders.
Trudge. And I'll go feast on a slice of beef,
in the inn, here.
[Exit.
Yar. My mind has been so busy, that I
almost forgot even you. I wish you had staid
with me-You would have seen such sights!
Inkle. Those sights are grown familiar to
Plant. Aye, aye, do so-Why what return me, Yarico.
can the wench wish more than taking her Yar. And yet I wish they were not. - You
from a wild, idle, savage people, and provi- might partake my pleasures-but now again,
ding for her, here, with reputable hard work, methinks, I will not wish so-for, with too
in a genteel, polished, tender, Christian country? much gazing, you might neglect poor Yarico.
Inkle. Well, sir, at noon-
Inkle. Nay, nay, my care is still for you.
Plant. I'll meet you-but remember, young Yar. I'm sure it is: and if I thought it was
gentleman, you must get her off your hands not, I'd tell you tales about our poor old grot
-you must indeed.-I shall have her a bar--Bid you remember our palm-tree near the
gain,
I see that--your servant!-Zounds, how brook, where in the shade you often stretched
late it is-but never be put out of your way yourself, while I would take your head upon
for a woman-I must run-my wife will play my lap, and sing my love to sleep. I know
the devil with me for keeping breakfast. you'll love me then.
Inkle. Trudge.
Trudge. Sir!
[Exit.
Inkle. Have you provided a proper apart-
ment?
Trudge. Yes, sir, at the Crown here; a neat,
spruce room, they tell me. You have not
seen such a convenient lodging this good
while, I believe.
Inkle. Are there no better inns in the town?
Trudge. Um - Why there's the Lion, I
hear, and the Bear, and the Boar-but we saw
them at the door of all our late lodgings, and
found but bad accommodations within, sir.
Inkle. Well, run to the end of the quay,
and conduct Yarico hither. The road is
straight before you: you can't miss it.
Our grotto was the sweetest place!
The bending boughs, with fragrance blow-
ing,
Would check the brook's impetuous pace,
Which murmur'd to be stopt from flowing,
'Twas there we met, and gaz'd our fill.
Ah! think on this, and love me still.
'Twas then my bosom first knew fear,
-Fear, to an Indian maid a stranger-
The war-song, arrows, hatchet, spear,
All warn'd me of my lover's danger.
For him did cares my bosom fill;
Ah! think on this, and love me still.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY'S.
Trudge. Very well, sir. What a fine thing
Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER and MEDIUM.
it is to turn one's back on a master, without Sir C. I tell you, old Medium, you are all
running into a wolf's belly! One can follow wrong. Plague on your doubts! Inkle shall
one's nose on a message here, and be sure it have my Narcissa. Poor fellow! I dare say
won't be bit off by the way,
[Exit. he's finely chagrined at this temporary parting
Inkle. Let me reflect a little. Part with Eat up with the blue devils, I warrant.
her-Justified!--Pshaw, my interest, honour, Med. Eat up by the black devils, I warrant;
engagements to Narcissa, all demand it. My for I left him in hellish hungry company.
father's precepts, too-I can remember, when Sir C. Pshaw! he'll arrive with the next
I was a boy, what pains he took to mould vessel, depend on't-besides, have not I had
me!-Schooled me from morn to night-and this in view ever since they were children? I

806
[ACT II.
INKLE AND YARICO.
must and will have it so, I tell you. Is not | Miss Narcissa.-In the mean time, he has
it, as it were, a marriage made above? They ordered me to brush up this letter for your
shall meet, I'm positive.
honour, from your humble servant, to com-
Med. Shall they? Then they must meet mand,
TIMOTHY TRUDGE.
where the marriage was made; for, hang me, Sir C. Hey day! here's a stile! the voyage
if I think it will ever happen below.
has jumbled the fellow's brains out of their
Sir C. Ha!-and if that is the case-hang places; the water has made his head turn
me, if I think you'll ever be at the celebration round. But no matter; mine turns round,
too. I'll go and prepare Narcissa directly,
Med. Yet, let me tell you, Sir Christopher they shall be married, slap-dash, as soon as
Curry, my character is as unsullied as a sheet he comes from the quay. From Neptune to
of white paper.
Hymen; from the hammock to the bridal bed
Sir C. Well said, old fool's-cap! and it's as-Ha! old boy!
mere a blank as a sheet of white paper. You Med. Well, well; don't flurry yourself-
are honest, old Medium, by comparison, just you're so hot!
of it.
as a fellow sentenced to transportation is hap- Sir C. Hot! blood, arn't I in the West In-
pier than his companion condemned to the dies? Arn't I Governor of Barbadoes? He shall
gallows-Very worthy, because you are no have her as soon as he sets his foot on shore,
rogue; tender hearted, because you never go-She shall rise to him like Venus out of the
to fires and executions; and an affectionate sea. His hair puffed! He ought to have been
father and husband, because you never pinch puffing, here, out of breath, by this time.
your children, or kick your wife out of bed. Med. Very true; but Venus's husband is
Med. And that, as the world goes, is more always supposed to be lame, you know, Sir
than every man can say for himself. Yet, Christopher.
since you force me to speak my positive qua- Sir C. Well, now do, my good fellow, run
lities-but, no matter,-you remember me in down to the shore, and see what detains him.
London: didn't I, as member of the Humane
[Hurrying him off.
Society, bring a man out of the New River, Med. Well, well; I will, I will. [Exit.
who, it was afterwards found, had done me Sir C. In the mean time, I'll get ready Nar-
an injury?
cissa, and all shall be concluded in a second.
Sir C. And, dam'me, if I would not kick My heart's set upon it. - Poor fellow! after
any man into the New River that had done all his rambles, and jumbles, and jumbles, and
me an injury. There's the difference of our fits of despair-I shall be rejoiced to see him.
honesty. Oons! if you want to be an honest I have not seen him since he was that high.
fellow, act from the impulse of nature. Why, -But, zounds! he's so tardy!
you have no more gall than a pigeon.
Med. Ha! You're always so hasty; among
the hodge-podge of your foibles, passion is
always predominant.
Sir C. So much the better.-Foibles, quotha?
foibles are foils that give additional lustre to
the gems of virtue. You have not so many
foils as I, perhaps.
Med. And, what's more, I don't want 'em,
sir Christopher, I thank you.
Sir C. Very true; for the devil a gem have
you to set off with 'em.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. A strange gentleman, sir, come from
the quay, desires to see you.
Sir C. From the quay? Od's my life!-Tie
he-'Tis Inkle! Show him up, directly. [Exit
Servant] The rogue is expeditious after all.-
I'm so happy.
Enter CAMPLEY.
My dear fellow! [Embracing him] I'm re-
joiced to see you. Welcome; welcome here,
Med. Well, well; I never mention errors; with all my soul!
that, I flatter myself, is no disagreeable qua- Camp. This reception, Sir Christopher, is
lity. It don't become me to say you are hot. beyond my warmest wishes. - Unknown to
Sir C. 'Sblood! but it does become you: it you-
becomes every man, especially an Englishman,
to speak the dictates of his heart.
Enter a Servant.
Sero. An English vessel, sir, just arrived in
the harbour.
Sir C. A vessel! Od's my life! - Now for
the news-If it is but as I hope-Any dis-
patches?
Serv. This letter, sir, brought by a sailor
from the quay.
[Exit.
Sir C. Aye, aye; we shall be better ac-
quainted by and by. Well, and how, eh!
Tell me!-But old Medium and I have talked
over your affair a hundred times a day, ever
since Narcissa arrived.
Camp. You surprise me! Are you then
really acquainted with the whole affair?
Sir C. Every tittle.
Camp. And, can you, sir, pardon what is
past?-
Sir C. Pooh! how could you help it?
Camp. Very true-sailing in the same ship
Med. Well, read, Christopher.
Sir C. [Opening the Letter Huzza! here-and-
it is. He's safe-safe and sound at Barbadoes. Sir C. Aye, aye; but we have had a hun-
[Reading] Sir, My master, Mr. Inkle, is dred conjectures about you. Your despair and
just arrived in your harbour. Here, read, distress, and all that.-Your's must have been
read! old Medium-
a damned situation, to say the truth.
Med. [Reading] Um-Your harbour-we Camp. Cruel indeed, Sir Christopher! and
were taken up by an English vessel on the I flatter myself will move your compassion.
14th ult. He only waits till I have puffed I have been almost inclined to despair, indeed,
his hair, to pay his respects to you, and as you say, but when you consider the past

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
807
INKLE AND YARICO.
state of my mind-the black prospect before
me.
Sir C. Ha! ha! Black enough, I dare say.
Camp. The difficulty I have felt in bringing
myself face to face to you.
Sir C. That I am convinced of but I knew
you would come the first opportunity.
Camp. Very true; yet the distance between
the Governor of Barbadoes and myself.
[Bowing.
Sir C. Yes-a devilish way asunder.
Camp. Granted, sir: which has distressed
me with the cruelest doubts as to our meet-
ing.
Sir C. It was a toss up¹).
-
Camp. The old gentleman seems devilish
kind. Now to soften him. [Aside] Perhaps,
sir, in your younger days, you may have been
in the same situation yourself.
Sir C. Who? I! 'sblood! no, never in my
life.
Camp. I wish you had, with all my soul,
Sir Christopher.
Sir C. Upon my soul, sir, I am very much
obliged to you.
[Bowing.
Camp. As what I now mention might have
greater weight with you.
Sir C. Pooh! pr'ythee! I tell you I pitied
you from the bottom of my heart.
Camp. Indeed!-If, with your leave, I may
still venture to mention Miss Narcissa-
Sir C. An impatient, sensible young dog!
like me to a hair! Set your heart at rest, my
boy. She's your's; your's before to-morrow
morning.
Camp. Amazement! I can scarce believe
my senses.
Sir C. Zounds! you ought to be out of your
senses: but dispatch-make short work of it,
ever while you live, my boy.
Enter NARCISSA and PATTY.
All.
Nar
All.
Patty.
All.
Your Damons of the grove,
Who like Fallals, and Pastorals
Waste years in love!
But modern folks know better jokes,
And, courting once begun,
To church they hop at once-and
pop-
Egad, all's done!
In life we prance a country dance,
Where every couple stands;
Their partners set-a while curvet-
But soon join hands.
When at our feet, so trim and neat,
The powder'd lover sues,
He vows he dies, the lady sighs,
But can't refuse.
Ah! how can she unmov'd e're see
Her swain his death incur?
If once the Squire is seen expire,
He lives with her.
In life, etc. etc.
When John and Bet are fairly met,
John boldly tries his luck;
He steals a buss, without more fuss,
The bargain's struck.
Whilst things below are going so,
Is Betty pray to blame?
Who knows up stairs, her mistress
fares
Just, just the same.
In life we prance, etc. etc.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The Quay.
Enter PATTY.
[Exeunt.
Patty. Mercy on us! what a walk I have
had of it! Well, matters go on swimmingly
at the governor's-The old gentleman has or-
der'd the carriage, and the young couple will
Here, girl: here's your swain. [To Narcissa. be whisk'd, here, to church, in a quarter of
Camp. I just parted with my Narcissa, on an hour. My business is to prevent young
the quay.
sobersides, young Inkle, from appearing, to
Sir C. Did you! Ah, sly dog-had a meet-interrupt the ceremony.-Ha! here's the Crown,
ing before you came to the old gentleman.where I hear he is hous'd. So now to find
But here-Take him, and make much of him Trudge, and trump up a story, in the true
-and, for fear of further separations, you stile of a chambermaid. [Goes into the House.
shall e'en be tack'd together directly. What Pally, within] I tell you it don't signify, and
say you, girl?
I will come up. [Trudge, within] But it does
signify, and you can't come up.
Camp. Will my Narcissa consent to my
happiness?
Nar. I always obey my father's commands,
with pleasure, sir.
Sir C. Od! I'm so happy, I hardly know
which way to turn; but we'll have the car-
riage directly; drive down to the quay; trundle
old Spintext into church; aud hey for matri-
mony!
Camp. With all my heart, sir Christopher;
the sooner the better.
SIR CHRISTOPHER, CAMPLEY, NARCISSA, PATTY.
Sir Chr. Your Colinettes, and Arriettes,
1) A chance. The custom is for one person to top a
piece of money into the air, and the other to say
what side he thinks will be uppermost when it is fallen
on the ground; and if he guesses right, he has gain-
ed; thus it entirely depends on chance, although the
London boys think, in their tossing (gaffing) with the
pye-men, that a particular twist of the hand gives a
particular sort of luck.
Re-enter PATTY, with TRUDGE.
Patty. You had better say at once, I shan't.
Trudge. Well then, you shan't.
Patty. Savage! Pretty behaviour you have
pick'd up among the Hottypots! Your London
civility, like London itself, will soon be lost
in smoke, Mr. Trudge; and the politeness you
have studied so long in Thread-needle-street,
blotted out by the blacks you have been liv-
ing with.
Trudge. No such thing; I practis'd my po-
liteness all the while I was in the woods. Our
very lodging taught me good manners; for I
could never bring myself to go into it with-
out bowing.
Patty. Don't tell me! A mighty civil recep-
tion you give a body, truly, after a six weeks
parting
Trudge. Gad, you're right; I am a little

808
[ACT III.
INKLF AND YARICO.
out here, to be sure. [Kisses her] Well,
how do you do?
Patty. Pshaw, fellow! I want none of your
kisses.
Trudge. Oh! very well- I'll take it again.
[Offers to kiss her.
Patty. Be quiet: I want to see Mr. Inkle;
I have a message to him from Miss Narcissa.
I shall get a sight of him, now, I believe.
Trudge. May be not. He's a little busy
present.
Patty. Busy-ha! Plodding! What he's
his multiplication again?
Patty, Well?
Trudge. Can you keep a secret?
Patty. Try me!
Trudge. Then [Whispering] my master
keeps a girl.
Patty. Oh monstrous! another woman?
Trudge. As sure as one and one makes
two.
Patty. [Aside] Rare news for my mistress!
at-Why I can hardly believe it; the grave,
sly, steady, sober Mr. Inkle, do such a thing!
Trudge. Pooh! it's always your sly, sober
fellows, that go the most after the girls.
at
Trudge. Very likely; so it would be a pity
to interrupt him, you know.
Patty. Well; I should sooner suspect you.
Trudge. Me? Oh Lord! he! he! Do you
Patty. Certainly; and the whole of my bu- think any smart, tight, little, black-eyed wench,
siness was to prevent his hurrying himself-would be struck with my figure? [Conceitedly.
Tell him, we shan't be ready to receive him,
at the governor's, till to-morrow, d'ye hear?
Trudge. No?
Patty. No. Things are not prepared. The
place isn't in order; and the servants have not
had proper notice of the arrival.
Trudge. Oh! let me alone to give the ser-
vants notice-rat-tat-tat-It's all the notice we
had in Threadneedle-street of the arrival of
a visitor¹).
Patty. Threadneedle-street! Threadneedle
nonsense! I'd have you to know we do every
thing here with an air. Matters have taken
another turn-Stile! Stile, sir, is required here,
I promise you.
Trudge. Turn-Stile!2) And pray what stile
will serve your turn now, Madam Patty?
Patty. Pshaw! never mind your figure.
Tell me how it happen'd?
Trudge. You shall hear: when the ship left
us ashore, my master turn'd as pale as a sheet
of paper. It isn't every body that's blest with
courage, Patty.
Patty. True!
Trudge. However, I bid him chear up; told
him, to stick to my elbow: took the lead, and
began our march.
Patty. Well?
a
Trudge. We hadn't gone far, when
damn'd one-eyed black boar, that grinn'd like
a devil, came down the hill in a jog trot! My
master melted as fast as a pot of pomatum!
Paity. Mercy on us!
Trudge. But what does I do, but whips
Patty. A due dignity and decorum, to be out my desk knife, that I us'd to cut the quills
sure. Sir Christopher intends Mr. Inkle, you with at home; met the monster, and slit up
know, for his son-in-law, and must receive his throat like a pen-The boar bled like a
him in public form, (which can't be till to- pig.
morrow morning) for the honour of his go- Patty. Lord! Trudge, what a great traveller
vernorship: why the whole island will ring you are!
of it.
Trudge. The devil it will!
Patty. Yes; they've talk'd of nothing but my
mistress's beauty and fortune for these six
weeks. Then he'll be introduced to the bride,
you know.
Trudge. O, my poor master!
Trudge. Yes; I remember we fed on the
flitch for a week.
Patty. Well, well; but the lady.
Trudge. The lady? Oh, true. By and by
we came to a cave-a large hollow room,
under-ground, like a warehouse in the Adel-
phi-Well; there we were half an hour, be-
Patty. Then a public breakfast; then a pro- fore I could get him to go in; there's no ac-
cession; then, if nothing happens to prevent counting for fear, you know. At last, in we
it, he'll get into church and be married in a
crack.
Trudge. Then he'll get into a damn'd scrape,
in a crack. Ah! poor madam Yarico! My
poor pilgarlic of a master, what will become
of him!
[Half aside.
Patty. Why, what's the matter with the
booby?
Trudge. Nothing, nothing-he'll be hang'd
for poli-bigamy.
Patty Polly who?
Trudge. It must out-Patty!
1) The clerks in London with their small, long, black
port-folio under their arm, come to the door with a
double rap, presenting their bill, saying, "Bill for
payment," if the party who is to pay the bill is not
present, or perhaps unprepared, the clerk is desired to
"leave a direction," (the address of the bearer of the
bill) and the bill must be taken up (paid) before 5 o'
clock. If the party is present; the question is "how
much?" a check is given and the clerk retires; but
so singularly laconic are they, that seldom one word
more escapes them.
2) Turnstile is the name of an alley in Holborn-This
is a miserable pun.
went to a place hung round with skins, as it
might be a furrier's shop, and there was a
fine lady, snoring on a bow and arrows.
Patty. What, all alone?
Trudge. Eh!-No-no-Hum-She had a
young lion by way of a lap-dog.
Patty. Gemini'; what did you do?
Trudge. Gave her a jog, and she open'd
her eyes-she struck my master immediately.
Patty. Mercy on us! with what?
Trudge. With her beauty, you ninny, to
be sure: and they soon brought matters to
bear. The wolves witness'd the contract-I
gave her away-The crows croak'd amen;
and we had board and lodging for nothing.
Patty. And this is she he has brought to
Trudge. The same.
[Barbadoes?
Patty. Well; and tell me, Trudge; - she's
pretty, you say-Is she fair or brown? or-
Trudge. Um! she's a good comely copper.
Patty. How! a tawney?
Trudge. Yes, quite dark; but very elegant;
like a Wedgwood tea-pot,

SCENE 2.1
809
INKLE AND YARICO.
Patty. Oh! the monster! the filthy fellow! given her distant hints of parting; but still,
Live with a black-a-moor!
so strong her confidence in my affection, she
Trudge. Why, there's no great harm in't, prattles on without regarding me. Poor Ya-
I hope?
rico! I must not-cannot quit her. When I
Patty. Faugh! I wou'dn't let him kiss me would speak, her look, her mere simplicity
for the world: he'd make my face all smutty. disarms me: I dare not wound such inno-
Trudge. Zounds! you are mighty nice all cence. Simplicity is like a smiling babe;
of a sudden; but I'd have you to know, ma- which, to the ruffian, that would murder it,
dam Patty, that blackamoor ladies, as you call stretching its little, naked, helpless arms, pleads,
'em, are some of the very few, whose com- speechless, its own cause. And yet Narcissa's
plexions never rub off! S'bud, if they did, family-
Wows and I shou'd have changed faces by
this time-But mum; not a word for your life.
Enter TRUDge.
Patty. Not I except to the Governor and Trudge. There he is, like a beau bespeak-
family. [Aside] But I must run-and, remem- ing a coat-doubting which colour to chuse
ber, Trudge, if your master has made a mis-sir-
take here, he has himself to thank for his Inkle. What now?
Inkle. Angry!
Trudge. I'm sorry for it: but I am come
give you joy, sir!
Inkle. Joy!-of what?
Trudge. A wife, sir; a white one. I know
make you happy, to-morrow morning.
Inkle. To-morrow!
pains.
[Exit. Trudge. Nothing unexpected, sir:-I hope
Trudge. Pshaw! these girls are so plaguy you won't be angry.
proud of their white and red! but I won't be
shamed out of Wows, that's flat. Master, to
be sure, while we were in the forest, taught to
Yarico to read, with his pencil and pocket-
book. What then? Wows comes on fine
and fast in her lessons. A little awkward at it will vex you, but Miss Narcissa means to
first to be sure.-Ha! ha!-She's so used to
feed with her hands, that I can't get her to
eat her victuals, in a genteel, Christian way, Trudge. Yes, sir; and as I have been out
for the soul of me; when she has stuck a of employ, in both my capacities, lately, after
morsel on her fork, she don't know how to 1 have dressed yonr hair, I
guide it; but pops up her knuckles to her marriage articles.
mouth, and the meat goes up to her ear. But,
no matter-After all the fine, flashy London
girls, Wowski's the wench for my money.
A Clerk I was in London gay.
Jemmy linkum feedle,
And went in boots to see the play,
Merry fiddlem tweedle.
I march'd the lobby, twirl'd my stick,
Diddle, daddle, deedle;
The girls all cry'd, "He's quite the kick."
Oh, jemmy linkum feedle.
Hey! for America I sail,
Yankee doodle deedle;
The sailor boys cry'd, "smoke his tail!"
Jemmy linkum feedle.
On English belles I turn'd my back,
Diddle daddle deedle;
And got a foreign Fair, quite Black,
got
O twaddle, twaddle, tweedle!
Your London girls, with roguish trip
Wheedle, wheedle, wheedle,
May boast their pouting under-lip,
Fiddle, faddle, feedle.
My Wows wou'd beat a hundred such,
Diddle, daddle, deddle,
Whose upper-lip pouts twice as much,
O, pretty double wheedle!
Rings I'll buy to deck her toes;
Jemmy linkum feedle;
A feather fine shail grace her nose:
Waving siddle seedle.
With jealousy I ne'er shall burst;
Who'd steal my bone of bone-a?
A white Othello, I can trust
A dingy Desdemona.
-
[Exit.
SCENE II. A Room in the Crown.
Enter INKLE.
Inkle. I know not what to think I have
may draw up the
Inkle. Whence comes your intelligence,
sir?
Trudge. Patty told me all that has passed
in the Governor's family, on the quay, sir.
Women, you know, can never keep a secret.
You'll be introduced in form, with the whole
island to witness it.
Inkle. So public too?-Unlucky!
Trudge. There will be nothing but rejoi-
cings, in compliment to the wedding, she tells
me; all noise and uproar! Married people
like it, they say.
Inkle. Strange! That I should be so blind
to my interest, as to be the only person this
distresses!
Trudge. They are talking of nothing else
but the match, it seems.
Inkle. Confusion! How can I, in honour,
retract?
Trudge. And the bride's merits-
Inkle. True!-A fund of merits!-I would
not-but from necessity- a case so nice as
this-I-would not wish to retract.
Trudge. Then they call her so handsome.
Inkle. Very true! so handsome! the whole
world would laugh at me: they'd call it folly
to retract.
Trudge. And then they say so much of
her fortune.
Inkle. O death! it would be madness to
retract. Surely, my faculties have slept, and
this long parting, from my Narcissa, has blunt-
ed my sense of her accomplishments. 'Tis
this alone makes me so weak and wavering.
I'll see her immediately.
[Going.
Trudge. Stay, stay, sir; I am desired to
tell you, the Governor won't open his gates
to us till to-morrow morning, and is now
making preparations to receive you at break-
fast, with all the honours of matrimony.
Inkle. Well, be it so; it will give me
102

810
[ACT III.
INKLE AND YARICO.
time, at all events, to put my affairs in train.
Trudge. Yes; it's a short respite before exe-
cution; and if your honour was to go and
comfort poor madam Yarico-
Inkle. Is he so hasty?
Med. Hasty! he's all pepper-and wonders
you are not with him, before it's possible to
get at him. Hasty indeed! Why, he vows
you shall have his daughter this very night.
Med. Why, it's hardly fair just after a vo-
Inkle. Damnation! Scoundrel, how dare
you offer your advice?-I dread to think of Inkle. What a situation!
her!
Trudge. I've done, sir, I've done-But Iyage. But come, bustle, bustle, he'll think
know I should blubber over Wows all night,
if I thought of parting with her in the morning.
Inkle. Insolence! begone, sir!
Trudge. Lord, sir, I only-
you neglect him. He's rare and touchy, I
can tell you; and if he once takes it in his
head that you show the least slight to his
daughter, it would knock up all your schemes
in a minute.
Inkle. Confusion! if he should hear of Ya-
rico!
Inkle. Get down stairs, sir, directly.
Trudge. [Going out] Ah! you may well
put your hand to your head; and a bad head
[Aside.
it must be, to forget that Madam Yarico pre- Med. But at present you are all and all
vented her countrymen from peeling off the with him; he has been telling me his inten-
upper part of it. [Aside]
[Exit. tions these six weeks: you'll be a fine warm
Inkle. 'Sdeath, what am I about? How husband, I promise you.
have I slumbered? Is it I?-I-who, in Inkle. This cursed connexion! [Aside.
London, laughed at the younkers of the town Med. It is not for me, though, to tell you
-and when I saw their chariots, with some how to play your cards; you are a prudent
fine, tempting girl, perked in the corner, come young man, and can make calculations in a
shopping to the city, would cry-Ah!-there wood.
sits ruin-there flies the Greenhorn's money! Inkle. Fool! fool! fool!
[Aside.
then wondered with myself how men could Med. Why, what the devil is the matter
trifle time on women; or, indeed, think of with you?
any women without fortunes. And now, for- Inkle. It must be done effectually, or all
sooth, it rests with me to turn romantic puppy, is lost; mere parting would not conceal it.
and give up all for love.-Give up!-Oh,
monstrous folly:-thirty thousand pounds!
Trudge. [Peeping in at the door]
[Aside.
Med. Ah! now he's got to his damned
square root again, I suppose, and old Nick
would not move him--why, nephew!
Trudge. May I come in, sir?
Inkle. What does the booby want?
Inkle. The planter that I spoke with can-
Trudge. Sir, your uncle wants to see you. not be arrived-but time is precious-the first
Inkle. Mr. Medium! show him up directly. I meet-common prudence now, demands it.
[Exit Trudge. I'm fixed; I'll part with her. [Aside] [Exit.
He must not know of this. To-morrow!-I
Med. Damn me, but he's mad! the woods
wish this marriage were more distant, that I have turned the poor boy's brains: he's scalped,
might break it to her by degrees: she'd take aud gone crazy! hoho! Inkle! nephew! gad,
my purpose better, were it less suddenly de- I'll spoil your arithmetic, I warrant me.
livered.
Enter MEDIUM.
Med. Ah, here he is! Give me your hand,
nephew! welcome, welcome to Barbadoes,
with all my heart!
SCENE III. The Quay.
[Exit.
Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY.
Sir Chr. Ods my life! I can scarce con-
tain my happiness. I have left them safe in
Inkle. I am glad to meet you here, uncle! church in the middle of the ceremony. I
Med. That you are, that you are, I'm sure. ought to have given Narcissa away, they told
Lord! lord! when we parted last, how I me; but I capered about so much for joy,
wished we were in a room together, if it was that old Spintext advised me to go and cool
but the black hole! I have not been able to my heels on the quay. till it was all over.
sleep o'nights, for thinking of you. I've laid Od, I'm so happy; and they shall see, now,
awake, and fancied I saw you sleeping your what an old fellow can do at a wedding.
last, with your head in the lion's mouth, for
a night-cap; and I've never seen a bear brought
over, to dance about the street, but I thought
you might be bobbing up and down in its
belly,
Inkle. I am very much obliged to you.
Med. Ay, ay, I am happy enough to find
you safe and sound, I promise you. But you
have a fine prospect before you now, young
man. I am come to take you with me to
Sir Christopher, who is impatient to see you.
Inkle. To-morrow, I hear, he expects me.
Enter INKLE.
Inkle. Now for dispatch! hark'ee, old gen-
tleman!
[To the Governor.
Sir Chr. Well, young gentleman?
Inkle. If I mistake not, I know your bu-
siness here.
Sir Chr. 'Egad I believe half the island
knows it, by this time.
Inkle. Then to the point-I have a female,
whom I wish to part with.
Sir Chr. Very likely; it's a common case
Med. To-morrow! directly-this-moment now adays, with many a man.
-in half a second.-I left him standing on Inkle. If you could satisfy me you would
tip-toe, as he calls it, to embrace you; and use her mildly, and treat her with more
he's standing on tip-toe now in the great kindness than is usual-for I can tell you
parlour, and there he'll stand till you come she's of no common stamp-perhaps we might
to him.
agree.

SCENE 3.1
811
INKLE AND YARICO.
Sir Chr. Oao! a slave! faith now I think planation-let's proceed to business-bring me
on't, my daughter may want an attendant or the woman.
two extraordinary; and as you say she's a Inkle. No; there you must excuse me. I
delicate girl, above the common run, and rather would avoid seeing her more; and
none of your thick lipped, fat nosed, squabby, wish it to be settled without my seeming in-
dumpling dowdies. I don't much care if- terference. My presence might distress her--
Inkle. And for her treatment-
You conceive me?
Sir Chr. Look ye, young man; I love to Sir Chr. Zounds! what an unfeeling rascal!
be plain: I shall treat her a good deal better-the poor girl's in love with him, I suppose.
than you would, I fancy; for, though I wit- No, no, fair and open. My dealing's with
ness this custom every day, I can't help think-you, and you only; I see her now, or I de-
ing the only excuse for buying our fellow clare off.
creatures, is to rescue 'em from the hands of Inkle. Well then, you must be satisfied:
those who are unfeeling enough to bring them yonder's my servant-ha-a thought has struck
me. Come here, sir.
to market.
Inkle. Fair words, old gentleman; an En-
glishman won't put up an affront.
Enter TRUDGE.
I'll write my purpose, and send it her by him.
Sir Chr. An Englishman! more shame for It is lucky that I taught her to decypher cha-
you! men, who so fully feel the blessings of racters: my labour now is paid. [Takes out
liberty, are doubly cruel in depriving the his pocket-book and writes]-This is some-
helpless of their freedom.
what less abrupt; 'twill soften matters. [To
Inkle. Let me assure you, sir, 'tis not my himself]- Give this to Yarico; then bring
occupation; but for a private reason-an in- her hither with you.
stant pressing necessity-
Trudge. I shall, sir.
[Going
Sir Chr. Well, well, I have a pressing ne- Inkle. Stay; come back. This soft fool, if
cessity too; I can't stand to talk now; I ex-uninstructed, may add to her distress: his
pect company here presently; but if you'll drivelling sympathy may feed her grief, in-
ask for me to-morrow, at the castle-
Inkle. The castle!
Sir Chr. Aye, sir, the castle; the Gover-
nor's castle; known all over Barbadoes.
stead of soothing it. When she has read this
paper, seem to make light of it; tell her it is
a thing of course, done purely for her good.
I here inform her that I must part with her.
D'ye understand your lesson?
Inkle. 'Sdeath, this man must be on the
Governor's establishment: his steward, per- Trudge. Pa-part with ma-damn Ya-ric-o!
haps, and sent after me, while Sir Christo- Inkle. Why does the blockhead stammer!
pher is impatiently waiting for me. I've gone I have my reasons. No muttering-and let
too far; my secret may be known-As 'tis me tell you, sir, if your rare bargain were
I'll win this fellow to my interest. [To him] gone too, 'twould be the better: she may
One word more, sir: my business must be babble our story of the forest, and spoil my
done immediately; and as you seem acquaint- fortune.
ed at the castle, if you should see me there
and there I mean to sleep to-night-
Sir Chr. The devil you do!
Inkle. Your finger on your lips; and never
breathe a syllable of this transaction.
Sir Chr. No! why not?
Inkle. Because, for reasons, which perhaps
you'll know to-morrow, I might be injured
with the Governor, whose most particular
friend I am.
Sir Chr. So here's a particular friend of
mine, coming to sleep at my house, that I
never saw in my life. I'll sound this fellow.
[Aside] I fancy, young gentleman, as you
are such a bosom friend of the Governor's,
you can hardly do any thing to alter your
situation with him.
Inkle, Oh! pardon me; but you'll find that
here-after-besides, you, doubtless, know his
character?
Sir Chr. Oh, as well as my own. But let's
understand one another. You must trust me,
now you've gone so far. You are acquainted
with his character, no doubt, to a hair?
Trudge. I'm sorry for it, sir: I have lived
with you a long while; I've half a year's
wages too due the 25th ultimo, due for dress-
ing your hair and scribbling your parchments:
but, take my scribbling, take my frizzing, take
my wages; and I and Wows will take our-
selves off together. She saved my life, and
rot me if any thing but death shall part us.
Inkle. Impertinent! Go, and deliver your
message.
Trudge. I'm gone, sir. Lord! lord! I ne-
ver carried a letter with such ill will in all
my born days.
[Exit.
Sir Chr. Well-shall I see the girl?
Inkle. She'll be here presently. One thing
had forgot: when she is yours, I need not
caution you, after the hints I've given, to keep
her from the castle. If Sir Christopher should
see her, 'twould lead, you know, to a disco-
very of what I wish concealed.
I
Sir Chr. Depend upon me-Sir Christopher
will know no more of our meeting, than he
does at this moment.
Inkle. Your secrecy shall not be unrewarded:
Inkle. I am-I see we shall understand I'll recommend you, particularly, to his good
each other. You know him too, I see, as graces.
well as I.-A very touchy, testy, hot, old Sir Chr. Thank ye, thank ye; but I'm
fellow.
pretty much in his good graces, as it is: I
Sir Chr. Here's a scoundrel! I hot and don't know any body he has a greater res-
touchy! zounds! I can hardly contain my pect for.
passion!-but I won't discover myself. I'll
Re-enter TRUDGE.
see the bottom of this-[To him] Well now, Inkle. Now, sir, have you performed your
as we seem to have come to a tolerable ex-message?

812
[ACT III.
INKLE AND YARICO.
Trudge. Yes: I gave her the letter,
Inkle. And where is Yarico? Did she say
she'd come? Didn't you do as you were or-
dered? Didn't you speak to her?
Trudge. I could'nt, sir, I could'nt: 1 in-
tended to say what you bid me-but I felt
such a pain in my throat, I couldn't speak a
word, for the soul of me; so, sir, I fell a
crying.
Inkle. Blockhead!
said the wench?
therefore 'tis necessary for my good-and
which I think you value-
Yar. You know I do; so much, that it
would break my heart to leave you,
Inkle. But we must part: if you are seen
with me, I shall lose all.
Yar. I gave up all for you-my friends-
my country: all that was dear to me: and
still grown dearer since you sheltered there.
-All, all was left for you-and were it now
Sir Chr. 'Sblood! but he's a very honest to do again-again I'd cross the seas, and
blockhead. Tell me, my good fellow, what follow you, all the world over.
Inkle. We idle time; sir, she is your's.
Trudge. Nothing at all, sir. She sat down See you obey this gentleman; 'twill be the
with her two hands clasped on her knees, and better for you.
[Going.
looked so pitifully in my face, I could not Yar. O, barbarous! [Holding him] Do
stand it. Oh, here she comes. I'll go and not, do not abandon me!
find Wows: if I must be melancholy, she
shall keep me company.
as ever I saw.
Inkle. No more.
[Exit. Yar. Stay but a little: I shan't live long to
Sir Chr. Ods my life, as comely a wench be a burden to you: your cruelty has cut
me to the heart. Protect me but a little-or
I'll obey this man, and undergo all hardships
Enter YARICO, who looks for some time in for your good; stay but to witness 'em.-I
INLLE'S face, bursts into tears, and falls
on his neck.
soon shall sink with grief; tarry till then;
and hear me bless your name when I am
dying; aud beg you, now and then, when I
am gone, to heave a sigh for your poor
Yarico.
Inkle. I dare not listen. You, sir, I hope,
will take good care of her.
Inkle. In tears! nay, Yarico! why this?
Yar. Oh do not-do not leave me!
Inkle. Why, simple girl! I'm labouring for
your good. My interest, here, is nothing: I
[Going.
can do nothing from myself, you are igno-
Sir Chr. Care of her!-that I will-I'll
rant of our country's customs. I must give cherish her like my own daughter; and pour
way to men more powerful, who will not balm into the heart of a poor, innocent girl,
have me with you. But see, my Yarico, ever that has been wounded by the artifices of a
anxions for your welfare, I've found a kind, scoundrel.
Inkle. Ha! 'Sdeath, sir, how dare you!-
Sir Chr. 'Sdeath, sir, how dare you look an
honest man in the face?
Inkle. Sir, you shall feel-
good person, who will protect you.
Yar. Ah! why not you protect me?
Inkle. I have no means-how can I?
Yar. Just as I sheltered you. Take me to
yonder mountain, where I see no smoke from Sir Chr. Feel!-It's more than ever you did,
tall, high houses, filled with your cruel coun-I believe. Mean, sordid, wretch! dead to all
trymen. None of your princes, there, will sense of honour, gratitude, or humanity-I
come to take me from you. And should they never heard of such barbarity! I have a son-
stray that way, we'll find a lurking place, in-law, who has heen left in the same situa-
just like my own poor cave, where many a tion; but, if I thought him capable of such
day I sat beside you, and blessed the chance cruelty, dam'me if I would not turn him to
that brought you to it-that I might save sea, with a peck loaf, in a cockle shell.-
your life.
Come, come, cheer up, my girl! You shan't
want a friend to protect you, I warrant you.
[Taking Yarico by the Hand.
Inkle. Insolence! The governor shall hear
of this insult,
Sir Chr. His life! Zounds! my blood boils
at the scoundrel's ingratitude!
Yar. Come, come, let's go. I always feared
these cities. Let's fly and seek the woods;
and there we'll wander hand in hand together. Sir Chr. The governor! liar! cheat! rogue!
No cares shall vex us then-We'll let the day impostor! breaking all ties you ought to keep,
glide by in idleness; and you shall sit in the and pretending to those you have no right
shade, and watch the sun beam playing on to. The governor never had such a fellow in
the brook, while I sing the song that pleases the whole catalogue of his acquaintance-the
you. No cares, love, but for food-and we'll governor disowns you-the governor disclaims
live cheerily, I warrant-In the fresh, early you-the governor abhors you; and to your
morning, you shall hunt down our game, utter confusion, here stands the governor to
and I will pick you berries-and then, at tell you so. Here stands old Curry, who ne-
night, I'll trim our bed of leaves, and lie me ver talked to a rogue without telling him what
down in peace-Oh! we shall be so happy! he thought of him.
Inkle. Hear me, Yarico. My countryment Inkle. Sir Christopher!-Lost and undone!
and yours differ as much in minds as in Med. [Without] Holo! Young Multiplica-
complexions. We were not born to live in tion! Zounds! I have been peeping in every
woods and caves-to seek subsistence by pur- cranny of the house, Why, young Rule of
suing beasts. We Christians, girl, hunt mo- Three! [Enters from the Inn]
Oh, here
ney; a thing unknown to you. But, here, you are at last-Ah, Sir Christopher! What
'tis money which brings us ease, plenty, com- are you there! too impatient to wait at home.
'mand, power, every thing; and of course hap- But here's one that will make you easy, I
piness. You are the bar to my attaining this; fancy. [Tapping Inkle on the Shoulder.

SCENE 3.]
813
INKLE AND YARICO.
Enter TRUDGE and WoWSKI.
Sir Chr. How came you to know him?
Med. Ha! ha! Well, that's curious enough Trudge. Come along, Wows! take a long
too. So you have been talking here, without last leave of your poor mistress: throw your
finding out each other.
pretty ebony arms about her neck.
Sir Chr. No, no; I have found him out
with a vengeance..
Med. Not you. Why this is the dear boy.
It's my nephew, that is; your son in law,
that is to be. It's Inkle!
Sir Chr. It's a lie: and you're a purblind
old booby-and this dear boy is a damned
scoundrel.
Med. Hey-dey, what's the meaning of this?
One was mad before, and he has bit the
other, I suppose.
-
Sir Chr. But here comes the dear boy-
the true boy-the jolly boy, piping hot from
church, with my daughter.
Enter CAMPLEY, NARCISSA, and PATTY.
Med. Campley!
Sir Chr. Who? Campley;-it's no such
thing.
Camp. That's my name, indeed, Sir Chri-a
stopher.
Sir Chr. The devil it is! And how came
you, sir, to impose upon me, and assume the
name of Inkle? A name which every man
of honesty ought to be ashamed of.
Wows. No, no;-she not go; you not leave
poor Wowski.
[Throwing her arms about Yarico.
Sir Chr. Poor girl! a companion, I take it!
Trudge. A thing of my own, sir. I couldn't
help following my master's example in the
woods-Like master, like man, sir.
Sir Chr. But you would not sell her, and
be hang'd to you, you dog, would you?
Trudge. Hang me, like a dog, if I would,
sir.
Sir Chr. So say I, to every fellow that
breaks an obligation due to the feelings of a
man. But, old Medium, what have you to
say for your hopeful nephew?
Med. I never speak ill of my friends, sir
Christopher.
Sir Chr. Pshaw!
Inkle. Then let me speak: hear me defend
conduct-
Sir Chr. Defend! Zounds! plead guilty at
once-it's the only hope left of obtaining
mercy.
Inkle. Suppose, old gentleman, you had a
son?
Camp. I never did, sir.-Since I sailed from Sir Chr. 'Sblood! then I'd make him an
England with your daughter, my affection has honest fellow; and teach him that the feeling
daily encreased: and when I came to explain heart never knows greater pride than when
myself to you, by a number of concurring it's employed in giving succour to the unfor-
circumstances, which I am now partly ac-tunate. I'd teach him to be his father's own
quainted with, you mistook me for that gen-son to a hair.
tleman. Yet had I even then been aware of Inkle. Even so my father tutored me: from
your mistake, I must confess, the regard for infancy, bending my tender mind, like a young
my own happiness would have tempted me sapling, to his will-Interest was the grand
to let you remain undeceived.
prop round which he twined my pliant green
Sir Chr. And did you, Narcissa, join in-affections: taught me in child-hood to repeat
Nar. How could I, my dear sir, disobey old sayings- all tending to his own fixed
you?
principles, and the first sentence that I ever
lisped, was charity begins at home.
Patty. Lord, your honour, what young la-
dy could refuse a captain?
Sir Chr. I shall never like a proverb again,
Camp. I am a soldier, sir Christopher. Love as long as I live.
and War is the soldier's motto; though my Inkle. As I grew up, he'd prove-and by
income is trifling to your intended son-in-example-were I in want, I might even starve,
law's, still the chance of war has enabled me for what the world cared for their neigh-
to support the object of my love above indi-bours; why then should I care for the world!
gence. Her fortune, sir Christopher, I do not men now lived for themselves. These were
consider myself by any means entitled to. his doctrines: then, sir, what would you say,
Sir Chr. 'Sblood! but you must though. should I, in spite of habit, precept, education,
Give me your hand, my young Mars, and fly into my father's face, and spurn his coun-
bless you both together, Thank you, thank cils?
you for cheating an old fellow into giving Sir Chr. Say! why, that you were a damn-
his daughter to a lad of spirit, when he was ed honest, undutiful fellow. O curse such
going to throw her away upon one, in whose principles! principles, which destroy all con-
breast the mean passion of avarice smothers
the smallest spark of affection, or humanity.
Inkle. Confusion!
Nar. I have this moment heard a story of
a transaction in the forest, which, I own,
would have rendered compliance with your
former commands very disagreeable.
Patty. Yes, sir, I told my mistress he had
brought over a botty-pot gentlewoman.
fidence between man and man-Principles,
which none but a rogue could instil, and
none but a rogue could imbibe.-Frinciples-
Inkle. Which I renounce.
Sir Chr. Eh!
Inkle. Renounce entirely. Ill-founded pre-
cept too long has steeled my breast-but still
'tis vulnerable-this trial was too much-Na-
ture; against habit combating within me, has
Sir Chr. Yes, but he would have left her penetrated to my heart; a heart, I own, long
for you; [To Narcissa] and you for his in-callous to the feelings of sensibility: but now
terest; and sold you, perhaps, as he has this it bleeds- and bleeds for my poor Yarico.
poor girl, to me, as a requital for preserving Oh, let me clasp her to it, while 'tis glowing,
his life.
and mingle tears of love and penitence.
[Embracing her.
Nar. How!

814
THE BEGGAR'S OPFRA.
Trudge. [Capering about] Wows, give]
me a kiss!
[Wowski goes to Trudge.
Yar. And shall we-shall we be happy?
Inkle. Aye; ever, ever, Yarico.
Yar. I knew we should - and yet I feared
--but shall I still watch over you? Oh! love,
you surely gave your Yarico such pain, only Yarico.
to make her feel this happiness the greater.
Wows. [Going to Yarico] Oh Wowski
so happy!-and yet I think I not glad neither.
Trudge. Eh, Wows! How!-why not?
Wows. 'Cause I can't help cry.-
Sir Chr. Then, if that's the case-curse me,
if I think I'm very glad either. What the
plague's the matter with my eyes?-Young Wowski.
man, your hand-I am now proud and happy
to shake it.
Med. Well, sir Christopher, what do you
say to my hopeful nephew now?
Sir Chr. Say! why, confound the fellow, I
say, that it is ungenerous enough to remember
the bad action of a man who has virtue left
in his heart to repent it.-As for you, my
good fellow, [to Trudge] I must, with
your
master's permission, employ you myself.
Trudge. O rare!-Bless your honour!
Wows! you'll be lady, you jade, to a gover-
nor's factotum.
Wows. Iss.-I lady Jactotum.
Trudge.
Sir Chr. And now, my young folks, we'll
drive home, and celebrate the wedding. Od's
my life! I long to be skaking a foot at the
fiddles, and I shall dance ten times the lighter, Inkle,
for reforming an Inkle, while I have it in my
power to reward the innocence of a Yarico.
FINALE.
Campley. Come, let us dance and sing,
While all Barbadoes bells shall ring:
Love scrapes the fiddle string,
And Venus plays the lute;
Hymen gay, foots away,
Happy at our wedding-day,
Cocks his chin, and figures in,
To tabor, fife, and flute.
Chorus.
Come then, etc.
Narcissa. Since thus each anxious care
Is vanish'd into empty air,
Patty.
Ah! how can I forbear
To join the jocund dance?
To and fro, couples go,
On the light fantastic toe,
While with glee, merrily,
The rosy hours advance.
When first the swelling sea
Hither bore my love and me,
What then my fate would be,
Little did I think-.
Doom'd to know care and woe,
Happy still is Yarico;
Since her love will constant prove.
And nobly scorn to shrink.
Whilst all around rejoice,
Pipe and tabor raise the voice,
It can't be Wowski's choice,
Whilst Trudge's, to be dumb.
No, no, day blithe and gay,
Shall like massy, missy play,
Dance and sing, hey ding, ding,
Strike fiddle and beat drum.
'Sbobs! now I'm fix'd for love,
My fortune's fair, though black's
my wife,
Who fears domestic strife-
Who cares now a sous!
Merry cheer my dingy dear
Shall find with her Factotum here;
Night and day, I'll frisk and play
About the house with Wows.
Love's convert here behold.
Banish'd now my thirst of gold.
Bless'd in these arms to fold
My gentle Yarico.
Hence all care, all doubt, and fear,
Love and joy each want shall cheer,
Happy night, pure delight,
Shall make our bosoms glow.
Let Patty say a word-
A chambermaid may sure be heard-
Sure men are grown absurd,
Thus taking black for white;
To hug and kiss a dingy miss,
Will hardly suit an age like this,
Unless, here, some friends appear,
Who like this wedding night.
JOHN
GAY.
THIS gentleman, descended from an ancient family iu Devonshire, was born at Exeter, and received his education
at the free-school of Barnstaple, in that county, under the care of Mr. William Rayner. He was bred a mercer in
the Strand; but having a small fortune independent of business, and considering the attendance on a shop as a degra-
dation of those talents which he found himself possessed of, he quitted that occupation, and applied himself to other
views, and to the indulgence of his inclination for the Muses, Mr. Gay was born in the year 1688. In 1712 we find
him secretary, or rather domestic steward, to the Dutchess of Monmouth; in which station he continued till the be-
ginning of the year 1714, at which time he accompanied the Earl of Clarendon to Hanover, whither that nobleman was
dispatched by Queen Anne. In the latter end of the same year, in consequence of the Queen's death, he returned to
England, where he lived in the highest estimation and intimacy of friendship with many persons of the first distinction
both in rank and abilities. He was even particularly taken notice of by Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, to
whom he had the honour of reading in manuscript his tragedy of The Captives; and in 1726 dedicated his Fables, by
permission, to the Duke of Cumberland. From this countenance shown to him, and numberless promises made him of
preferment, it was reasonable to suppose, that he would have been genteelly provided for in some office suitable to
his inclination and abilities. Instead of which, in 1727, he was offered the place of gentleman-usher to one of the
youngest princesses; an office which, as he looked on it as rather an indignity to a man whose talents might have
been so much better employed, he thought proper to refuse; and some pretty warm remonstrances were made on the
occasion by his sincere friends and jealous patrons the Duke and Dutchess of Queensberry, which terminated in those
two noble presonages withdrawing from court in disgust. Mr. Gay's dependence on the promises of the great, and the
disappointments he met with, he has figuratively described in his fable of The Hare with many Friends. However,

THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
815
the very extraordinary success he met with from public encouragement made an ample amends, both with respect to
satisfaction and omolument, for those private disappointments: for, in the season of 1727-28, appeared his Beggar's
Opera, the success of which was not only unprecedented, but almost incredible, It had an uninterrupted run in Lon-
don of sixty-three nights in the first season, and was renewed in the ensuing one with equal approbation. It spread
into all the great towns of England; was played in many places to the thirtieth and fortieth time, and at Bath and
Bristol fifty; made its progress into Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, in which last place it was acted for twenty-four suc-
cessive nights, and last of all it was performed at Minorea. Nor was the fame of it confined to the reading and re-
presentation alone, for the card-table and the drawing-room shared with the theatre and the closet in this respect;
the ladies carried about the favourite songs of it engraven on their fan-mounts, and screens and other pieces of furni-
ture were decorated with the same. Miss Fenton, who acted Polly, though till then perfectly obscure, became all at
once the idol of the town; her pictures were engraven, and sold in great numbers; her life written; books of letters
and verses to her published; and pamphlets made of even her very sayings and jests; nay, she herself was received to
a station, in consequence of which she, before her death, attained the highest rank a female subject can acquire, being
married to the Duke of Bolton. In short, the satire of this piece was so striking, so apparent, and so perfectly adapted
to the taste of sl1 degrees of people, that it even for that season overthrew the Italian opera, that Dagon of the nobi-
lity and gentry, which had so long seduced them to idolatry, and which Dennis, by the labours and outcries of a whole
life, and many other writers, by the force of reason and reflection had in vain endeavoured to drive from the throne
of public taste. Yet the Herculean exploit did this little piece at once bring to its completion, and for some time re-
called the devotion of the town from an adoration of mere sound and show, to the admiration of, and relish for, true
satire and sound understanding. The profits of this piece were so very great, both to the author and Mr. Rich the
manager, that it gave rise to a quibble, which became frequent in the mouths of many, viz. That it had made Rich gay,
and Gay rich; and we have heard it asserted, that the author's own advantages from it were not less than two thou-
sand pounds. In consequence of this success, Mr. Gay was induced to write a second part to it, which he entitled
Polly. But, owing to the disgust subsisting between him and the court, together with the misrepresentations made of
him, as having been the author of some disaffected libels and seditious pamphlets, a charge which, however, he warmly
disavows in his preface to this opera, a prohibition of it was sent from the Lord Chamberlain, at the very time when
every thing was in readiness for the rehearsal of it. This disappointment, however, was far from being a loss to the
author; for, as it was afterwards confessed, even by his very best friends, to be in every respect infinitely inferior to
the first part, it is more than probable, that it might have failed of that great success in the representation which Mr.
Gay might promise himself from it; whereas the profits arising from the publication of it afterwards in quarto, in con-
sequence of a very large subscription, which this appearance of persecution, added to the author's great personal interest
procured for him, were at least adequate to what could have accrued to him from a moderate run, had it been repre-
sented. He afterwards new wrote The Wife of Bath, which was the last dramatic piece by him that made its ap-
pearance during his life; his opera of Achilles, the comedy of the Distrest Wife, and his farce of The Rehearsal at
Goatham, being brought on the stage or published after his death. Besides these, Mr. Gay wrote many very valuable
pieces in verse; among which his Trivia; or, The Art of walking in the Streets of London; though one of his first
poetical attempts, is far from being the least considerable; but, as among his dramatic works, his Beggar's Opera did
et first, and perhaps ever will, stand as an unrivalled masterpiece, so, among his poetical works, his Fables hold the
same rank of estimation: the latter having been almost as universally read as the former was represented, and both
equally admired. It would therefore be superfluous here to add any thing further to these self-reared monuments of
his fame as a poet. As a man, he appears to have been morally amiable. His disposition was sweet and affable, his
temper generous, and his conversation agreeable aud entertaining. He had indeed one foible, too frequently incident to
men of great literary abilities, and which subjected him at times to inconveniences, which otherwise he needed not to
have experienced, viz. an excess of indolence, which prevented him from exerting the full force of his lalents. He was,
however, not inattentive to the means of procuring an independence, in which he would probably have succeeded, had
not his spirits been kept down by disappointments. He had, however, saved several thousand pounds at the time of his
death, which happened at the house of the Duke and Dutchess of Queensberry in Burlington Gardens, in December
1732. He was interred in Westminster Abbey, and a monument erected to his memory, at the expense of his afore
mentioned noble benefactors, with an inscription expressive of their regards and his own deserts, and an epitaph in
verse by Mr. Pope; but, as both of them are still in existence, and free of access to every one, it would be imper-
tinent to repeat either of them in this place.
BEGGAR'S OPERA,
By John Gay, Acted at Lincoln's Inn fields. The great success of this piece has rendered its merits sufficiently
known. It was written in ridicule of the musical Italian drama, was first offered to Cibber and his brethren at Drury
Lane, and by them rejected. Of the origin and progress of this new species of composition, Mr. Spencer has given a
relation in the words of Pope: "Dr. Swift had been observing once to Mr. Gay, what an odd pretty sort of thing a
Newgate pastoral might make. Gay was inclined to try at such a thing for some time; but afterwards thought it would
be better to write a comedy on the same plan. This was what gave rise to The Beggar's Opera. He began on it;
and when first he mentioned it to Swift, the doctor did not much like the project. As he carried it on, he showed
it to both of us, and we now and then gave a correction, or a word or two of advice; but it was wholly of his own
writing. When it was done, neither of us thought it would succeed. We showed it to Congreve, who, after reading
it over, said, it would either take greatly, or be damned confoundedly. We were all at the first night of it, in very
great uncertainty of the event, till we were very much encouraged, by overhearing the Duke of Argyle, who sat in the
next box to us, say, 'It will do; it must do; I see it in the eyes of them. This was a good while before the first
act was over, and so gave us case soon; for that Duke (besides his own good taste) has a particular knack, as any one
living, in discovering the taste of the public. He was quite right in this, as usual; the good-nature of the audience
appeared stronger and stronger every act, and ended in a clamour of applause." Many persons, however, have decried
this piece; written, and even preached in the pulpit, against it, from mistaking the design of it; which was, not to
recommend the characters of highwaymen, pickpockets, and strumpets, as examples to be followed, but to show that
the principles and behaviour of many persons in what is called high life were no better than those of highwaymen,
thieves, sharpers, and strumpets. Nor can these characters be seductive to persons in low life, when they see that they
must all expect to be hanged. 'Tis what we must all come to, says one of them; and it is a kind of miracle, if they
continue six months in their evil courses. This fellow, says Peachum, if he were to live these six months, would never
come to the gallows with any grace. The women of the town are far from being made desirable objects; since they
are all shown to be pickpockets and shoplifters, as well as ladies of pleasure; and so treacherous, that even those who
seem fondest of Macheath, at the very time they are caressing him, are beckoning behind his back to the thief-taker
and constables to lay hold of him. Sir Robert Walpole was frequently the subject of Mr. Gay's satire. The minister
however, was not deterred from attending the performance of the poet's Beggar's Opera. Being in the stage boxes at
its first representation, a most universal encore attended the following air of Lockit, and all eyes were directed on the
minister at the instant of its being repeated:
When you censure the age,
Be cautious and sage,
Lest the courtiers offended should be:
If you mention vice or bribe
'Tis so pat to all the tribe,
That each cries, That was levell'd at me!
Sir Robert, observing the pointed manner in which the audience applied the last line to him, parried the thrust by
encoring it with his aingle voice; and thus not only blunted the poetical shaft, but gained a general huzza from the
audience.

816
[ACT I.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
CAPTAIN MACHEATH.
PEACHUM.
LOCKIT.
MAT-O'THE-MINT.
BEN BUDGE.
CROOK-FINGER'D JACK.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
JEMMY TWITCHER.
WAT DREARY.
NIMMING NED.
HARRY PADDINGTON.
ROBIN OF BAGSHOT.
DRAWER.
EILCH.
MRS. PEACHUM.
POLLY.
LUCY.
MRS. COAXER.
DOLLY TRULL.
MRS. VIXEN.
BETTY DOXY.
JENNY DIVER.
MRS. SLAMMEKIN
SUKEY TAWDRY.
MOLLY BRAZEN.
DIANA TRAPES.
ACT I.
SCENE I. PEACHUM'S House.
PEACHUM sitting at a Table, with a large
Book of Accounts before him.
AIR. PEACHUM.
Through all the employments of life,
Each neighbour abuses his brother:
Whore and rogue, they call husband and wife:
All professions be-rogue one another.
The priest calls the lawyer a cheat;
The lawyer be-knaves the divine;
And the statesman, because he's so great,
Thinks his trade is as honest as mine.
Enter FILCH.
soften the evidence.
holden to women, than all the professions be-
sides.
AIR. FILCH.
Tis woman that seduces all mankind;
By her we first were taught the wheedling arts;
Her very eyes can cheat; when most she's kind,
She tricks us of our money, with our hearts.
For her, like wolves by night, we roam for prey,
And practise every fraud to bribe her charms;
For, suits of love, like law, are won by pay,
And beauty must be fee'd into our arms.
Peach. But make haste to Newgate, boy,
and let my friends know what I intend; for
I love to make them easy, one way or another.
A lawyer is an honest employment, so is Filch. When a gentleman is long kept in
mine. Like me too, he acts in a double ca-suspense, penitence may break his spirit ever
pacity, both against rogues, and for them; after. Besides, certainty gives a man a good
for 'tis but fitting, that we should protect air upon his trial, and makes him risk another,
and encourage cheats, since we live by them. without fear or scruple. But I'll away, for
'tis a pleasure to be a messenger of comfort
to friends in affliction.
[Exit.
Filch. Sir, Black Moll has sent word, her
Peach. But it is now high time to look
trial comes on in the afternoon, and she hopes about me, for a decent execution against next
you will order matters so as to bring her off. sessions. I hate a lazy rogue, by whom one
Peach. Why, as the wench is very active can get nothing till he is hanged. A register
and industrious, you may satisfy her that I'll of the gang. [Reading] Crook-finger'd Jack
-a year and a half in the service-let
Filch. Tom Gagg, sir, is found guilty. me see, how much the stock owes to his in-
Peach. A lazy dog! When I took him, dustry; -One, two, three, four, five gold
the time before, I told him what he would watches, and seven silver ones. A mighty
come to, if he did not mend his hand. This clean-handed fellow! sixteen snuff-boxes, five
is death, without reprieve. I may venture to of them of true gold, six dozen of handker-
book him; [Writes] for Tom Gagg, forty chiefs, four silver-hilted swords, half-a-dozen
pounds ¹). Let Betty Sly know, that I'll save of shirts, three tie-perriwigs, and a piece of
her from transportation, for I can get more broadcloth. Considering these are only the
by her staying in England.
fruits of his leisure hours, I don't know a
Filch. Betty hath brought more goods to prettier fellow; for no man alive hath a more
our lock this year, than any five of the gang; engaging presence of mind upon the road.-
and, in truth, 'tis pity to lose so good a cus- Wat Dreary, alias Brown Will-an irregular
dog; who hath an underhand way of disposing of
Peach. If none of the gang takes her off2), his goods ¹); I'll try him only for a sessions
she may, in the common course of business, or two longer, upon his good behaviour.-
live a twelvemonth longer. I love to let wo- Harry Paddington - a poor petty-larceny
men 'scape. A good sportsman always lets rascal, without the least genius! that fellow,
the hen-partridges fly, because the breed of though he were to live these six months, will
the game depends upon them. Besides, here never come to the gallows with any credit.-
the law allows us no reward: there is nothing Slippery Sam-he goes off the next sessions;
to be got by the death of women-except our for the villain hath the impudence to have
views of following his trade as a tailor, which
Filch. Without dispute, she is a fine wo- he calls an honest employment,-Mat-o'the-
man! 'Twas to her I was obliged for my Mint-listed not above a month ago; a pro-
education. To say a bold word, she has mising, sturdy fellow, and diligent in his way;
trained up more young fellows to the busi- somewhat too beld and hasty, and may raise
ness, than the gaming-table.
good contributions on the public, if he does
Peach. Truly, Filch, thy observation is not cut himself short by murder 2),-
right. We and the surgeons) are more be- Tipple-a guzzling, soaking sot, who is al-
1) Blood money, as it is called, or the sum paid to any ways too drunk to stand himself, or to make
one for the conviction of a person who has committed others stand 3) a cart 4) is absolutely necessary
a robbery. Peachum's character has, unfortunately,
but too many traits of what is done every day in London.
2) Marries her.
tomer.
wives.
3) The bodies of those hanged for raurder, are given over
to the surgeons for dissection.
1) Sells his stolen goods to other people.
2) Get hanged for murdering some person.
-
Tom
3) The highway-robbers putting a pistol at your breast
and desiring you to stand, come upon you so suddenly

SCENE 1.]
817
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
for him.-Robin of Bagshot, alias Gorgon, What business hath he to keep company
alias Bluff Bob, alias Carbuncle, alias with lords and gentlemen? he should leave
Bob Booty-
them to prey upon one another.
Enter MRS. PEACHUM.
Peach. Upon Polly's account! what a
plague doth the woman mean?-Upon Polly's
Mrs. P. What of Bob Booty, husband? I account!
hope nothing bad hath betided him.-You
know, my dear, he's a favourite customer of the girl.
mine-'twas he made me a present of this Peach. And what then?
ring.
Mrs. P. Captain Macheath is very fond of
Mrs. P. If I have any skill in the ways of
Peach. I have set his name down in the women, I am sure Polly thinks him a very
black list, that's all, my dear; he spends his pretty man.
life among women, and, as soon as his mo- Peach. And what then? you would not be
ney is gone, one or other of the ladies will so mad as to have the wench marry him!
hang him for the reward, and there's forty Gamesters and highwaymen are, generally,
pounds lost to us for ever!
very good to their mistresses, but they are
very devils to their wives.
Mrs. P. You know, my dear, I never meddle
in matters of death; I always leave those af- Mrs. P. But if Polly should be in love, how
fairs to you. Women, indeed, are bitter bad should we help her, or how can she help her-
judges in these cases; for they are so partial self?-Poor girl, I'm in the utmost concern
to the brave, that they think every man hand-about her!
some, who is going to the camp or the gallows.
AIR. MRS. PEACHUM.
If any wench Venus' girdle wear,
Though she be never so ugly,
Lilies and roses will quickly appear,
And her face look wondrous snugly.
Beneath the left ear, so fit for a cord,
A rope so charming a zone is,
AIR. MRS. PEACHUM.
If love the virgin's heart invade,
How like a moth, the simple maid
Still plays about the flame;
If soon she be not made a wife,
Her honour's sing'd, and then for life
She's what I dare not name.
Peach. Lookye, wife, a handsome wench,
The youth in the cart hath the air of a lord, in our way of business, is as profitable as at
And we cry, There dies an Adonis!
the bar of a Temple coffee-house, who looks
But really, husband, you should not be too upon it as her livelihood, to grant every li-
hard-hearted, for you never had a finer, bra-berty but one. My daughter to me should
ver set of men than at present. We have be like a court lady to a minister of state, a
not had a murder among them all these seven key to the whole gang. Married! if the af-
months; and truly, my dear, that is a great fair is not already done, I'll terrify her from
blessing.
it, by the example of our neighbours.
Peach. What a dickens is the woman Mrs. P. Mayhap, my dear, you may injure
always whimpering about murder for? No the poor girl: she loves to imitate the fine
gentleman is ever looked upon the worse for ladies, and she may only allow the captain
killing a man in his own defence; and if bu-liberties, in the view of interest.
[Exit.
siness cannot be carried on without it, what Peach. But 'tis your duty, my dear, to
would you have a gentleman do? so, my dear, warn the girl against her ruin, and to instruct
have done upon this subject. Was captain her how to make the most of her beauty. I'll
Macheath here, this morning, for the bank- go to her this moment, and sift her. In the
notes he left with you last week?
mean time, wife, rip out the coronets and
Mrs. P. Yes, my dear; and though the marks of these dozen of cambric handker-
bank hath stopped payment, he was so cheer-chiefs, for I can dispose of them this after-
ful, and so agreeable! Sure, there is not a noon to a chap in the city.
finer gentleman upon the road 1) than the Mrs. P. Never was a man more out of the
captain; if he comes from Bagshot, at any way in an argument than my husband. Why
reasonable hour, he hath promised to make must our Polly, forsooth, differ from her sex,
one this evening, with Polly, me, and Bob and love only her husband? and why must
Booty, at a party at quadrille. Pray, my dear, Polly's marriage, contrary to all observation,
is the captain rich?
make her the less followed by other men?
Peach. The captain keeps too good com- All men are thieves in love, and like a wo-
pany ever to grow rich. Marybone and the man the better for being another's property.
chocolate-houses are his undoing. The man
that proposes to get money by play, should
have the education of a fine gentleman, and
be trained up to it from his youth.
Mrs. P. Really, I am sorry, upon Polly's
account, the captain hath not more discretion.
that is very difficult to obey their summons; and la-
dies, as well as the weaker part of the male sex, are
much more inclined to fall, especially when they order
you to give your "money" or your "life."
4) Formerly, those cast for death, were conveyed in a
cart, all through the streets of London, from Newgale
prison to Tyburn; where they were hanged; but now
they are "launched into eternity" before the debtors'
door, Newgate.
1) A Highway-man
AIR. MRS. PEACHUM.
A maid is like the golden ore
Which hath guineas intrinsical in't,
Whose worth is never known before
It is tried and imprest in the mint.
A wife's like a guinea in gold,
Stamp'd with the name of her spouse;
Now here, now there, is bought or is sold,
And is current in every house.
Enter FILCH.
Mrs. P. Come hither, Filch.-I am as fond
of this child, as though my mind misgave me
he were my own. He hath as fine a hand
103

818
[ACT I.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet.
Peach. You know, Polly, I am not against
at picking a pocket as a woman, and is as But when once pluck'd 'tis no longer alluring,
nimble-fingered as a juggler. If an unlucky To Covent Garden 'tis sent (as yet sweet),
session does not cut the rope of thy life, I There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all
pronounce, boy, thou wilt be a great man in
enduring,
history. Where was your post last night,
my boy?
Filch. I plied at the opera, madam; and,
considering 'twas neither dark nor rainy, so your toying and trifling with a customer, in
that there was no great hurry in getting
the way of business, or to get out a secret
chairs and coaches, made a tolerable hand or so; but if I find out that you have played
the fool, and are married, you jade you, I'll
on't-These seven handkerchiefs, madam.
mind.
Mrs. P. Coloured ones, I see. They are of cut your throat, hussy. Now, you know my
sure sale from our warehouse at Redriff,
among the seamen.
Filch. And this snuff-box.
Enter MRS. PEACHUM, in a very great Passion.
AIR.
have taught her,
Mrs. P. Set in gold! a pretty encourage-Our Polly is a sad slut! nor heeds what we
ment this to a young beginner!
Filch. I had a fair tug at a charming gold
watch. Plague take the tailors, for making I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter!
the fobs so deep and narrow!-it stuck by For she must
the way, and I was forced to make my es-
cape under a coach. Really, madam, I fear With scarfs and
I shall be cut off in the flower of my youth,
so that, every now and then, since I was And when she's
pumped, I have thoughts of taking up and
going to sea.
As men should
have both hoods and gowns,
and hoops to swell her pride,
stays, and gloves and lace, and
she will have men beside;
dress'd with care and cost, all
tempting, fine, and gay,
serve a cucumber, she flings
herself away.
Mrs. P. You should go to Hockley-in-the-
hole ¹), and to Marybone, child, to learn va- You baggage! you hussy! you inconsiderate
lour; these are the schools that have bred so jade! had you been hanged it would not have
many brave men. I thought, boy, by this vexed me; for that might have been your
time, thou hadst lost fear as well as shame. misfortune; but to do such a mad thing by
Poor lad! how little does he know yet of the choice!-The wench is married, husband.
Old Bailey! For the first fact, I'll insure thee Peach. Married! the captain is a bold man,
from being hanged; and going to sea, Filch, and will risk any thing for money: to be sure
will come time enough, upon a sentence of he believes her a fortune. Do you think your
transportation. But, hark you, my lad, don't mother and I should have lived comfortably
tell me a lie; for you know I hate a liar:- so long together if ever we had been married,
Do you know of any thing that hath passed baggage!
between captain Macheath and our Polly?
Filch. I beg you, madam, don't ask me;
for I must either tell a lie to you, or to miss
Polly; for I promised her I would not tell.
Mrs. P. But when the honour of our fami-
ly is concerned.
Mrs. P. I knew she was always a proud
slut, and now the wench hath played the fool
and married, because, forsooth, she would do
like the gentry! Can you support the ex-
pense of a husband, hussy, in gaming and
drinking? have you money enough to carry
Filch. I shall lead a sad life with miss on the daily quarrels of man and wife about
Polly, if ever she comes to know I told you. who shall squander most? If you must be
Besides, I would not willingly forfeit my own married, could you introduce nobody into
honour, by betraying any body.
our family but a highwayman? Why, thou
Mrs. P. Yonder comes my husband and foolish jade, thou wilt be as ill used and as
Polly. Come, Filch, you shall go with me in- much neglected as if thou hadst married a
to my own room, and tell me the whole story. lord!
I'll give thee a glass of a most delicious cor- Peach. Let not your anger, my dear, break
dial that I keep for my own drinking. [Exeunt. through the rules of decency; for the captain
Enter PEACHUM and POLLY.
looks upon himself, in the military capacity,
Polly. I know as well as any of the fine as a gentleman by his profession. Besides
ladies how to make the most of myself, and what he hath already, I know he is in a fair
of my man too. A woman knows how to be way of getting or of dying; and both these
mercenary, though she hath never been in a ways, let me tell you, are most excellent
court or at an assembly. We have it in our chances for a wife. Tell me, hussy, are you
natures, papa. If I allow captain Macheath ruined or no?
some trifling liberties, I have this watch and
other visible marks of his favour to show for
it. A girl who cannot grant some things, and
refuse what is most material, will make but
a poor hand of her beauty, and soon be
thrown upon the common.
AIR.-POLLY.
Virgins are like the fair flow'r in its lustre,
Which in the garden enamels the ground;
Near it the bees in play flutter and cluster,
And gaudy butterflies frolic around:
1) A famous-place for thieves and beggars.
Mrs. P. With Polly's fortune she might
very well have gone off to a person of di-
stinction: yes, that you might, you pouting slut.
Peach. What! is the wench dumb? speak,
or I'll make you plead by squeezing out an
answer from you. Are you really bound wife
to him, or are you only upon liking?
[Pinches her.
Polly. Oh!
[Screaming
Mrs. P. How the mother is to be pitied
who hath handsome daughters! Locks, bolts,
bars, and lectures of morality, are nothing to

SCENE 2.1
819
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
them; they break through them all; they have
as much pleasure in cheating a father and
mother, as in cheating at cards.
Peach. Why, Polly, I shall soon know if
you are married, by Macheath's keeping from
our house.
-
AIR. POLLY.
Can love be controll'd by advice?
Will cupid our mothers obey?
Though my heart were as frozen as ice,
At his flame 'twould have melted away.
When he kiss'd me, so sweetly he press'd,
Twas so sweet that I must have complied,
So I thought if both safest and best
To marry for fear you should chide.
AIR.-POLLY.
I like a ship in storms was toss'd,
Yet afraid to put into land,
For seized in the port the vessel's lost
Whose treasure is contraband,
The waves are laid,
My duty's paid;
O joy beyond expression!
Thus safe ashore
I ask no more;
My all's in my possession.
Peach. I hear customers in t'other room;
go talk with them, Polly; but come again as
soon as they are gone. But hark ye, child,
if 'tis the gentleman who was here yesterday
about the repeating watch, say you can't get
Mrs. P. Then all the hopes of our family intelligence of it till to-morrow, for I lent it
are gone for ever and ever!
to Sukey Straddle, to make a figure with to-
Peach. And Macheath may hang his father night at a tavern in Drury-lane. If t'other
and mother-in-law, in hopes to get into their gentleman calls for the silver-hilted sword,
daughter's fortune.
you know Beetle-browed Jemmy hath it on,
Polly. I did not marry him (as 'tis the and he doth not come from Tunbridge till
fashion), coolly and deliberately, for honour Tuesday night, so that it cannot be had till
or money-but I love him.
then. [Exit Polly] Dear wife, be a little pa-
Mrs. P. Love him! worse and worse! I cified; don't let your passion run away with
thought the girl had been better bred. Oh your senses: Polly, I grant you, hath done a
husband! husband! her folly makes me mad! rash thing.
my head swims! I'm distracted! I can't sup- Mrs. P. If she had had only an intrigue with
port myself-Oh!
[Faints. the fellow, why the very best families have
Peach. See, wench, to what a condition excused and huddled up a frailty of that sort,
you have reduced your poor mother! A glass 'Tis marriage, husband, that makes it a blemish.
of cordial this instant! How the poor woman Peach. But money, wife, is the true fullers'-
takes it to heart! [Polly goes out, and re-earth for reputations; there is not a spot or
turns with it] Ah, hussy! now this is the stain but what it can take out. I tell you,
only comfort your mother has left.
wife, I can make this match turn to our ad-
Polly. Give her another glass, sir; my vantage.
mamma drinks double the quantity whenever
she is in this way. This, you see, fetches her.
Mrs. P. The girl shows such readiness, and
so much concern, that I almost could find in
my heart to forgive her.
AIR.
O Polly, you might have toy'd and kiss'd:
By keeping men off, you keep them on.
Polly.
But he so teased me,
And he so pleased me,
What I did you must have done.
Mrs. P. Not with a highwayman-you sorry
slut.
Peach. A word with you, wife. 'Tis no
new thing for a wench to take a man with-
out consent of parents. You know 'tis the
frailty of woman, my dear!
Mrs. P. I am very sensible, husband, that
captain Macheath is worth money, but I am
in doubt whether he hath not two or three
wives already, and then, if he should die in
a session or two, Polly's dower would come
into dispute.
Peach. That indeed is a point which ought
to be considered. The lawyers are bitter ene-
mies to those in our way; they don't care
that any body should get a clandestine liveli-
hood but themselves.
Enter POLLY.
Polly. 'Twas only Nimming Ned: he brought
in a damask window-curtain, a hoop-petti-
coat, a pair of silver candlesticks, a perriwig,
and one silk stocking, from the fire that hap-
pened last night.
Peach. There is not a fellow that is cleverer
Mrs. P. Yes, indeed, the sex is frail; but in his way, and saves¹) more goods out of
the first time a woman is frail, she should be the fire, than Ned. But now, Polly, to your
somewhat nice methinks, for then or never affair; for matters must not be as they are.
is her time to make her fortune: after that You are married then, it seems?
she hath nothing to do but to guard herself
from being found out, and she may do what
she pleases.
Peach. Make yourself a little easy; I have
a thought shall soon set all matters again to
rights. Why so melancholy, Polly? since
what is done cannot be undone, we must en-
deavour to make the best of it.
Mrs. P. Well, Polly, as far as one woman
can forgive another, I forgive thee. Your
father is too fond of you, hussy.
Polly. Yes, sir.
Peach. And how do you propose to live,
child?
Polly. Like other women, sir; upon the
industry of my husband.
Mrs. P. What! is the wench turn'd fool?
a highwayman's wife, like a soldier's, hath as
little of his pay as of his company.
Peach. And had not you the common views
of a gentlewoman in your marriage, Polly?
Polly. I don't know what you mean, sir.
Peach. Of a jointure, and of being a
Polly. Then all my sorrows are at an end.
Mrs. P. A mighty likely speech in troth widow.
for a wench who is just married!
1) Steals.

820
[ACT I.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
Polly. But I love him, sir: how then could the customs of the world, and make gratitude
I have thoughts of parting with him?
give way to interest-He shall be taken off.
Mrs. P. I'll undertake to manage Polly.
Peach. And I'll prepare matters for the
Old Bailey.
-
Peach. Parting with him! why that is the
whole scheme and intention, of all marriage
articles. The comfortable estate of widow-
hood is the only hope that keeps up a wife's [Exeunt Peachum and Mrs. Peachum.
spirits. Where is the woman who would Polly. Now I'm a wretch indeed!-Methinks
scruple to be a wife, if she had it in her I see him already in the cart, sweeter and
power to be a widow whenever she pleased? more lovely than the nosegay in his hand!-
If you have any views of this sort, Polly, II hear the crowd extolling his resolution and
shall think the match not so very unreason- intrepidity! I see him at the tree!¹) the
able.
whole circle are in tears!-What then will
Polly. How I dread to hear your advice! become of Polly?-As yet I may inform him
yet I must beg you to explain yourself. of their design, and aid him in his escape.-
Peach. Secure what he hath got, have him It shall be so.-But then he flies, absents him-
peach'd the next sessions, and then at once self, and I bar myself from his dear, dear
you are made a rich widow.
conversation! that too will distract me.-If he
Polly. What! murder the man I love! the keeps out of the way, my papa and mamma
blood runs cold at my heart with the very may in time relent, and we may be happy-
thought of it!
If he stays, he is hanged, and then he is lost
Peach. Fie, Polly! what hath murder to do for ever!-He intended to lie concealed in my
in the affair? Since the thing sooner or later room till the dusk of the evening. If they are
must happen, I dare say that the captain him- abroad, I'll this instant let him out, lest some
self would like that we should get the reward accident should prevent him.
for his death sooner than a stranger. Why,
Polly, the captain knows that as 'tis his em-
ployment to rob, so 'tis ours to take robbers;
every man in his business: so that there is
no malice in the case.
Mrs. P. To have him peached is the only
thing could ever make me forgive her,
AIR, POLLY.
Oh ponder well! be not severe;
So save a wretched wife:
For on the rope that hangs my dear,
Depends poor Polly's life.
Mrs. P. But your duty to your parents,
Mac.
Polly.
Mac.
Enter MACHEATH,
DUET T.
Pretty Polly, say,
When I was away,
Did your fancy never stray
To some newer lover?
Without disguise,
Heaving sighs,
Doting eyes,
My constant heart discover.
Fondly let me loll!
O pretty, pretty Poll!
Polly. And are you as fond of me as ever,
hussy, obliges you to hang him. What would my dear?
many a wife give for such an opportunity!
-
Mac. Suspect my honour, my courage,
Polly. What is a jointure, what is widow- suspect any thing but my love. May my
hood, to me? I know my heart; I cannot pistols miss fire, and my mare slip her shoulder
survive him. Thus, sir, it will happen to your while I am pursued, if ever I forsake thee!
poor Polly.
Polly. Nay, my dear! I have no reason to
Mrs. P. What! is the fool in love in doubt you, for I find, in the romance you
earnest then? I hate thee for being particu-lent me, none of the great heroes were false
lar. Why! wench, thou art a shame to thy in love.
very sex!
Polly. But hear me, mother-if you ever
loved-
Mrs. P. Those cursed play books she reads
have been her ruin! One word more, hussy,
and I shall knock your brains out, if you
have any.
Peach. Keep out of the way, Polly, for
fear of mischief, and consider of what is
proposed to you.
AIR. MACHEATH.
My heart was so free,
It roved like the bee,
Till Polly my passion requited;
I sipt each flower,
I changed ev'ry hour,
But here ev'ry flow'r is united.
Polly. Were you sentenced to transporta-
tion, sure, my dear, you could not leave me
behind you could you?
Mrs. P. Away, hussy. Hang your husband,
and be dutiful." [Polly listens] The thing, Mac. Is there any power, any force, that
husband, must and shall be done. If she will could tear me from thee? You might sooner
not know her duty, we know ours.
tear a pension out of the hands of a courtier,
Peoch. But really, my dear, it grieves one's a fee from a lawyer, a pretty woman from a
heart to take off a great man. When I con-looking-glass, or any woman from quadrille
sider his personal bravery, his fine stratagems, -But to tear me from thee is impossible;
how much we have already got by him, and
DUETT.
And in my arms embraced my lass,
Warm amidst eternal frost,
how much more we may get, methinks I Mac. Were I laid on Greenland's coast,
can't find in my heart to have a hand in his
death: I wish you could have made Polly
undertake it.
Mrs. P. But in case of necessity-our own
lives are in danger.
Peach. Then indeed we must comply with
Polly.
1)
Too soon the half year's night would pass.
Were I sold on Indian soil,
Soon as the burning day was closed,
The Gallows.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
821
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
poor man, he is among the otamies ¹), at
I could mock the sultry toil
When on my charmer's breast reposed. Surgeons'-hall.
Mac. And I would love you all the day,
Polly. Every night would kiss and play,
Mac. If with me you'd fondly stray,
Polly. Over the hills, and far away.
Ben. So, it seems, his time was come.
Jemmy. But the present time is ours, and
nobody alive hath more. Why are the laws
levelled at us? are we more dishonest than
Polly. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh! the rest of mankind? What we win, gentle-
-how shall I speak it? I must be torn from men, is our own, by the law of arms, and
thee! We must part!
50% the right of conquest.
Mac. How! part!
Polly. We must, we must!-My papa and
mamma are set against thy life: they now,
even now, are in search after thee; they are
preparing evidence against thee; thy life de-
pends upon a moment!
AIR. POLLY.
O, what a pain it is to part!
Can I leave thee, can I leave thee?
O, what a pain it is to part!
Can thy Polly ever leave thee?
But lest death my love should thwart,
And bring thee to the fatal cart,
Thus I tear thee from my bleeding heart!
Fly hence, and let me leave thee.
One kiss, and then!-one kiss!-Be gone!-
Farewell!
Repas
Mac. My hand, my heart, my dear, is so
rivetted to thine, that I cannot unloose my
hold!
29829
Polly. But my papa may intercept thee,
and then I should lose the very glimmering
of hope. A few weeks, perhaps, may recon-
cile us all. Shall thy Polly hear from thee?
Mac. Must I then go?
Polly. And will not absence change your
love?
Mac. If you doubt it, let me stay-and be
hanged.
Polly. Oh, how I fear! how I tremble!
Go-but, when safety will give you leave,
you will be sure to see me again; for, till
then, Polly is wretched.
DUETT.
Mac. The miser thus a shilling sees,
Which he's obliged to pay;
With sighs resigns it by degrees,
And fears 'tis gone for aye.
Polly. The boy thus, when his sparrow's flown,
The bird in silence eyes;
But soon as out of sight 'tis gone,
Whines, whimpers, sobs, and cries.
ACT II.
SCENE I. A Tavern near Newgate.
JEMMY TWITCHER, CROOK-FINGER'D JACK,
WAT DREARY, ROBIN OF BAGSHOT, NIM-
MING NED, HARRY PADDINGTON, MAT-O'THE-
MINT, BEN BUDGE, and the rest of the
Gang, at the Table, with Wine, Brandy,
and Tobacco.
Ben. But pr'ythee, Mat, what is become of
thy brother Tom? I have not seen him since
my return from transportation.
Mat. Poor brother Tom had an accident ¹),
this time twelvemonth, and so clever made a
fellow as he was, I could not save him from
these stealing rascals, the surgeons; and now,
1) Only hanged.
Jack. Where shall we find such another
set of practical philosophers, who, to a man,
are above the fear of death?
Wat. Sound men and true!
Robin. Of tried courage, and indefatigable
industry!
Ned. Who is there here that would not die
for his friend?
Harry. Who is there here that would be-
tray him for his interest?
Mat. Show me a gang of courtiers that can
say as much.
Ben. We are for a just partition of the
world; for every man has a right to enjoy life.
Mat. We retrench the superfluities of man-
kind. The world is avaricious, and I hate
avarice. A covetous fellow, like a jackdaw,
steals what he was never made to enjoy, for
the sake of hiding it. These are the robbers
of mankind; for money was made for the
free-hearted and generous: and where is the
injury of taking from another what he hath
not the heart to make use of?
Jemmy. Our several stations for the day.
are fixed. Good luck attend us all! Fill the
glasses!
AIR.-MAT.
Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us,
And fires us,
With courage, love, and joy.
Women and wine should life employ;
Is there aught else on earth desirous?
Chorus. Fill ev'ry glass, etc.
Enter MACHEATH.
Mac. Gentlemen, well met; my heart hath
been with you this hour, but an unexpected
affair hath detained me. No ceremony, I
beg you!
Mat. We were just breaking up, to go upon
duty. Am I to have the honour of taking the
air with you, sir, this evening, upon the Heath?
I drink a dram, now and then, with the stage-
coachmen, in the way of friendship and in-
telligence; and I know that, about this time,
there will be passengers upon the western
road, who are worth speaking with.
Mac. I was to have been of that party-but-
Mat. But what, sir?
Mac. Is there any one that suspects my
courage?
Mat. We have all been witnesses of it.
Mac. My honour and truth to the gang?
Mat. I'll be answerable for it.
Mac. In the division of our booty, have I
ever shown the least marks of avarice or in-
justice?
Mat. By these questions, something seems
to have ruffled you. Are any of us suspected?
Mac. I have a fixed confidence, gentlemen,
in you all, as men of honour, and as such I
1) Anatomies, skeletons.

822
[ACT II.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
value and respect you. Peachum is a man
that is useful to us.
resort.
Enter DRAWER.
Is the porter gone for all the ladies, according
VIXEN, BETTY DOXY, JENNY DIVER, MRS.
SLAMMEKIN, SUKEY TAWDRY, and MOLLY
BRAZEN.
Mat. Is he about to play us any foul play? to my directions?
I'll shoot him through the head.
Drawer. I expect him back every minute:
Mac. I beg you, gentlemen, act with con- but you know, sir, you sent him as far as
duct and discretion. A pistol is your last Hockley-in-the-hole for three of the ladies;
for one in Vinegar-yard, and for the rest of
Mat. He knows nothing of this meeting. them, somewhere about Lewkner's-lane. Sure
Mac. Business cannot go on without him: some of them are below, for I hear the bar
he is a man who knows the world, and is a bell. As they come, I will show them up.
necessary agent to us. We have had a slight Coming! coming.
[Exit.
difference, and, till it is accommodated, I shall
be obliged to keep out of his way. Any pri- Enter MRS. COAXER, DOLLY TRULL, MRS.
vate dispute of mine shall be of no ill con-
sequence to my friends. You must continue
to act under his direction; for, the moment
we break loose from him, our gang is ruined. Mac. Dear Mrs. Coaxer, you are welcome!
Mat. He is, to us, of great convenience. you look charmingly to-day: I hope you don't
Mac. Make him believe I have quitted the want the repairs of quality, and lay on paint.-
gang, which I can never do but with life. Dolly Trull! kiss me, you slut! are you as
At our private quarters I will continue to amorous as ever, hussy? you are always so
meet you. A week, or so, will probably re- taken up with stealing hearts, that you don't
concile us.
allow yourself time to steal any thing else.-
Mat. Your instructions shall be observed. Ah, Dolly! thou wilt ever be a coquette.-
'Tis now high time for us to repair to our Mrs. Vixen, I'm yours! I always loved a
several duties; so, till the evening, at our woman of wit and spirit; they make charming
quarters in Moorfields, we bid you farewell. mistresses, but plaguy wives.- Betty Doxy!
Mac. I shall wish myself with you. Suc- come hither, hussy: do you drink as hard as
cess attend you.
[Sits down melancholy at the Table.
AIR AND CHORUS.-MAT-O'THE-MINT AND GANG.
Let us take the road;
Hark! I hear the sound of coaches,
The hour of attack approaches,
To your arms, brave boys, and load.
See the ball I hold!
ever? you had better stick to good wholesome
beer; for, in troth, Betty, strong waters will,
in time, ruin your constitution: you should
leave those to your betters. What, and my
pretty Jenny Diver too! as prim and demure
as ever! there is not any prude, though ever
so high bred, hath a more sanctified look, with
a more mischievous heart: ah,' thou art a dear,
artful hypocrite! - Mrs. Slammekin! as care-
less and genteel as ever! all you fine ladies,
who know your own beauty, affect an un-
dress. But see! here's Sukey Tawdry come
[The Gang, ranged in the Front of the to contradict what I was saying.-Molly Brazen!
Stage, load their Pistols, and stick them [She kisses him] That's well done! I love a
under their Girdles; then go off, sing-free-hearted wench: thou hast a most agree-
ing the first Part in Chorus.
able assurance, girl, and art as willing as a
turtle.
Let the chemists toil like asses,
Our fire their fire surpasses,
And turns all our lead to gold.
Mac. What a fool is a fond wench! Polly
is most confoundedly bit. I love the sex; and
a man who loves money might as well be
contented with one guinea, as I with one
woman. The town, perhaps, hath been as
much obliged to me for recruiting it with
free-hearted ladies, as to any recruiting of-
ficer in the army. If it were not for us and
the other gentlemen of the sword, Drury-
lane ¹) would be uninhabited.
AIR. MACHEATH.
If the heart of a man is depress'd with cares,
The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears;
Like the notes of a fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly,
Raises the spirits, and charms our ears.
Roses and lilies her cheeks disclose,
But her ripe lips are more sweet than those;
Press her,
Caress her,
With blisses,
Her kisses
Dissolve us in pleasure and soft repose.
I must have women-there is nothing unbends
the mind like them: money is not so strong
a cordial for the time-Drawer!
1) A famous place for ladies of very free virtue.
AIR AND CHORUS.-MACHEATH AND LADIES.
Youth's the season made for joys,
Love is then our duty;
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her beauty.
Let's be gay,
While we may,
Beauty's a flower despised in decay.
Chorus. Youth's the season, etc.
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow;
Love with youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time's on the wing,
Life never knows the return of spring.
Chorus. Let us drink, etc.
Mac. Now, pray, ladies, take your places.
Here, drawer, bring us more wine. If any of
the ladies choose gin, I hope they will be so
free as to call for it.
is strong enough for me. Indeed, sir, I never
Jenny. You look as if you meant me. Wine
drink strong waters but when I have the cholic.
Mac. Just the excuse of the fine ladies!

SCENE 2.1
823
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
why, a lady of quality is never without the treat, I believe, Mrs. Sukey will join me-as
cholic. I hope, Mrs. Coaxer, you have had for any thing else, ladies, you cannot, in con-
good success of late in your visits among the science, expect it.
mercers ¹).
Mrs. S. Dear madam!
Mrs. C. We have so many interlopers; yet,
with industry, one may still have a little
picking. If any woman hath more art than
another, to be sure 'tis Jenny Diver.
Mac. Have done with your compliments,
ladies, and drink about. You are not so fond
of me, Jenny, as you used to be.
Jenny. "Tis not convenient, sir, to show
my fondness among so many rivals. 'Tis your
[Offering the Pass to Mrs. Vixen.
Mrs. V. I wouldn't for the world.
Mrs. S. Nay-thus I must stay all night.
Mrs. V. Since you command me-
Mrs. S. [After having given way to Mrs.
Vixen, pushes her from the Door] Let your
betters go before you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II-Newgate.
Constables.
own choice, and not the warmth of my in- Enter LOCKIT, Turnkeys, MACHEATH, and
clination, that will determine you.-But, to be
sure, sir, with so much good fortune as you Lockit. Noble captain, you are welcome!
have had upon the road, you must be grown you have not been a lodger of mine this year
immensely rich.
and a half. You know the custom, sir; gar-
Mac. The road, indeed, hath done me jus-nish ¹), captain, garnish.-Hand me down those
tice, but the gaming-table hath been my ruin. fetters there.
Jenny. A man of courage should never put Mac. Those, Mr. Lockit, seem to be the
any thing to the risk but his life. These are heaviest of the whole set. With your leave,
the tools of a man of honour: cards and dice I
are only fit for cowardly cheats, who prey
upon their friends.
[She takes up his Pistol; Sukey Taw-
dry takes up the other.
should like the further pair better.
Lockit. Look ye, captain, we know what is
fittest for our prisoners. When a gentleman
uses me with civility, I always do the best I
can to please him.-Hand them down, I say.
Sukey. This, sir, is fitter for your hand. We have them of all prices, from one guinea
Besides your loss of money, 'tis a loss to the to ten; and 'tis fitting every gentleman should
ladies. How fond could I be of you! but, please himself.
before company, 'tis ill bred.
Mac. Wanton hussies!
Jenny. I must, and will, have a kiss, to
my wine a zest.
give
and
[They take him about the Neck,
make Signs to Peachum and Con-
stables, who rush in upon him.
Peach. I seize you, sir, as my prisoner.
Mac. Was this well done, Jenny?-Women
are decoy ducks; who can trust them? beasts,
jades, jilts, harpies, furies, whores!
Mac. I understand you, sir. [Gives Money]
The fees here are so many, and so exorbitant,
that few fortunes can bear the expense of
getting off handsomely, or of dying like a
gentleman 2).
Lockit. Those, I see, will fit the captain
better.-Take down the further pair.-Do but
examine them, sir-Never was better work-
How genteelly they are made!-They will sit
as easy as a glove, and the nicest man in
England might not be ashamed to wear them.
Peach. Your case, Mr. Macheath, is not [He puts on the Chains] If I had the best
particular. The greatest heroes have been gentleman in the land in my custody, I could
ruined by women. But, to do them justice, not equip him more handsomely. And so, sir-
I must own they are a pretty sort of crea- I now leave you to your private meditations.
tures, if we could trust them. You must now, [Exeunt Lockit, Turnkeys, and Constables.
sir, take your leave of the ladies; and, if they
have a mind to make you a visit, they will
be sure to find you at home. This gentle-
man, ladies, lodges in Newgate. Constables,
wait upon the captain to his lodgings.
--
AIR. MACHEATH.
At the tree I shall suffer with pleasure,
At the tree I shall suffer with pleasure:
Let me go where I will,
In all kinds of ill,
AIR. MACHEATH.
Man may escape from rope and gun,
Who takes a woman must be undone,
Nay, some have outlived the doctor's pill;
That basilisk is sure to kill.
The fly, that sips treacle, is lost in the sweets,
So he that tastes woman, woman, woman,
He, that tastes woman, ruin meets.
To what a woful plight have I brought_my-
self! Here must I (all day long till I am
I shall find no such furies as these are. hanged) be confident to hear the reproaches
[Exit Macheath, guarded with of a wench, who lays her ruin at my door-
Peachum and Constables. I am in the custody of her father; and, to be
Mrs. V. Look ye, Mrs. Jenny, though Mr. sure, if he knows of the matter, I shall have
Peachum may have made a private bargain a fine time on't betwixt this and my exe-
with you and Sukey Tawdry, for betraying cution.-But I promised the wench marriage.
the captain, as we were all assisting we ought What signifies a promise to a woman? does
all to share alike.
Jenny. As far as bowl of punch, or a
1) This is called shop-lifting, where a woman goes to
mercer's, or other shop, under pretence of buying some-
thing; and they generally take with them double the
quantity they have paid for; but they come under so
many different shapes, and are so extremely clever at
their business, that it is almost impossible to detect
them.
a
not man, in marriage itself, promise a hundred
things that he never means to perform? Do
all we can, women will believe us; for they
look upon a promise as an excuse for follow-
1) Money.
2) In a suit of black, with black silk stockings, and white
cravat. It is astonishing the vanity displayed on this
occasion, when they spend to the very last farthing,
that they may die genteelly.
+

824
[ACT II.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
--
ing their own inclinations. But here comes
Lucy, and I cannot get from her- 'would I
were deaf!
Enter LucY.
Lucy. You base man, you!-how can you
look me in the face, after what hath past be-
tween us?-Oh, Macheath! thou hast robbed.
me of my quiet-to see thee tortured would
give me pleasure.
AIR.-LUCY.
Thus, when a good housewife sees a rat
In her trap in the morning taken,
With pleasure her heart goes pit-a-pat,
In revenge for her loss of bacon.
Then she throws him
To the dog or cat,
To be worried, crush'd, and shaken.
Mac. Have you no tenderness, my dear
Lucy! to see a husband in these circumstances?
Lucy. A husband!
Mac. In every respect but the form, and
that, my dear, may be said over us at any
-
AIR.
The first time at the looking-glass
The mother sets her daughter,
The image strikes the smiling lass
With self-love ever after.
Each time she looks, she, fonder grown,
Thinks every charm grows stronger;
But, alas, vain maid! all eyes but your own
Can see you are not younger.
When women consider their own beauties,
they are all alike unreasonable in their de-
mands; for they expect their lovers should
like them as long as they like themselves.
Lucy. Yonder is my father- Perhaps this
way we may light upon the ordinary, who
shall try if you will be as good as your word-
for I long to be made an honest woman.
[Exeunt.
Enter PEACHUM, and LOCKIT with an Ac-
count-book.
Lockit. In this last affair, brother Peachum,
time. Friends should not insist upon cere- we are agreed. You have consented to go
monies. From a man of honour is word is halves in Macheath.
as good as his bond.
Lucy. It is the pleasure of all you fine men
to insult the women you have ruined.
Mac. The very first opportunity, my dear
(but have patience), you shall be my wife in
whatever manner you please.
Peach. We shall never fall out about an
execution. But as to that article, pray how
stands your last year's account?
Lockit. If you will run your eye over it,
you'll find 'tis fair and clearly stated.
Peach. This long arrear of the government
Lucy. Insinuating monster! And so you is very hard upon us. Can it be expected
think I know nothing of the affair of miss that we should hang our acquaintance for
Polly Peachum?-I could tear thy eyes out. nothing, when our betters will hardly save
Mac. Sure, Lucy, you can't be such a fool theirs without being paid for it? Unless the
as to be jealous of Polly.
people in employment pay better, I promise
them for the future I shall let other rogues
live beside their own.
Lucy. Are you not married to her, you
brute, you?
Mac. Married! very good. The wench gives Lockit. Perhaps, brother, they are afraid
it out only to vex thee, and to ruin me in those matters may be carried too far. We
thy good opinion. 'Tis true I go to the house, are treated too by them with contempt, as if
I chat with the girl, I kiss her, I say a thou- our profession were not reputable.
sand things to her (as all gentlemen do) that Peach. In one respect indeed our employ-
mean nothing, to divert myself; and now the ment may be reckoned dishonest, because, like
silly jade hath set it about that I am married great statesmen, we encourage those who be-
to her, to let me know what she would be tray their friends.
at. Indeed, my dear Lucy! those violent pas- Lockit. Such language, brother, any where
sions may be of ill consequence to a woman else might turn to your prejudice. Learn to
in your condition.
be more guarded, I beg you.
Lucy. Come, come, captain, for all your
assurance, you know that miss Polly hath put
it out of your power to do me the justice
you promised me.
Mac. A jealous woman believes every thing
her passion suggests. To convince you of my
sincerity, if we can find the ordinary, I shall
have no scruples of making you my wife; and
I know the consequence of having two at
a time.
Lucy. That you are only to be hanged, and
so get rid of them both.
Mac. I am ready, my dear Lucy! to give
you satisfaction-if you think there is any in
marriage. What can a man of honour say
more?
Lucy. So then it seems you are not mar-
ried to miss Polly?
Mac. You know, Lucy, the girl is prodi-
giously conceited: no man can say a civil
thing to her, but (like other fine ladies) her
vanity makes her think he's her own for ever
and ever.
AIR.-LOCKIT.
When you censure the age,
Be cautious and sage,
Lest the courtiers offended should be;
If you mention vice or bribe,
'Tis so pat to all the tribe,
Each cries-That was levell'd at me.
Peach. Here's poor Ned Clincher's name,
I see: sure, brother Lockit, there was a little
unfair proceeding in Ned's case; for he told
me in the condemned hold, that, for value
received, you had promised him a session or
two longer without molestation.
Lockit. Mr. Peachum-this is the first time
my bonour was ever called in question.
Peach. Business is at an end-if once we
act dishonourably.
Lockit. Who accuses me?
Peach. You are warm, brother.
Lockit. He that attacks my honour, attacks
my livelihood-and this usage-sir-is not to
be borne.

SCENE 2.1
825
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
Peach. Since you provoke me to speak-
Enter MACHEATH.
I must tell you too, that Mrs. Coaxer charges Lucy. Though the ordinary was out of the
you with defrauding her of her information way to-day, I hope, my dear, you will, upon
money for the apprehending of Curl-pated he first opportunity, quiet my scruples. - Oh,
Hugh. Indeed, indeed, brother, we must punct- sir! my father's hard heart is not to be softened,
ually pay our spies, or we shall have no in- and I am in the utmost despair.
formation.
Mac. But if I could raise a small sum-
Lockit. Is this language to me, sirrah-who would not twenty guineas, think you, move
have saved you from the gallows, sirrah! him? Of all the arguments in the way of
[Collaring each other. business, the perquisite is the most prevailing.
Money, well-timed, and properly applied, will
do any thing.
Peach. If I am hanged, it shall be for rid-
ding the world of an arrant rascal.
Lockit. This hand shall do the office of the
AIR. MACHEATH.
halter you deserve, and throttle you-you dog! If you at an office expect your due,
Peach. Brother, brother - we are both in
we are both in
the wrong - we shall be both losers in the
—
And wouldn't have matters neglected,
site too,
dispute for you know we have it in our You must quicken the clerk with the perqui-
power to hang each other. You should not
be so passionate.
Lockit. Nor you so provoking.
Peach. 'Tis our mutual interest, 'tis for the
interest of the world, we should agree. If I
said any thing, brother, to the prejudice of
your character, I ask pardon.
To do what his duty directed:
Or would you the frowns of a lady prevent,
She too has that palpable failing;
The perquisite softens her into consent,
That reason with all is prevailing.
Lucy. What love or money can do shall
Lockit. Brother Peachum-I can forgive as be done; for all my comfort depends upon
well as resent-Give me your hand; suspicion your safety.
does not become a friend.
Peach. I only meant to give you occasion
Enter POLLY.
to justify yourself. But I must now step home, Polly Where is my dear husband?-Was
for I expect the gentleman about this snuff- a rope ever intended for his neck! - Oh let
box that Filch nimmed 1) two nights ago in me throw my arms about it, and throttle thee
the Park. I appointed him at this hour. [Exit. with love!-Why dost thou turn away from
Enter LUCY.
Lockit. Whence come you, hussy?
Lucy. My tears might answer that question.
Lockit. You have been whimpering and
fondling like a spaniel, over the fellow that
hath abused you.
me?-'tis thy Polly-'tis thy wife.
Mac. Was ever such an unfortunate rascal
as I am!
Lucy. Was there ever such another villain!
Polly. Oh, Macheath! was it for this we
parted? Taken! imprisoned! tried! hanged!-
Cruel reflection! I'll stay with thee till death-
Lucy. One can't help love; one can't cure no force shall tear thy dear wife from thee
it. 'Tis not in my power to obey you and
hate him.
now.-What means my love?-not one kind
word! not one kind look!-Think what thy
Polly suffers to see thee in this condition!
Mac. I must disown her. [Aside] The wench
Lockit. Learn to bear your husband's death
like a reasonable woman; 'tis not the fashion
now-a-days so much as to affect sorrow upon is distracted!
these occasions. No woman would ever marry Lucy. Am I then bilked of my virtue? Can
if she had not the chance of mortality for a have no reparation? Sure men were born
release. Act like a woman of spirit, hussy, to lie, and women to believe them! Oh vil-
and thank your father for what he is doing, lain! villain!
AIR. LUCY.
Is then his fate decreed, sir,
Such a man can I think of quitting?
When first we met, so moves me yet,
O see how my heart is splitting!
Lockit. Look ye, Lucy, there is no saving
him-so I think you must even do like other
widows-buy yourself weeds, and be cheerful.
AIR, LOCKIT.
You'll think, ere many days ensue,
This sentence not severe;
I hang your husband, child, 'tis true,
But with him hang your care.
Twang dang dillo dee.
Like a good wife, go moan over your dying
I
Polly. Am I not thy wife?-Thy neglect of
me, thy aversion to me, too severely proves
it.-Look on me-Tell me, am I not thy wife?
Lucy. Perfidious wretch!
Polly. Barbarous husband!
Lucy. Hadst thou been hanged five months
ago, I had been happy.
Polly. If you had been kind to me till
death, it would not have vexed me-and that's
no very unreasonable request (though from a
wife) to a man who hath not above seven or
eight days to live.
Lucy, Art thou, then, married to another?
Hast thou two wives, monster?
Mac. If woman's tongues can cease for an
answer-hear me.
Lucy. I won't.-Flesh and blood can't bear
husband; that, child, is your duty-Consider, my usage!
girl, you can't have the man and the money Polly. Shall not I claim my own? Justice
too-so make yourself as easy as you can, bids me speak.
by getting all you can from him.
1) Slang, for stole.
[Exit.
AIR MACHEATH.
How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away!
104

826
[ACT 11.
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
But while ye thus tease me together,
To neither a word will I say;
But toll de roll, etc.
Polly. Sure, my dear, there ought to be
some preference shown to a wife-at least she
may claim the appearance of it. He must be
distracted with misfortunes, or he could not
use me thus.
Lucy. Oh villain! villain! thou hast de-
ceived me!-I could even inform against thee.
with pleasure. Not a prude wishes more
heartily to have facts against her intimate ac-
quaintance, than I now wish to have facts
against thee. I would have her satisfaction,
and they should all out.
DUET. POLLY AND LUCY.
Polly, I'm bubbled.
least, madam; and my duty, madam, obliges
me to stay with my husband, madam.
AIR.
Lucy Why, how now, madam Flirt?
If you thus must chatter,
And are for flinging dirt,
Let's try who best can spatter,
Madam Flirt!
Polly. Why, how now, saucy jade?
Sure, the wench is tipsey!
How can you see me made | To him.
The scoff of such a gipsy?
Saucy jade! [To her.
Enter PEACHUM.
Peach. Where's my wench? Ah, hussy,
hussy!-Come home, you slut! and when your
fellow is hanged, hang yourself, to make your
Oh, how family some amends.
Lucy.
I'm bubbled.
Polly.
I'm troubled!
Lucy. Bamboozled and bit!
are doubled.
Polly.
My distresses
Lucy. When you come to the tree, should
the hangman refuse,
These fingers, with pleasure
fasten the noose.
could
Polly. I'm bubbled, etc.
Mac. Be pacified, my dear Lucy-this is all
a fetch of Polly's, to make me desperate with
you, in case I get off. If I am hanged, she
would fain have the credit of being thought
my widow. Really, Polly, this is no time for
a dispute of this sort; for whenever you are
talking of marriage, I am thinking of hanging.
Polly. And hast thou the heart to persist in
disowning me?
Polly. Dear, dear father! do not tear me
from him.-I must speak-I have more to say
to him.-Oh, twist thy fetters about me, that
he may not haul me from thee!
Peach. Sure, all women are alike! if ever
they commit one folly, they are sure to com-
mit another, by exposing themselves.-Away
-not a word more. You are my prisoner,
now, hussy.
AIR. POLLY.
No pow'r on earth can e'er divide
The knot that sacred love hath tied;
When parents draw against our mind,
The truelove's knot they faster bind.
Oh, oh, ray, oh Amborah-Oh, oh, etc.
[Holding Macheath, Peachum pulling her.
[Exeunt Peachum and Polly.
Mac. And hast thou the heart to persist in Mac. I am naturally compassionate, wife, so
persuading me that I am married? Why, that I could not use the wench as she deser-
Polly, dost thou seek to aggravate my mis-ved, which made you, at first, suspect there
fortunes?
was something in what she said.
Lucy. Really, miss Peachum, you do but
expose yourself; besides, 'tis barbarous in you
to worry a gentleman in his circumstances.
AIR POLLY.
Cease your funning,
Force or cunning
Never shall my heart trepan;
All these sallies
Are but malice,
To seduce my constant man.
'Tis most certain,
By their flirting,
Women oft have envy shown;
Pleased to ruin
Others' wooing,
Never happy in their own!
Decency, madam, methinks, might teach you
to behave yourself with some reserve to the
husband, while his wife is present.
Lucy. Indeed, my dear, I was strangely
puzzled!
Mac. If that had been the case, her father
would never have brought me into this cir-
cumstance-No, Lucy, I had rather die than
be false to thee!
Luc. How happy am I, if you say this from
your heart! for I love thee so, that I could
sooner bear to see thee hanged, than in the
arms of another.
Mac. But couldst thou hear to see me hanged?
Luc. Oh, Macheath; I could never live to
see that day!
Mac. You see, Lucy, in the account of love,
you are in my debt.-Make me, if possible,
love thee more, and let me owe my life to
thee-If you refuse to assist me, Peachum and
your father will immediately put me beyond
all means of escape.
Lucy. My father, I know, hath been drink-
ing hard with the prisoners, and I fancy he
Mac. But, seriously, Polly, this is carrying is now taking his nap in his own room-If I
the joke a little to far.
can procure the keys, shall I go off with thee,
my dear?
Luc. If you are determined, madam, to raise
a disturbance in the prison, I shall be obliged Mac. If we are together, 'twill be impossi-
to send for the turnkey, to show you the door. ble to lie concealed. As soon as the search
I am sorry, madam, you force me to be so begins to be a little cool, I will send to thee;
ill bred.
till then, my heart is thy prisoner.
Polly. Give me leave to tell you, madam, Lucy. Come then, my dear husband, owe
these forward airs don't become you in the thy life to me; and, though you love me not

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
827
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
be grateful. But that Polly runs in my head
strangely.
Mac. A moment of time may make us un-
happy for ever.
AIR. LUCY.
I like the fox shall grieve,
Whose mate hath left her side;
Whom hounds, from morn to eve,
Chase o'er the country wide.
Where can my lover hide?
Where cheat the weary pack?
If love be not his guide,
He never will come back.
ACT III.
SCENE I. NEWGATE.
LOCKIT, LUCY.
[Exeunt.
Alone I lie,
Toss, tumble, and cry,
What a happy creature is Polly!
Was e'er such a wretch as I?
With rage I redden like scarlet,
That my dear inconstant varlet,
Stark blind to my charms,
Is lost in the arms
Of that jilt, that inveigling harlot!
Stark blind to my charms,
Is lost in the arms
Of that jilt, that inveigling harlot!
This, this my resentment alarms.
Lockit. And so, after all this mischief, I
must stay here to be entertained with your
caterwauling, mistress Puss!-Out of my sight,
wanton strumpet!-Yon shall fast, and mortify
yourself into reason, with, now and then, a
little handsome discipline, to bring you to your
Lockit. To be sure, wench, you must have senses.-Go!-[Exit Lucy] Peachum, then,
been aiding and abetting to help him to this intends to outwit me in this affair, but I'll be
escape?
even with him!-The dog is leaky in his li-
Lucy. Sir, here hath been Peachum, and quor, so I'll ply him that way, get the secret
his daughter Polly, and, to be sure, they know from him, and turn this affair to my own ad-
the ways of Newgate as well as if they had vantage. Lucy!
been born and bred in the place all their lives.
Why must all your suspicion light upon me?
Enter Lucy.
Lockit. Lucy, Lucy, I will have none of Are there any of Peachum's people now in
these shuffling answers!
the house?
Lucy. Well then, if I know any thing of
him, I wish I may be burned!
Lockit. Keep your temper, Lucy, or I shall
pronounce you guilty.
Lucy. Filch, sir, is drinking a quartern of
strong waters, in the next room, with Black
Moll.
Lockit. Bid him come to me.
Enter FILCH.
[Exit.
Lucy. Keep yours, sir-I do wish I may be
burned, I do; and what can I say more to
convince you?
Why, boy, thou lookest as if thou wert half
Lockit. Did he tip handsomely?-How much starved, like a shotten herring.-But, boy,
did he come down with? Come, hussy, don't canst thou tell me where thy master is to be
cheat your father, and I shall not be angry found?
with you-Perhaps, you have made a better Filch. At his lock, sir, at the Crooked Billet.
bargain with him than I could have done- Lockit. Very well-I have nothing more
How much, my good girl?
with you. [Exit Filch] I'll go to him there,
Lucy. You know, sir, I am fond of him, for I have many important affairs to settle
and would have given money to have kept
him with me.
Lockit. Ah, Lucy! thy education might have
put thee more upon thy guard: for a girl, in
the bar of an alehouse, is always besieged.
Lucy. If you can forgive me, sir, I will
make a fair confession; for, to be sure, he
hath been a most barbarous villain to me!
Lockit. And so you have let him escape,
hussy-have you?
Lucy. When a woman loves, a kind look,
a tender word, can persuade her to any thing,
and I could ask no other bribe. Notwith-
standing all he swore, I am now fully con-
vinced, that Polly Peachum is actually his
wife-Did I let him escape, fool that I was!
to go to her? Polly will wheedle herself into
his money; and then Peachum will hang him,
and cheat us both.
excuse!
with him, and in the way of those transactions,
I'll artfully get into his secret-so that Mac-
heath shall not remain a day longer out of my
clutches.
[Exit.
Enter LUCY.
Lucy. Jealousy, rage, love, and fear, are at
once tearing me to pieces. How am I wea-
ther-beaten and shattered with distresses.
AIR. LUCY.
I'm like a skiff on the ocean tost,
Now high, now low, with each billow
borne,
With her rudder broke and her anchor lost,
Deserted and all forlorn.
While thus I lie rolling and tossing all night,
That Polly lies sporting on seas of delight!
Revenge, revenge, revenge,
Shall appease my restless sprite.
Lockit. So I am to be ruined because, for-
sooth, you must be in love! -A very pretty I have the ratsbane ready-But say I were to
be hanged-I never could be hanged for any
Lucy. I could murder that impudent, happy thing that would give me greater comfort than
strumpet!-I gave him his life, and that crea- the poisoning that slut.
ture enjoys the sweets of it-Ungrateful Mac-
heath!
AIR. LUCY.
-
My love is all madness and folly;
Enter FILCH.
Filch. Madam, here's miss Polly come to
wait upon you.
Lucy. Show her in.

828
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
[ACT III.
Enter POLLY.
she hates me!-The dissembling of a woman
Dear madam! your servant.-I hope you will is always the forerunner of mischief-By pour-
pardon my passion when I was so happy to ing strong waters down my throat she thinks
see you
last-I was so overrun with the spleen, to pump some secrets out of me-I'll be upon
that I was perfectly out of myself; and really my guard, and won't taste a drop of her li-
when one hath the spleen, every thing is to quor, I'm resolved.
be excused by a friend.
AIR. LUCY.
When a wife's in the pout
(As she's sometimes, no doubt),
Re-enter LUCY, with strong Waters.
Lucy. Come, miss Polly.
Polly. Indeed, child, you have given your-
self trouble to no purpose-You must, my
The good husband, as meek as a lamb, dear, excuse me.
Her vapours to still,
First grant her her will,
And the quieting draught is a dram;
Poor man! and the quieting draught is
a dram.
-I wish all our quarrels might have so com-
fortable a reconciliation.
Polly. I have no excuse for my own be-
haviour, madam, but my misfortunes-and re-
ally, madam, I suffer too upon your account.
Lucy. Really, miss Polly, you are as squea-
mishly affected about taking a cup of strong
waters as a lady before company.
Polly. What do I see? Macheath again in
custody!-now every glimmering of happiness
is lost! [Drops the Glass of Liquor on the
Ground.
Enter LOCKIT, MACHEATH, and PEACHUM,
Lockit. Set your heart at rest, captain-
Lucy. But, miss Polly-in the way of You have neither the chance of love or money
friendship, will you give me leave to propose for another escape, for you are ordered to be
a glass of cordial to you?
called down upon your trial immediately.
Polly. Strong waters are apt to give me the
headache. I hope, madam, you will excuse
me?
Peach. Away, hussies!-This is not a time
for a man to be hampered with his wives-
you see the gentleman is in chains already.
Lucy. O husband, husband! my heart longed
Lucy. Not the greatest lady in the land
could have better in her closet for her own to see thee, but to see thee thus distracts me!
private drinking. -You seem mighty low in
spirits, my dear!
DUET. - POLLY AND LUCY.
Polly. Will not my dear husband look upon
his Polly? Why hadst thou not flown to me
Polly. I am sorry, madam, my health will for protection? with me thou hadst been safe.
not allow me to accept of your offer-I should
not have left you in the rude manner I did
when we met last, madam, had not my papa
hauled me away so unexpectedly. I was in-
deed somewhat provoked, and perhaps might
use some expressions that were disrespectful
-but really, madam, the captain treated me
with so much contempt and cruelty, that I de-
served your pity rather than your resentment.
Lucy. But since his escape, no doubt, all
matters are made up again-Ah Polly! Polly!
'tis I am the unhappy wife, and he loves you
as if you were only his mistress.
Polly. Hither, dear husband, turn your eyes!
Lucy. Bestow one glance to cheer me.
Polly. Think, with that look, thy Polly dies.
Lucy. O shun me not, but hear me !
Polly. 'Tis Polly sues.
Lucy.
'Tis Lucy speaks.
Polly. Is thus true love requited?
Lucy. My heart is bursting.
Polly.
Lucy: Must I-
Mine, too, breaks.
Polly.
Must I be slighted?
Polly. Sure, madam, you cannot think me Mac. What would you have me say, la-
so happy as to be the object of your jealousy dies? You see the affair will soon be at an
-A man is always afraid of a woman who end, without my disobliging either of you.
loves him too well-So that I must expect to Peach. But the settling of this point, cap-
be neglected and avoided.
tain, might prevent a lawsuit between your
two ladies.
Lucy. Then our cases, my dear Polly, are
exactly alike: both of us indeed have been too
fond. Indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of
us a cup too low; let me prevail upon you
to accept of my offer.
AIR. LUCY.
Come, sweet lass,
Let's banish sorrow
Till to-morrow;
Come, sweet lass,
Let's take a chirping glass.
Wine can clear
The vapours of despair,
And make us light as air;
Then drink and banish care.
AIR. MACHEATH.
Which way shall I turn me? how can I
decide?
Wives, the day of your death, are as fond
as a bride.
One wife is too much for most husbands
to hear,
But two at a time, there's no mortal can bear.
This way and that way, and which way I will,
What would comfort the one, t'other wife
I would take ill.
Polly. But, if his own misfortunes have
made him insensible to mine, a father, sure,
will be more compassionate!-Dear, dear sir!
I can't bear, child, to see you in such low sink the material evidence, and bring him off
spirits and I must persuade you to what I at his trial-Polly, upon her knees, begs it of
know will do you good.
[Exit. you.
Polly. All this wheedling of Lucy can't be
for nothing at this time too, when I know!
AIR. POLLY.
When my hero in court appears,

SCENE 2.3.]
829
THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
And stands arraign'd for his life,
Then think of poor Polly's tears,
For ah! poor Polly's his wife.
Like the sailor, he holds up his hand,
Distress'd on the dashing wave;
To die a dry death at land
Is as bad as a wat'ry grave.
And alas, poor Polly!
Alack, and well-a-day!
Before I was in love,
Oh! ev'ry month was May.
Peach. Set your heart at rest, Polly-your
Upon Tyburn tree.
But gold from law can take out the sting;
And if rich men, like us, were to swing,
'Twould thin the land, such numbers to string
Upon Tyburn tree.
Enter GAOLER.
Gaoler. Some friends of yours, captain, de-
sire to be admitted-I leave you together.
Enter BEN BUDGE and MAT-O'THE-MINT.
Mac. For my having broke prison, you see,
husband is to die to-day; therefore, if you gentlemen, I am ordered immediate execution
are not already provided, 'tis high time to -The sheriff's officers, I believe, are now at
look about for another.-There's comfort for
you, you slut!
Lockit. We are ready, sir, to conduct you
to the Old Bailey.
AIR.
-
MACHEATH.
The charge is prepared, the lawyers are met,
The judges all ranged; (a terrible show!)
I go undismay'd, for death is a debt-
A debt on demand, so take what I owe.
Then farewell, my love-dear charmers,
adieu!
Contented I die-'tis the better for you.
Here ends all dispute, for the rest of our lives,
For this way, at once, I please all my wives.
Now, gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.
[Exeunt Peachum, Lockit, Macheath, etc.
SCENE II. Another Part of the Prison.
Dance of Prisoners in Fetters.
SCENE III. The condemned Hold.
MACHEATH in a melancholy Posture.
MEDLEY.
Oh, cruel, cruel, cruel case!
Must I suffer this disgrace?
Of all the friends in time of grief,
When threat'ning death looks grimmer,
Not one so sure can bring relief,
As this best friend, a brimmer. [Drinks.
Since I must swing-I scorn, I scorn to wince
or whine.
[Drinks.
[Rises.
But now again, my spirits sink,
I'll raise them high with wine.
[Drinks.
But valour the stronger grows,
The stronger liquor we're drinking;
And how can we feel our woes,
When we've lost the trouble of thinking?
If thus a man can die,
the door. That Jemmy Twitcher should 'peach
me, I own surprised me--'Tis a plain proof
that the world is all alike, and that even our
gang can no more trust one another than
other people; therefore, I beg you, gentlemen,
to look well to yourselves, for, in all proba-
bility, you may live some months longer.
Mat. We are all heartily sorry, captain,
for your misfortune; but 'tis what we must
all come to.
Mac. Peachum and Lockit, you know, are
infamous scoundrels-their lives are as much
in your power, as yours are in theirs-Re-
member your dying friend-'Tis my last re-
quest-Bring those villains to the gallows be-
fore you, and I am satisfied.
Mat. We'll do it.
Re-enter GAOLER.
Gaoler. Miss Polly and miss Lucy entreat
a word with you.
[Exit.
Mac. Gentlemen, adieu!
[Exeunt Ben Budge and Mat-o'the-Mint.
Enter LUCY and POLLY.
Mac. My dear Lucy! my dear Polly! what-
soever hath passed between us is now at an
end.
TRIO.-LUCY, POLLY, MACHEATH.
Lucy. 'Would I might be hang'd!
Polly.
And I would so too!
Lucy. To be hang'd with you. Sh
Polly.
My dear, with you.
Mac. Oh, leave me to thought! I fear, I
doubt!
I tremble-I droop!-See, my cou-
rage is out!
Polly. No token of love?
[Turns up the empty Pot.
Mac.
[Drinks.
See, my courage is out!
[Turns up the empty Bottle.
Lucy. No token of love?
Polly.
Adieu!
Lucy.
Farewell!
Much bolder with brandy.
[Pours out a Bumper of Brandy.
So I drink off this bumper- and now I can
And
my
stand the test,
Mac. But hark! I hear the toll of the bell.
Re-enter GAOLER.
Gaoler. Four women more, captain, with a
comrades shall see that I die as brave
as the best. [Drinks. child a-piece.
But can I leave my pretty hussies
Without one tear, or tender sigh?
Their eyes, their lips, their busses,
Recall my love-Ah! must I die?
Since laws were made for every degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as in me,
I wonder we ha'n't better company
Mac. Tell the sheriff's officers I am ready.
[Exeunt.
Mob. [Within] A reprieve! a reprieve!
Re-enter MACHEATH, POLLY, LUCY, etc.
Mae. So, it seems, I am not left to my
choice, but must have a wife at last-Look
ye, my dears, we will have no controversy

830
[ACT I.
THE DUENNA.
now-Let us give this day to mirth; and, la-
dies, I hope you will give me leave to present
a partner to each of you; and for this time,
I take Polly for mine-and for life, you slut,
for we are really married.
FINALE.
Thus, I stand like a Turk, and his doxies
around,
From all sides, their glances his passion
confound;
For black, brown, and fair, his inconstancy
burns,
And the different beauties subdue him by
turns:
Each calls forth her charms, to provoke his
desires,
Though willing to all, but with one he
retires:
Then think of this maxim, and put off all
sorrow,
The wretch of to-day may be happy to-
morrow.
CHORUS.
Then think of this maxim, and cast away
sorrow,
The wretch of to-day may be happy to-
morrow.
THE DUENNA,
COM. Opera by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent Garden, 1775. This piece (the plot of which seems
borrowed from Il Filosofo di Campagna, from Moliere's Sicilien, and from The Wonder of Mrs. Centlivre) was re-
ceived with applause by crowded audiences through a run of sixty-five nights, during the first season of its appearance.
In the following year, it was repeated at least thirty times, and still continues a favourite with the public. It exhibits
so happy a mixture of true humour and musical excellence, that it deservedly stands second on the list of its kindred
performances. The Beggar's Opera perhaps will always remain the first, says the Biographia Dramatica; but Lord
Byron maintains that Sheridan wrote the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best Opera (Duenna), the best farce
(Critic), and the best speech (the famous Begum speech) in the English language; and calls the Beggar's Opera, a mere
St. Giles's production.
DON FERDINAND.
ISAAC MENDOZA.
DON JEROME.
ACT I.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DON ANTONIO.
FATHER PAUL.
LOPEZ.
SCENE I. A Street.
DON CARLOS.
FRANCIS.
LAY BROTHER,
DONNA LOUISA.
DONNA CLARA.
THE DUENNA.
That, though my sleeping love shall know
Who sings - who sighs below,
Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?
Thus, may some vision whisper more
Than ever I dare speak before.
1 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never
wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, like
cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody.
Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest.
Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you, [Sings.
The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.
Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern.
Lop. PAST three o'clock! soh! a notable
hour for one of my regular disposition, to be
strolling like a bravo through the streets of
Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young a
lover is the hardest-not that I am an enemy
to love; but my love, and my master's, differ 1 Mask. The reason is, because you know
strangely-Don Ferdinand is much too gallant she does not regard you enough to appear,
to eat, drink, or sleep-now, my love gives if you awaked her.
me an appetite-then I am fond of dreaming
of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her
-This cannot be done without good sleep
and good liquor; hence my partiality to a fea-
ther-bed and a bottle, What a pity now,
that I have not further time for reflections!
but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to
secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window,
as I guess [Music without] hey! sure, I heard
music! So, so! who have we here? Oh, Don
Antonio, my master's friend, come from the
masquerade, to serenade my young mistress,
Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh! we shall have
the old gentleman up presently--lest he should
miss his son, I had best lose no time in gett-
ing to my post.
[Exit.
Enter ANTONIO, with MASKS and Music.
SONG. ANTONIO.
-
Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain
So gently speak thy master's pain?
So softly sing, so humbly sigh,
LOUISA-replies from a Window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;
'Tis Phoebus sure, that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in light.
DON JEROME from a Window.
What vagabonds are these, I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting,
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!
TRIO.
LOUISA, ANTONIO, JEROME
Louisa. Nay, pr'ythee, father, why so rough?
Ant. An humble lover I.
Jerome. How durst you, daughter, lend an ear

SCENE 2.1
831
THE DUENNA.
To such deceitful stuff?
Quick, from the window, fly!
Louisa. Adieu, Antonio!
Ant. Must you go?
Louisa.
Ant.
We soon, perhaps, may meet
again;
foe,
Ant. Yes, yes; he has a singular affection.
for music, so I left him roaring at his barred
window, like the print of Bajazet in the cage.
And what brings you out so early?
Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow
was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's
For though hard fortune is our unnatural stepmother, for her to enter a con-
vent, in order that her brat might possess her
fortune: made desperate by this, I procured
a key to the door, and bribed Clara's maid
to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I
entered, unperceived, and stole to her cham-
ber-I found her waking and weeping.
The god of love will fight for us.
Jerome. Reach me the blunderbuss.
Ant. et L. The god of love, who knows our
pain,
Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through
your brain.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-A Piazza.
Enter FERDINAND and LOPEZ.
Lopez. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep,
once in a week or so-
Ant. Happy Ferdinand!
Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion-I was
rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring
to approach her room at that hour of night.
Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first?
Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear
a word from me, but threatened to raise her
mother, if I did not instantly leave her.
Ant. Well, but at last?
Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me.
Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your
low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help
thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an the house, as I came in.
hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty
of the thing-
Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave
Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!-Oh Clara,
dear, cruel disturber of my rest!
Lopez. And of mine too.
Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a
juncture as this-now to stand on punctilios
-love me! I don't believe she ever did.
Lopez. Nor I either.
Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know
their desires for an hour together?
Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than
they'll own them."
Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant
a creature as Clara?
Lopez. I could name one.
Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who submits to
her caprice.
Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it.
Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyran-
nical, obstinate, perverse, absurd? ay, a wil-
Ant. And did you do nothing to offend
her?
Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved-I
believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of
kisses.
Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never
heard of such assurance!
Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with
the utmost respect.
Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her
-but, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your
key with them?
Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw me out,
took it from the door.
Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress
elopes after you.
Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps I am
in a humour to suspect every body-you loved
her once, and thought her an angel, as I do
now.
Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't
derness of faults and follies; her looks are love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't
scorn, and her very smiles-'Sdeath! I wish I a good feature in her face.
hadn't mentioned her smiles; for she does
smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating
brightness-Oh, death and madness! I shall
die if I lose her.
Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have un-
done all!
AIR.
-
FERDINAND.
Could I her faults remember,
Forgetting every charm,
Soon would impartial Reason
The tyrant Love disarm;
But when enraged I number
Each failing of her mind,
Love still suggests each beauty.
And sees-while Reason's blind.
Lopez. Here comes Don Antonio, sir.
Ferd. Well, go you home--I shall be there
presently.
Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles!
Enter ANTONIO.
[Exit.
Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you
chanting before our door-was my father
waked?
AIR.
I ne'er could any lustre see
In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.
Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in
my love for your sister; help me there, and
I can never disturb you with Clara.
Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the
honour of our family, you know I will; but
there must be no eloping.

832
[ACT 1.
THE DUENNA.
Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off herence to what he has once said, you have
Clara?
formed this plan for my escape - But have
Ferd. Ay, that's a different case-we never you secured my maid in our interest?
mean that others should act to our sisters and Duenna. She is a party in the whole; but
wives, as we do to others'-But, to-morrow, remember, if we succeed, you resign all right
Clara is to be forced into a convent.
and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me.
Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately Louisa. That I do with all my soul; get
circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces him, if you can, and I shall wish you joy,
Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese-but most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as
come with me, and we'll devise something, I my poor Antonio.
warrant.
Ferd. I must go home.
Ant. Well, adieu!
Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love
my sister, you have too much honour and
friendship to supplant me with Clara.
AIR.
-
ANTONIO.
Friendship is the bond of reason;
But if beauty disapprove,
Heaven dissolves all other treason
In the heart that's true to love.
The faith which to my friend I swore,
As a civil oath I view;
But to the charms which I adore,
"Tis religion to be true.
Then if to one I false must be,
Can I doubt which to prefer-
[Exit.
A breach of social faith with thee,
Or sacrilege to love and her?
Ferd. There is always a levity in Antonio's
manner of replying to me on this subject that
is very alarming-'Sdeath! if Clara should love
him after all!
SONG.
AIR.
Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,
My love, while me they wealthy call:
But I was glad to find thee poor-
For with my heart I'd give thee all.
And then the grateful youth shall own
I loved him for himself alone.
But when his worth my hand shall gain,
No word or look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow:
Yet still his grateful heart shall own
I loved him for himself alone.
Duenna. I hear Don Jerome coming-
Quick, give me the last letter I brought you
from Antonio-you know that is to be the
ground of my dismission-I must slip out to
seal it up, as undelivered.
[Exit.
Enter DON JEROME and FERDINAND.
Jerome. What, I suppose, you have been
serenading too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable
neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and las-
civious piping! Out on't! you set your sister,
here, a vile example; but I come to tell you,
madam, that I'll suffer no more of these mid-
night incantations-these amorous orgies, that
steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say,
Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting
the brain through the ears; however, there's
an end of your frolics-Isaac Mendoza will
Ah! none but the jealous-the jealous can be here presently, and to-morrow you shall
Though cause for suspicion appears,
Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong;
I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears,
And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong.
What heart-breaking torments from jealousy
flow,
know!
When blest with the smiles of my fair,
I know not how much I adore:
Those smiles let another but share,
And I wonder I prized them no more!
Then whence can I hope a relief from my
woe,
When, the falser she seems, still the fonder
I grow!
[Exit.
SCENE III.A Room in DON JEROME'S
House.
Enter LOUISA and DUENNA.
Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charm-
ing Duenna, do you think we shall succeed?
Duenna. It tell you again, I have no doubt
on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial
-Every thing is prepared in your room, and
for the rest, we must trust to fortune.
Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see
me till I had consented to-
Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say
to his friend, Don Gusman,-'I will demand
of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she
will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she
hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to
see or speak to her, till she returns to her
duty'-These were his words.
Louisa. And on his known obstinate
marry him.
Louisa. Never, while I have life.
Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can
think of such a man for a son-inlaw.
Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour
me with your sentiments-and pray, what is
your objection to him?
Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place.
Jerome. No such thing, boy; he has for-
sworn his country.
Louisa. He is a Jew.
Jerome. Another mistake: he has been a
Christian these six weeks.
Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an
estate, and has not had time to get a new one.
Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between
church and synagogue, or like the blank leaves
between the Old and New Testament.
Jerome. Any thing more?
Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his
character is his passion for deceit and tricks
of cunning.
Louisa. Though at the same time, the fool
predominates so much over the knave, that I
am told he is generally the dupe of his own
art.
Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, he
usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the re-
ad-coil of his own piece.

SCENE 1.1
833
THE DUENNA.
Jerome. Any thing more?
ness, and my father's anger
will probably only
Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst increase her affection.-In our intercourse with
fault a husband can have-he's not my choice. the world, it is natural for us to dislike those
Jerome. But you are his; and choice on who are innocently the cause of our distress;
one side is sufficient-two lovers should never but in the heart's attachment a woman never
meet in marriage-be you sour as you please, likes a man with ardour till she has suffered
he is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, for his sake. [Noise] Soh! what bustle is
there's nothing like ingrafting on a crab. here! between my father and the Duenna too
Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall-I'll e'en get out of the way. [Exit.
ten times more as a husband.
Jerome. I don't know that-marriage gene- Enter DON JEROME with a Letter, pulling
rally makes a great change-but, to cut the
matter short, will you have him or not?
Louisa. There is nothing else I could dis-
obey you in.
in the DUENNA.
Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunderstruck!
here's treachery and conspiracy with a ven-
geance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief
Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? manager of this plot for my daughter's elop-
Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on ing! you, that I placed here as a scare-crow?
him the regret of making an only daughter Duenna. What?
wretched.
Jerome. A scare-crow-to prove a decoy-
Jerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me duck-what have you to say for yourself?
-never more will I see or converse with you Duenna. Well, sir, since you have forced
till you return to your duty-no reply this that letter from me, and discovered my real
and your chamber shall be your apartments: sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. -- I am
I never will stir out, without leaving you Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that
under lock and key, and when I'm at home your daughter should have served you as all
no creature can approach you but through such old tyranuical sots should be served-I
my library-we'll try who can be most obsti- delight in the tender passions, and would be-
nate-out of my sight-there remain till you friend all under their influence.
know your duty.
[Pushes her out. Jerome. The tender passions! yes, they
Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations would become those impenetrable features!-
should be consulted in a matter of this kind, why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a
and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's
my particular friend.
Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very
recommendation-I certainly have not
sufficient respect to it.
beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine
great would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry-steel
paid traps and spring guns ¹) seemed writ in every
wrinkle of it but you shall quit my house
Ferd. There is not a man living I would this instant-the tender passions, indeed! go,
sooner choose for a brotherin-law.
thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of
Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen Endor, go!
to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old- but I
time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have won't demean myself by naming what you
no objection to the relationship-but at pre-are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I
sent, if you please, we'll drop the subject. suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel
Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my-I may have my things, I presume?
sister makes me speak.
Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your
regard for
hold
your father make you
tongue.
are so severe to.
your
Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your
wardrobe on-what have you pilfered, heh?
Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mi-
stress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my
cardinal and veil are in her room.
Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a
wish that you would reflect what at our age. Jerome. Your veil forsooth! what, do you
you would have felt, had you been crossed dread being gazed at?, or are you afraid of
in your affection for the mother of her you your complexion? well, go take your leave,
and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit
Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great the house within these five minutes In-in-
affection for your mother's ducats, but that quick. [Exit Duenna] Here was a precious
was all, boy-I married her for her fortune, plot of mischief! these are the comforts daugh-
and she took me in obedience to her father, ters bring us!
and a very happy couple we were-we never
expected any love from one another, and so
AIR.
your life,
we were never disappointed-if we grumbled If a daughter you have, she's the plague of
a little now and then, it was soon over, for
we were never fond enough to quarrel; and No peace shall you know, though you've bu-
when the good woman died, why, why-I had
ried your wife!
her
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
as lieve she had lived, and I wish every wi- At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught
dower in Seville could say the same-I shall
now go and get the key of this dressing-room
-so, good son, if you have any lecture in
support of disobedience to give your sister, it
must be brief; so make the best of your time,
[Exit.
d'ye hear?
Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has
little to hope for-however, Louisa has firm-
1) Steel-traps and spring-guns," is generally written
on the doors of gardens near London, in order to
deter thieves from entering the garden and stealing
the fruit; these things have done a great deal of harm,
and taken away the life of many an innocent person,
accidentally walking in the garden.
105

834
[ACT I.
THE DUENNA.
Sighing and whining,
Dying and pining,
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
When scarce in their teens, they have wit to
perplex us,
With letters and lovers for ever they vex us;
While each still rejects the fair suitor you've
brought her;
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
Wrangling and jangling,
Flouting and pouting,
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!
I
Clara. No, her notions of filial duty are so
severe, she would certainly betray me.wo
Louisa. Clara is of a cold temper, and
would think this step of mine highly forward.
Clara. Louisa's respect for her father is so
great, she would not credit the unkindness of
mine.
[Louisa turns, and sees Clara and Maid.
Louisa. Ha! who are those? sure one is
Clara-if it be, 'T'll trust her.-Clara. [Advances.
Clara. Louisa! and in masquerade too!
tell you, that I have run away from my
Louisa. You will be more surprised when
father.
Enter LOUISA, dressed as the DUENNA, with
Clara. Surprised indeed! and I should cer-
Cardinal and Veil, seeming to cry.
tainly chide you must horridly, only that I
Jerome. This way, mistress, this way-have just run away from mine.
what, I warrant, a tender parting; soh! tears Louisa. My dear Clara!
of turpentine down those deal cheeks-Ay, Clara. Dear sister truant! and whither are
[Embrace.
you may well hide your head-yes, whine till you going?
your heart breaks; but I'll not hear one word Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure
of excuse-so you are right to be dumb, this -And, I presume, you would have no aver-
way, this way.
[Exeunt. sion to meet my brother?
Enter DUENNA.
Clara. Indeed I should--he has behaved so
ill to me, I don't believe I shall ever forgive
AIR.
Duenna. So speed you well, sagacious Don him.
Jerome! Oh, rare effects of passion and ob-
stinacy-now shall I try whether I can't play When sable night, each drooping plant re-
the fine lady as well as my mistress, and if I
storing,
succeed, I may be a fine lady for the rest of Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer,
my life-I'll lose no time to equip myself. As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring,
Wakes its beauty with a tear;
[Exit.
SCENE IV.-The court before DON JEROME'S
House.
Enter DoN JEROME and LOUISA.
When all did sleep, whose weary hearts did
borrow
One hour from love and care to rest,
My lover caught me to his breast;
Lo! as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow,
Jerome. Come, mistress, there is your way
-The world lies before you, so troop, thou
He vow'd he came to save me
antiquated Eve, thou original sin-hold, yon- From those who would enslave me!
der is some fellow skulking; perhaps it is
Then kneeling,
Antonio-go to him, d'ye hear, and tell him
Kisses stealing,
to make you amends, and as he has got you Endless faith he swore;
turned away, tell him I say it is but just he But soon I chid him thence,
should take you himself; go. [Exit Louisa] For had his fond pretence
Soh! I am rid of her, thank Heaven! and now Obtain'd one favour then,
I shall be able to keep my oath, and confine And he had press'd again,
my daughter with better security. [Exit.
SCENE V. The Piazza.
Enter CLARA and her MAID.
Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend
to go?
Clara. Any where to avoid the selfish vio-
lence of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's
insolent importunity.
Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have pro-
fited by Don Ferdinand's key, in making our
escape, I think we had best find him, if it
were only to thank him.
Clara. No-he has offended me exceedingly.
[Retire.
Enter LOUISA.
I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant
him more.
Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have
sent him to plead his pardon, but that I would
not yet a while have him know of my flight.
And where do you hope to find protection?
Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of
St. Catherine is a relation and kind friend of
mine-I shall be secure with her, and you
had best go thither with me.
Louisa. No; I am determined to find An-
tonio first; and, as I live, here comes the
very man I will employ to seek him for me.
Clara. Who is he? he's a strange figure!
Louisa. Yes; that sweet creature is the
man whom my father has fixed on for my
Clara. And will you speak to him? are
Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turn-husband.
ed out of doors-but how shall I find Anto-
nio? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of you mad?
being discovered; I would send to my friend Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world
Clara, but that I doubt her prudery would for my purpose--for, though I was to have
condemn me.
married him to-morrow, he is the only man
Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to in Seville, who, I am sure, never saw me in
try if your friend Donna Louisa would not
his life.
receive you.
Clara. And how do you know him?

SCENE 5.]
835
THE DUENNA.
Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he
was shown to me from the window, as he
visited my father.
Clara. Well, I'll begone.
Louisa. Is this your gallantry?
Isaac. Yet hold- Antonio d'Ercilla, did
you say? egad, I may make something of this
-Antonio d'Ercilla?
Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara-a thought Louisa. Yes; and, if ever you hope to pros-
has struck me-will you give me leave to per in love, you will bring me to him.
horrow your name, as I see occasion?
Isaac. By St. Iago and I will too-Carlos,
Clara. It will but disgrace you-but use it this Antonio is one who rivals me (as I have
as you please-I dare not stay-[Going]-heard) with Louisa-now, if I could hamper
but, Louisa, if you should see your brother, him with this girl, I should have the field to
be sure you don't inform him, that I have myself; hey, Carlos! A lucky thought, isn't it?
taken refuge with the Dame Prior of the Carlos. Yes, very good-very good-
convent of St. Catherine, on the lefthand side Isaac. Ah! this little brain is never at a
of the piazza, which leads to the church of loss-cunning Isaac! cunning rogue! Donna
St. Anthony.
Clara, will you trust yourself a while to my
Louisa. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be very particular friend's direction?
in my directions where he may not find you.
[Exeunt Clara and Maid] So! my swain,
yonder, has done admiring himself, and draws ceive you.
nearer.
[Retires.
Louisa. May I rely on you, good signior?
Carlos. Lady, it is impossible I should de-
AIR.ng
Enter ISAAC and CARLOS; ISAAC with a Had I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you;
Pocket Glass.
Isaac. [Looking in the Glass] I tell you, Your charms would make me true.
For though your tongue no promise claim'd,
friend Carlos, I will please myself in the ha-To you no soul shall bear deceit,
bit of my chin.
Carlos. But, my dear friend, how can you But friends in all the aged you'll meet,
No stranger offer wrong;
think to please a lady with such a face?
Isaac. Why, what's the matter with the And lovers in the young.
face? I think it is a very engaging face; and, But when they learn that you have blest
I am sure, a lady must have very little taste, Another with your heart,
who could dislike my beard. [Sees Louisa] They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
See now!-I'll die if here is not a little dam- And act a brother's part:
sel struck with it already.
Then, lady, dread not here deceit,
Louisa. Signior, are you disposed to oblige Nor fear to suffer wrong;
a lady, who greatly wants your assistance? For friends in all the aged you'll meet.
[Unveils. And brothers in the young.
Isaac. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl! Isaac. I'll conduct the lady to my lodgings,
she has certainly taken a fancy to me, Carlos-Carlos; I must haste to Don Jerome.-Per-
first, ma'am, I must beg the favour of your name. haps you know Louisa, ma'am. She is di-
Louisa. So! it's well I am provided. [Aside] vinely handsome-isn't she?
My name, sir, is Donna Clara d'Almanza.
Louisa. You must excuse me in not joining
Isaac. What!-Don Gusman's daughter? with you.
l'faith, I just now heard she was missing. Isaac. Why, I have heard it on all hands.
Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial
gallantry and honour to betray me, whose to her; but I believe you will find she has
fault is love?
rather a matronly air.
Isaac. So! a passion for me! poor girl! Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy-you pretty
Why, ma'am, as for betraying you, I don't girls never speak well of one another-hark
see how I could get any thing by it; so you ye, find out Antonio, and I'll saddle him with
may rely on my honour; but as for your this scrape, I warrant! Oh, 'twas the luckiest
love, I am sorry your case is so desperate. thought!-Donna Clara, your very obedient
Louisa. Why so, signior?
-Carlos, to your post.
Isaac. Because I am positively engaged to
another-an't I, Carlos?
Louisa. Nay, but hear me.
Isaac. No, no; what should I hear for? It
is impossible for me to court you in an ho-
nourable way; and, for any thing else, if I
were to comply now, I suppose you have
some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who would
want to cut my throat for my civility-so,
truly, you had best go home again.
DUET.
Isaac. My mistress expects me, and I must
go to her,
Or how can I hope for a smile?
Louisa. Soon may you return a prosper
ous wooer,
suffer the while!
But think what I
Alone, and away from the man whom I love
In strangers I'm forced to confide.
Isaac. Dear lady, my friend you may trust.
and he'll prove
Louisa. Odious wretch! [Aside] But, good
signior, it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose ac- Your servant, proctector, and guide.
count I bave eloped.
Isaac. How! what! it is not with me, then,
that you are in love?
Louisa. No, indeed, it is not.
Isaac. Then you are a forward, imperti-
nent simpleton! and I shall certainly acquaint
your father.
AIR-CARLOS.
Gentle maid, ah! why suspect me?
Let me serve thee-then reject me.
Canst thou trust, and I deceive thee?
Art thou sad, and shall I grieve thee?
Gentle maid, ah! why suspect me?

836
[ACT II.
THE DUENNA.
Let me serve thee-then reject me.
TRIO.
Louisa. Never may'st thou happy be,
If in aught thou'rt faise to me.
Isaac. Never may he happy be,
If in aught he's false to thee.
Carlos. Never may I happy be,
If in aught I'm false to thee.
Louisa. Never may'st thou, etc.
Isaac. Never may he, etc.
Carlos. Never may I, etc.
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
For in eyes, though so various the lustre
and hue,
I swear I've no choice-only let her have two.
'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back,
And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than
black:
A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard;
But I only desire she mayn't have a beard.
Jerome. You will change your note, my
friend, when you've seen Louisa.
Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of
your alliance-
Jerome. Ay, but her beauty will affect you
SCENE I. A Library in DON JEROME'S House. -she is, though I say it, who am her father,
Enter DON JEROME and ISAAC.
Jerome. Ha! ha! ha! run away from her
father! has she given him the slip? Ha! ha!
ha! poor Don Gusman!
a very prodigy-there you will see features
with an eye like mine-yes i'faith, there is a
kind of wicked sparkling-something of a ro-
guish brightness, that shows her to be my
own.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Jerome. Then, when she smiles, you'll see
Isaac. Ay; and I am to conduct her to
Antonio; by which means you see I shall
hamper him so that he can give me no dis- a little dimple in one cheek only; a beauty it
turbance with your daughter-this is trap, isn't is certainly, yet you shall not say which is
it? a nice stroke of cunning, hey?
prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the
Jerome. Excellent! excellent! yes, yes, cheek without.
carry her to him, hamper him by all means,
ha! ha! ha! poor Don Gusman! an old fool!
imposed on by a girl!
O
Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of ser-
pents, that's the truth on't.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Jerome. Then the roses on those cheeks
are shaded with a sort of velvet down, that
gives a delicacy to the glow of health.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Jerome. Psha! they are cunning only when Jerome. Her skin pure dimity, yet more
they have fools to deal with-why don't my fair, being spangled here and there with a
girl play me such a trick-let her cunning golden freckle.
overreach my caution, I say-hey, little Isaac! Jsaac. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is
Isaac. True, true; or let me see any of the tone of her voice?
the sex make a fool of mee-No, no, egad, Jerome. Remarkably pleasing-but if you
little Solomon (as my aunt used to call me)
understands tricking a little too well.
Jerome. Ay, but such a driveller as Don
Gusman.
could prevail on her to sing, you would be
enchanted--she is a nightingale-a Virginian
nightingale-hut come, come; her maid shall
conduct you to her antichamber.
Isaac. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution,
and meet her frowns intrepidly.
Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio.
Jerome. True; sure never were seen such
a couple of credulous simpletons; but come, Jerome. Ay! woo her briskly-win her,
'tis time you should see my daughter-you and give me a proof of your address, my
must carry on the siege by yourself, friend little Solomon.
Isaac.
Isaac. Sir, you'll introduce-
Jerome. No-I have sworn a solemn oath
not to see or speak to her till she renounces
her disobedience; win her to that, and she
gains a father and a husband at once.
Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal
with her alone; nothing keeps me in such
awe as perfect beauty-now there is some-
thing consoling and encouraging in ugliness.
SONG.
Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can
boast.
But health and good humour to make her his
toast;
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat,
And six feet or four-we'll ne'er quarrel for
that.
Whate'er her complexion-I vow I don't care;
If brown it is lasting-more pleasing if fair:
And though in her face I no dimples should see,
Let her smile and each dell is a dimple to me.
Let her locks be the reddest that ever were
And her eyes
seen,
may be e'en any colour but
green;
Isaac. But hold-I expect my friend Carlos
to call on me here-If he comes, will you
send him to me?
Jerome. I will-Lauretta, come-she'll show
you to the room-what! do you droop? here's
a mournful face to make love with! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-LOUISA's Dressing-Room,
Enter MAID and ISAAC.
Maid. Sir, my mistress will wait on you
presently.
[Goes to the Door.
Isaac. When she's at leisure-don't hurry
her. [Exit Maid] I wish I had ever practised
a love scene-I doubt I shall make a poor fi-
gure- I couldn't be more afraid, if I was
going before the Inquisition-so! the door
opens-yes, she's coming the very rustling
of her silk has a disdainful sound.
Enter DUENNA, dressed as LOUISA.
Now dar'n't I look round for the soul of me
her beauty will certainly strike me dumb
if I do. I wish she'd speak first.
Duenna, Sir, I attend your pleasure.
Isaac. So! the ice is broke, and a pretty

SCENE 2.]
837
THE DUENNA.
civil beginning too. Hem! madam-miss-I'm Isaac. O, dear lady, may I thank those
all attention.
dear lips for this goodness. [Kisses her] Why,
she has a pretty sort of velvet down, that's
the truth on't!
Duenna, Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen,
and you propose.
Isaac. Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither
-I believe I may venture to look-no-1
dar'n't-one glance of those roguish sparklers
would fix me again.
Duenna. You seem thoughtful, sir-let me
persuade you to sit down.
Isaac. So, so; she mollifies apace-she's
struck with my figure! this attitude has had
its effect.
[Aside.
Duenna. O, sir, you have the most insi-
nuating manner, but indeed
you should
should get
rid of that odious beard-one might as well
kiss an hedgehog.
Isaac. Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be
amiss-for either of us. [Aside] Could you
favour me with a song?
Duenna. Willingly, sir, though I am ra-
ther hoarse-ahem!
[Begins to sing.
Duenna. Come, sir, here's a chair.
Isaac. Very like a Virginia nightingale!-
Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your good-ma'am, I perceive you're hoarse-I beg you
ness overpowers me-that a lady so lovely will not distress-
should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on Duenna. Oh, not in the least distressed;-
me so. [She takes his hand, he turns and now, sir.
sees her.
Duenna. You seem surprised at my con-
descension.
Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little sur-
prised at it.-Zounds! this can never be Louisa
-she's as old as my mother! [Aside.
Duenna. But former prepossessions give
way to my father's commands.
Isaac. [Aside] Her father! Yes, 'tis she
then-Lord, lord; bow blind some parents
are!
Duenna. Signior Isaac.
Isaac. Truly, the little damsel was right-
she has rather a matronly air indeed! ah!
'tis well my affections are fixed on her for-
tune, and not her person.
Duenna. Signior, won't you sit? [She sits.
Isaac. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce
recovered my astonishment at-your condes-
cension, madam- she has the devil's own
dimples to be sure!
[Aside.
Duenna. I do not wonder, sir, that you
are surprised at my affability-I own, signior,
that I was vastly prepossessed against you,
and being teased by my father, I did give
some encouragement to Antonio; but then,
sir, you were described to me as a quite dif-
ferent person.
Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me, upon
my soul, madam.
Duenna. But when I saw you, I was never
more struck in my life.
SONG.
When a tender maid
Is first essay'd
By some admiring swain,
How her blushes rise
If she meet his eyes,
While he unfolds his pain!
c
If he takes her hand-she trembles quite!
Touch her lips-and she swoons out-right!
While a pit-a-pat, etc.
Her heart avows her fright.
But in time appear
Fewer signs of fear;
The youth she boldly views;
If her hand he grasp,
Or her bosom clasp,
Then to church well pleased the lovers move,
No mantling blush ensues!
While her smiles her contentment prove;
And a pit-a-pat, etc.
Her heart avows her love,
Isaac. Charming, ma'am! enchanting! and,
truly, your notes put me in mind of one
that's very dear to me; a lady, indeed, whom
you greatly resemble!
Duenna. How! is there, then, another so
dear to you?
Isaac, O, no, ma'am, you mistake; it was
my mother I meant.
Duenna. Come, sir, I see you are amazed
and confounded at my condescension, and
know not what to say.
Isaac. That was just my case too, madam:
I was struck all on a heap, for my part.
Isaac. It is very true, indeed, ma'am; but
Duenna. Well, sir, I see our misapprehen- it is a judgment, I look on it as a judgment
sion has been mutual-you expected to find on me, for delaying to urge the time when
me haughty and averse, and I was taught to you'll permit me to complete my happiness,
believe you a little, black, snub-nosed fellow, by acquainting Don Jerome with your con-
without person, manners, or address.
Isaac. Egad, I wish she had answer'd her
picture as well.
Duenna. But, sir, your air is noble-some-
thing so liberal in your carriage, with so
penetrating an eye, and so bewitching a smile!
Isaac. Egad, now I look at her again, I
don't think she is so ugly.
Duenna. So little like a Jew, and so much
like a gentleman!
Isaac. Well, certainly there is something
pleasing in the tone of her voice.
Duenna. You will pardon this breach of
decorum in praising you thus, but my joy atj
being so agreeably deceived has given me
such a flow of spirits!
descension.
Duenna. Sir, I must frankly own to you,
that I can never be yours with my father's
consent.
Isaac. Good lack! how so?
Duenna. When my father, in his passion,
swore he would never see me again till I
acquiesced in his will, I also made a vow,
that I would never take a husband from his
hand; nothing shall make me break that oath:
but, if you have spirit and contrivance enough
to carry me off without his knowledge, I'm
yours.
Isaac. Hum!
Duenna. Nay, sir, if you hestitate-
Isaac. l'faith, no bad whim this-if I take

838
[ACT II
THE DUENNA.
her at her word, I shall secure her fortune, When kindred beauties each discovers!
and avoid making any settlement in return; Fo surely she
thus I shall not only cheat the lover, but the Was made for thee,
father too-Oh, cunning rogue, Isaac! Ay, And thou to bless this lovely creature!
ay, let this little brain alone-Egad, I'll take So mild your looks, your children thence
her in the mind.
Will early learn the task of duty-
Duenna. Well, sir, what's your deter-The boys with all their father's sense,
mination?
The girls with all their mother's beauty!
Oh, how happy to inherit
Isaac. Madam, I was dumb only from rap-
ture-I applaud your spirit, and joyfully close At once such graces and such spirit!
with your proposal; for which, thus let me,
on this lily hand, express my gratitude.
Duenna. Well, sir, you must get my fa- Each
ther's consent to walk with me in the garden.
But by no means inform him of my kindness
to you.
you live
Thus while
May fortune give
blessing equal to your merit!
[Exeunt Isaac, Carlos, Duenna.
SCENE III.4 Library..
A
JEROME and FERDINAND discovered.
Jerome. Object to Antonio? I have said
Isaac. No, to be sure, that would spoil
all: but, trust me, when tricking is the word
-let me alone for a piece of cunning; this
very day you shall be out of his power. it: his poverty, can you acquit him of that?
Duenna. Well, I leave the management
of it all to you; I perceive plainly, sir, that he is of as ancient and honourable a family
you are not one that can be easily outwitted. as any in the kingdom.
Isaac. Egad, you're right, madam-you're
right, i'faith.
Enter MAID.
Maid. Here's a gentleman at the door,
who begs permission to speak with Signior
Isaac.
Isaac. A friend of mine, ma'am, and a
trusty friend-let him come in. [Exit Maid]
He is one to be depended on, ma'am.
Enter CARLOS.
Ferd. Sir, I own he is not over rich; but
Jerome. Yes, I know the beggars are a
very ancient family in most kingdoms; but
never in great repute, boy.
Ferd. Antonio, sir, has many amiable qua-
lities.
Jerome. But he is poor; can you clear
him of that, I say? Is he not a gay, dissipat-
ed rake, who has squandered his patrimony?
Ferd. Sir, he inherited but little; and that,
his generosity, more than his profuseness,
has stripped him of; but he has never sullied
his honour, which, with his title, has outlived
[Aside, his means.
Ferd. This language, sir, would better be-
come a Dutch or English trader than a
Spaniard.
So, coz.
Carlos, I have left Donna Clara at your Jerome. Pshaw! you talk like a blockhead!
lodgings-but can nowhere find Antonio. nobility, without an estate, is as ridiculous as
Isaac. Well, I will search him out my-gold lace on a frize coat.
self.-Carlos, you rogue, I thrive, I prosper.
Carlos. Where is your mistress?
Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands,
Carlos. Why she's damned ugly!
Isaac. Hush!
[Stops his mouth.
Duenna. What is your friend saying,
signior?
Isaac. Oh, ma'am, ha is expressing his rap-
tures at such charms as he never saw before;
eh, Carlos?
Carlos. Ay, such as I never saw before,
indeed!
Duenna. You are a very obliging gentle-
man-well, Signior Isaac, I believe we had
better part for the present. Remember our
plan.
Isaac. Oh, ma'am, it is written in my
heart, fixed as the image of those divine beau-
ties-adieu, idol of my soul!-yet once more
permit me-
[Kisses her.
Duenna. Sweet, courteous sir, adieu!
Isaac. Your slave eternally-Come, Carlos,
say something civil at taking leave.
Carlos. I'faith, Isaac, she is the hardest
woman to compliment I ever saw; however,
I'll try something I had studied for the oc-
casion.
SONG.
Ah! sure a pair was never seen
So justly form'd to meet by nature!
The youth excelling so in mien,
The maid in ev'ry grace of feature,
Oh, how happy are such lovers,
Jerome. Yes; and those Dutch and English
traders, as you call them, are the wiser people.
Why, booby, in England, they were formerly
as nice, as to birth and family, as we are:
but they have long discovered what a won-
derful purifier gold is; and now, no one there
regards pedigree in any thing but a horse-
Oh, here comes Isaac! I hope he has prosper-
ed in his suit.
Ferd. Doubtless, that agreeable figure of
his must have helped his suit surprisingly.
Jerome, How now?
[Ferdinand, walks aside.
Enter ISAAC.
Well, my friend, have you softened her?
Isaac. Oh, yes; I have softened her.
Jerome, What, does she come to?
Isaac. Why, truly, she was kinder than I
expected to find her.
Jerome. And the dear ltttle angel was ci-
vil, hey?
Isaac. Yes, the pretty little angel was very
civil.
Jerome. I'm transported to hear it-well,
and you were astonished at her beauty, hey?
Isaac. I was astonished, indeed! pray, how
old is miss?
Jerome. How old? let me see-eight and
twelve-she is twenty.

SCENE 2.]
839
THE DUENNA.
Isaac. Twenty?
Jerome. Ay, to a month,
sult me-and, but that this roof protects him,
old as I am, this sword should do me justice.
Isaac. I must get off as well as I can-
her fortune is not the less handsome.
DUET.
Isaac. Believe me, good sir, I ne'er meant
to offend;
Isaac. Then, upon my soul, she is the
oldest looking girl of her age in Christendom!
Jerome. Do you think so? but I believe,
you will not see a prettier girl.
Isaac. Here and there one.
Jerome. Louisa has the family face.
Isaac. Yes, egad, I should have taken it My mistress I love, and I value
my friend;
To win her and wed her is still my request,
for a family face, and one that has been in For better, for worse-and I swear I don't jest.
the family some time too.
Jerome. She has her father's eyes.
Isaac. Truly I should have guessed them
to have been so-If she had her mother's
worse.
[Aside.
Jerome. Zounds! you'd best not provoke
me, my rage is so high!
Isaac. Hold him fast, I beseech you, his
you're too hot, and this place I
rage is so high!
must fly.
spectacles, I believe she would not see the Good sir,
[Aside.
Jerome. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her
grandmother's forehead, to a hair.
Isaac. Ay, 'faith, and her grandfather's chin
to a hair.
[Aside.
Jerome. You're a knave and a sot, and this
place you'd best fly.
Isaac. Don Jerome, come now, let us lay
Jerome. Well, if she was but as dutiful aside all joking, and be serious.
as she's handsome-and hark ye, friend Isaac, Jerome. How?
she is none of your made-up beauties-her
charms are of the lasting kind.
Isaac. I'faith, so they should-for if she
be but twenty now, she may double her age,
before her years will overtake her face.
Jerome. Why, zounds, Master Isaac! you
are not sneering, are you?
Isaac. Why now, seriously, Don Jerome,
do
you think you daughter handsome?
Jerome. By this light, she's as handsome a
girl as any in Seville.
Isaac. Then, by these eyes, I think her as
plain a woman as ever I beheld.
Jerome. By St. Iago, you must be blind.
Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are partial.
Jerome. How! have I neither sense nor
taste? If a fair skin, fine eyes, teeth of ivory,
with a lovely bloom, and a delicate shape-
if these, with a heavenly voice, and a world
of grace, are not charms, I know not what
you call beautiful.
Isaac. Good lack, with what eyes a father
sees!-As I have life, she is the very reverse
of all this: as for the dimity skin you told
me of, I swear, 'tis a thorough nankeen as
ever I saw! for her eyes, their utmost merit
is not squinting-for her teeth, where there
is one of ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony,
black and white alternately, just like the keys
of an harpsichord. Then, as to her singing,
and heavenly voice-by this hand, she has a
shrill, cracked pipe, that sounds, for all the
world, like a child's trumpet.
Jerome. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel,
do you mean to insult me? out of my house,
I say!
Ferd. Dear sir, what's the matter?
Jerome. Why, this Israelite here has the
impudence to say your sister's ugly.
Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent.
Isaac. So, I find they are all in a story.
Egad, I believe I have gone too far!
Isaac. Ha; ha! ha! I'll be hanged if you
hav'n't taken my abuse of your daughter se-
riously.
Jerome. You meant it so, did not you?
Isaac. O mercy, no! a joke-just to try
how angry it would make you.
Jerome. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know
you had been such a wag, ha! ha! ha! By
St. Iago! you made me very angry though-
well, and you do think Louisa handsome?
Isaac. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was
a sybil to her.
Jerome. Give me your hand, you little jo-
cose rogue-Egad, I thought we had been
all off.
Ferd. So! I was in hopes this would have
been a quarrel, but I find the Jew is too
cunning.
Jerome. Ay, this gust of passion has made
me dry-I am seldom ruffled-order some wine
in the next room-let us drink the poor girl's
health-poor Louisa! ugly, hey! Ha! ha! ha!
'Twas a very good joke, indeed!
Isaac. And a very true one, for all that.
Jerome. And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your
drinking success to my friend.
Ferd. Sir, I will drink success to my friend,
with all my heart.
Jerome. Come, little Solomon, if any sparks
of anger had remained, this would be the
only way to quench them.
TRIO.
A bumper of good liquor
Will end a contest quicker
Than justice, judge, or vicar:
So fill a cheerful glass,
And let good humour pass.
But if more deep the quarrel,
Why sooner drain the barrel
Than be the hateful fellow
That's crabbed when he's mellow.
A bumper, etc.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV-ISAAC's Lodgings.
Enter LOUISA.
Ferd. Sure, sir, there must be some mis-
take; it can't be my sister whom he has seen.
Jerome. 'Sdeath! you are as great a fool
as he! what mistake can there be? did not I
lock
up Louisa, and hav'n't I the key in my Louisa. Was ever truant daughter so whim-
own pocket? and didn't her maid show him sically circumstanced as I am! I have sent
into the dressing-room? and yet you talk of my intended husband to look after my lover
a mistake: no, the Portuguese meant to in--the man of my father's choice is gone to

840
[ACT II.
THE DUENNA.
bring me the man of my own-but how di- but you. Here's ado to persuade you to take
spiriting is this interval of expectation!
SONG.
What bard, O Time, discover,
With wings first made thee move?
Ah! sure it was some lover
Who ne'er had left his love!
For who that once did prove
The pangs which absence brings,
Though but one day
He were away,
Could picture thee with wings?
What bard, etc.
Enter CARLOS.
So, friend, is Antonio found?
Carlos. I could not meet with him, lady;
but I doubt not my friend Isaac will be here
with him presently.
a pretty girl that's dying for you!
Ant. But I have no affection for this lady.
Isaac. And you have for Louisa, hey? but
take my word for it, Antonio, you have no
chance there-so you may as well secure the
good that offers itself to you.
Ant. And could you reconcile it to your
conscience, to supplant your friend?
Isaac. Pish! Conscience has no more to
do with gallantry, than it has with politics-
why, you are no honest fellow, if love can't
make a rogue
a rogue of you-so come, do go in,
and speak to her at last.
Ant. Well, I have no objection to that.
Isaac. [Opens the Door] There-there she
is-yonder by the window-get in, do-
Pushes him in, and hulf shuts the Door]
-now, Carlos, now I shall hamper him,
di-warrant-stay, I'll peep how they go on-
egad, he looks confoundedly posed-now she's
coaxing him-see, Carlos, he begins to come
to-ay, ay, he'll soon forget his conscience.
Louisa. Oh, shame! you have used no
ligence-I this your courtesy to a lady, who
has trusted herself to your protection
Carlos. Indeed, madam, I have not been
remiss.
Louisa. Well, well; but if either of you
had known how each moment of delay weighs
upon the heart of her who loves, and waits
the object of her love, oh, ye would not then
have trifled thus!
Carlos. Alas, I know it well!
Louisa. Were you ever in love then?
Carlos. I was, lady; but while I have life,
will never be again.
Louisa. Was your mistress so cruel?
Carlos. If she had always been so, I should
have been happier.
SONG.
O had my love ne'er smiled on me,
I ne'er had known such anguish;
But think how false, how cruel she,
To bid me cease to languish;
To bid me hope her hand to gain,
Breathe on a flame half perish'd;
And then with cold and fix'd disdain
To kill the hope she cherish'd.
Not worse his fate, who on a wreck,
That drove as winds did blow it,
Silent had left the shatter'd deck,
To find a grave below it:
Then land was cried-no more resign'd,
He glow'd with joy to hear it;
Not worse his fate, his woe, to find
The wreck must sink ere near it!
Louisa. As I'live, here is your friend com-
ing with Antonio-I'll retire for a moment to
surprise him.
[Exit.
Enter ISAAC and ANTONIO.
Ant. Indeed, my good friend, you must be
mistaken. Clara D'Almanza in love with me,
and employ you to bring me to meet her!
It is impossible!
Isaac. That you shall see in an instant-
Carlos, where is the lady? [Carlos points
to the Door] In the next room, is she?
Carlos. Look-now they are both laughing!
Isaac. Ay, so they are-yes, yes, they are
laughing at that dear friend he talked of-ay,
poor devil, they have outwitted him.
Carlos. Now he's kissing her hand.
Isaac. Yes, yes, 'faith, they're agreed-he's
caught, he's entangled-my dear Carlos, we
have brought it about. Oh, this little cunning
head! I'm a Machiavel-a very Machiavel.
Carlos. I hear somebody inquiring for you
-I'll see who it is.
[Exit Carlos.
Enter ANTONIO and LOUISA.
Ant. Well, my good friend, this lady has
so entirely convinced me of the certainty of
your success at Don Jerome's, that I now
resign my pretensions there.
Isaac. You never did a wiser thing, be-
lieve me-and as for deceiving your friend,
that's nothing at all-tricking is all fair in
love, isn't it, ma'am?
Louisa. Certainly, sir; and I am particu-
larly glad to find you are of that opinion.
Isaac. O lud! yes, ma'am-let any one
outwit me, that can, I say-but here, let me
join your hands-there, you lucky rogue! I
wish you happily married, from the bottom
of my soul!
Louisa. And I am sure if you wish it, no
one else should prevent it.
Isaac. Now, Antonio, we are rivals no
more; so let us be friends, will you?
Ant. With all my heart, Isaac.
Isaac. It is not every man, let me tell you,
that would have taken such pains, or been so
generous to a rival.
Ant. No, 'faith; I don't believe there's ano-
ther beside yourself in all Spain.
Isaac. Well, but you resign all pretensions
to the other lady?
Ant. That I do, most sincerely.
Isaac I doubt you have a little hankering
there still.
Ant. None in the last, upon my soul.
Isaac. I mean after her fortune.
Ant. No, believe me- You are heartily
welcome to every thing she has.
Ant. Nay, if that lady is really here, she
certainly wants me to conduct her to a dear
friend of mine, who has long been her lover.
Isaac. Pshaw! I tell you 'tis no such thing Isaac. Well, i'faith, you have the best of
you are the man she wants, and nobody the bargain, as to beauty, twenty to one-

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
841
THE DUENNA.
now I'll tell you a secret-I am to carry off
Louisa this very evening.
Louisa. Indeed!
Isauc. Yes, she has sworn not to take a
husband from her father's hand-so, I've
per-
suaded him to trust her to walk with me in
the garden, and then we shall give him the
slip.
Louisa. And is Don Jerome to know no-
thing of this?
ACT III.
SCENE I-A Library.
Enter JEROME and SERVANT.
Jerome. Why, I never was so amazed in
my life! Louisa gone off with Isaac Mendoza,
what! steal away with the very man whom I
wanted her to marry-elope with her own
husband, as it were-it is impossible!
Isaac. O lud, no! there lies the jest-Don't Serv. Her maid says, sir, they had your
you see that, by this step, I overreach him? leave to walk in the garden, while you was
I shall be entitled to the girl's fortune, with- abroad - The door by the shrubbery was
out settling a ducat on her, ha! ha! ha! I'm found open, and they have not been heard of
a cunning dog, an't I? A sly little, villain. eh?
Ant. Ha! ha! ha! you are indeed!
Isaac. Roguish, you'll say, but keen, eh?
devilish keen?
Ant. So you are indeed-keen-very keen.
Isaac. And what a laugh we shall have at
Don Jerome's, when the truth comes out!
hey?
Louisa. Yes, I'll answer for it, we shall
have a good laugh when the truth comes out,
ha! ha! ha!
Enter CARLOS.
Louisa. Willingly.
since.
[Exit.
Jerome. Well, it is the most unaccountable
affair! 'sdeath! there is certainly some infernal
mystery in it, I can't comprehend!
Enter SECOND SERVANT with a Letter.
Sero. Here is a letter, sir, from Signior
Isaac.
[Exit.
Jerome. So, so, this will explain-ay, Isaac
Mendoza-let me see-
[Reads.
"Dearest Sir,
"You must, doubtless, be much surprised
at my flight with your daughter" - Yes,
Carlos. Here are the dancers come to faith, and well I may-"I had the happi-
practise the fandango, you intended to have ness to gain her heart at our first inter-
honoured Donna Louisa with.
view"-The devil you had!" But she having
Isaac. O, I sha'n't want them; but as I unfortunately made a vow not to receive
must pay them, I'll see a caper for my money a husband from your hands, I was obliged
-will you excuse me?
to comply with her whim"-So, so!" We
shall shortly throw ourselves at your feet,
Isaac. Here's my friend, whom you may and I hope you will have a blessing ready
command for any service. Madam, your most for one, who will then be
obedient-Antonio, I wish you all happiness.
"Your son-in-law,
-Oh, the easy blockhead! what a tool I have.
made of him!-This was a master-piece!
[Exit.
Louisa. Carlos, will you be my guard
again, and convey me to the convent of St.
Catharine?
Ant. Why, Louisa-why should you go
there?
Louisa. I have my reasons, and you must
not be seen to go with me; I shall write
from thence to my father; perhaps, when he
finds what he has driven me to, he may
relent,
Ant. I have no hope from him--O Louisa!
in these arms should be your sanctuary.
Louisa. Be patient but for a little while
I
my father cannot force me from thence. But
let me see you there before evening, and
will explain myself.
Ant. I shall obey.
Louisa. Come, friend-Antonio, Carlos has
been a lover himself.
Ant. Then he knows the value of his trust.
Carlos. You shall not find me unfaithful.
TRIO.
Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast
Where love has been received a welcome
guest;
As wand'ring saints poor huts have sacred
made,
He hallows ev'ry heart he once has sway'd;
And when his presence we no longer share,
Still leaves compassion as a relic there.
[Exeunt.
"ISAAC MENDOZA,"
A whim, hey? Why, the devil's in the girl,
I think! This morning, she would die sooner
than have him, and before evening, she runs
away with him!-Well, well, my will's ac-
and the Portuguese, sure, will never deny to
complished-let the motive be what it will
fulfil the rest of the article.
Enter Servant, with another Letter.
Ser. Sir, here's a man below, who says he
brought this from my young lady, Donna
[Exit.
Louisa.
Jerome. How! yes, it is my daughter's hand
indeed! Lord, there was no occasion for them
both to write; well, let's see what she says-
[Reads.
"My dearest Father,
"How shall I entreat your pardon for
he rash step I have taken-how confess
the motive ?"-Pish! hasn't Isaac just told
me the motive?-one would think they weren't
together when they wrote-"If I have a
spirit too resentful of ill usage, I have also
a heart as easily affected by kindness"-
So, so, here the whole matter comes out;
her resentment for Antonio's ill usage has
made her sensible of Isaac's kindness- yes,
yes, it is all plain enough-well-"I am not
married yet, though with a man, I am
convinced, adores me"-Yes, yes, I dare
say Isaac is very fond of her-"But I shall
anxiously expect your answer, in which,
should I be so fortunate as to receive your
106

842
[ACT III.
THE DUENNA.
consent, you will make completely happy, Ferd. Go, fool, get home, and never let me
"Your ever affectionate daughter" see you again, till you bring me news of her.
LOUISA." [Exit Lopez] Oh, how my fondness for this
My consent? to be sure she shall have it! - ungrateful girl has hurt my disposition!
egad, I was never better pleased-I have ful-
filled my resolution-I knew I should-Oh,
there's nothing like obstinacy-Lewis!
Enter Servant.
Let the man, who brought the last letter, wait;
and get me a pen and ink below. I am im-
patient to set poor Louisa's heart at rest-
holloa! Lewis! Sancho!
Enter Servants.
Enter ISAAC.
Isaac. So, I have her safe, and have only
to find a priest to marry us. Antonio now
may marry Clara, or not, if he pleases!
Ferd. What? what was that you said of
Clara?
Isaac. Oh, Ferdinand! my brother-in-law,
that shall be, who thought of meeting you!
Ferd. But what of Clara?
Isaac. I'faith, you shall hear.-This morning,
See that there be a noble supper provided in as I was coming down, I met a pretty dam-
the saloon to-night-serve up my best wines, sel, who told me her name was Clara d'Al-
and let me have music, d'ye hear?
manza, and begged my protection.
Ferd. How?
Serv. Yes, sir.
[Exeunt.
Jerome. And order all my doors to be Isaac. She said she had eloped from her
thrown open-admit all guests, with masks father, Don Guzman, but that love for a young
or without masks-I'faith, we'll have a night gentleman in Seville was the cause.
of it-And I'll let them see how merry an
old man can be.
SONG.
Oh, the days when I was young,
When I laugh'd in fortune's spite;
Talk'd of love the whole day long,
And with nectar crown'd the night!
Then it was, old father Care,
Little reck'd I of thy frown;
Half thy malice youth could bear,
And the rest a bumper drown.
Truth, they say, lies in a well,
Why, I vow I ne'er could see;
Let the water-drinkers tell,
There it always lay for me:
For when sparkling wine went round,
Never saw I falsehood's mask;
But still honest truth I found
At the bottom of each flask.
True, at length my vigour's flown,
I have years to bring decay;
Few the locks that now I own,
And the few I have are grey.
Yet, old Jerome, thou may'st boast,
While thy spirits do not tire;
Still beneath thy age's frost
Glows a spark of youthful fire.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-The New Piazza.
Enter FERDINAND and LOPEZ.
Ferd. What, could you gather no tidings
of her? nor guess where she was gone? O
Clara! Clara!
Ferd. Oh, Heavens! did she confess it?
Isaac. Oh, yes, she confessed at once-but
then, says she, my lover is not informed of
my flight, nor suspects my intention.
Ferd. Dear creature! no more I did indeed!
Oh, I am the happiest fellow !-[Aside] Well,
Isaac!
Isaac. Why, then she entreated me to find
him out for her, and bring him to her.
Ferd. Good Heavens, how lucky! - Well,
come along; let's lose no time. [Pulling him.
Isaac. Looks! where are we to go?
Ferd. Why, did any thing more pass?
Isaac. Any thing more! yes; the end on't
was, that I was moved with her speeches;
and complied with her desires.
Ferd. Well, and where is she?
Isaac. Where is she? why, don't I tell
you, I complied with her request, and left her
safe in the arms of her lover.
Ferd. 'Sdeath, you trifle with me!-I have
never seen her.
Isaac. You! O lud, no!- How the devil
should you? 'Twas Antonio she wanted: and
with Antonio I left her.
Ferd. Hell and madness! [Aside] What,
Antonio d'Ercilla?
Isaac. Ay, ay, the very man; and the best
part of it was, he was shy of taking her at
first- He talked a good deal about honour,
and conscience, and deceiving some dear
friend; but, lord, we soon overruled that.
Ferd. You did?
Isaac. Oh, yes, presently - Such deceit,
Lopez. In truth, sir, I could not.-That she says he - Pish! says the lady, tricking is all
was run away from her father, was in every fair in love-But then, my friend, says he-
body's mouth, and that Don Guzman was in Pshaw! damn your friend, says I.-So, poor
pursuit of her was also a very common re- wretch, he has no chance-no, no; he may
port-where she was gone, or what was be- hang himself as soon as he pleases.
come of her, no one could take upon them
to say.
Ferd. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead! she
can't be out of Seville.
Lopez. So I said to myself, sir-'Sdeath and
fury, you blockhead, says I, she can't be out
of Seville-Then some said, she had hanged
herself for love; and others have it, Don An-
tonio had carried her off.
Ferd. 'Tis false, scoundrel! no one said that.
Lopez. Then I misunderstood them, sir.
I
Ferd. I must go, or I shall betray myself.
Isaac. But stay, Ferdinand, you ha'n't heard
the best of the joke.
Ferd. Curse on your joke!
Isaac. Good lack! what's the matter now?
thought to have diverted you.
Ferd. Be rack'd! tortured! damn'd-
Isaac. Why, sure you are not the poor
devil of a lover, are you? I'faith, as sure as
can be, he is This is a better joke than
t'other, ha! ht! ha!

SCENE 3.]
843
THE DUENNA.
Ferd. What, do you laugh? you vile, mis- becomes you; for you certainly don't intend
chievous varlet! [Collars him] But that you're to be a nun for life.
beneath my anger, I'd tear your heart out.
[Throws him from him,
Clara. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not of-
fended me so last night-
Isaac. O mercy! here's usage for a brother-
in-law!
Ferd. But, hark ye, rascal! tell me directly Clara. Well, you may think me cruel-
where these false friends are gone, or, by my but I swear, if he were here this instant, I
soul-
[Draws. believe I should forgive him.
Isaak. For Heaven's sake, now, my dear
brother-in-law, don't be in a rage-I'll re-
collect as well as I can.
Louisa. Come, come, it was his fear of
losing you made him so rash.
Ferd. Be quick then!
Isaac. I will, I will-but people's memories
differ some have a treacherous memory-
now mine is a cowardly memory-it takes to
its heels, at sight of a drawn sword, it does,
i'faith; and I could as soon fight as recollect.
Ferd. Zounds! tell me the truth, and I
won't hurt you.
Isaac. No, no, I know you won't, my dear
brother-in-law but that ill-looking thing
there
-
Ferd. What, then, you won't tell me?
Isaac. Yes, yes, I will; I'll tell you all,
upon my soul-but why need you listen sword
in hand?
Ferd. Why, there. [Puts up] Now.
Isaac. Why then, I believe they are gone
to-that is, my friend Carlos told me, he had
left Donna Clara-dear Ferdinand, keep your
hands off at the convent of St. Catharine.
Ferd. St. Catharine!
SONG.
By him we love offended,
How soon our anger flies!
One day apart, 'tis ended;
Behold him, and it dies.
Last night, your roving brother,
Enrag'd I bade depart;
And sure his rude presumption
Deserved to lose my heart.
Yet, were he now before me,
In spite of injured pride
I fear my eyes would pardon
Before my tongue could chide.
Louisa. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to
think you are seriously resolved to enter on
your probation.
Clara. And, seriously, I very much doubt
whether the character of a nun would not
become me best.
Louisa. Why, to be sure, the character of
a nun is a very becoming one at a masque-
rade; but no pretty woman, in her senses,
Isaac. Yes; and that Antonio was to come ever thought of taking the veil for above a
to her there.
Ferd. Is this the truth?
night.
Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is re-
Isaac. It is indeed- and all I know, as I turned-I shall only interrupt you; ah, Louisa,
hope for life.
with what happy eagerness you turn to look
Ferd. Well, coward, take your life-Tis for him!
that false, dishonourable Antonio, who shall
feel my vengeance.
Isaac. Ay, ay, kill him-cut his throat, and
welcome.
Ferd. But, for Clara-infamy on her! she
is not worth my resentment.
Isaac. No more she is, my dear brother-
in-law. I'faith, I would not be angry about
her-she is not worth it, indeed.
Ferd. 'Tis false! she is worth the enmity
of princes.
Isaac. True, true, so she is; and I pity you
exceedingly for having lost her.
Ferd. 'Sdeath, you rascal! how durst you
talk of pitying me?
Isaac. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg par-
don, I don't pity you in the least, upon my
soul.
Ferd. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no
further; nothing but your insignificance saves
you.
-
Isaac. I'faith, then my insignificance is the
best friend I have. I'm going, dear Ferdi-
nand-What a curst hot-headed bully it is!
[Exeunt.
brother
SCENE III.-The Garden of the Convent.
Enter LOUISA and CLARA.
Louisa. And really wish my
you
may not find you out?
Clara. Why else have I concealed myself
under this disguise?
Louisa. Why, perhaps, because the dress
Enter ANTONIO.
[Exit.
Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I
left you?
Louisa. None-The messenger is not re-
turned from my father.
Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive
what we are to expect from him.
Louisa. I shall be easier, however, in having
made the trial: I do not doubt your sincerity,
Antonio; but there is a chilling air around
poverty, that often kills affection, that was not
nursed in it-If we would make love our
household god, we had best secure him a
comfortable roof.
SONG-ANTONIO.
How oft, Louisa, hast thou told,
(Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown),
Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love
To reign the partner of a throne.
And by those lips, that spoke so kind,
And by that hand, I've press'd to mine,
To be the lord of wealth and power,
By Heav'ns, I would not part with thine!
Then how, my soul, can we be
poor,
Who own what kingdoms could not buy?
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen,
And, serving thee, a monarch I.
Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss,
And rich in love's exhaustless mine,
Do thou snatch treasures from my lips,
And I'll take kingdoms back from thine!

844
[ACT III.
THE DUENNA.
Enter MAID, with a Letter.
Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose.
Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be as-
sured, that it contains nothing but threats and
reproaches.
Clara. It is indeed, signior.
Ferd. So, so; now but one question more-
can you inform me for what purpose they
have gone away?
Clara. They are gone to be married, I
[Exit.
Louisa. Let us see, however-[Reads] believe.
"Dearest daughter, make your lover happy; Ferd. Very well-enough-now if I don't
you have my full consent to marry as your mar their wedding!
whim has chosen, but be sure come home
and sup with your affectionate father."
Ant. You jest, Louisa!
Louisa. [Gives him the Letter] Read- for this error, and I am glad to find I have
power enough over him to make him so un-
read.
Clara. [Unveils] I thought jealousy had
made lovers quick-sighted, but it has made
mine blind-Louisa's story accounts to me
Ant. 'Tis so, by Heavens!-sure there must happy. But why should not I be present at
be some mistake; but that's none of our bu- his surprise when undeceived? When he's
siness - Now, Louisa, you have no excuse through the porch, I'll follow him; and perhaps,
for delay.
Louisa shall not singly be a bride.
Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank
my father?
cure one.
SONG.
Ant. But first let the priest put it out of Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies
his power to recall his word-r'il fly to pro- The sullen echo of repentant sighs!
Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell,
Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well!
perhaps you may lose me.
For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove,
To saints a prison, but a tomb to love! [Exit.
Ant. Come then-there is a friar of a neigh-
bouring convent is my friend; you have al-
ready been diverted by the manners of a
nunnery; let us see whether there is less hy-
pocrisy among the holy fathers.
Louisa. I'm afraid not, Antonio-for in re-
ligion, as in friendship, they who profess most
are ever the least sincere.
[Exeunt.
Enter CLARA.
SCENE IV.-A Court before the Priory.
Enter ISAAC, crossing the Stage.
Enter ANTONIO.
Ant. What, my friend Isaac!
Isaac. What, Autonio! wish me joy! I have
Louisa safe.
Ant. Have you?-I wish you joy with all
Isaac. Yes, I am come here to procure a
Clara. So, yonder they go, as happy as a my soul.
mutual and confessed affection can make them,
while I am left in solitude. Heigho! love may priest to marry us.
perhaps excuse the rashness of an elopement
from one's friend, but I am sure, nothing but
the presence of the man we love can support
it-Ha! what do I see! Ferdinand, as I live!
how could he gain admission-by potent gold,
I suppose, as Antonio did- How eager and
disturbed he seems-he shall not know me as to Don Jerome.
yet.
[Lets down her veil.
Enter FERDINAND.
Ferd. Yes, those were certainly they-my
information was right.
[Going.
Clara. [Stops him] Pray, signior, what is
your business here?
Ant. So, then we are both on the same
errand; I am come to look for Father Paul.
Isaac. Hah! I am glad on't-but, i'faith, he
must tack me first; my love is waiting.
Art. So is mine. I left her in the porch.
Isaac. Ay, but I am in haste to get back
Ant. And so am I too.
Isaac. Well, perhaps he'll save time, and
marry us both together-or I'll be your father,
and you shall be mine. Come along-but
you're obliged to me for all this.
Ant. Yes, yes.
[Exeunt.
Ferd. No malter-no matter - Oh, they SCENE V.-A Room in the Priory.-FRIARS
stop-[Looks out] Yes, that is the perfidious
Clara indeed!
Clara. So, a jealous error--I'm glad to see
him so moved.
[Aside.
Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her-No,
no, I know her too well.
Clara. Wonderful discernment! but, signior-
Ferd. Be quiet, good nun; don't tease me-
By Heavens, she leans upon his arm, hangs
fondly on it! O woman! woman!
Clara. But signior, who is it you want?
Ferd. Not you, not you, so pr'ythee don't
tease me. Yet pray stay-gentle nun, was it
not Donna Clara d'Almanza just parted from
you?
Clara. Clara d'Almanza, signior, is not yet
out of the garden.
Ferd, Ay, ay, I knew I was right
pray is not that gentleman, now at the
with her, Antonio d'Ercilla?
-
at the Table, drinking.
GLEE AND CHORUS.
This bottle's the sun of our table,
His beams are rosy wine;
We, planets, that are not able
Without his help to shine.
Let mirth and glee abound!
You'll soon grow bright
With borrow'd light,
And shine as he goes round.
Paul. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about,
and give me your toast.
Francis. Have we drank the abbess of St.
Ursuline?
Paul. Yes, yes; she was the last.
Francis. Then I'll give you the blue-eyed
nun of St. Catharine's.
And Paul. With all my heart. [Drinks] Pray,
porch brother Augustine, were there any benefactions
left in my absence?

SCENE 6.]
845
THE DUENNA.
Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred Bloated I am, indeed! for fasting is a windy
ducats, to remember him in our masses.
Paul. Has he? let them be paid to our wine
merchant, and we'll remember him in our
cups, which will do just as well. Any thing
more?
recreation, and it hath swoln me like a bladder.
Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in
thy face, father; rosy, i'faith.
Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till
the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices.
Isaac. Good man!
Aug. Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who
died last week, has bequeathed us a thousand Paul. And I have laboured too, but to what
pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in his purpose? they continue to sin under my
own chamber, to burn before the image of very nose.
St. Anthony.
Isaac. Ifecks, father, I should have guessed
Paul. 'Twas well meant, but we'll employ as much, for your nose seems to be put to
his money better-Baptista's bounty shall light the blush more than any other part of your
the living, not the dead.-St. Anthony is not face.
afraid to be left in the dark, though he was- Paul. Go, you're a wag.
See who's there.
[4 knocking, Francis goes to the door,
and opens it.
Enter PORTER.
Porter. Here's one without in pressing haste
to speak with Father Paul.
Francis. Brother Paul!
[Paul comes from behind a curtain,
with a glass of wine, and in his
Hand a piece of cake.
Paul. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus
abruptly break in upon our devotions?
Porter. I thought they were finished.
Paul. No, they were not-were they, Brother
Francis?
Francis. Not by a bottle each.
Ant. But, to the purpose, father-will you
officiate for us?
Paul. To join young people thus clandes-
tinely is not safe: and, indeed, I have in my
heart many weighty reasons against it.
Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty
reasons for it. Isaac, hav'n't you an argument
or two in our favour about you?
Isaac. Yes, yes; here is a most unanswerable
purse.
Paul. For shame! you make me angry:
you forget who I am, and when importunate
people have forced their trash-ay, into this
pocket, here-or into this-why, then the sin
was theirs. [They put money into his pockets]
Fie, now how you distress me! I would re-
turn it, but that I must touch it that way,
and so wrong my oath.
Ant. Now then, come with us.
Isaac. Ay, now give us your title to joy
and rapture.
Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance
Paul. But neither you nor your fellows
mark how the hours go-no, you mind nothing
but the gratifying of your appetites: ye eat
and swill, and sleep, and gormandize, and
thrive, while we are wasting in mortification.
Porter. We ask no more than nature craves. comes, don't blame me.
Paul. 'Tis false, ye have more appetites Ant. No bad caution to my friend Isaac.
than hairs! and your flushed, sleek, and pam- [Aside] Well, well, father, do you do your
pered appearance is the disgrace of our order-part, and I'll abide the consequence.
out on't- If you are hungry, can't you be
content with the wholesome roots of the earth;
and if you are dry, isn't there the crystal
spring? [Drinks] Put this away, [Gives a
glass and show me where I'm wanted.
[Porter draws the glass.-Paul, going,
turns] So, you would have drank it, if there
had been any left. Ah, glutton! glutton!
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.-The Court before the Priory
Enter ISAAC and ANTONIO.
Isaac. A plaguy while coming, this same
Father Paul-He's detained at vespers, I sup-
pose, poor fellow.
Ant. No, here he comes.
Enter PAUL.
Good Father Paul, I crave your blessing.
Isaac. Yes, good Father Paul, we are come
to beg a favour.
Paul. What is it, pray?
Isaac. To marry us, good Father Paul;
and in truth thou dost look the very priest of
Hymen.
Isaac. Ay, and so will I. [They are going.
Enter LOUISA, running.
Louisa. O, Antonio, Ferdinand is at the
porch, and inquiring for us.
Isaac. Who? Don Ferdinand! he's not in-
quiring for me, I hope.
Ant. Fear not, my love; I'll soon pacify him.
Isaac. Egad, you won't-Antonio, take my
advice, and run away: this Ferdinand is the
most unmerciful dog! and has the cursedest
long sword!-and, upon my soul, he comes
on purpose to cut your throat.
Ant. Never fear, never fear.
Isaac. Well, you may stay if you will;
but I'll get some one to marry me; for, by
St. Iago, he shall never marry me again, while
I am master of a pair of heels. [Runs out.
Enter FERDINAND.
Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last.
Ant. Well, sir.
Ferd. Base, treacherous man! whence can
a false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow con-
fidence to look so steadily on the man you've
Paul. In short, I may be called so: for I injured?
deal in repentance and mortification.
Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm:-'tis
Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of true you find me on the point of wedding
Hymen, because thy presence speaks content one I love beyond my life; but no argument
and good humour.
of mine prevailed on her to elope - I scorn
Paul. Alas! my appearance is deceitful.-deceit, as much as you - By Heaven I knew

846
[ACT III.
THE DUENNA.
Wordy vows of feign'd regard;
Well he knows when they're sincere,
Never slow to give reward:
For his glory is to prove
Kind to those who wed for love. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII.-A Grand Saloon.
not she had left her father's, till I saw her.|
Ferd. What a mean excuse! You have
wronged your friend, then, for one, whose
wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery
-of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed
me; but let your conduct be consistent, and
since you have dared to do a wrong, follow
me, and show you have a spirit to avow it. Enter DON JEROME, Servants, and LOPEZ.
Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistake- Jerome. Be sure now let every thing be in
leave him to me.
the best order- let all my servants have on
Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt their merriest faces-but tell them to get as
the union of two willing hearts.
little drunk as possible, till after supper. So,
Ferd. No, meddling priest, the hand he seeks Lopez, where's your master? sha'n't we have
him at supper?
is mine.
Paul. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir-he's mad,
did you ever promise this youth your hand? I doubt; I'm sure he has frighted me from him.
[To Louisa, who shakes her head. Jerome. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I
Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence- suppose? a young rake! Well, well, we'll be
I would not have heard your tongue avow merry without him.
such falsity, be't your punishment to remember
I have not reproached you.
Enter CLARA.
Clara. What mockery is this?
Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but
we shall meet.
[Going, Clara holds one Arm,
Louisa the other.
DUET.
Louisa. Turn thee round, I pray thee,
Calm awhile thy rage.
Clara. I must help to stay thee,
And thy wrath assuage.
Louisa. Couldst thou not discover
One so dear to thee?
Clara, Canst thou be a lover,
and
And thus fly from me? [Beth unveil.
Ferd. How's this! my sister! Clara too-
I'm confounded.
Louisa. 'Tis even so, good brother.
Paul. How! what impiety! Did the man
want to marry his own sister?
Louisa. And ar'n't you ashamed of your-
self, not to know your own sister?
Clara. To drive away your own mistress-
Louisa. Don't you see how jealousy blinds
people?
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, here is Signior Isaac.
Enter ISAAC.
Jerome. So, my dear son-in-law - there,
take my blessing and forgiveness.-But where's
my daughter? where's Louisa?
Isaac. She's without, impatient for a bless-
ing, but almost afraid to enter.
Jerome. Oh, fly and bring her in. [Exit
Isaak] Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face.
Isaac. [Without] Come, my charmer! my
trembling angel!
Enter ISAAC and DUENNA; DON JEROME
runs to meet them; she kneels.
Jerome. Come to my arms, my-[Starts
back] Why, who the devil have we here?
Isaac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her
forgiveness; see how the dear creature droops!
Jerome. Droops indeed! Why, gad take
me, this is old Margaret-but where's my
daughter, where's Louisa?
Isaac. Why, here, before your eyes-nay,
don't be abashed, my sweet wife!
Jerome. Wife with a vengeance! Why,
zounds, you have not married the Duenna!
Duenna. [Kneeling] O, dear papa! you'll
Clara. Ay, and will you ever be jealous not disown me, sure!
again?
Ferd. Never-never-you, sister, I know
will forgive me-but how, Clara, shall I pre-
sume-
Clara. No, no, just now you told me not
to tease you "Who do you want, good
signior?" "Not you, not you." Oh, you blind
wretch! but swear never to be jealous again,
and I'll forgive you.
Ferd. By all-
Clara. There, that will do-you'll keep the
oath just as well.
[Gives her Hand.
Louisa. But, brother, here is one, to whom
some apology is due.
Jerome. Papa! papa! Why, zounds, your
impudence is as great as your ugliness!
Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw
throw your
snowy arms about his neck, and convince
him you are-
Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me!
[Embraces him.
Servants. What's the matter, sir?
Jerome. Why, here, this damned Jew has
brought an old harridan to strangle me.
Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he
so hard-hearted he won't forgive her.
Jerome. Help! murder!
is
Enter ANTONIO and LOUISA; they kneel.
Ferd. Antonio, I am ashamed to think-
Ant. Not a word of excuse, Ferdinand-I Jerome. Zounds and fury! what's here now?
have not been in love myself without learning who sent for you, sir, and who the devil
that a lover's anger should never be resented- are you?
but come-let us retire with this good father,
and we'll explain to you the cause of this
error.
GLEE AND CHORUS.
Oft does Hymen smile to hear
Ant. This lady's husband, sir.
Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn; for I
left them with the priest, and was to have
given her away.
Jerome. You were?

SCENE 7.]
847
THE DUENNA.
Isaac. Ay; that's my honest friend, An- to talk of beauty?-A walking rouleau !-a
tonio: and that's the little girl, I told you I body that seems to owe all its consequence to
had hampered him with..
Jerome. Why, you are either drunk or
mad-this is my daughter.
Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are both drunk and
mad, I think-here's your daughter.
Jerome. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you
explain all this, or not?
Duenna. Come then, Don Jerome, I will-
though our habits might inform you all-look
on your daughter, there, and on me.
Isaac. What's this I hear?
Duenna. The truth is, that in your passion
this morning, you made a small mistake; for
you turned your daughter out of doors, and
locked up your humble servant.
Isaac. O lud! O lud! here's a pretty fellow,
to turn his daughter out of doors, instead of
an old Duenna.
Jerome. And, O lud! here's a pretty fellow,
to marry an old Duenna instead of my daugh-
ter-but how came the rest about?
a beard
the dropsy!-a pair of eyes like two dead
beetles in a wad of brown dough!.
like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled jaws,
that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey!
Jerome. Well done, Margaret!
Duenna, But you shall know that I have
a brother, who wears a sword- and if you
don't do me justice-
Isaak. Fire seize your brother, and you too!
I'll fly to Jerusalem, to avoid you!
Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll follow
you.
Jerome. Throw your snowy arms about
him, Margaret. [Exeunt Isaac and Duenna]
-But, Louisa, are you really married to this
modest gentleman?
Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your com-
mands, I gave him my hand within this hour.
Jerome. My commands!
Ant. Yes, sir; here is your consent, under
your own hand.
Duenna. I have only to add, that I re- Jerome. How! would you rob me of my
mained in your daughter's place, and had the child by a trick, a false pretence? and do you
good fortune to engage the affections of my think to get her fortune by the same means?
sweet husband here.
Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue as
Isaac. Her husband! why, you old witch, Isaac!
do you think I'll be your husband now? this Ant. No, Don Jerome; though I have pro-
is a trick, a cheat, and you ought all to be fited by this paper, in gaining your daughter's
ashamed of yourselves.
hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by deceit.
I
Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to com- There, sir. [Gives a Letter] Now give her
plain of tricking?-Don Jerome, I give you your blessing for a dower, and all the little
my word, this cunning Portuguese has brought I possess shall be settled on her in return.
all this upon himself, by endeavouring to Had you wedded her to a prince, he could
overreach you, by getting your daughter's do no more.
fortune, without making any settlement in Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are
return.
Jerome. Overreach me!
a very extraordinary fellow! But have you
the impudence to suppose no one can do a
Louisa. Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can generous action but yourself? Here, Louisa,
prove it to you.
tell this proud fool of yours, that he's the only
Jerome. Why, gad take me, it must be so, man I know that would renounce your for-
or he could never have put up with such a tune; and, by my soul, he's the only man in
face as Margaret's-so, little Solomon, I wish Spain that's worthy of it. There, bless you
you joy of your wife, with all my soul. both: I'm an obstinate old fellow when I'm
Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love-in the wrong; but you shall now find me as
let you alone for the plot.
steady in the right.
Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you? A sly little
villain, heh?
Louisa. Roguish, perhaps; but keen,
ish keen.
Jerome. Yes, yes; his aunt always
him little Solomon.
devil-
called
Enter FERDINAND and CLARA.
Another wonder still! why, sirrah! Ferdinand,
you have not stole a nun, have you?
Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her
habit, sir-look nearer, and you will perceive
Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon 'tis Clara D'Almanza, Don Guzman's daugh-
you all!-but do you think I'll submit to such ter; and, with pardon for stealing a wedding,
an imposition?
she is also my wife.
Ant. Isaak, one serious word-you'd better Jerome. Gadsbud, and a great fortune.-
be content as you are; for, believe me, you Ferdinand, you are a prudent young rogue,
will find, that, in the opinion of the world, and I forgive you: and, ifecks, you are a
there is not a fairer subject for contempt and pretty little damsel. Give your father-in-law
ridicule, than a knave become the dupe of his a kiss, you smiling rogue.
own art.
knave become the d
Clara. There, old gentleman; and now mind
Isaac. I don't care-I'll not endure this. you behave well to us.
Don Jerome, 'tis you have done this - you Jerome. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled
would be so cursed positive about the beauty by kissing beads-Egad, I believe I shall grow
of her you locked up, and all the time, I told the best humoured fellow in Spain - Lewis!
you she was as old as my mother, and as Sancho! Carlos! d'ye hear? are all my doors
ugly as the devil.
thrown open? Our children's weddings are
Duenna, Why, you little insignificant the only holidays our age can boast; and then
reptile!
we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of
Jerome. That's right-attack him, Margaret. spirits time has left us. [Music within] But
Duenna. Dare such a thing as you pretend see, here come our friends and neighbours!

848
[ACT 1.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Enter MASQUERADERS.
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
And, 'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, Till we banish care away.
and dance, and catches-then old and young
shall join us.
FINALE.
Jerome. Come now for jest and smiling,
Both old and young beguiling,
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Till we banish care away.
Louisa. Thus crown'd with dance and song,
The hours shall glide along
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Ferd. Each bride with blushes glowing,
Our wine as rosy flowing,
Ant. Then healths to every friend,
The night's repast shall end,
With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees
Can never fail to please.
Clara. Nor, while we are so joyous,
Shall anxious fear annoy us;
Till we banish care away.
Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Jerome. For generous guests like these
Accept the wish to please;
So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay,
Your smiles drive care away.
[Exeunt.
FARCES.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
HIGH LIFE ABOVE STAIRS.
MAYOR OF GARRAT.
APPRENTICE.
WHO'S THE DUPE.
LYING VALET.
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
This after-piece was, for a long period, attributed to Mr. Garrick, but it is now known to have been the production
of the Rev. James Townley, the master of Merchant Tailors' School. The main idea of it appears to have been sug-
gested by the Spectator, No. 88, in which it is observed. "Falling-in the other day at a victualling-house near the
house of Peers, I heard the maid come down and tell the landlady at the bar, that my Lord Bishop swore he would
throw her out at the window, if she did not bring up more mild beer, and that my Lord Duke would have a double
mug of purl. My surprise was increased, in hearing loud and rustic voices speak and answer to each other upon the
public affairs, by the names of the most illustrious of our nobility; till of a sudden one came running in, and cried
the house was rising, Down came all the company together, and away! The ale-house was immediately filled with
clamour, and scoring one mug to the Marquis of such a place, oil and vinegar to such an Earl, three quarts to my new
Lord for wetting his title, and so forth "A most important reform was effected, by this well-timed exposure, in the
manners and habits of both servants and masters; the wastefulness and infidelity of the former were never more con-
spicuous than about 1759, when this piece was first acted Amidst all the fluctuations of dramatic taste, it has for more
than half a century received constant applause, and is on the stock-list of all the theatres in the kingdom.
LOVEL, a Gentleman of fortune.
FREEMAN, his friend.
PHILIP,
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
TOM,
COACHMAN,
KINGSTON, a Black,
Servants to Lovel.
KITTY,
COOK,
CLOE, a Black,
DUKE'S Servant,
SIR HARRY'S Servant,
LADY BAB'S Maid,
LADY CHARLOTTE'S Maid,
1
ROBERT, Servant to Freeman.
A. FIDDLPR.
SCENE.- London.
Visitors.
ACT I.
Lovel? I always told you, that there is not
SCENE I.-An Apartment in FREEMAN's House. a worse set of 'servants in the parish of St.
Enter FREEMAN and LOVEL.
Free. A country boy! ha, ha, ha. How long
has this scheme been in your head?
James than in your kitchen.
Loo. "Tis with some difficulty I believe it
now, Mr. Freeman; though, I must own,
my expenses often make me stare:-Philip, I
Lov. Some time-I am now convinced of am sure, is an honest fellow; and I will swear
what you have so often been hinting to me, for my blacks;-if there is a rogue among my
that I am confoundedly cheated by my servants. folks, it is that surly dog, Tom.
Free. Oh! are you satisfied at last, Mr. Free. You are mistaken in every one. Phil-

SCENE 1.]
849
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
lip is an hypocritical rascal: Tom has a good
deal of surly honesty about him: and for your
blacks, they are as bad as your whites.
Free. Shall you be able to play your part?
Lov. Never fear me.
Enter ROBERT.
Rob. Your honour ordered me to wait on
Lov. Pray tell me, is not your Robert ac-
quainted with my people? perhaps he may you.
give a little light into the thing.
Free. To tell you the truth, Mr. Lovel,
your servants are so abandoned, that I have
forbid him your house-however, if you have
a mind to ask him any question, he shall be
forthcoming.
Lov. Let us have him.
Free. You shall; but it is an hundred to
one if you get any thing out of him; for
though he is a very honest fellow, yet he is
so much of a servant, that he'll never tell any
thing to the disadvantage of another. Who
waits?
Enter Servant.
Free. I did, Robert-Robert.
Rob. Sir-
Free. Come here--you know, Robert, I
have a good opinion of your integrity.-
Rob. I have always endeavoured that your
honour should.
Free. Pray have not you some acquaintance
among Mr. Lovel's people?
Rob. A little, your honour.
Free. How do they behave?-we have no-
body but friends-you may speak out.
Lov. Ay, Robert, speak out,
Rob. I hope your honours will not insist
on my saying any thing in an affair of this
Lov. Oh, but we do insist-if you know
any thing.
Send Robert to me-[Exit Servant] And kind.
what was it determined you upon this pro-
ject at last?
Lov. This letter. It is an anonymous one,
and so ought not to be regarded; but it has
something honest in it, and put me upon sa-
tisfying my curiosity.
-
Read it.
Rob. Sir, I am but a servant myself, and
it would not become me to speak ill of a
brother servant.
Free. Psha! this is false honesty-speak out.
[Gives the Letter. Rob. Don't oblige me, good sir.-Consider,
Free. I should know something of this sir, a servant's bread depends upon his cha-
hand-
racter.stors some
[Reads.
To Peregrine Lovel, Esq.
Please your honour,-I take the liberty
to acquaint your honour, that you are sad- is
ly cheated by your servants.-Your honour
will find it as I say. I am not willing to
be known, whereof if I am, it may bring
one into trouble.-So no more, from your
honour's servant to command.
-Odd and honest! Well-and now what are
the steps you intend to take?
Lov. But if a servant uses me ill-
Rob. Alas, sir, what is one man's poison
another man's meat.
Free. You see how they trim for one another.
Rob. Service is no inheritance.-A servant
that is not approved in one place, may give
satisfaction in another. Every body must live,
your honour.
Lov. Robert, I like your heartiness, as well
as your caution; but in my case, it is neces-
sary that I should know the truth.
Rob. The truth, sir, is not to be spoken at
all times, it may bring one into trouble, where-
[Returns the Letter.
Loo. I shall immediately apply to my friend
the manager for a disguise-under the form
of a gawky country boy, I will be an eye- of if-
witness of my servants behaviour.-You must
assist me, Mr. Freeman.
Free. As how, Mr. Lovel?
Lov. My plan is this-I gave out that I
was going to my borough in Devonshire, and
yesterday set out with a servant in great form,
and lay at Basingstoke.-
Free. Well ?--
Loo. I ordered the fellow to make the best
of his way down into the country, and told
him that I would follow him; instead of that,
I turned back, and am just come to town:
Ecce signum!
[Points to his Boots.
Free. It is now one o'clock.n
Lov. This very afternoon I shall pay my
people a visit.
Free. How will you get in?
Lov. When I am properly habited, you
shall get me introduced to Philip as one of
your tenant's sons, who wants to be made a
good servant of.
Free. They will certainly discover you.
Lov. Never fear, I'll be so countryfied that
you shall not know me.-As they are thor-
oughly persuaded I am many miles off, they'll
be more easily imposed on. Ten to one but
they begin to celebrate my departure with a
drinking bout, if they are what you describe
them.-
Free. [Musing] Whereof if-Pray, Mr.
Lovel, let me see that letter again [Lovel gi-
ves the Letter]-Ay-it must be so-Robert.
Rob. Sir.
Free. D you know any thing of this letter?
Rob. Letter, your honour?
Free. I ask you if you were concerned in
writing this letter. You never told me a lie
yet, and I expect the truth from you now.
Rob. Pray, your honour, don't ask me.
Free. Did you write it? answer me-
Rob. I cannot deny it.
[Bowing
Loo. What induced you to it.
Rob. I will tell the truth!-I have seen
such waste and extravagance, and riot and
drunkenness, in your kitchen, sir, that, as my
master's friend, I could not help discovering
to you.
it
Lov. Go on.
Rob. I am sorry to say it to your honour;
but your honour is not only imposed on, but
laughed at by all your servants; especially by
Philip, who is a-very bad man.
Lov. Philip? an ungrateful dog! Well!
Rob. I could not presume to speak to your
honour, and therefore I resolved, though but
poor scribe, to write your honour a letter.
Lov. Robert, I am greatly indebted to you.
[Offers Money.
a
-Here-
107

850
[ACT-I.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Rob. On any other account than this Ivel's people-[Reads] Philip and Mrs. Kitty
should be proud to receive your honour's present their compliments to sir Harry,
bounty, but now I beg to be excused- and desire the honour of his company this
[Refuses the Money. evening, to be of a smart party, and to
Loo. Thou hast a noble heart, Robert, and eat a bit of supper.
I'll not forget you.-Freeman, he must be in Duke. I have the same invitation-their
the secret.-Wait your master's orders- master, it seems,
is gone to his bor-
Rob. I will, your honour.
[Exit. ough.
Free. Well, sir, are you convinced now? Sir H. You'll be with us, my lord?-Phi-
Lov. Convinced? yes; and I'll be among lip's a blood-
the scoundrels before night.-You or Robert Duke. A buck of the first head, I'll tell
must contrive some way or other to get me you a secret, he's going to be married.
introduc'd to Philip, as one of your cottager's
boys out of Essex.
Free. Ha, ha, ha! you'll make a fine figure.
Loc. They shall make a fine figure.-It must
Sir H. To whom?
Duke. To Kitty.
Sir H. No!
Duke. Yes he is, and I intend to cuckold
be done this afternoon; walk with me across him.
the park, and I'll tell you the whole.-My
Sir H. Then we may depend upon your
name shall be Jemmy. And I am come to grace for certain. Ha, ha, ha!
be a gentleman's servant-and will do my Duke. If our house breaks up in a toler-
best, and hope to get a good character. able time, I'll be with you.-Have you any
[Mimicking. thing for us?
SCENE II.-The PARK.
Enter DUKE.
Free. Ha, ha, ha!-Bravo-Jemmy-Bravo, Sir H. Yes, a little bit of poetry-I must
ba, ha!
[Exeunt. be at the Cocoa-tree myself till eight.
Duke. Heigho!-I am quite out of spirits
-I had a damn'd debauch last night, baronet.
-Lord Francis, Bob the bishop, and I, tipt
Duke. What wretches are ordinary ser- off four bottles of Burgundy apiece-ha! there
vants that go on in the same vulgar track are two fine girls coming, faith-lady Bab-
ev'ry day! eating, working, and sleeping!-ay, and lady Charlotte.-Takes out his Glass.
But we, who have the honour to serve the Sir H. We'll not join them.
nobility, are of another species. We are Duke. Oh, yes-Bab is a fine wench, not-
above the common forms, have servants to withstanding her complexion; though I should
wait upon us, and are as lazy and luxurious be glad she would keep her teeth cleaner-
as our masters,-Ha!-my dear sir Harry!- Your English women are damn'd negligent
about their teeth.-How is your Charlotte in
that particular?
Enter SIR HARRY.
-How have you done these thousand years?
Sir H. My lord duke!-your grace's most
obedient servant.
Duke. Well, baronet, and where have you
been?
Sir H. At Newmarket, my lord-we have
had dev'lish fine sport.
Duke. And a good appearance I hear.-
Pox take it, I should have been there, but our
old duchess died, and we were obliged to
keep house, for the decency of the thing.
Sir H. I pick'd up fifteen pieces.
Duke. Psha! a trifle!
Sir H. The viscount's people have been
ly taken in this meeting.
Duke. Credit me, baronet, they know
thing of the turf.
Sir H. My Charlotte?
Duke. Ay, the world says, you care to
have her.
Sir H. I own I did keep her company; but
we are off, my lord.
Duke. How so?
Sir H. Between you and me, she has a
plaguy thick pair of legs.
Duke. Oh, damn it-that's insufferable.
Sir H. Besides, she is a fool, and miss'd
her opportunity with the old countess.
Duke. I am afraid, baronet, you love money.
-Rot it, I never save a shilling-indeed I am
d-sure of a place in the excise-lady Charlotte
is to be of the party to-night; how do you
no-manage that?
Sir H. Why, we do meet at a third place,
Sir H. I assure you, my lord, they lost are very civil, and look queer, and laugh,
every match, for Crab was beat hollow, Care- and abuse one another, and all that,
less threw his rider, and miss Slammerkin
had the distemper.
Duke. Ha, ha, ha! I'm glad on't.-Taste
[Offers his Box.
this snuff, sir Harry.
Sir H. 'Tis good rappee,
Duke. Right Strasburgh, I assure you, and
of my own importing.
Sir H. Ay?
Duke. The city people adulterate it so con-
foundedly, that I always import my own snuff.
-I wish my lord would do the same; but he
is so indolent. When did you see the girls?
I saw lady Bab this morning, but, 'fore 'gad,
whether it be love or reading, she looked as
pale as a penitent.
Sir H I have just had this card from Lo-
Duke. Alamode, ha?-here they are.
Sir H. Let us retire.
[They retire.
Enter LADY BAB and LADY CHARLOFTE.
Lady B. Oh! fie! lady Charlotte, you are
quite indelicate! I'm sorry for your taste.
Lady C. Well, I say it again, I love Vaux
Hall.
Lady B. O my stars! why there is no body
there but filthy citizens.
Lady B. Runelow for my money.
Lady C. Now you talk of Runelow, when
did you see the colonel, lady Bab?
Lady B. The colonel? I hate the fellow.-
He had the assurance to talk of a creature in
Gloucestershire before my face.

SCENE 2.]
851
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Lady C. He is a pretty man for all that-sent, and would have carried the girl off, but
soldiers, you know, have their mistresses every was unluckily prevented by the washerwoman,
where.
who happened to be his first cousin.
Enter PHILIP.
Lady B. I despise him-How goes on your
affair with the baronet?
Lady C. The baronet is a stupid wretch, -Mr. Philip, your servant.
and I shall have nothing to say to him-You
are to be at Lovel's to-night, lady Bab?
Lady B. Unless I alter my mind-I don't
admire visiting these commoners, lady Char-
lotte.
Lady C. Oh, but Mrs. Kitty has taste.
Lady B. She affects it.
Lady C. The duke is fond of her, and he
bas judgment.
Phil. You are welcome to England, sir
Harry; I hope you received the card, and
will do us the honour of your company-
My master is gone into Devonshire-we'll
have a roaring night.
Lady B. The duke might show his judg-
ment much better. [Holding up her Head.
Lady C. There he is, and the baronet too
-Take no notice of them-we'll rally them is
by-and-by.
Lady B. Dull souls! let us set up a loud
laugh and leave 'em.
Lady C. Ay; let us be gone; for the com-
mon people do so stare at us-we shall cer-
tainly be mobb'd.
Both. Ha, ha, ha!-Ha, ha, ha!
[Exeunt.
Sir H. I'll certainly wait on you.
Phil. The girls will be with us.
Sir H. Is this a wedding supper, Philip.
Phil. What do you mean, sir Harry?
Sir H. The duke tells me so.
Phil. The duke is a fool.
Sir H. Take care what you say; his grace
a bruiser.
Phil. I am a pupil of the same academy,
and not afraid of him, I assure you: sir Harry,
we'll have a noble batch-I have such wine
for you!
Sir H. I am your man, Phil.
Phil. 'Egad the cellar shall bleed: I have
some Burgundy that is fit for an emperor.-
My master would have given his ears for some
of it t'other day, to treat my lord What-d'ye-
call-him with; but I told him it was all gone;
ha? charity begins at home, ha?-Odso, here
is Mr. Freeman, my master's intimate friend;
Duke. I inust-I must have a party of he is a dry one. Don't let us be seen together
raillery with them, a bon mot or so.-Sir-he'll suspect something.
DUKE and SIR HARRY come forward.
Duke. They certainly saw us, and are gone
off laughing at us-I must follow-
Sir H. No, no.
Harry, you'll excuse me-Adieu, I'll be with Sir H. I am gone.
you in the evening, if possible; though, hark ye, Phil. Away, away.-Remember, Burgundy
there is a bill depending in our house, which is the word.
the ministry make a point of our attending; Sur H. Right-long corks! ha, Phil? [Mi-
and so you know, mum! we must mind the mics the drawing of a Cork]-Yours. [Exit.
stops of the great fiddle.-Adieu. [Exit. Phil. Now for a cast of my office-a starch
Sir H. What a coxcomb this is! and the phiz, a canting phrase, and as many lies as
fellow can't read. It was but the other day necessary-Hem!
that he was cow-boy in the country, then
was bound 'prentice to a perriwig-maker, got
into my lord duke's family, and now sets up
for a fine gentleman. O tempora! O moses!
Re-enter DUKE.
Duke. Sir Harry, pr'ythee what are we to
do at Lovel's, when we come there?
Sir H. We shall have the fiddles, I suppose.
Duke. The fiddles! I have done with dan-
cing ever since the last fit of the gout. I'll
tell you what, my dear boy, I positively can-
not be with them, unless we have a little-
[Makes a Motion, as if with the Dice-box.
Sir H. Fie, my lord duke.
Enter FREEMAN.
Free. Oh! Philip-How do you do, Philip?
You have lost your master, I find.
Phil. It is a loss, indeed, sir. So good a
gentleman! He must be nearly got into De-
vonshire by this time-Sir, your servant.
[Going.
Free. Why in such a hurry, Philip?
Phil. I shall leave the house as little as pos-
sible, now his honour is away.
Free. You are in the right, Philip.
Phil. Servants at such times are too apt to
be negligent and extravagant, sir.
Free, True; the master's absence is the
Duke. Look ye, baronet, I insist on it.-time to try a good servant in.
Who the devil, of any fashion, can possibly
spend an evening without it?-But I shall
lose the girls.-How grave you look, ha, ha,
ha!-Well, let there be fiddles.
Phil. It is so, sir: Sir, your servant. [Going.
Free. Oh! Mr. Philip-pray stay-you must
do me a piece of service.
Sir H. But, my dear lord, I shall be quite
miserable without you.-
Duke. Well, I won't be particular, I'll do
as the rest do.-Tol, lol, lol!
[Bows.
Phil. You command me, sir.
Free. I look upon you, Philip, as one of
the best behaved, most sensible, completest
[Philip bows] rascals in the world. [Aside.
Phil. Your honour is pleased to compliment.
[Exit, singing and dancing. Free. There is a tenant of mine in Essex,
Sir H. [Solus] He had the assurance, last a very honest man-poor fellow, he as a
winter, to court a tradesman's daughter in the great, number of children, and has sent me
city, with two thousand pounds to her for- one of 'em, a tall gawky boy, to make a ser-
tune-and got me to write his love-letters. vant of; but my folks say they can do nothing
He pretended to be an ensign in a marching with him.
regiment; so wheedled the old folks into con- Phil. Let me have him, sir.

852
[ACT I. SCENE 3.]
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Free. In truth, he is an unlick'd cub.
had not had the key of the door in my pocket
Phil. I will lick him into something, I war--what is come to you all?
rant you, sir.-Now my master is absent, I Cook. There is John Coachman, and King-
shall have a good deal of time upon my hands; ston, as drunk as two bears.
Free. I don't doubt it.
and I hate to be idle, sir: in two months I'll Phil. Ah, hah! my lads, what finished al-
engage to finish him.
ready? these are the very best of servants-
[Aside. poor fellows, I suppose they have been drink-
Phil. Sir, I have twenty pupils in the pa- ing their master's good journey-ha, ha, ha!
rish of St. James'; and for a table or a side- Lov. No doubt on't.
board, or behind an equipage, or in the de-
livery of a message, or any thing-
Free. What have you for entrance?
Phil. I always leave it to gentlemen's ge- fast as a church-Jemmy.
nerosity.
Free. Here is a guinea-I beg he
taken care of.
may be
Phil. That he shall, I promise you. [Aside]
Your honour knows me.
Free. Thoroughly.
[Aside.
Phil. When can I see him, sir?
Free. Now directly-call at my house, and
take him in your hand.
[Aside.
Phil. Yo ho, get to bed, you dogs, and
sleep yourselves sober, that you may be able
to get drunk again by-and-by-They are as
Lov. Anon!
Phil. Do you love drinking?
Lov. Yes I loves ale.
Phil. You dog, you shall swim in Burgundy.
Lov. Burgrumdy? what's that?
Phil. Cook, wake these worthy gentlemen,
and send them to bed.
Cook. It is impossible to wake them.
Lov. I think I could wake them if I might
Phil. Jemmy, wake 'em, Jemmy-ha, ha, ha!
Lov. Hip-Mr: Coachman.
Phil. Sir, I'll be with you in a minute-I-heh—
will but step into the market, to let the tra-
desmen know they must not trust any of our
servants, now they are at board wages-
humh!
Free. How happy is Mr. Lovel in so ex-
cellent a servant.
[Gives him a great slap on the Face.
Coachm. Oh! oh! zounds! oh!-damn you.
Loo. What blackey, blackey.
[Pulls him by the Nose.
King. Oh! oh! what now! curse you!
Oh!-Cot tam you.
[Exit.
Phit. Ha, ha, ha! This is one of my mas-
ter's prudent friends, who dines with him
three times a week, and thinks he is mighty Phil. Ha, ha, ha-well done, Jemmy.-
generous in giving me five guineas at Christ- Cook, see these gentry to bed.
mas.-Damn all such sneaking scoundrels, I Cook. Marry, come up, I say so too; not
[Exit. I indeed-
say.
SCENE III.- The Servants'-hall in LOVEL'S
House.
Coachm. She sha'n't see us to bed-we'll
see ourselves to bed.
KINGSTON and Coachman, drunk and sleepy. to bed together.
[Knocking at the Door.
King. Somebody knocks-coachy, go-go
to the door, coachy. -
Coachm. I'll not go-do you go-you
dog.
black
King. Devil shall fetch me, if I go.
Coachm. Why then let them stay-I'll not
go-damme-ay, knock the door down, and
let yourself in
King. We got drunk together, and we'll go
[Exeunt, reeling.
Phil. You see how we live, boy.
Lov. Yes, I sees how you live-
Phil. Let the supper be elegant, cook.
Cook. Who pays for it?
Phil. My master, to be sure: who else?
ha, ha, ha! He is rich enough; I hope, ha,
ha, ha!
Loo. Humh.
[Aside.
[Knocking. Phil. Each of us must take a part, and
King. Ay, ay, knock again-knock again-sink it in our next weekly bills; that is the
Coachm. Master is gone into Devonshire-way.
So he can't be there-so I'll go to sleep- Lov. Soh!
King. So will I-I'll go to sleep too.
Coachm. You lie, devil-you shall not go
to sleep till I am asleep-I am king of the
kitchen.
King. No, you are not king; but when you
are drunk, you are as sulky as hell. Here
is cooky coming-she is king and queen too.
Enter Cook.
Cook. Somebody has knock'd at the door
twenty times, and nobody hears-why, coach-
man-Kingston-ye drunken bears, why don't
one of you go to the door.
Coahm. You go, cook; you go-
Cook. Hang me if I go-
King. Yes, yes, cooky go; Mollsy Pollsy, go.
Cook. Out, you black toad-it is none of
my business, and go I will not. [Sits down.
Enter PHILIP, with LOVEL disguised.
Phil. I might have staid at the door all
night, as the little man in the play says, if I
[Aside.
Cook. Pr'ythee, Philip, what boy is this?
Phil. A boy of Freeman's recommending.
Lov. Yes, I'm squire Freeman's boy-heh-
Cook. Freeman is a stingy hound; and you
may tell him I say so. He dines here three
times a week, and I never saw the colour of
his money yet.
Lov. Ha, ha, ha, that is good - Freeman
shall have it.
[Aside.
Cook. I must step to my tallow-chandler's,
to dispose of some of my perquisites; and
then I'll set about supper.-
Phil. Well said, cook, that is right; the
perquisite is the thing, cook.
Cook. Cloe, Cloe, where are you, Cloe?-
[Calls.
Enter CLOE.
Cloe. Yes, mistress.-
Cook. Take that box, and follow me. [Exit.
Cloe. Yes, mistress; [Takes the Box] who

[ACT II. SCTNE 1.]
853
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
is this? [Seeing Lovel] hee, hee, hee! this is
pretty boy-hee, hee, hee-Oh-this is pretty-Now, sir, tell me a lie.
red hair, hee, hee, hee-You shall be in love
with me by-and-by.-Hee, hee.
Phil. Admirable! the knave has a good ear
[Exit, chucking Lovel under the Chin.
Loo. A very pretty amour. [Aside] Oh la!
what a fine room is this?-Is this the dining-
room, pray sir?
Phil. No, our drinking room.
Lov. Oh la, I never told a lie in all my life.
Phil. Then it is high time you should be-
gin now; what's a servant good for that can't
tell a lie?
Kit. And stand in it-Now I'll lecture him.
[Takes out a Book] This is The Servants'
Guide to Wealth, by Timothy Shouldernot,
Lov. La! la! what a fine lady here is.- formerly servant to several noblemen, and now
This is madam, I suppose.
Enter KITTY.
Phil. Where have you been, Kitty?
Kitty. I have been disposing of some of
his honour's shirts and other linen, which it
is a shame his honour should wear any long-
er. Mother Barter is above, and waits to
know if you have any commands for her.
Phil. I shall dispose of my wardrobe to-
morrow.
Kit. Who have we here! [Locel bows.
Phil. A boy of Freeman's, a poor silly fool.
Lov. Thank you.-
Phil. I intend the entertainment of this even-
ing as a compliment to you, Kitty.
Kit. I am your humble, Mr. Philip.
Phil. But I beg that I may see none of
your airs, or hear any of your French gib-
berish with the duke.
Kit. Don't be jealous, Phil. [Fawningly.
Phil. I intend, before our marriage, to settle
something handsome upon you; and with
the five hundred pounds which I have already
saved in this extravagant fellow's family.-
Lov. A dog! [Aside]-O la, la, what, have
you got five hundred pounds?
Phil. Peace, blockhead-
Kit. I'll tell you what you shall do, Phil.
Phil. Ay, what shall I do?
an officer in the customs. Necessary for all
servants.
Phil. Mind, sir, what excellent rules the
books contains, and remember them well-
Come, Kitty, begin-
Kit. [Reads] Advice to the footman:
Let it for ever be your plan
To be the master, not the man,
And do-as little as you can.
Lov. He, he, he!-Yes, I'll do nothing at
all-not 1.
To the groom:
Kit.
Never allow your master able
To judge of matters in the stable.
If he should roughly speak his mind,
Or to dismiss you seems inclin'd,
Lame the best horse, or break his wind.
Lov. Oddines! that's good-he, he, he!
Kit.
To the coachman:
If your good master on you doats,
Ne'er leave his house to serve a stranger;
But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,
And let the horses eat the manger.
Lov. Eat the manger! he, he, he!
Kit. I won't give you too much at a time
-Here boy, take the book, and read it every
night and morning before you say your prayers.
Phil. Ha, ha, ha!-very good-But now for
business.s
Kit. Right-I'll go and get out one of the
Kit. You shall set up a chocolate-house, damask tablecloths, and some napkins; and
my dear.
be sure, Phil, your sideboard is very smart.
[Exit.
Phil. That it shall-come, Jemmy- [Exit.
Lov. Soh!-Soh!-It works well. Exit.
Phil. Yes, and be cuckolded-
[Aside.
Kit. You know my education was a very
genteel one I was half-boarder at Chelsea,
and I speak French like a native-Comment
vous portez vous, mounsieur. [Awkwardly.
Phil. Psha! psha!
Kit. One is nothing without French-I shall
shine at the bar. Do you speak French, boy?
Lov. Anon-
ACT II.
SCENE I.-The Servants'-hall, with the Sup-
per and Side-board set out.
Enter PHILIP, KITTY, and LOVEL.
Kit. Anon-O the fool! ha, ha, ha!-Come Kit. Well, Phil, what think you? don't we
here, do, and let me new mould you a little look very smart?-Now let 'em come as soon
you must be a good boy, and wait upon as
the gentlefolks to-night.
[She ties and powders his Hair.
Loo. Yes, an't please you, I'll do my best.
Kit. His best! O the natural! this is a
strange head of hair of thine, boy-it is so
coarse and so carrotty.
Lov. All my brothers and sisters be red in
the pole.
Phil. Kit. Ha, ha, ha! [Loud laugh.
Kit. There, now you are something like-
come, Philip, give the boy a lesson, and then
I'll lecture him out of the Servants' Guide.
they will, we shall be ready for 'em.
Phil. 'Tis all very well; but-
Kit. But what?
Phil. Why, I wish we could get that snarl-
ing cur, Tom, to make one.
Kit. What is the matter with him?
Phil. I don't know-He's a queer son of a-
Kit. Oh, I know him; he is one of your
sneaking halfbred fellows, that prefers his
master's interest to his own.
Phil. Here he is.
Enter Toм.
Phil. Come, sir, first, hold up your head--And why won't you make one to-night,
very well-turn out your toes, sir-very well Tom?-here's cook and coachman, and all
-now call coach-
Loc. What is call coach?
Phil. Thus, sir, coach, coach, coach. [Loud.
Lov. Coach, coach, coach.
[Imitating.
of us.
Tom. I tell you again, I will not make one.
Phil. We shall have something that's good.
Tom. And make your master pay for it.

854
[ACT II.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Phil. I warrant, you think yourself mighty
honest-ha, ha, ha!
Lov. Yes. [Exeunt Philip and Lovel.
Kit. Indeed I thought your grace an age
Tom. A little honester than you, I hope, in coming.
and not brag neither.
Kit. Harkye, you Mr. Honesty,
saucy-
Loo. This is worth listening to.
Tom. What, madam, you are
your cully, are you?
Duke. Upon honour, our house is but this
don't be moment up.-You have a damn'd vile collec-
tion of pictures I observe, above stairs, Kitty
[Aside.-Your squire has no taste.
afraid for
Kit. No taste? that's impossible, for he has
laid out a vast deal of money.
Kit. Cully, sirrah, cully? afraid, sirrah, Duke. There is not an original picture in
[Goes up to Tom. the whole collection.-Where could he pick
afraid of what?
Phil. Ay, sir, afraid of what?
'em up?
[Goes up the other Side. Kit. He employs three or four men to buy
Lov. Ay, sir, afraid of what? [Goes up too. for him, and he always pays for originals.
Tom. I value none of you-I know your
tricks.
Phil. What do you know, sirrah?
Kit. Ay, what do you know?
Loo. Ay, sir, what do you know?
Duke. Donnez-moi votre eau de luce.-
My head aches confoundedly. [She gives a
Smelling-bottle] Kitty, my dear, I hear you
are going to be married.
Kit. Pardonnez-moi, for that.-
Duke. If you get a boy, I'll be godfather,
Tom. I know that you two are in fee
with every tradesman belonging to the house. faith.
-And that you, Mr. Clodpole, are in a fair
way to be hang'd.
Kit. How you rattle, duke !-I am thinking,
[Strikes Lovel. my lord, when I had the honour to see you
last.
Phil. What do you strike the boy for?
Loo. It is an honest blow.
[Aside.
Tom. I'll strike him again.-'Tis such as
you that bring a scandal upon us all.
Kit. Come, none of your impudence, Tom.
Tom. 'Egad, madam, the gentry may well
complain, when they get such servants as you
Duke. At the play, mademseille.—
Kit. Your grace loves a play?
Duke. No.-It is a dull, old fashioned en-
tertainment-I hate it.-
Kit. Well, give me a good tragedy.
Duke. It must not be a modern one then.
[Offers to kiss her.
Enter SIR HARRY.
in their houses.-There's your good friend,-You are devilish handsome, Kate-kiss me.-
mother Barter, the old-clothes woman, the
greatest thief in town, just now gone out
with her apron full of his honour's linen.
Kit. Well, sir, and did you never-ha! Sir H. Oh ho, are you thereabouts, my
Tom. No, never: I have liv'd with his ho-lord duke? That may do very well by-and-
nour four years, and never took the value of by-however you'll never find me behind hand.
that [Snapping his Fingers]-His honour is
[Offers to kiss her.
a prince; gives noble wages, and keeps noble Duke. Stand off, you are a commoner-
company, and yet you two are not contented, nothing under nobility approaches Kitty.
but cheat him wherever you can lay your Sir H. You are so devilish proud of your
fingers. Shame on you!-
nobility. An fool may be born to a title,
Loo. The fellow I thought a rogue is the but only a wise man can make himself ho-
only honest servant in my house. [Aside. nourable.
Kit. Out, you mealy-mouth'd cur!
Phil. Well, go tell his honour, do-ha, morillity.
ha, ha!
Kit. Well said, sir Harry, that is good
Duke. I hope you make some difference
Tom. I scorn that-damn an informer! but between hereditary honours and the huzzas
yet, I hope his honour will find you two out, of a mob.
one day or other-That's all.-
[Exit.
Kit. This fellow must be taken care of.
Phil. I'll do his business for him, when his
honour comes to town.
Lov. You lie, you scoundrel, you will not.
[Aside]-O la, here is a fine gentleman.
Enter DUKE.
Duke. Ah! ma chere mademseille! com-
ment vous portez vous?
[Salute.
Kit. Fort bien, je vous remercier, mounsieur.
Phil. Now we shall have nonsense by
wholesale.
Duke. How do you do, Philip?
Phil. Your grace's humble servant.
Duke. But my dear Kitty- [Talk apart.
Phil. Jemmy.
Lov. Anon?
Phil. Come along with me, and I will make
you free of the cellar.
Lov. Yes-1 will-But won't you ask he
to drink?
Phil. No, no; he will have his share by-
and-by. Come along.
Kit. Very smart, my lord-Now, sir Harry.-
Sir H. If you make use of your hereditary
honours to screen you from debt-
Duke. Zounds! sir, what do you mean by
that?
Kit. Hold, hold, I shall have some fine, old,
noble blood spilt hee.-Ha' done, sir Harry-
Sir H. Not I.-Why he is always valuing
himself upon his upper house.
Duke. We have dignity.
Slow.
Sir H. But what becomes of your dignity,
if we refuse the supplies?
[Quick
Kit. Peace, peace-here's lady Bab.
Enter LADY BAB, in a Chair.
Dear lady Bab-
Lady B. Mrs. Kitty, your servant.-I was
afraid of taking cold, and ordered the chair
down stairs. Well, and how do you do?-
My lord duke, your servant-and sir Harry
too-yours.
Duke. Your ladyship's devoted-
Lady B. I am afraid I have trespassed in

SCENE 1.]
855
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Duke. Yes, I found her ladyship at her
studies this morning. Some wicked poem.
too.
of time-[Looks on her Watch] But wait on their lordships and their ladyships
I got into my fav'rite author.
[Aside and exit.
Phil. Well, ladies, what say you to a dance,
and then to supper? have you had your tea?
All. A dance, a dance-No tea, no tea.
Phil. Come here-where are all our people?
Enter Coachman, Cook, KINGSTON,
and CLOE.
Lady B. Oh, you wretch! I never read but
one book.
Kit. What is your ladyship so fond of?
Lady B. Shikspur. Did you never read
Shikspur?
Kit. Shikspur? Shikspur?-Who wrote it? I'll couple you,-My lord duke will take Kit-
No, I never read Shikspur.
ty,-lady Bab will do me the honour of her
Lady B. Then you have an immense plea- hand; sir Harry lady Charlotte, coachman and
sure to come.
Kit. Well then, I'll read it over one
noon or other. Here's lady Charlotte.
cook, and the two devils will dance together,
after-ha, ha, ha!
Enter LADY CHARLOTTE, in a Chair.
-Dear lady Charlotte.
Duke. With submission, the country dan-
ces by-and-by.
Lady C. Ay, ay; French dances before sup-
per, and country dances after.-I beg the duke
and Mrs. Kitty may give us a minuet.
Duke. Dear lady Charlotte, consider my
Lady C. Oh, Mrs. Kitty, I thought I never
should have reached your house. Such a fit
of the cholic seized me-Oh, lady Bab, how poor gout. Sir Harry will oblige us.
long has your ladyship been here ?-My chair-
[Sir Harry bows.
men were such drones. My lord duke, the All. Minuet, sir Harry. Minuet, sir Harry.
pink of all good breeding.
Duke. What minuet would you please to
Duke. Oh, ma'am-
[Bowing. have?
Lady C. And, sir Harry-your servant, sir Kit. What minuet?-Let me see-play
Harry.
[Formally. marshal Thingumbob's minuet.
Sir H. Madam, your servant-I am sorry
to hear your ladyship has been ill.
[A Minuet by Sir Harry and Kitty;
awkward and conceited. They sit
down.
Lady C. You must give me leave to doubt
the sincerity of that sorrow, sir. - Remember Phil. We will set the wine on the table-
the Park.
Where is Claret, Burgundy, and Champagne,
Sir H. The Park? I'll explain that affair, and a bottle of Tokay for the ladies-there
are tickets on every bottle-if any gentleman
madam.
Lady C. I want none of your explanations. chooses port-
[Scornfully. Duke. Port?-Tis only fit for a dram.
Sir H. Dear lady Charlotte!-
Kit. Lady Bab, what shall I send you?-
Lady C. No, sir; I have observ'd your cool- Lady Charlotte, pray be free; the more free,
ness of late, and despise you-a trumpery the more welcome, as they say in my coun-
try.-The gentlemen will be so good as take
care of themselves.
[A pause.
Duke. Lady Charlotte, hob or nob!
Lady C. Done, my lord-in Burgundy, if
baronet!
Sir H. I see how it is; nothing will satisfy
you but nobility-that sly dog, the marquis-
Lady C. None of your reflections, sir-the
marquis is a person of honour, and above in-you please.
quiring after a lady's fortune, as you meanly
did.
Duke. Here's your sweetheart and mine,
and the friends of the company.
Sir H. I, I, madam?-I scorn such a thing.
[They drink. A pause.
-I assure you, madam, I never - that is to Phil. Come, ladies and gentlemen, a bum-
say-egad I am confounded.-My lord duke, per all round-I have a health for you-Here
what shall I say to her.-Pray help me out. is to the amendment of our masters and mi-
[Aside. stresses.
Duke. Ask her to show her legs-ha, ha,
ha!
[Aside.
Enter PHILIP and LOVEL, loaded with Bottles.
Phil. Here, my little peer-here is wine that
will ennoble your blood.-Both your ladyship's
most humble servant.
Loo. [Affecting to be drunk] Both your
ladyship's most humble servant.
Kit. Why, Philip, you have made the boy
drunk.ons
Phil. I have made him free of the cellar,
ha, ha!
All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
[Loud laugh. A pause.
Phil. My lord duke, your toast.
Duke. Lady Betty-
Phil. Oh no.
All. A song, a song, ay, ay, sir Harry's
song-sir Harry's song.
Duke. A song to be sure, but first,-pre-
ludio-[Kisses Kitty] Pray gentlemen, put it
about. [Kissing round; Kingston kisses
Cloe heartily.
Sir H. See how the devils kiss!
Kit. I am really hoarse; but-hem-I must
clear up my pipes-hem-this is sir Harry's
song; being a new song, entitled and called
of-The Fellow Servant, or All in a Livery.
Lov. Yes, I am free-I am very free.
Phil. He has had a smack of every sort
wine, from humble port to imperial Tokay.
Loc. Yes, I have been drinking kokay.
Kit. Go, get you some sleep, child, that you
may wait on his lordship by-and-by.
Loo. Thank you, madam.-I will certainly
SONG. KITTY.
Come here, fellow servant, and listen to me,
I'll show you how those of superior degree.
Are ouly dependants, no better than we

856
[ACT II.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
Chorus. Both high and low in this do
agree,
'Tis here fellow servant,
And there fellow servant,
And all in a livery.
See yonder fine spark in embroidery drest,
Who bows to the great, and if they smile,
is blest:
What is he? i'faith, but a servant at best.
Chorus. Both high, etc.
The fat shining glutton looks up to the shelf,
The wrinkled lean miser bows down to his
pelf,
And the curlpated beau is a slave to himself.
Chorus. Both high, etc.
Phil. How do you like it, my lord duke?
Duke. It is a damn'd vile composition-
Phil. How so?
Duke, O very low! very low indeed.
Sir H. Can make a better?
you
Duke. I hope so.
Phil. He is very drunk indeed-[Aside]-
Mrs. Kitty and I had got into a good book,
your honour.
Free. Ay, ay, they have been well employed,
I dare-say, ha, ha, ha!
Lov. Come, sit down, Freeman, - lie you
there. [Lays his Pistols down] I come a little
unexpectedly, perhaps, Philip-
Phil. A good servant is never afraid of be-
ing caught, sir.
Lov. I have some accounts that I must settle.
Phil. Accounts, sir! to-night?
Loo. Yes; to-night-I find myself perfectly
clear-you shall see I'll settle them in a twinkling.
Phil. Your honour will go into the parlour?
Lov. No, I'll settle 'em all here.
Kit. Your honour must not sit here.
Lov. Why not?
Kit. You will certainly take cold, sir; the
room has not been washed above an hour.
Lov. What a cursed lie that is! [Aside.
Duke. Philip.-Philip.-Philip.
Sir H. That is very conceited.
Duke. What is conceited, you scoundrel?ak
Sir H. Scoundrel! you are a rascal-I'll
pull you by the nose-
[Peeping out.
Phil. Pox take you!-hold your tongue.-
[Aside.
Free. You have just nlck'd them in the very
[Aside to Lovel.
Lov. I find I have-mum-[Aside to Free-
[All rise.
Duke. Lookye, friend; don't give yourself
airs, and make a disturbance among the ladies minute.
-If you are a gentleman, name your weapons.
Sir H. Weapons! what you will-pistols-man] Get some wine, Philip-[Exit Phil.]
Duke. Done-behind Montague-house-
Sir H. Done-with seconds-
Duke. Done.--
Phil. Oh shame, gentlemen-My lord duke!
Sir Harry, the ladies! fie!
[Duke and Sir Harry affect to sing.
A violent Knocking.
Phil. What the devil can that be, Kitty?
Kit. Who can it possibly be?
Phil. Kingston, run up stairs and peep.
[Exit Kingston] It sounds like my master's
rap-Pray heaven it is not he!-
Re-enter KINGSTON.
Well Kingston, what is it?
King. It is my master and Mr. Freeman-
I peep'd through the keyhole, and saw them
by the lamp light.
Lov. [Without] Philip-where's Philip?
Phil. Oh the devil! he's certainly coming
down stairs-Sir Harry, run down into the
cellar-My lord duke, get into the pantry-
away, away.
Kit. No, no; do you put their ladyships
into the pantry, and I'll take his grace into
the coal-hole.
Visitors. Any where, any where-up the
chimney if you will.
Phil. There-in with you.
[They all go into the Pantry.
Lov. [Without] Philip-Philip-
Phil. Coming, sir,-[Aloud]-Kitty, have
you never a good book to be reading of?
Kit. Yet; here is one.
-Though I must eat something before I drink
-Kitty, what have you got in the pantry?
Kit. In the pantry? Lord, your honour!
We are at board wages.n
Free, I could eat a morsel of cold meat.
Loo. You shall have it Here. [Rises] Open
the pantry door-I'll be about your board
wages! I have treated you often, now you
shall treat your master.
Kit. If I may be believed, sir, there is not
a scrap of any thing in the world in the pan-
try.
[Opposing him.
Sir H. [Peeping] Mrs. Kitty, Mrs. Kitty.-
Kit. Peace, on your life.
[Aside.
Lov. Kitty, what voice is that?
[Sir Harry sneezes.
PHILIP brings Wine.
Phil. Oh! that is the duke's damn'd rappee.
[Aside.
Lov. Didn't you hear a noise, Charles?
Free. Somebody sneez'd, I thought.
Loo. Damn it! there are thieves in the
house-I'll be among 'em- [Takes a Pistol.
Kit. Lack-a-day, sir, it was only the cat-
they sometimes sneeze for all the world like
a Christian-here Jack, Jack-he has got a
cold, sir-puss-puss.
Lov. A cold? then I'll cure him-here Jack,
Jack-puss, puss-
Kit. Your honour won't be so rash-pray,
your honour, don't.-
[Opposing.
Lov. Stand off-here, Freeman-here's a
Phil. 'Egad, this is black Monday with us barrel for business, with a brace of slugs, and
-sit down-seem to read your book-Here well prim'd as you see-Freeman - I'll hold
he is, as drunk as a piper- [They sit down. you five to four-nay, I'll hold you two to
one, I hit the cat through the keyhole of that
pantry door.
Enter LOVEL with Pistols, affecting to be
drunk, FEEEMAN following.
Lov. Philip, the son of Alexander the Great,
where are all my myrmidons?- What the
devil makes you up so early this morning?
Free. Try, try; but I think it impossible.-
Loo. I am a damn'd good marksman.
[Cocks the Pistol, and points it at the Pan-
try-door-Now for it! [4 violent shriek,

SCENE 1.]
857
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS.
and all is discovered]-Who the devil are
all these? One-two-three-four.
Phil. Kit. Oh, sir-good sir!
Lov. You, madam, may stay here till to-
Phil. They are particular friends of mine, morrow morning-and there, madam, is the
sir. Servants to some noblemen in the neigh- book you lent me, which I beg you'll read
bourhood.
"night and morning, before you say your
Lov. I told you there were thieves in the prayers."
house.
Free. Ha, ha, ha.
[Exit.
Kit. I am ruin'd and undone.
Lov. But you, sir, for your villany, and
Phil. I assure your honour they have been (what I hate worse) your hypocrisy, shall not
entertained at our own expense, upon my word. stay a minute longer in this house; and here
comes an honest man to show you the way
out-Your keys, sir. [Philip gives the Keys.
Enter Toм.
Kit. Yes, indeed, your honour, if it was the
last word I had to speak.
Loo. Take up that bottle-[Philip takes up
a Bottle with a Ticket to it, and is going
off-bring it back-Do you usually entertain-Tom, I respect and value you-you are an
your company with Tokay, monsieur? honest servant, and shall never want encourage-
Phil. 1, sir, treat with wine!
ment be so good, Tom, as to see that
Lov. O yes, "from humble port to imperial gentleman out of my house [Points to Philip]
Tokay," too.
[Mimicking himself.
Phil. How! Jemmy, my master!
Kit. Jemmy! the devil!
Phil. Your honour is at present in liquor
-but in the morning, when your honour is
recovered, I will set all to rights again.
Lov. [Changing his Countenance, and
turning his Wig] We'll set all to rights now
-and then take charge of the cellar and plate.
Tom. I thank your honour; but I would
not rise on the ruin of a fellow servant.
Lov. No remonstrances, Tom; it shall be
as I say.
Phil. What a cursed fool have I been?
[Exeunt Servants.
Lov. Well, Charles, I must thank you for
-There, I am sober, at your service-what my frolic-it has been a wholesome one to
have you to say, Philip? [Philip starts] You me-have I done right?
may well start-Go, get out of my sight.
Duke. Sir-I have not the honour to be
known to you, but I have the honour to serve
his grace the duke of-
Free. Entirely-no judge could have deter-
mined better-as you punished the bad, it was
but justice to reward the good.
Lov. A faithful servant is a worthy character.
Free. And can never receive too much en-
couragement.
Lov. Right.
Lov. And the impudent familiarity to assume
his title your grace will give me leave to tell
you, "that is the door"-and if ever you en-
ter there again, I assure you, my lord duke,
Free. You have made Tom very happy.
I will break every bone in your grace's skin Loo. And I intend to make your Robert so
-be gone-I beg their ladyships' pardon, per-too-every honest servant should be made
haps they cannot go without chairs-Ha, ha, ha! happy.
Free. Ha, ha, ha! [Sir Harry steals off. Free. But what an insufferable piece of as-
Duke. Low bred fellows!
[Exit. surance is it in some of these fellows to affect
Lady C. I thought how this visit would turn and imitate their master's manners.
[Exit. Lov. What manners must those be which
they can imitate?
out.
Lady B. They are downright Hottenpots.
[Exit.
Phil. Kit. I hope your honour will not take
away our bread.
Lov. "Five hundred pounds will set you up
in a chocolate-house-you'll shine in the bar,
madam"-I have been an eye-witness of your
roguery, extravagance, and ingratitude.
Free. True.
Lov. If persons of rank would act up to
their standard, it would be impossible that
their servants could ape them-but when they
affect every thing that is ridiculous, it will be
in the power of any low creature to follow
their example.
BON TON: OR, HIGH LIFE ABOVE STAIRS.
THIS agreeable after-piece, which abounds with pleasantry and possesses an excellent moral, is an additional proof
of Mr. Garrick's useful talents, and always commands a well-deserved applause. "This is a well-timed satirical piece,
in which the profligate fashions of the age, imported from France and Italy, and greedily swallowed by the high-born
fools of London, are well contrasted with the plain downright manners of an honest country gentleman, who, by an
accidental visit to the metropolis, discovers a most shocking metamorphosis in the morals of both sexes, and more espe-
cially exemplified among his own relations.
108

858
[Acr I.
BON TON.
LORD MINIKIN.
SIR J. TROTLEY.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
JESSAMY.
DAVY.
COLONEL TIVY.
LADY MINIKIN.
MISS TITTUP.
GYMP.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Enter LADY MINIKIN and MISS TITTUP.
Lady M. It is not, my dear, that I have the
least regard for my lord; I had no love for
him before I married him, and, you know,
matrimony is no breeder of affection; but it
hurts my pride, that he should neglect me,
and run after other women.
Miss T. He is a very handsome man.
Lady M. He has a very bad constitution.
Miss T. He has wit.
Lady M. He is a lord, and a little goes a
great way.
Miss T. He has great good nature.
Lady M. No wonder-he's a fool.
Miss T. And then his fortune, you'll allow-
Lady M. Was a great one-but he games,
and if fairly, he's undone; if not, he deserves
Miss T. Ha, ha, ha! how can you be so hy- to be hanged-and so, exit my Lord Minikin-
pocritical, Lady Minikin, as to pretend to un- and now, let your wise uncle, and my good
easiness at such trifles! but pray have you cousin, Sir John Trotley, baronet, enter: where
made any new discoveries of my lord's gal-is he, pray?
lantry?
Miss T. In his own room, I suppose, read-
Lady M. New discoveries! why, I saw him ing pamphlets, and newspapers, against the
myself yesterday morning in a hackney-coach, enormities of the times; if he stays here a
with a minx in a pink cardinal; you shall ab-week longer, notwithstanding my expectations
solutely burn yours, Tittup, for I shall never from him, I shall certainly affront him.
bear to see one of that colour again.
Miss T. Sure she does not suspect me!
[Aside] And where was your ladyship, pray,
when you saw him?
Lady M. Taking the air with Colonel Tivy
in his vis-a-vis.
Lady M. I am a great favourite, but it is
impossible much longer to act up to his very
righteous ideas of things;-isn't it pleasant to
hear him abuse every body, and every thing,
and yet always finishing with a-you'll excuse
me, cousin? ha, ha, ha!
Miss T. But, my dear Lady Minikin, how Miss T. What do you think the Goth said
can you be so angry that my lord was hurting to me yesterday? one of the knots of his tye
your pride, as you call it, in the hackney-hanging down his left shoulder, and his fringed
coach, when you had him so much in your cravat nicely twisted down his breast, and
power, in the vis-a-vis?
thrust through his gold button-hole, which
Lady M. What, with my lord's friend, and looked exactly like my little Barbet's head
my friend's lover! [Takes her by the Hand] in his gold collar-"Niece Tittup," cries he,
O fie, Tittup!
drawing himself up, "I protest against this
Miss T. Pooh, pooh, love and friendship manner of conducting yourself, both at home
are very fine names to be sure, but they are and abroad.". What are your objections, Sir
mere visiting acquaintance; we know their John? answered I, a little pertly. "Various
names indeed, talk of 'em sometimes, and let and manifold," replied he; "I have no time
'em knock at our doors, but we never let 'em to enumerate particulars now, but I will ven-
in, you know.
[Looking roguishly at her. ture to prophesy, if you keep whirling round
Lady M. I vow, Tittup, you are extremely in the vortex of Pantheons, Operas, Festinos,
polite.
Coteries, Masquerades, and all the Devilades
Miss T. I am extremely indifferent in these in this town, your head will be giddy, down
affairs, thanks to my education. We must you will fall, lose the name of Lucretia, and
marry, you know, because other people of be called nothing but Tittup ever after-you'll
fashion marry; but I shonld think very meanly excuse me, cousin!"-and so he left me.
of myself, if, after I was married, I should Lady M. O, the barbarian!
feel the least concern at all about my hus-
band.
yet I
Lady M. I hate to praise myself, and
may with truth aver, that no woman of qua-
lity ever had, can have. or will have, so con-
Enter GYMP.
Gymp. A card, your ladyship, from Mrs.
Pewitt.
Lady M. Poor Pewitt! if she can be but
summate a contempt for her lord, as I have seen at public places, with a woman of quality,
for my most honourable and puissant Earl of she's the happiest of plebeians.
Minikin, Viscount Periwinkle, and Baron Tit-
mouse-ha, ha, ha!
[Reads the card.
"Mrs. Pewitt's respects to lady Minikin,
Miss T. But is it not strange, Lady Minikin, and Miss Tittup; hopes to have the plea-
that merely his being your husband, should sure of attending them to Lady Filligree's
create such indifference; for certainly, in every ball this evening. Lady Daisey sees masks."
other eye, his lordship has great accomplish- We'l certainly attend her-Gymp, put some
ments?
message cards upon my toilet, I'll send an
Lady M. Accomplishments! thy head is cer- answer immediately; and tell one of my foot-
tainly turned; if you know any of 'em, pray men, that he must make some visits for me
let's have 'em; they are a novelty, and will to-day again, and send me a list of those he
amuse me.
Miss T. Imprimis, he is a man of quality.
Lady M. Which, to be sure includes all the
cardinal virtues-poor girl! go on!
made yesterday: he must be sure to call at
Lady Pettitoes, and if she should unluckily be
at home, he must say that he came to inquire
after her sprained ancle.

SCENE 1.]
859
BON TON.
Miss T. Ay, ay, give our compliments to
her sprained ancle.
Miss T. By getting me in the humour.
Col. T. But how to get you in the humour?
Miss T. O, there are several ways; I am
very good natured.
Col T. Are you in the humour now?
Miss T. Try me.
Col, How shall I?
Lady M. That woman's so fat, she'll never
get well of it, and I am resolved not to call
at her door myself, till I am sure of not finding
her at home. I am horribly low spirited to-
day; do, send your colonel to play at chess
with me, since he belonged to you, Titty, I Miss T. How shall I?-you a soldier, and
have taken a kind of liking to him; I like not know the art military?-how shall I?-
every thing that loves my Titty. [Kisses her. I'll tell you how; when you have a subtle,
Miss T. I know you do, my dear lady. treacherous, polite enemy to deal with, never
[Kisses her. stand shilly shally, and lose your time in trea-
Lady M. That sneer I don't like; if she ties and parleys, but cock your hat, draw your
suspects, I shall hate her: [Aside] Well, dear sword;-march, beat drum-dub, dub, a dub
Titty, I'll go and write my cards, and dress-present, fire, piff-puff-'tis done! they fly,
for the masquerade, and if that won't raise my they yield-victoria! victoria! [Running off.
spirits, you must assist me to plague my lord Col. T. Stay, stay, my dear, dear angel!-
a little.
[Exit.
[Bringing her back.
Miss T. Yes, and I'll plague my lady a Miss T. No, no, no, I have no time to be
little, or I am much mistaken: my lord shall killed now; besides, Lady Minikin is in the
know every tittle that has passed: what a vapours, and wants you at chess, and my lord
poor, blind, half-witted, self-conceited crea- is low spirited, and wants me at picquet; my
ture this dear friend and relation of mine is! uncle is in an ill humour, and wants me to
and what a fine spirited gallant soldier my discard you, and go with him into the country.
colonel is! my Lady Minikin likes him, he Col. T. And will you, Miss?
likes my fortune; and my lord likes me, and
I like my lord; however, not so much as he
imagines, or to play the fool so rashly as he
may expect. She must be very silly indeed, Miss T. Nay, but colonel, if you won't obey
who can't flutter about the flame, without your commanding officer, you shall be broke,
burning her wings-what a great revolution and then my maid won't accept of you; so
in this family, in the space of fifteen months! march, colonel! lookye, Sir, I will command
-we went out of England, a very awkward, before marriage, and do what I please after-
regular, good English family? but half a year wards, or I have been well educated to very
in France, and a winter passed in the warmer little purpose.
climate of Italy, have ripened our minds to
every refinement of ease, dissipation, and plea-
sure.
Enter COLONEL TIVY.
Col. T. May I hope, Madam, that your
humble servant had some share in your last
reverie?
Miss T. How is it possible to have the least
knowledge of Colonel Tivy, and not make him
the principal object of one's reflections!
Col. T. That man must have very little feel-
ing and taste, who is not proud of a place in
the thoughts of the finest woman in Europe.
Miss T. O fie, colonel!
[Courtesies and blushes.
Col. T. By my honour, Madam, I mean what
I say.
Miss T. Will I?-no, I never do as I am
bid? but you ought-so go to my lady.
Col. T. Nay, but Miss-
[Exit.
Col. T. What a mad devil it is!-now, if
I had the least affection for the girl, I should
be damnably vexed at this!-but she has a fine
fortune, and I must have her if I can.-Tol,
lol, lol, etc.
[Exit singing.
Enter SIR JOHN TROTLEY and DAVY.
Sir J. Hold your tongue, Davy; you talk
like a fool.
Davy. It is a fine place, your honour, and
I could live here for ever!
Sir J. More shame for you:-live here for
ever!-what, among thieves and pickpockets!
what a revolution since my time! the more
I see, the more I've cause for lamentation;
what a dreadful change has time brought
about in twenty years! I should not have
known the place again, nor the people; all
Miss T. By your honour, colonel! why will the signs that made so noble an appearance,
you pass off your counters to me? don't I are all taken down;-not a bob or tye-wig to
know that you fine gentlemen regard no hon-be seen! all the degrees, from the parade in
our but that which is given at the gaming St. James' Park, to the stool and brush at the
table; and which indeed ought to be the only corner of every street, have their hair tied
honour you should make free with.
Col. T. How can you, Miss, treat me so
cruelly? have I not absolutely forsworn dice,
mistress, every thing, since I dared to offer
myself to you?
Miss T. Yes, colonel, and when I dare to
receive you, you may return to every thing
again, and not violate the laws of the present
happy matrimonial establishment.
Col. T. Give me but your consent, Madam,
and
your life to come-
up
-the mason laying bricks, the baker with his
basket, the post-boy crying newspapers, and
the doctors prescribing physic, have all their
hair tied up; and that's the reason so many
heads are tied up every month.
Davy. I shall have my head tied up to-mor-
row; - Mr. Whisp will do it for me-your
honour and I look like Philistines among 'em.
Sir J. And I shall break your head if it is
tied up; I hate innovation;-all confusion and
no distinction!-the streets now are as smooth
Miss T. Do you get my consent, colonel, as a turnpike road! no rattling and exercise
and I'll take care of my life to come.
Col. T. How shall I get your consent?
in the hackney-coaches; those who ride in
'em are all fast asleep; and they have strings

860
[ACT I.
BON TON.
in their hands, that the coachman must pull women of these times, but sallow looks, wild
to waken 'em, when they are to be set down schemes, saucy words, and loose morals!-
-what luxury and abomination!
Davy. Is it so, your honour? 'feckins, I liked
it hugely.
Sir J. But you must hate and detest Lon-
don.
Davy. How can I manage that, your honour,
when there is every thing to delight my eye,
and cherish my heart?
they lie a-bed all day, sit up all night; if they
are silent, they are gaming; and if they talk,
'tis either scandal or infidelity; and that they
may look what they are, their heads are all
feather, and round their necks are twisted
rattlesnake tippets-0 tempora, O mores!
SCENE II.-LORD MINIKIN discovered in his
Sir J. 'Tis all deceit and delusion.
powdering gown, with JESSAMY and MIGNON.
Davy. Such crowding, coaching, carting, Lord M. Pr'ythee, Mignon, don't plague me
and squeezing; such a power of fine sights, any more; dost think that a nobleman's head
fine shops full of fine things, and then such has nothing to do but be tortured all day
fine illuminations all of a row! and such fine under thy infernal fingers? give me my clothes.
dainty ladies in the streets, so civil and so Mig. Ven you loss your monee, my lor, you
graceless they talk of country girls, these no goot humour; the devil may dress your
here look more healthy and rosy by half.
cheveu for me!
[Exit.
Sir J. Sirrah, they are prostitutes, and are Lord M. That fellow's an impudent rascal,
civil to delude and destroy you: they are but he's a genius, so I must bear with him.
painted Jezabels, and they who hearken to Our beef and pudding enrich their blood so
em, like Jezabel of old, will go to the dogs! much, that the slaves in a month forget their
If you dare to look at 'em, you will be tainted, misery and soup-maigre-O, my head! - a
and if you speak to 'em you are undone. chair, Jessamy! I must absolutely change
Davy. Bless us, bless us!-how does your my wine-merchant: I can't taste his cham-
honour know all this?-were they as bad in pagne, without disordering myself for a week!
your time?
-heigho.
Sir J. Not by half, Davy-in my time, there
was a sort of decency in the worst of women;
--but the harlots now watch like tigers for
their prey; and drag you to their dens of in-
famy-see, Davy, how they have torn my
neckcloth.
[Shows his neckcloth.
Davy, If
you had
gone civilly, your honour,
they would not have hurt you.
Sir J. Well, we'll get away as fast as we
can.
Davy. Not this month, I hope, for I have
not had half my bellyful yet.
Davy. Your honour then won't keep your
word with me?
[Sulkily.
[Sighs.
Enter MISS TITTUR.
Miss T. What makes you sigh, my lord?
Lord M. Because you were so near me,
child.
Miss T. Indeed! I should rather have
thought my lady had been with you-by your
looks, my lord, I am afraid Fortune jilted you
last night.
Lord M. No, faith; our champagne was not
good yesterday, I am vapoured like our
English November; but one glance of my
Titlup can dispel vapours like-like-
Sir J. I'll knock you down, Davy, if you
grow profligate; you sha'n't go out again to- Miss T. Like something very fine, to be
night, and to-morrow keep in my room, and sure; but pray keep your simile for the next
stay till I can look over my things, and see time;-and harkye-a little prudence will not
they don't cheat you.
be amiss; Mr. Jessamy will think you mad,
and me worse.
[Half aside.
Jes. O, pray don't mind me, Madam.
Lord M. Gadso, Jessamy, look out my do-
mino, and I'll ring the bell when I want you.
Jes. I shall, my lord; - Miss thinks that
every body is blind in the house but herself.
[Aside, and exit.
Miss T. Upon my word, my lord, you must
Davy. O yes, and written by a clergyman; be a little more prudent, or we shall become
it is called the Rival Canaanities, or the Tra- the town talk.
gedy of Braggadocia.
Sir T. Why, what did I promise you?
Davy. That I should take sixpen 'oth of one
of the theatres to-night, and a shilling place
at the other to-morrow.
Sir J. Well, well, so I did: is it a moral
piece, Davy?
Sir J. Be a good lad, and I won't be worse
than my word; there's money for you-[Gives
him some] but come strait home, for 1 shall
want to go to bed.
Davy. To be sure, your honour-as I am
to go so soon, I'll make a night of it.
Lord M. And so I will, my dear; and there-
fore to prevent surprise, I'll lock the door.
[Locks it.
Miss T. What do you mean, my lord?
Lord M. Prudence, child, prudence. I keep
all my jewels under lock and key.
Miss T. You are not in possession yet, my
[Aside, and exit. lord; I can't stay two minutes; I only came
Sir J. This fellow would turn rake and to tell you, that lady Minikin saw us yester-
maccaroni if he was to stay here a week day in the hackney-coach; she did not know
longer-bless me, what dangers are in this me, I believe; she pretends to be greatly uneasy
town at every step! O, that I were once set- at your neglect of her; she certainly has some
tled safe again at Trotley-place!-nothing but mischief in her head.
to save my country should bring me back Lord M. No intentions, I hope, of being fond
again: my niece, Lucretia, is so be-fashioned of me?
and be-devilled, that nothing, I fear, can save
her; however, to ease my conscience, I must
try; but what can be expected from the young
Miss T. No, no, make yourself easy; she
hates you most unalterably.
Lord M. You have given me spirits again.

SCENE 2.]
861
BON TON.
Miss T. Her pride is alarmed, that you always lock myself up to study my speeches,
should prefer any of the sex to her. Ja and speak 'em aloud for the sake of the tone
Lord M. Her pride then has been alarmed and action.
ever since I had the honour of knowing her.
Miss T. But, dear my lord, let us be merry
and wise; should she ever be convinced that
we have a tendre for each other, she certainly
would proclaim it, and then-m
Sir J. Ay, ay, 'tis the best way; I am sorry
I disturbed you; -you'll excuse me, cousin!
Lord M. I am obliged to you, Sir John;
intense application to these things ruins my
health; but one must do it for the sake of
Lord M. We should be envied, and she the nation.
would be laughed at, my sweet cousin.
Sir J. May be so, and I hope the nation will
Miss T. Nay, I would have her mortified be the better for't-you'll excuse me!
too-for though I love her ladyship sincerely: Lord M. Excuse you, Sir John, I love your
I cannot say, but I love a little mischief as frankness; but why won't you be franker still?
sincerely: but then if my uncle, Trotley, we have always something for dinner, and you
should know of our affairs, he is so old-fash- will never dine at home.
ioned, prudish, and out of the way, he would Sir J. You must know, my lord, that I love
either strike me out of his will, or insist upon to know what I eat;-I hate to travel, where
my quitting the house.
I don't know my way; and since you have
Lord M. My good cousin is a queer mortal, brought in foreign fashions and figaries, every
that's certain; I wish we could get him hand- thing and every body are in masquerade: your
somely into the country again-he has a fine men and manners too are as much frittered
fortune to leave behind him.
and fricaseed, as your beef and mutton; I love
plain dish, my lord.
Miss T. But then he lives so regularly, and
never makes use of a physician, that he may
live these twenty years.
Lord M. What can we do with the bar-
barian?
Miss T. I don't know what's the matter with
me, but I am really in fear of him: I suppose,
reading his formal books when I was in the
country with him, and going so constantly to
church, with my elbows stuck to my hips, and
my toes turned in, has given me these foolish
prejudices.
Lord M. Then you must affront him, or
you'll never get the better of him.
SIR JOHN TROTLEY, knocking at the door.
Sir J. My lord, my lord, are you busy?
[Lord M. goes to the door, softly.
Miss T. Heavens! 'tis that detestable brute,
my uncle!
Lord M. That horrid dog, my cousin!
Miss T. What shall we do, my lord?
a
Miss T. I wish I was out of the room, or
he at the bottom of the Thames. [Peeping.
Sir J. But to the point;-I came, my lord,
to open my mind to you about my niece
Tittup; shall I do it freely?
Miss T. Now for it!
Lord M. The freer the better; Tittup's a fine
girl, cousin, and deserves all the kindness you
can show her.
[Lord Minikin and Tittup make signs
at each other.
Sir J. She must deserve it though, before
she shall have it; and I would have her begin
with lengthening her petticoats, covering her
shoulders, and wearing a cap upon her head.
Miss T. O, frightful!
[Aside.
Lord M. Don't you think a taper leg, falling
shoulders, and fine hair, delightful objects,
Sir John?
Sir J. And therefore ought to be concealed;
'tis their interest to conceal 'em: when you
[Softly. take from the men the pleasure of imagination,
Sir J. [At the door] Nay, my lord, my there will be a scarcity of husbands; and the
lord, I heard you; pray let me speak with taper legs, falling shoulders, and fine hair,
may be had for nothing.
you.
Lord M. Ho, Sir John, is it you? I beg
your pardon, I'll put up my papers, and open
the door.
Lord M. Well said, Sir John; ha, ha!-
your niece shall wear a horseman's coat and
jack-boots to please you-ha, ha, ha!
Miss T. Stay, stay, my lord, I would not Sir J. You may sneer, my lord, but for all
meet him now for the world; if he sees me that, I think my niece in a bad way; she must
here alone with you, he'll rave like a mad-leave me and the country, forsooth, to travel
man; put me up the chimney; any where. and see good company and fashions; I have
[Alarmed. seen 'em too, and wish from my heart that
Lord M. I'm coming, Sir John! here, here, she is not much the worse for her journey-
get behind my great chair; he sha'n't see you, you'll excuse me!
and you may see all; I'll be short and plea-
sant with him.
[Puts her behind the chair, and
opens the door.
Lord M. But why in a passion, Sir John?
[Lord Minikin nods and laughs at Miss
Tittup, who peeps from behind.
Don't you think that my lady and I shall be
able and willing to put her into the road?
Enter SIR JOHN.
Sir J. Zounds! my lord, you are out of it
During this scene LORD M. turns the chair, yourself; this comes of your travelling; all
as SIR JOHN moves, to conceal TITTUP. the town know how you and my lady live
Sir J. You'll excuse me, my lord, that I together; and I must tell you- you'll excuse
have broken in upon you; I heard you talk- me! - that my niece suffers by the bargain;
ing pretty loud; what, have you nobody with prudence, my lord, is a very fine thing.
you? what were you about, cousin?
Lord M. So is a long neckcloth nicely twisted
[Looking about. into a button hole, but I don't choose to wear
Lord M. A particular affair, Sir John; I one-you'll excuse me!

862
[ACT I. SCENE 3.]
BON TON.
Sir J. I wish that he who first changed long you for your spirit, my sweet, heavenly Lu-
neckcloths for such things as you wear, had cretia!
the wearing of a twisted neckcloth that I
would give him.
Re-enter SIR JOHN,
[Starts.
Lord M. Pr'ythee, baronet, don't be so hor- Sir J. One thing I had forgot.
ridly out of the way; prudence is a very vul- Miss T. Ha! he's here again!
gar virtue, and so incompatible with our Sir J. Why, what the devil!-heigho, my
present ease and refinement, that a prudent niece Lucretia, and my virtuous lord, studying
man of fashion is now as great a miracle as speeches for the good of the nation. Yes, yes,
a pale woman of quality: we got rid of our you have been making fine speeches, indeed,
mauvaise honte, at the time that we imported my lord; and your arguments have prevailed,
our neighbour's rouge, and their morals.. I see. I beg your pardon, I did not mean to
Sir J. Did you ever hear the like! I am interrupt your studies-you'll excuse me, my
not surprised, my lord, that you think so lord!
lightly, and talk so vainly, who are so polite Lord M. [Smiling, and mocking him]
a husband; your lady, my cousin, is a fine You'll excuse me, Sir John!
woman, and brought you a fine fortune, and Sir J. O yes, my lord, but I'm afraid the
deserves better usage.
devil won't excuse you at the proper time-
Lord M. Will you have her, Sir John? she Miss Lucretia, how do you child? You are
is very much at your service.
to be married soon-I wish the gentleman joy,
Sir J. Profligate! What did you marry her Miss Lucretia; he is a happy man to be sure,
for, my lord?
and will want nothing but the breaking of his
Lord M. Convenience-Marriage is not now- brother's neck to be completely so.
a-days, an affair of inclination, but conveni- Miss T. Upon my word, uncle, you are al-
ence; and they who marry for love and such ways putting bad constructions upon things;
old-fashioned stuff, are to me as ridiculous as my lord has been soliciting me to marry his
those that advertise for an agreeable compan-friend- and having that moment - extorted a
ion in a post-chaise.
consent from me-he was thanking-and-and
Sir J. I have done, my lord; Miss Tittup-wishing me joy,-in his foolish manner.
shall either return with me into the country,
or not a penny shall she have from Sir John Sir J. Is that all!-but how came you here,
Trotley, baronet. [Whistles and walks about. child? did you fly down the chimney, or in
Miss T. I am frightened out of my wits! at the window? for I don't remember seeing
[Lord Minikin sings and sits down. you when I was here before.
Sir J. Fray, my lord, what husband is this
you have provided for her?
Lord M. A friend of mine; a man of wit,
and a fine gentleman.
[Hesitating.
Miss T. How can you talk so, Sir John?
You really confound me with your suspicions;
and then you ask so many questions, and I
have so many things to do, that-that-upon
Sir J. May be so, and yet make a damned my word, if I don't make haste, I sha'n't get
husband for all that. You'll excuse me!-my dress ready for the ball, so I must run-
What estate has he, pray?
You'll excuse me, uncle! [Exit, running.
Sir J. A fine, hopeful, young lady that, my
Lord M. He's a colonel; his elder brother,
Sir Tan Tivy, will certainly break his neck, lord?
and then my friend will be a happy man.
Lord M. She's well bred, and has wit.
Sir J. Here's morals! a happy man, when Sir J. She has wit and breeding enough to
his brother has broke his neck!-a happy laugh at her relations, and bestow favours on
man-mercy on me!
your lordship; but I must tell you plainly, my
Lord M. Why, he'll have six thousand a lord-you'll excuse me- that your marrying
year, Sir John-
your lady, my cousin, to use her ill, and send-
Sir J. I don't care what he'll have, nor Iing for my niece, your cousin, to debauch
don't care what he is, nor who my niece her,-
marries; she is a fine lady, and let her have a Lord M. You're warm, Sir John, and don't
fine gentleman; I sha'n't hinder her; I'll away know the world, and I never contend with
into the country to-morrow, and leave you to ignorance and passion; live with me some
your fine doings; I have no relish for 'em, time, and you'll be satisfied of my honour and
not I; I can't live among you, nor eat with good intentions to you and your family; in
you, nor game with you: I hate cards and the mean time, command my house; I must
dice; I will neither rob nor be robbed; I am away immediately to Lady Filligree's - and I
contented with what I have, and am very am sorry you won't make one with us-here,
happy, my lord, though my brother has not Jessamy, give me my domino, and call a chair;
broke his neck-you'll excuse me! [Exit. and don't let my uncle want for any thing;
Lord M. Ha, ha, ha! Come, fox, come out you'll excuse me, Sir John; tol, lol, de rol, etc.
of your hole! ha, ha, ha!
[Exit, singing.
Miss T. Indeed, my lord, you have undone Sir J. The world's at an end!-here's fine
me; not a foot shall I have of Trotley Manor, work! here are precious doings! this lord is a
that's positive! but no matter, there's no dan-pillar of the state too: no wonder that the
ger of his breaking his neck, so I'll even make building is in danger with such rotten support-
myself happy with what I have, and behave ers;-heigh ho!-and then my poor Lady Min-
to him for the future, as if he was a poor ikin, what a friend and husband she is blessed
relation.
with!-let me consider!-should I tell the good
Lord M. [Kneeling, snatching her Hand, woman of these pranks? I may only make
and kissing it] I must kneel and adore more mischief, and may hap go near to kill

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
863
BON TON.
her, for she's as tender as she's virtuous; poor Lady M. Sir John, I must insist upon your
lady! I'll e'en go and comfort her directly, not going away in a mistake.
and endeavour to draw her from the wicked- Sir J. No mistake, my lady, I am thoroughly
ness of this town into the country, where she convinced-mercy on me!
shall have reading, fowling, and fishing, to keep Lady M. I must beg you, Sir John, not to
up her spirits, and when I die, I will leave make any wrong constructions upon this acci-
her that part of my fortune, with which I in- dent; you must know, that the moment you
tended to reward the virtues of Miss Lucretia was at the door-I had promised the colonel
Tittup, with a plague to her!
[Exit. no longer to be his enemy in his designs upon
Miss Tittup,-this threw him into such a rap-
ture, that upon my promising my interest
his knees, and-and-[Laughing] ha, ha, ha!
with you-and wishing him joy-he fell upon
Col T. Ha, ha, ha! yes, yes, I fell upon my
knees, and-and-
SCENE III.-LADY MINIKIN'S Apartment.
LADY MINIKIN and COLONEL TIVY discovered.
Lady M. Don't urge it, Colonel; I can't
think of coming home from the masquerade
this evening; though I should pass for my Sir J. Ay, ay, fell upon your knees, and-
niece, it would make an uproar among my and-ha, ha! a very good joke, faith; and the
servants; and perhaps from the mistake break best of it is, that they are wishing joy all over
off your match with Tittup.
the house upon the same occasion: and my
Col. T. My dear Lady Minikin, you know lord is wishing joy; and I wish him joy, and
my marriage with your niece is only a second-you, with all my heart.
ary consideration; my first and principal ob- Lady M. Upon my word, Sir John, your
ject is you-you, Madam!-therefore, my dear cruel suspicions affect me strongly; and though
lady, give me your promise to leave the ball my resentment is curbed by my regard, my
with me; you must, Lady Minikin; a bold tears cannot be restrained; 'tis the only re-
young fellow and a soldier as I am, ought source my innocence has left. [Exit, crying.
not to be kept from plunder when the town Col. T. I reverence you, Sir, as a relation to
has capitulated.
that lady, but as her slanderer I detest you:
Lady M. But it has not capitulated, and per- her tears must be dried, and my honour satis-
haps never will; however, colonel, since you fied; you know what I mean; take your choice;
are so furious, I must come to terms, I think.-time, place, sword, or pistol; consider it
Keep your eyes upon me at the ball, I think calmly, and determine as you please. I am a
I may expect that, and when I drop my hand- soldier, Sir John.
kerchief, 'tis your signal for pursuing; I shall Sir J. Very fine, truly! and so, between the
get home as fast as I can, you may follow me crocodile and the bully, my throat is to be cut;
as fast as you can; my lord and Tittup will they are guilty of all sorts of iniquity, and
be otherwise employed. Gymp will let us in when they are discovered, no humility, no re-
the back way. No, no, my heart misgives me. pentance! - the ladies have recourse to their
Col. T. Then I am miserable!
tongues or their tears, and the gallants to their
Lady M. Nay, rather than you should be swords. That I may not be drawn in by the
miserable, colonel, I will indulge your martial one, or drawn upon by the other, I'll hurry
spirit; meet me in the field; there's my gaunt- into the country while I retain my senses, and
[Throws down her glove. can sleep in a whole skin.
let.
Col. T. [Seizing it] Thus I accept your
sweet challenge; and, if I fail you, may I
hereafter, both in love and war, be branded
with the name of coward.
[Kneels and kisses her Hand.
Enter SIR JOHN, opening the door.
Sir J. May I presume, cousin-
Lady M. Ha!
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter SIR JOHN and JESSAMY.
[Exit.
[Exit.
Sir J. There is no bearing this! what a land
are we in! upon my word, Mr. Jessamy, you
should look well to the house, there are cer-
[Squalls. tainly rogues about it; for I did but cross the
Sir J. Mercy upon us, what are we at now? way just now to the pamphlet-shop, to buy a
[Looks astonished. Touch of the Times, and they have taken my
Lady M. How can you be so rude, Sir John, hanger from my side; ay, and hat a pluck at
to come into a lady's room without first knock- my watch too; but I heard of their tricks, and
ing at the door? you have frightened me out had it sewed to my pocket.
of my wits.
Sir J. I am sure you have frightened me
out of mine!
Col. T. Such rudeness deserves death!
Sir J. Death indeed! for I never shall re-
cover myself again. All pigs of the same stye!
all studying for the good of the nation!
Lady M. We must soothe him, and not
provoke him. [Half aside to the Col.
Col. T. I would cut his throat, if you'd per-
mit me.
Jes. Don't be alarmed, Sir John; 'tis a very
common thing, and if you walk the streets
without convoy, you will be picked up by pri-
vateers of all kinds; ha, ha!
Sir J. Not be alarmed when I am robbed!
-why, they might have cut my throat with my
own hanger! I sha'n't sleep a wink all night;
so pray lend me some weapon of defence, for
I am sure, if they attack me in the open street,
they'll be with me at night again.
[Aside to Lady Minikin. Jes. I'll lend you my own sword, Sir John;
Sir J. The devil has got his hoof in the be assured there's no danger; there's robbing
house, and has corrupted the whole family; and murder cried every night under my win-
I'll get out of it as fast as I can, lest he should dow; but it no more disturbs me, than the
lay hold of me too.
[Going. ticking of my watch at my bed's head.

864
BON TON,
[ACT II.
Sir J. Well, well, be that as it will. I must
Enter DAVY, drunk.
be upon my guard. What a dreadful place is So, you wicked wretch you-where have you
this! but 'tis all owing to the corruption of the been, and what have you been doing?
times; the great folks game, and the poor folks Davy. Merry-making, your honour.-Lon-
rob; no wonder that murder ensues; sad, sad, don for ever!
sad!-well, let me but get over to-night, and Sir J. Did I not order you to come directly
I'll leave this den of thieves to-morrow-how from the play, and not be idling and raking
long will your lord and lady stay at this mask- about?
ing and mummery before they come home? Davy. Servants don't do what they are bid,
Jes. 'Tis impossible to say the time, Sir; in London.
that merely depends upon the spirits of the Sir J. And did I not order you not to make
company and the nature of the entertainment; a jackanapes of yourself, and tie your hair up
for my own part, I generally make it myself like a monkey?
till four or five in the morning.
Davy. And therefore I did it-no pleasing
Sir J. Why, what the devil! do you make the ladies without this-my lord's servants
one at these masqueradings?
call you an old out-of-fashioned codger, and
Jes. I seldom miss, Sir; I may venture to have taught me what's what.
say that nobody knows the trim and small talk Sir J. Here's an imp of the devil! he is un-
of the place better than I do; I was always done, and will poison the whole country-
reckoned an incomparable mask.
sirrah, get every thing ready, I'll be going
Sir J. Thou art an incomparable coxcomb, directly.
I am sure.
[Aside. Davy. To bed, Sir?-I want to go to bed
Jes. An odd, ridiculous accident happened myself, Sir.
sirrah.
Davy. I am a little, your honour, because
have been drinking.
to me at a masquerade three years ago; I was Sir J. Why, how now-you are drunk too,
in tip-top spirits, and had drunk a little too
freely of the Champagne, I believe.
Sir J. You'll be hanged, I believe. [Aside. I
Jes. Wit flew about-in short, I was in
spirits at last, from drinking and rattling, to
vary the pleasure, we went to dancing; and
who do you think I danced a minuet with?
he, he! pray guess, Sir John!
in
Sir J. That is not all-but you have been
bad company, sirrah?
Davy. Indeed your honour's mistaken, I
never kept such good company in all my life.
Sir J. The fellow does not understand me
Sir J. Danced a minuet with! [Half aside. -where have you been, you drunkard?
Jes. My own lady, that's all; the eyes of the Davy. Drinking, to be sure, if I am a drunk-
whole assembly were upon us; my lady dances ard; and if you had been drinking too, as I
well; and I believe I am pretty tolerable: after have been, you would not be in such a pas-
the dance, I was running into a little coquetry sion with a body-it makes one so good
and small talk with her.
natured.
mis-
Davy. I'll take what I can, to be sure, your
worship.
Sir J. With your lady? Chaos is come again. Sir J. There is another addition to my
[Aside. fortunes! I shall have this fellow carry into
Jes. With my lady-but upon my turning the country as many vices as will corrupt the
my hand thus [Conceitedly]-egad, she caught whole parish.
me; whispered me who I was; I would fain
have laughed her out of it, but it would not
do;-no, no, Jessamy, says she, I am not to Sir J. Get away, you beast you, and sleep
be deceived: pray wear gloves for the future; off the debauchery you have contracted this
for you may as well go bare-faced, as show fortnight, or I shall leave you behind, as a
that hand and diamond ring.
proper person to make one of his lordship's
Sir J. What a sink of iniquity!-Prostitu- family.
tion on all sides! from the lord to the pick- Davy. So much the better-give me more
pocket. [Aside] Pray, Mr. Jessamy, among wages, less work, and the key of the ale-cel-
your other virtues, I suppose you game a little, lar, and I am your servant; if not, provide
eh, Mr. Jessamy?
yourself with another.
[Struts.
Jes. A little whist or so; but I am tied up Sir J. Here's a reprobate!-this is the com-
from the dice; I must never touch a box again. pletion of my misery! but harkye, villain,-
Sir J. I wish you was tied up somewhere go to bed- and sleep off your iniquity, and
else. [Aside] I sweat from top to toe! Pray, then pack up the things, or I'll pack you off
lend me your sword, Mr. Jessamy; I shall go to Newgate, and transport you for life, you
to my room; and let my lord and lady, and rascal you.
-
-
[Exit.
my niece Tittup, know, that I beg they will Davy. That for you, old codger. [Snaps his
excuse ceremonies; that I must be up and fingers] I know the law better than to be
gone before they go to bed; that I have a frightened with moonshine: I wish that I was
most profound respect and love for them, and to live here all my days, this is the life in-
and that I hope we shall never see one deed! a servant lives up to his eyes in clover;
another again as long as we live.
they have wages, and board wages, and no-
Jes. I shall certainly obey your commands thing to do, but to grow fat and saucy-they
what poor, ignorant wretches these country are as happy as their master, they play for
gentlemen are!
[Aside, and exit. ever at cards, swear like emperors, drink like
Sir J. If I stay in this place another day, fishes, and go a wenching with as much ease
it would throw me into a fever!-Oh!-I wish and tranquillity, as if they were going to a
it was morning! this comes of visiting my sermon. Oh 'tis a fine life!
relations!
[Exit, reeling.

SCENE 2.1
865
BON TON.
SCENE II.-A Chamber in LORD MINIKIN's shed, for my lord is certainly in the house-
I'll take my affadavy that I heard-
House.
this moment at the masquerade- I spoke to
Col. T. It can't be, I tell you; we left him
him before I came out.
Enter LORD MINIKIN and MISS TITTUP in
Masquerade Dresses, lighted by JESSAMY.
Lord M. Set down the candles, Jessamy; Lady M. He's too busy, and too well em-
and should your lady come home, let me know ployed, to think of home-but don't tremble
-be sure you are not out of the way. so, Gymp. There is no harm, I assure you
Jes. I have lived too long with your lord--the colonel is to marry my niece, and it is
ship to need the caution-who the devil have proper to settle some matters relating to it-
we got now? but that's my lord's business, they are left to us.
and not mine.
[Exit. Gymp. Yes, yes, Madam, to be sure it is
-
Miss T. [Pulling off her mask] Upon my proper that you talk together I know you
word, my lord, this coming home so soon mean nothing but innocence-but indeed there
from the masquerade is very imprudent, and will be bloodshed.
will certainly be observed-I am most incon- Col. T. The girl's a fool. I have no sword
ceivably frightened, I can assure you- my by my side.
uncle Trotley has a light in his room; the Gymp. But my lord has, and you may kill
accident this morning will certainly keep him one another with that-I know you mean no-
upon the watch - pray, my lord, let us defer thing but innocence, but I certainly heard him
our meetings till he goes into the country-I go up the back-stairs into his room, talking
find that my English heart, though it has ven- with Jessamy.
tured so far, grows fearful, and awkward to
practise the freedoms of warmer climes
[Lord M. takes her by the Hand] If you
will not desist, my lord-we are separated for
ever-the sight of the precipice turns my head;
I have been giddy with it too long, and must
turn from it while I can-pray be quiet, my
lord, I will meet you to-morrow.
Lord M. To morrow! 'tis an age in my si-
tuation-let the weak, bashful, coyish whiner
be intimidated with these faint alarms, but let
the bold experienced lover kindle at the dan-
ger, and like the eagle in the midst of storms
thus pounce upon his prey. [Takes hold of her.
Miss T. Dear Mr. Eagle, be merciful; pray
let the poor pigeon fly for this once.
of thee.
Lord M. If I do, my dove, may I be cursed
to have my wife as fond of me, as I am now
[Offers to kiss her.
Jes. [Without, knocking at the door] My
lord, my lord!-
Miss T. Ha!
Lord M. Who's there?
[Screams.
Jes. [Peeping] 'Tis I, my lord; may
come in?
I
Lord M. Damn the fellow! What's the
matter?
Jes. Nay, not much, my lord-only my la-
dy's come home.
Miss T. Then I'm undone-what shall I do?
I'll run into my own room.
Lord M. Then she may meet you -
Lady M. 'Tis impossible but the girl must
have fancied this- Can't you ask Whisp, or
Mignon, if their master is come in?
Gymp. Lord, my lady, they are always
drunk before this, and asleep in the kitchen.
Lady M. This frightened fool has made me
as ridiculous as herself! hark! - Colonel, I'll
swear there is something upon the stairs-now
I am in the field I find I am a coward.
Gymp. There will certainly be bloodshed.
Col T. I'll slip down with Gymp this back
way then. Veel
[Going.
Gymp. O dear, my lady, there is some-
body coming up them too.
Col. T. Zounds! I've got between two fires!
Lady M. Run into the closet.
Col. T. [Runs to the closet] There's no re-
treat-the door is locked!
Lady M. Behind the chimney-board, Gymp.
Col. T. I shall certainly be taken prisoner,
[Gets behind the board] you'll let me know
when the enemy's decamped.
Lady M. Leave that to me-do you, Gymp,
go down the back stairs, and leave me to face
my lord, I think I can match him at hypocrisy.
[Sits down.
Enter LORD MINIKIN.
Lord M. What, is your ladyship so soon
returned from Lady Filligree's?
Lady M. I am sure, my lord, I ought to be
more surprised at your being here so soon,
Jes. There's a dark deep closet, my lord-when I saw you so well entertained in a téte-
Miss may hide herself there.
à-tête with a lady in crimson-such sights,
Miss T. For Heaven's sake, put me into it, my lord, will always drive me from my most
and when her ladyship's safe, let me know, favourite amusements.
Lord M. You find at least, that the lady,
my lord.-What an escape have I had!
Lord M. The moment her evil spirit is laid, whoever she was, could not engage me to
I'll let my angel out-[Puts her into the stay, when I found your ladyship had left
closet]-lock the door on the inside- come the ball.
softly to my room, Jessamy.
Jes. If a board creaks, your lordship shall
never give me a laced waistcoat again.
[Exeunt on tiptoes.
Enter GYMP, lighting in LADY MINIKIN and
COLONEL TIVY, in Masquerade Dresses.
Gymp. Pray, my lady, go no farther with
the colonel, I know you mean nothing but
innocence, but I'm sure there will be blood-
Lady M. Your lordship's sneering upon my
unhappy temper may be a proof of your wit,
but it is none of your humanity; and thisbe-
haviour is as great an insult upon me, as even
your falsehood itself.
[Pretends to weep.
Lord M. Nay, my dear Lady Minikin, if
you are resolved to play tragedy, I shall roar
away too, and pull out my cambric handker-
chief.
Lady M. I think, my lord, we had better
109

866
[ACT II.
BON TON.
retire to our apartments; my weakness and Sir J. [Speaks without] Lights this way, I
your brutality will only expose us to our say; I am sure there are thieves; get a blun-
servants-Where is Tittup, pray?
derbuss.
Lord M. I left her with the colonel-a mas- Jes. Indeed you dream it, there is nobody
querade to young folks, upon the point of ma- but the family. [All stand and stare.
trimony, is as delightful as it is disgusting to
those who are happily married, and are wise Enter SIR JOHN in his night-cap, his hanger
enough to love home, and the company of
drawn, with Jessamy.
their wives. [Takes hold of her Hand. Sir J. Give me the candle, I'll ferret 'em
Lady M. False man! I had as lieve a toad out, I warrant; bring a blunderbuss, I say:
touched me.
[Aside. they have been skipping about that gallery in
Lord M. She gives me the frisson-I must the dark this half hour; there must be mis-
propose to stay, or I shall never get rid of chief-I have watched them into this room-
her [Aside]-I am aguish to-night,-he-he-ho, ho, are you there? If you stir, you are
do my dear, let us make a little fire here, and dead men-[They retire]-and [Seeing the
have a family tête-à-tête, by way of novelty. ladies women too!-egad-ha! what's this?
[Rings a bell. the same party again! and two couple they
are of as choice mortals as ever were hatched
Enter JESSAMY.
Let 'em take away that chimney-board, and in this righteous town-you'll excuse me, cou-
light a fire here immediately.
sins!
[They all look confounded.
Lady M. What shall I do? - [Aside and Lord M. In the name of wonder, how comes
greatly alarmed]-Here, Jessamy, there is no all this about.
occasion - I am going to my own chamber,
and my lord won't stay here by himself.
Sir J. Well, but harkye, my dear cousins,
have you not got wrong partners?-here has
[Exit Jessamy. been some mistake in the dark; I am mighty
Lord M. How cruel it is, Lady Minikin, to glad that I have brought you a candle to set
deprive me of the pleasure of a domestic duet- all to rights again-you'll excuse me, gentle-
to-A good escape, faith!
[Aside. men and ladies!
Lady M. I have too much regard for Lord
Minikin to agree to any thing that would af-
ford him so little pleasure-I shall retire to
my own apartment.
nasty man!
Enter GYMP, with a candle.
Gymp. What in the name of mercy is the
matter?
Sir J. Why the old matter, and the old
game, Mrs. Gymp; and I'll match my cou-
sins here at it against all the world, and I say
done first.
Lord M. Well, if your ladyship will be cruel,
I must still, like the miser, starve and sigh,
though possessed of the greatest treasure
[Bows] I wish your ladyship a good night- Lord M. What is the meaning, Sir John,
He takes one candle, and Lady Minikin of all this tumult and consternation? may not
the other] May I presume- [Salutes her. Lady Minikin and I, and the colonel and your
Lady M. Your lordship is too obliging -niece, be seen in my house together without
[Aside. your raising the family, and making this up-
Lord M. Disagreeable woman; Aside. roar and confusion?
[Wipe their lips and exeunt different ways. Sir J. Come, come, good folks, I see you
Miss T. [Peeping out of the closet] All's are all confounded, I'll settle this matter in a
silent now, and quite dark; what has been moment as for you, colonel-though you
doing here I cannot guess I long to be re- have not deserved plain dealing from me, I
lieved; I wish my lord was come-but I hear will now be serious-you imagine this young
a noise!
[She shuts the door. lady has an independent fortune, besides ex-
Col. T. [Peeping over the chimney-board] pectations from me-'tis a mistake, she has no
I wonder my lady does not come-I would expectations from me, if she marry you; and
not have Miss Tittup know of this- 'twould if I don't consent to her marriage, she will
be ten thousand pounds out of my way, and I have no fortune at all.
cannot afford to give so much for a little Col. T. Plain dealing is a jewel; and to
gallantry.
Miss T. [Comes forward] What would my
Colonel say, to find his bride, that is to be,
in this critical situation?
Enter LORD MINIKIN at one door, in the dark.
Lord M. Now to release my prisoner.
[Comes forward.
Enter LADY MINIKIN, at the other door.
Lady M. My poor colonel will be as miser-
able, as if we were besieged in garrison;
must release him.
Lord M. Hist! hist!
I
show you, Sir John, that I can pay you in
kind, I am most sincerely obliged to you for
your intelligence; and I am, ladies your most
obedient, humble servant-I shall see you, my
lord, at the club to-morrow?
[Exit.
Lord M. Sans doute, mon cher Colonel-
I'll meet you there, without fail.
Sir J. My lord, you'll have something else
to do.
Lord M. Indeed! what is that, good Sir John?
Sir J. You must meet your lawyers and
creditors to-morrow, and be told what you
have always turned a deaf ear to that the
dissipation of your fortune and morals must
[Going towards the chimney. be followed by years of parsimony and re-
Miss T. Lord M. and Col. T. Here! here! pentance as you are fond of going abroad,
Lord M. This way.
you may indulge that inclination without having
Lady M. Softly. [They all grope, till Lord it in your power to indulge any other.
Minikin has got Lady Minikin, Lord M. The bumkin is no fool, and is
and the Colonel Miss Tittup. damned satirical,
[Aside.

[ACT 1. SCENE 1.]
867
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Sir J. Will you resign your lady to me,
Sir J. This kind of quarantine for pestilen-
tial minds will bring you to your senses, and my lord, for a time?
make you renounce foreign vices and follies,
and return with joy to your country and pro-
perty again-read that, my lord, and know
your fate.
[Gives a paper.
Lord M. For ever, dear Sir John, without
a murmur.
Sir J. Well, Miss, and what say you?
Miss T. Guilty, uncle.
[Courtesying.
Lord M. What an abomination is this! that Sir J. Guilty! the devil you are? of what?
a man of fashion, and a nobleman, shall be Miss T. Of consenting to marry one whom
obliged to submit to the laws of his country. my heart does not approve; and coquetting
Sir J. Thank Heaven, my lord, we are in with another, which friendship, duty, honour,
that country! You are silent, ladies-if re- morals, and every thing, but fashion, ought to
pentance has subdued your tongues, I shall have forbidden.
have hopes of you-a little country air might Sir J. Thus then, with the wife of one under
perhaps do well-as you are distressed, I am this arm, and the mistress of another under
at your service-what say you, my lady? this, I sally forth a knight-errant, to rescue
Lady M. However appearances have con- distressed damsels from those monsters, foreign
demned me, give me leave to disavow the vices, and Bon Ton, as they call it; and I
substance of those appearances. My mind trust that every English hand and heart here
has been tainted, but not profligate-your kind- will assist me in so desperate an undertaking
ness and example may restore me to my former-You'll excuse me, Sirs!
natural English constitution.
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT,
Farce by Samuel Foote. Like most of Mr. Foote's farces, it is built on personal imitation, yet retains so much of
original character, that the parts of the Major and Jerry Sneak will ever be of value to actors of talent.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MAJOR STURGEON.
SIR JACOB JOLLUP.
JERRY SNEAK.
BRUIN.
ROGER.
MOB.
SNUFFLE.
CRISPIN HEELTAP.
MRS. BRUIN.
MRS. SNEAK.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-SIR JACOB JOLLUP'S House at
GARRATT.
Enter SIR JACOB JOLLUP.
Sir J. ROGER!
Enter ROGER.
Roger. Anan, sir!
Sir J. Sir, sirrah! and why not sir Jacob,
you rascal? Is that all your manners? Has
his majesty dubb'd me a knight for you to
make me a mister? Are the candidates near
upon coming?
Roger. Nic Goose, the tailor, from Putney,
they say, will be here in a crack, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Has Margery fetch'd in the linen?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Are the pigs and the poultry lock'd
up in the barn?
Roger. Safe, sir Jacob.
yourself at the gate, and be careful who you
let in.
Roger. I will, sir Jacob.
[Exit.
Sir J. So, now I believe things are pretty
secure. But I can't think what makes my
daughters so late ere they [4 Knocking at
the Gate] Who is that, Roger?
Roger. [Without] Justice Sturgeon, the
fishmonger, from Brentford.
Sir J. Gad's my life! and major to the
Middlesex militia. Usher him in, Roger.
Enter MAJOR STURGEON.
I could have wish'd you had come a little
sooner, major Sturgeon.
Maj. S. Why, what has been the matter,
sir Jacob?
Sir J. There has, major, been here an im-
pudent pillmonger, who has dar'd to scandal-
ize the whole body of the bench.
Maj. S. Insolent companion! had I been
Sir J. And the plate and spoons in the here, I would have mit:imus'd the rascal at
pantry?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob?
once.dec
Sir J. No, no, he wanted the major more
Sir J. Then give me the key; the mob will than the magistrate: a few smart strokes from
soon be upon us; and all is fish that comes your cane would have fully answer'd the
to their net. Has Ralph laid the cloth in the purpose.-Well, major, our wars are done;
hall?
the rattling drum and squeaking fife now
wound our ears no more.
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Then let him bring out the turkey Maj. S. True, sir Jacob, our corps is dis-
and chine, and be sure there is plenty of mu- embodied; so the French may sleep in se-
stard; and, d'ye hear, Roger, do you stand curity.

868
[ACT 1.
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Sir J. But, major, was it not rather late in Maj. S. O yes. I was the only one of the
life for you to enter npon the profession of corps that could ride; otherwise we always
succeeded of course: no jumping over heads,
arms?
Maj. S. A little awkward in the beginning, no underhand work among us; all men of
sir Jacob: the great difficulty they had was, honour; and I must do the regiment the jus-
to get me to turn out my toes; but use, use tice to say, there never was a set of more
reconciles all them kind of things: why, after amiable officers.
my first campaign, I no more minded the Sir J. Quiet and peaceable.
noise of the guns than a flea-bite.
Sir J. No!
Maj. S. As lambs, sir Jacob. Excepting one
boxing bout at the Three Compasses in Ac-
Maj. S. No. There is more made of these ton, between captain Sheers and the colonel,
matters than they merit. For the general concerning a game at all-fours, I don't re-
good indeed I am glad of the peace; but as member a single dispute.
to my single self-and yet we have had some
desperate duty, sir Jacob.
Sir. J. No doubt.
Sir J. Why, that was mere mutiny; the
captain ought to have been broke.
Maj. S. He was; for the colonel not only
Maj. S. Oh! such marchings and counter-took away his cockade, but his custom; and
marchings, from Brentford to Ealing, from I don't think poor captain Sheers has done a
Ealing to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge; stitch for him since.
[Molossas?
the dust flying, sun scorching, men sweating! Sir J. But you soon supplied the loss of
-Why, there was our last expedition to Maj. S. In part only: no, sir Jacob, he had
Hounslow; that day's work carried of major great experience; he was train'd up to arms
Molossas. Bunhill-fields never saw a braver from his youth; at sixteen, be trail'd a pike
commander! He was an irreparable loss to the in the Artillery - ground; at eighteen, got a
Sir J. How came that about? [service. company in the Smithfield pioneers; and by
Maj. S. Why, it was partly the major's the time he was twenty, was made aid-de-
own fault: I advised him to pull off his spurs camp to sir Jeffrey Grub, knight, alderman,
before he went upon action; but he was re- and colonel of the yellow.
solute, and would not be rul'd.
Sir J. A rapid rise!
Sir J. Spirit-zeal for the service.
Maj. S. Yes, he had a genius for war; but
Maj. S. Doubtless. But to proceed: in or- what I wanted in practice, I made up by
der to get our men in good spirits, we were doubling my diligence. Our porter at home
quartered at Thistleworth the evening before. had been a serjeant of marines; so after shop
At day-break our regiment formed at Houns-was shut up at night, he us'd to teach me my
low town's end, as it might be about here. exercise; and he had not to deal with a dunce,
The major made a fine disposition: on we sir Jacob.
march'd, the men all in high spirits, to attack Sir J. Your progress was great.
the gibbet where Gardel is hanging; but turn- Maj. S. Amazing. In a week I could shoul-
ing down a narrow lane to the left, as it der, and rest, and poize, and turn to the right,
might be about there, in order to possess a and wheel to the left; and in less than a
pig-sty, that we might take the gallows in month I could fire without winking or blinking.
flank, and at all events secure a retreat, who Sir J. A perfect Hannibal!
should come by but a drove of fat oxen for Maj. S. Ah, and then I learnt to form lines,
Smithfield. The drums beat in the front, the and hollows, and squares, and evolutions, and
dogs bark'd in the rear, the oxen set up a revolutions. Let me tell you, sir Jacob, it
gallop; on they came thundering upon us, was lucky that monsieur kept his myrmidons
broke through our ranks in an instant, and at home, or we should have pepper'd his flat-
threw the whole corps in confusion.
Sir J. Terrible!
bottom'd boats.
[cape.
Sir J. Ay, marry, he had a marvellous es-
Maj. S. The major's horse took to his heels; Maj. S. We would a taught him what a
away he scour'd o'er the heath. That gallant Briton can do, who is fighting pro arvis and
commander stuck both his spurs into the flank, focus.
and for some time held by his mane; but in Sir J. Pray now, major, which do you look
crossing a ditch, the horse threw up his head, upon as the best disciplin'd troops, the Lon-
gave the major a dowse in the chops, and don regiments, or the Middlesex militia?
plump'd him into a gravel-pit, just by the Maj. S. Why, sir Jacob, it does not become
powder-mills.
me to say; but, lack-a-day, they have never
Sir J. Dreadful!-
seen any service-Holiday soldiers! Why, I
Maj. S. Whether from the fall or the fright, don't believe, unless indeed upon a lord-may-
the major mov'd off in a month. Indeed it or's day, and that mere matter of accident,
was an unfortunate day for us all.
that they were ever wet to the skin in their
Sir J. Indeed!
[lives.
Maj. S. Why, as captain Cucumber, lieu- Maj. S. No! soldiers for sunshine, cockneys;
tenant Pattypan, ensign Tripe, and myself, they have not the appearance, the air, the free-
were returning to town in the Turnham-green dom, the jenny sequoi that- Oh, could you
stage, we were stopp'd near the Hammersmith but see me salute! You have never a spon-
turnpike, and robb'd and stripp'd by a single toon in the house?
stripp'd
Sir J. As how?
footpad.
Sir J. An unfortunate day indeed!
Sir J. No; but we could get you a shove-pike.
Maj. S. No matter. Well, sir Jacob, and
Maj. S. But, in some measure to make me how are your fair daughters, sweet Mrs. Sneak,
amends, I got the major's commission. and the lovely Mrs. Bruin; is she as lively
and as brilliant as ever?
Sir J. You did?

SCENE 1.]
869
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Sir J. Oh, oh, now the murder is out; this
visit was intended for them: come, own now,
major, did not you expect to meet with them
here? You officers are men of such gallantry!
Maj. S. Why, we do tickle up the ladies,
sir Jacob; there is no resisting a red coat.
Sir J. True, true, major.
Maj. S. But that is now all over with me.
"Farewell to the plumed steeds and neighing
troops," as the black man says in the play;
like the Roman censurer, I shall retire to my
Savine field, and there cultivate cabbages.
Sir J. Under the shade of your laurels.
Maj. S. True; I have done with the major,
and now return to the magistrate; cedunt
arma togge.
Mob. Without] Huzza!
Re-enter ROGER.
Sir J. What's the matter now, Roger?
Roger. The electors desire to know if your
worship has any body to recommend?
Sir J. By no means; let them be free in
their choice: I shan't interfere.
Roger. And if your worship has any ob-
jection to Crispin Heeltap, the cobler, being
returning officer?
96619
Sir J. None, provided the rascal can keep
himself sober. Is he there?
Roger. Yes, sir Jacob. Make way there;
stand further off from the gate: here is ma-
dam Sneak in a chair along with her husband.
Maj. S. 'Gadso, you will permit me to con-
voy her in.
Cibateria [Exit.
Sir J. Now here is one of the evils of war.
This Sturgeon was as pains-taking a Billings-
gate-broker as any in the bills of mortality.
But the fish is got out of his element; the
soldier has quite demolish'd the citizen.
Re-enter MAJOR STURGEON, leading in
MRS. SNEAK.
Mrs. S. Dear major, I demand a million of
pardons. I have given you a profusion of
trouble; but my husband is such a goose-cap,
that I can't get no good out of him at home
or abroad.-Jerry, Jerry Sneak!-Your bless-
ing, sir Jacob.
Sir J. Daughter, you are welcome to Garratt.
Mrs. S. Why, Jerry Sneak! I say.
Enter JERRY SNEAK, with a Band-box and
a Hoop-petticoat under his Arm, and Car-
dinal, etc.
Sncak. Here lovy.
SMrs. S. Here, looby: there, lay these things in
the hall; and then go aud look after the horse.
Are you sure you have got all the things out of the
Sneak. Yes, chuck.
[chaise?
Mrs. S. Then give me my fan.
[Jerry drops the Things in searching
his Pocket for the Fan.
Mrs. S. Did ever mortal see such a-I de-
clare, I am quite asham'd to be seen with him
abroad: go, get you gone out of my sight.
Sneak. I go, lovy. Good day to my father-
in-law.
Sir J. I am glad to see you, son Sneak:
but where is your brother Bruin and his wife?
Sneak. He will be here anon, father sir Ja-
cob; he did but just step into the Alley to
gather how tickets were sold.
Sir J. Very well, son Sneak. [Exit Sneak.
Mrs. S. Son! yes, and a pretty son you
have provided.
Sir J. I hope all for the best: why, what
terrible work there would have been, had you
married such a one as your sister; one house
could never have contain'd you. Now, I
thought this meek mate-
Mrs. S. Meek! a mushroom! a milksop!
Sir. J. Lookye, Molly, I have married you
to a man; take care you don't make him a
[Exit Sir Jacob.
monster.
Mrs. S. Monster! Why, major, the fellow
has no more heart than a mouse. Had my
kind stars indeed allotted me a military man,
I shonld, doubtless, have deported myself in
a beseemingly manner.
Maj. S. Unquestionably, madam.
Mrs. S. Nor would the major have found,
had it been my fortune to intermarry with
him, that Molly Jollup would have dishonoured
his cloth.
Maj. S. I should have been too happy.
Mrs. S. Indeed, sir, I reverence the army;
they are all so brave, so polite, so every thing
a woman can wish.
Maj. S. Oh, madam-
Mrs. S. So elegant, so genteel, so obliging:
and then the rank; why, who would dare to
affront the wife of a major?
Maj. S. No man with impunity; that I take
the freedom to say, madam.
Mrs. S. I know it, good sir. Oh! I am no
stranger to what I have miss'd.
Maj. S. Oh, madam!-Let me die, but she
has infinite merit.
[Aside.
Mrs. S. Then to be join'd to a sneaking
slovenly cit; a paltry, prying, pitiful pin-maker!
Maj. S. Melancholy!
Mrs. S. To be jostled and cramm'd with
the crowd; no respect, no place, no prece-
dence; to be chok'd with the smoke of the
city; no country jaunts but to Islington; no
balls but at Pewterers'-hall.
Maj. S. Intolerable!
Mrs. S. I see, sir, you have a proper sense
of my sufferings.
Maj. S. And would shed my best blood to
relieve them.
Mrs. S. Gallant gentleman!
Maj. S. The brave must favour the fair.
Mrs. S. Intrepid major!
Maj. S. Divine Mrs. Sneak!
Mrs. S. Obliging commander!
Maj. S. Might I be permitted the honour-
Mrs. S. Sir!
Maj. S. Just to ravish a kiss from your hand?
Mrs. S. You have a right to all we can grant.
Maj. S. Courteous, condescending, comply-
ing-Hum-Ha!
Re-enter JERRY SNEAK.
Sneak. Chuck, my brother and sister Bruin
are just turning the corner; the Clapham stage
was quite full, and so they came by water.
Mrs. S. I wish they had all been sous'd in
the Thames-A prying, impertinent puppy!
Maj. S. Next time I will clap a sentinel to
secure the door.
Mrs. S. Major Sturgeon, permit me to with-
draw for a moment; my dress demands a little
repair.

870
[ACT I.
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Maj. S. Your ladyship's most entirely devoted. you have tousled the curls! Master Sneak, a
Mrs. S. Ladyship! he is the very Broglio good morning to you. Sir, I am your humble
and Belleisle of the army!
servant unknown.
Sneak. Shall I wait upon you, dove?
Mrs. S. No, dolt; what, would you leave
the major alone? Is that your manners, you
mongrel?
Maj. S, Oh, madam, I can never be alone;
your sweet idera will be my constant com-
panion.
Mrs. S. Mark that: I am sorry, sir, I
obligated to leave you.
Maj. S. Madam-
Re-enter ROGER.
Roger. Mrs. Sneak begs to speak with the
major.
Maj. S. I will wait on the lady immediately.
Sneak. Don't tarry an instant; you can't
think how impatient she is. [Exit Major] A
am good morrow to you, brother Bruin; you
have had a warm walk across the fields.
Mrs. S. Especially with such a wretched
companion.
Maj. S. Oh, madam-
Mrs. B. Good lord, I am all in a muck-
Bruin. And who may you thank for it,
hussy? If you had got up time enough, you
might have secur'd the stage; but you are a
Mrs. S. But as soon as my dress is restored, lazy_lie abed-
I shall fly to relieve your distress.
Maj. S. For that moment I shall wait with
the greatest impatience.
Mrs. S. Courteous commander!
Maj. S. Parragon of women!
Mrs. S. Adieu!
Maj. S. Adieu!
[Exit Mrs. Sneak.
Mrs. B. There's Mr. Sneak keeps my sister
a chay.
Bruin. And so he may; but I know better
what to do with my money.
Mrs. B. For the matter of that, we can af-
ford it well enough as it is.
Bruin. And how do you know that? Who
Sneak. Notwithstanding, sir, all my chicken told you as much, Mrs. Mixen? I hope I know
has said, I am special company when she is the world better than to trust my concerns
not by.
with a wife: no, no, thank you for that, Mrs.
Jane.
Maj. S. I doubt not, master Sneak.
Sneak. If you would but come one Thurs-
Mrs. B. And pray who is more fitterer to
day night to our club, at the Nag's-head in be trusted?
the Poultry, you would meet some roaring, Bruin. Hey-day! Why, the wench is be-
rare boys, i'faith; there's Jemmy Perkins, the witch'd: come, come, let's have none of your
packer; little Tom Simkins, the grocer; honest palaver here-Take twelve-pence and pay the
master Muzzle, the midwife-
waterman.-But first see if he has broke none
Maj. S. A goodly company!
of the pipes-And, d'ye hear, Jane, be sure
Sneak. Ay, and then sometimes we have to lay the fishing-rod safe. [Exit Mrs. Bruin.
the choice spirits from Comus's court, and we Sneak. Odds me, how finely she's manag'd!
crack jokes, and are so jolly and funny. I what would I give to have my wife as much
have learnt myself to sing "An old woman under!
clothed in grey;
but I durst not sing out Bruin. It is all your own fault, brother
loud, because my wife would overhear me: Sneak.
and she says as how I bawl worser than the
broomman.
Maj. S. And you must not think of disobli-
ging your lady.
Sneak.
her, not I.
I never does: I never contradicts
Maj. S. That's right: she is a woman of in-
finite merit.
Sneak. O, a power! And don't you think
she is very pretty withal?
Maj.S. A Venus!
Sneak. D'ye think so? She is a sweet pretty
creature.
Bruin. A vixen.
Sneak. Why, to say the truth, she does
now and then hector a little; and, between
ourselves, domineers like the devil. O Lord,
lead the life of a dog. Why, she allows
me but two shillings a week for my pocket.
Bruin. No!
I
Sneak. No, man; 'tis she that receives and
pays all: and then I am forc'd to trot after
Sneak. Yes, werry like Venus-Mayhap you her to church, with her cardinal, pattens, and
have known her some time?
Maj. S. Long.
Sneak. Belike before she was married?
Maj. S. I did, master Sneak.
Sneak. Ay, when she was a wirgin. Ithought
you was an old acquaintance, by your kissing
her hand; for we ben't quite so familiar as
that-But then indeed we han't been married.
a year.
Moj. S. The mere honeymoon.
Sneak. Ay, ay, I suppose we shall come to
it by degrees.
Bruin. [Without] Come along, Jane; why
you are as pursy and lazy, you jade-
a
Prayer-book, for all the world as if I was still
a 'prentice.
Bruin. Zounds! I would souse them all in
the kennel.
Sneak. I durst not. And then at table, I
never gets what I loves.
Bruin. The devil!
Sneak. No; she always helps me herself to
the tough drumsticks of the turkeys, and the
damn'd fat flaps of shoulders of mutton. I
don't think I have eat a bit of under-crust
since we have been married. You see, bro-
ther Bruin, I am almost as thin as a lath.
Bruin. An absolute skeleton!
Sneak. Now, if you think I could carry my
point, I would so swinge and leather my
lambkin; God, I would so curry and claw her.
Bruin. By the lord Harry, she richly de-
Enter BRUIN and MRS. BRUIN; BRUIN with
Cotton Cap on; his Wife with his
Wig, great Coat, and Fishing-rod.
Come, Jane, give me my wig: you slut, how serves it.

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
871
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
3 Mob. Room for master Snuffle.
lift? Heel. Here, stand by me: and let us, neigh-
Sneak. Will you, brother, lend me a lift?
Bruin. Command me at all times.
Sneak. Why then, I will verily pluck up
a spirit; and the first time she offers to-
Mrs. S. [Without] Jerry, Jerry Sneak!
Sneak. Gad's my life, sure as a gun that's
her voice: lookye, brother, I don't choose to
breed a disturbance in another body's house;
but as soon as ever I get home-
Bruin. Now is your time.
Sneak. No, no; it would not be decent.
Mrs. S. [Without] Jerry! Jerry!
Sneak. I come, lovy. But you will be
sure to stand by me?
Bruin. Trot, nincompoop.
bours, proceed to open the premunire of the
thing: but first, your reverence to the lord
of the manor: a long life and a merry one
to our landlord, sir Jacob! Huzza!
Mob. Huzza!
Sneak. How fares it, honest Crispin?
Heel. Servant, master Sneak.-Let us now
open the premunire of the thing, which I
shall do briefly, with all the loquacity possible;
that is, in a medium way; which, that we
may the better do it, let the secretary read
the names of the candidates, and what they
say for themselves; and then we shall know
what to say of them. Master Snuffle, begin.
Snuffle. [Reads] To the worthy inhabi-
Atants of the ancient corporation of Garratt:
Sneak. I come, chuck, as fast as I can. gentlemen, your votes and interest are
Good Lord, what a sad life do I lead! [Exit. humbly requested in favour of Timothy
Bruin. Ex quovis linguo: who can make a Goose, to succeed your late worthy mayor,
silk purse of a sow's ear?
Mr. Richard Dripping, in the said office, he
being-
Sneak. Well, if I don't-I wish-
Mrs. S. [Without] Where is this lazy pup-
py a-loitering?b
Re-enter SIR JACOB.
Heel. This Goose is but a kind of gosling,
Sir J. Come, son Bruin, we are all seated
at table, man; we have but just time for a a sort of sneaking scoundrel. Who is he?
snack; the candidates are near upon coming. Snuffle. A journeyman tailor from Putney.
Bruin. A poor, paltry, mean-spirited-Damn Heel. A journeyman tailor! A rascal, has
it, before I would submit to such a-he the impudence to transpire to be mayor?
Sir J. Come, come, man; don't be so crusty. D'ye consider, neighbours, the weight of this
Bruin. I follow, sir Jacob. Damme, when office? Why, it is a burden for the back of
once a man gives up his prerogative, he might a porter; and can you think that this cross-
as well give up-But, however, it is no bread legg'd cabbage-eating son of a cucumber, this
and butter of mine-Jerry! Jerry!-Zounds, whey-fac'd ninny, who is but the ninth part
I would Jerry and jerk her too. [Exit. of a man, has strength to support it?
1 Mob. No goose! no goose!
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SIR JACOB JOLLUP, MAJOR STURGEON, BRUIN,
MRS. BRUIN, JERRY SNEAK, and MRS. SNEAK,
discovered on SIR JACOB's Garden Wall.
Enter Mob, with HEELTAP at their Head;
some crying a Goose, others a Mug,
others a Primmer.
Heel. Silence, there; silence!
1 Mob. Hear neighbour Heeltap,
2 Mob. Ay, ay, hear Crispin.
3 Mob. Ay, ay, hear him, hear Crispin: he
will put us into the model of the thing at once.
Heel. Why then, silence! I say.
All. Silence.
Heel. Silence, and let us proceed,
2 Mob. A goose!
Heel. Hold your hissing, and proceed to
the next.
Snuffle. [Reads] Your votes are desired
for Matthew Mug.
1 Mob. A mug! a mug!
Heel. Oh, oh, what you are all ready to
have a touch of the tankard: but, fair and
soft, good neighbours, let us taste this master
Mug before we swallow him; and, unless I
am mistaken, you will find him a damn'd
bitter draught.
1 Mob. A mug! a mug!
2 Mob. Hear him; hear master Heeltap.
1 Mob. A mug! a mug!
Heel. Harkye, you fellow with your mouth
neigh-full of mug, let me ask you a question: bring
bours, with all the decency and confusion him forward. Pray is not this Matthew Mug
usual upon these occasions.
a victualler?
1 Mob. Ay, ay, there is no doing without 3 Mob. I believe he may.
All. No, no, no.
[that.
Heel. Silence then, and keep the peace:
what, is there no respect paid to authority?
am not I the returning officer?
All. Ay, ay, ay.
Heel. And lives at the sign of the Adam
and Eve?
3 Mob. I believe he may.
Heel. Now answer upon your honour, and
as you are a gentleman, what is the present
Heel. Chosen by yourselves, and approved price of a quart of home-brew'd at the Adam
of by sir Jacob?
All. True, true.
Heel. Well then, be silent and civil; stand
back there, that gentleman without a shirt,
and make room for your betters. Where's
Simon Snuffle the sexton?
Snuffle. Here.
and Eve?
3 Mob. I don't know.
Heel. You lie, sirrah: an't it a groat?
3 Mob. I believe it
may.
Heel. Oh, may be so, Now, neighbours,
here's a pretty rascal; this same Mug, because,
d'ye see, state affairs would not jog glibly
Heel. Let him come forward; we appoint without laying a farthing a quart upon ale;
him our secretary: for Simon is a scollard, this scoundrel, not contented to take things
and can read written hand; and so let him in a medium way, has had the impudence to
raise it a penny.
be respected accordingly.

872
[ACT II.
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Mob. No mug! no mug!
such a bear? Is that a manner of treating
Heel. So, I thought I should crack Mr. your wife?
Mug. Come, proceed to the next, Simon.
Snuffle. The next upon the list is Peter me such a snivelling sot as your son-in-law,
Primmer, the schoolmaster.
Sneak, to truckle and cringe, to fetch and to-
Bruin. What, I suppose you would have
Heel. Ay, neighbours, and a sufficient man:
let me tell you, master Primmer is the man Re-enter JERRY SNEAK, in a violent. Hurry.
for my money; a man of learning, that can Sneak. Where's brother Bruin? O Lord!
lay down the law: why, adzooks, he is wise brother, I have such a dismal story to tell you.
enough to puzzle the parson: and then, how Bruin. What's the matter?
you have heard him oration at the Adam and Sneak. Why, you know I went into the
Eve of a Saturday night, about Russia and garden to look for my wife and the major,
Prussia. Ecod, George Gage the exciseman and there I hunted and hunted as sharp as if
is nothing at all to un.
it had been for one of my own minikins; but
the deuce a major or madam could I see: at
4 Mob. A primmer!
Heel. Ay, if the folks above did but know last, a thought came into my head to look
him. Why, lads, he will make us all states-
men in time.
2 Mob. Indeed!
Heel. Why, he swears as how all the mis-
carriages are owing to the great people's not
learning to read.
3 Mob. Indeed!
Heel. "For," says Peter, says he, "if they
would but once submit to be learned by me,
there is no knowing to what a pitch the na-
tion might rise.
1 Mob. Ay, I wish they would.
Sneak. Crispin, what is Peter Primmer a
candidate? Vot
Heel. He is, master Sneak.
Sneak. Lord, I know him, mun, as well
as my mother: why, I used to go to his lec-
tures to Pewterers'-hall 'long with deputy
Firkin.
Heel. Like enough.
Sneak. Odds me, brother Bruin, can you
tell me what is become of my wife?
Bruin. She is gone off with the major.
Sneak. Mayhap to take a walk in the gar-
den. I will go and take a peep at what they
are doing.
[Exit.
Mob. Without] Huzza!
Heel. Gad-so! the candidates are coming.
[Exeunt Mob, etc.
Re-enter SIR JACOB JOLLUP, BRUIN, and MRS.
BRUIN, through the Garden Gate.
Sir J. Well, son Bruin, how d'ye relish
the corporation of Garratt?
Bruin. Why, lookye, sir Jacob, my way
is always to speak what I think: I don't ap-
prove on't at all.
Mrs. B. No?
Sir J. And what's your objection?
Bruin. Why, I was never over fond of
your Maygames: besides, corporations are
too serious things; they are edge-tools, sir
Jacob.
Sir J. That they are frequently tools, I can
readily grant; but I never heard much of
their edge.
Mrs. B. Well now, I protest I am pleas'd
with it mightily.
Bruin. And who the devil doubts it? You
women folks are easily pleas'd.
Mrs. B. Well, I like it so well, that I hope
to see one every year.
Bruin. Do you? Why then you will be
damnably bit; you may take your leave, I
can tell you; for this is the last you shall see.
Sir J. Fie, Mr. Bruin, how can you be
for them up in the summer-house.
Bruin. And there you found them?
Sneak. I'll tell you: the door was lock'd;
and then I look'd through the key-hole: and
there, Lord ha' mercy upon us! [Whispers]
as sure as a gun.
Bruin. Indeed! Zounds, why did not you
break open the door?
Sneak. I durst not. What, would you
have me set my wit to a soldier? I warrant
the major would have knock'd me down with
one of his boots.blo
Bruin. Very well! Pretty doings! You see,
sir Jacob, these are the fruits of indulgence.
You may call me a bear, but your daughter
shall never make me a beast. [Mob huzzas.
Sir J. Hey-day! What, is the election over
already?
Re-enter CRISPIN HEELTAP, etc.
Heel. Where is master Sneak?
Sneak. Here, Crispin.
Heel. The ancient corporation of Garratt,
in consideration of your great parts and abi-
lities, and out of respect to their landlord,
sir Jacob, have unanimously chosen you mayor.
Sneak. Me! huzza! Good Lord, who would
have thought it? But how came master Prim-
mer to lose it?
Heel. Why, Phil Fleam had told the elec-
tors, that master Primmer was an Irishman;
and so they would none of them give their
vote for a foreigner.
Sneak. So then I have it for certain: huzza!
Now, brother Bruin, you shall see how I'll
manage my madam. 'Gad, I'll make her know
I am a man of authority; she shan't think to
bullock and domineer over me.
Mrs. S. [Without] Jerry! Jerry!
Bruin. Now for it, Sneak; the enemy's at
hand.
Sneak. You promise to stand by me, bro-
ther Bruin?
Bruin. Tooth and nail.
Sneak. Then now for it; I am ready, let
her come when she will.
Re-enter MRS. SNEAK.
Mrs. S. Where is the puppy?
Sneak. Yes, yes, she is axing for me.
Mrs. S. So, sot, what, is this true that I
hear?
Sneak. May be 'tis, may be 'tan't: I don't
choose to trust my affairs with a woman.-Is
that right, brother Bruin?
[Apart.
Bruin. Fine! don't bate her an inch. [Apart.

SCENE 1.]
873
THE MAYOR OF GARRATT.
Sneak. Stand by me.
[Apart.
Re-enter MAJOR STURGEON.
Mrs. S. Hey-day! I am amaz'd; Why, what Oh, major! such a riot and rumpus! Like a
is the meaning of this?
man indeed! I wish people would mind their
Sneak. The meaning is plain; that I am own affairs, and not meddle with matters that
grown a man, and vil do what I please, with-
out being accountable to nobody.
Mrs. S. Why, the fellow is surely bewitch'd.
Sneak. No, I am unwitch'd, and that you
shall know to your cost; and since you pro-
voke me, I will tell you a bit of my mind:
what, I am the husband, I hope?
does not concern them:-but all in good time;
I shall one day catch him alone, when he has
not his bullies to back him,
Sneak, Adod, that's true, brother Bruin
what shall I do when she has me at home,
and nobody by but ourselves? [Apart.
Bruin. If you get her once under, you may
Bruin. That's right; at her again. [Apart. do with her whatever you will.
Sneak. Yes, and you shan't think to hector Maj. S. Lookye, master Bruin, I don't know
and domineer over me as you have done; for how this behaviour may suit with a citizen;
I'll go to the club when I please, and stay but were you an officer, and major Sturgeon
out as late as I list, and row in a boat to upon your court-martial-
Putney on Sundays, and wisit my friends at Bruin. What then?
Vitsontide, and keep the key of the till, and
help myself at table to vhat wittles I like;
and I'll have a bit of the brown.
Maj. S. Then! why then you would be
broke.
Bruin, Broke! and for what?
Bruin. Bravo, brother Sneak, the day's Maj. S. What! read the articles of war.
[Apart. But these things are out of your spear: points
your own.
Sneak. An't it? Vhy, I did not think it of honour are for the sons of the sword.
vas in me. Shall I tell her all I know? [Apart Sneak. Honour! if you come to that, where
Bruin. Every thing. You see she is struck was your honour when you got my vife in
dumb.
[Apart. the garden?
Sneak. As an oyster. [Apart] Besides, ma- Maj. S. Now, sir Jacob, this is the curse
dam, I have something furder to tell you: of our cloth: all suspected for the faults of a
'ecod, if some folks go into gardens with ma-few.
I
jors, mayhap other people may go into gar- Sneak. Ay, and not without reason.
rets with maids.-There, I gave it her home: heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy,
brother Bruin.
[Apart, when you was campaigning about, I did. Fa-
Mrs. S. Why, doodle! jackanapes! harkye, ther sir Jacob, he is as wicious as an old ram.
who am I?
Sneak. Come, don't go to call names. Am
I? vhy, my vife, and I am your master.
Mrs. S. My master! you paltry, puddling
puppy! you sneaking, shabby, scrubby, sni-
velling whelp!
Sneak. Brother Bruin, don't let her come
near me.
Maj. S. Stop whilst you are safe, master
Sneak; for the sake of your amiable lady, I
pardon what is past-but for you-
Bruin. Well.
[To Bruin.
Maj. S. Dread the whole force of my fury.
Bruin. Why, lookye, major Sturgeon, I
[Apart. don't much care for your poppers and sharps,
Mrs. S. Have I, sirrah, demean'd myself to because why, they are out of my way; but
wed such a thing, such a reptile as thee? if you will doff with your boots, and box a
Have I not made myself a by-word to all my couple of bouts-
acquaintance? Don't the world cry, Lord, Maj. S. Box! box!-Blades! bullets! bagshot!
who would have thought it? Miss Molly
Mrs. S. Not for the world, my dear major!
Jollup to be married to Sneak; to take up oh, risk not so precious a life. Ungrateful
at last with such a noodle as he!
wretches! and is this the reward for all the
Sneak. Ay, and glad enough you could great feats he has done? After all his march-
catch me: you know you was pretty nearings, his sousings, his sweatings, his swim-
your last legs.
mings, must his dear blood be spilt by a bro-
Mrs. S. Was there ever such a confident ker?
cur? My last legs! Why, all the country Maj. S. Be satisfied, sweet Mrs. Sneak;
knows I could have pick'd and choos'd where these little fracases we soldiers are subject to;
I would. Did not I refuse squire Ap-Griffith trifles, bagatailes, Mrs. Sneak. But that mat-
from Wales? Did not counsellor Crab come ters may be conducted in a military manner,
a courting a twelvemonth? Did not Mr. Wort, I will get our chaplain to pen me a challenge.
the great brewer of Brentford, make an offer Expect to hear from my adjutant. [To Bruin.
that I should keep my post-chay?
Mrs. S. Major! sir Jacob! what, are you
Sneak. Nay, brother Bruin, she has had all leagu'd against his dear?-A man! yes, a
werry good proffers, that is certain. [Apart. very manly action indeed, to set married peo-
Mrs. S. My last legs!-but I can rein my ple a quarrelling, and ferment a difference
passion no longer; let me get at the villain. between husband and wife: if you were
man, you would not stand by and see a poor
Bruin. O fie, sister Sneak.
Sneak. Hold her fast.
woman beat and abus'd by a brute, you would
not.
[Apart.
Mrs. S. Mr. Bruin, unhand me: what, is it
you that have stirred up these coals then?
He is set on by you to abuse me.
Bruin. Not I; I would only have a man
behave like a man.
Mrs. S. What, and are you to teach him,
I warrant.-But here comes the major.
a
Sneak. Oh Lord, I can hold out no longer!
why, brother Bruin, you have set her a veep-
ing. My life, my lovy, don't veep: did I ever
think I should have made my Molly to veep?
Mrs. S. Last legs, you lubberly-
[Strikes him.
110

874
[ACT I.
THE APPRENTICE.
Sir J. Oh, fie, Molly!
Mrs. S. What, are you leagu'd against me,
sir Jacob?
Sir J. Pr'ythee don't expose yourself before
the whole parish. But what has been the oc-
casion of this?
Sir J. Ay, ay, his locum tenens.
Sneak. Do, Crispin, do be my locum tenens.
Heel. Give me your hand, master Sneak,
and to oblige you I will be the locum tenens.
Sir J. So, that is settled: but now to heal
the other breach: come, major, the gentlemen
Mrs. S. Why, has not he gone and made of your cloth seldom bear malice; let me in-
himself the fool of the fair? Mayor of Gar-terpose between you and my son.
ratt indeed! 'ecod, I could trample him under
my feet.
Maj. S. Your son-in-law, sir Jacob, does
deserve a castigation; but on recollection, a
Sneak. Nay, why should you grudge me cit would but sully my arms. I forgive him.
my purfarment?
Sir J. That's right. As a token of amity,
Mrs. S. Did you ever hear such an oaf? and to celebrate our feast, let us call in the
Why thee wilt be pointed at wherever thee fiddles. Now if the major had but his shoes,
dance.
goest. Lookye, Jerry, mind what I say; go he might join in a counoes; a major must
get 'em to choose somebody else, or never Maj. S. Sir Jacob, no shoes; a major must
come near me again.
be never out of his boots; always ready for
Sneak. What shall I do, father sir Jacob? action. Mrs. Sneak will find me lightsome
Sir J. Nay, daughter, you take this thing in enough.
too serious a light; my honest neighbours Sneak. What, are all the vomen engaged?
thought to compliment me: but come, we'll why then my locum tenens and I will jig to-
settle the business at once. Neighbours, my gether. Forget and forgive, major.
son Sneak being seldom amongst us, the duty
will never be done; so we will get our ho-
nest friend, Heeltap, to execute the office: he
is, I think, every way qualified.
Mob. A Heeltap!
Heel. What, do you mean as master Je-
remy's deputy?
Maj. S. Freely.
Nor be it said, that after all my toil,
I stain'd my regimentals by a broil.
To you I dedicate boots, sword, and shield,
Sir J. As harmless in the chamber as the
field.
[Exeunt.
THE APPRENTICE,
Farce by Arthur Murphy. This is an ingenious satire on a pernicious folly prevalent among many young people,
who, without the requisite talent, lose their time and reputation in attempts on the works of authors, who would he
unable, in such hands, to recognize their own offspring.
WINGATE.
DICK.
GARGLE.
SIMON.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SCOTCHMAN.
IRISHMAN.
CATCHPOLE.
CHARLOTTE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Enter WINGATE and SIMON.
Spouting Club.
Watchmen, etc.
Win. A villain, to give his father all this
trouble. And so you have not heard any
thing of him, friend?
Simon. Not a word, sir, as I hope for mar-
Win. NAY, nay, but I tell you I am con- cy; though, as sure as you are there, I believe I
vinced I know it is so; and so, friend, don't can guess what's come on un. As sure as
you think to trifle with me; I know you're any thing, master, the gipsies have gotten hold
in the plot, you scoundrel; and if you don't on un; and we shall have un come home as
discover all, I'll
thin as a rake, like the young girl in the city,
with living upon nothing but crusts and water
for six-and-twenty days.
Simon. Dear heart, sir, you won't give a
body time.
Win. Zookers! a whole month missing,
and no account of him far or near!-Sirrah,
I say he could not be 'prentice to your ma-
ster so long, and you live so long in one
house with him, without knowing his haunts
and all his ways-and then, varlet, what brings
you here to my house so often?
Win. The gipsies have got hold of him, ye
blockhead! Get out of the room.-Here you,
Simon!
Simon. Sir.
Win. Where are you going in such a hur-
ry? Let me see; what must be done? A ri-
diculous numskull, with his damned Cassan-
Simon. My master Gargle and I, sir, are ders and Cloppatras, and trumpery; with his
so uneasy about un, that I have been running romances, and his Odyssey Popes, and a par-
all over the town since morning to inquire cel of rascals not worth a groat! Zookers!
for un; and so in my way I thought I might I'll not put myself in a passion. Simon, do
as well call here.
you step back to your master, my friend Gar

SCENE 1.]
875
THE APPRENTICE.
gle, and tell him I want to speak with him-He's now below stairs; I judged it proper to
though I don't know what I should send for leave him there till I had prepared you for
him for a sly, slow, hesitating blockhead! his reception.
he'll only plague me with his physical cant Win. Death and fire! what could put it
and his nonsense.-Why don't you go, you into the villain's head to turn buffoon?
booby, when I bid you?
Gar. Nothing so easily accounted for: why,
Simon. Yes, sir.
[Exit. when he ought to be reading the Dispensa-
Win. This fellow will be the death of me tory, there was he constantly reading over
at last! I have been turmoiling for him all plays, and farces, and Shakspeare.
the days of my life, and now the scoundrel's Win. Ay, that damned Shakspeare! I hear
run away. Suppose I advertise the dog?- the fellow was nothing but a deer-stealer in
Ay, but if the villain should deceive me, and Warwickshire. I never read Shakspeare.
happen to be dead, why then he tricks me Wounds! I caught the rascal myself reading
out of six shillings-my money's flung into that nonsensical play of Hamblet, where the
the fire.-Zookers, I'll not put myself in a prince is keeping company with strollers and
passion; let him follow his nose-'tis nothing vagabonds. A fine example, Mr. Gargle.
at all to me-what care I?
Re-enter SIMON.
What do you come back for, friend?-
Simon. As I was going out, sir, the post
came to the door, and brought this letter.
Win. Let me see it. The gipsies have got
hold of him, ha, ha! What a pretty fellow
you are! ha, ha!-Why don't you step where
I bid you, sirrah?
Simon. Yes, sir.
Gar. His disorder is of the malignant kind,
and my daughter has taken the infection from
him. Bless my heart!-she was as innocent
as water-gruel, till he spoiled her. I found
her the other night in the very fact.
Win. Zookers! you don't say so? caught
her in the fact?
Gar. Ay, in the very fact of reading a play-
book in bed.
Win. Oh, is that the fact you mean? Is
that all? though that's bad enough.
Gar. But I have done for my young ma-
dam; I have confined her to her room, and
locked up all her books.
[Exit.
Win. Well, well, I'm resolved, and it shall
be so I'll advertise him to-morrow morning,
and promise, if he comes home, all shall be
forgiven; and when the blockhead comes, I Win. Look ye, friend Gargle, I'll never see
may do as I please, ha, ha! I may do as I the villain's face. Let him follow his nose,
please. Let me see he had on-slidikins, and bite the bridle.
what signifies what he had on? I'll read my Gar. Sir, I have found out that he went
letter, and think no more about him.-Hey! three times a week to a spouting club.
what a plague have we here? [Mutters to Win. A spouting club, friend Gargle!
himself Bristol-a-what's all this? [Reads. What's a spouting club??
Esteemed friend,-Last was twentieth ul- Gar. A meeting of 'prentices, and clerks,
timo, since none of thine, which will occa- and giddy young men, intoxicated with plays;
sion brevity. The reason of my writing and so they meet in public-houses to act speech-
to thee at present, is to inform thee that es; there they all neglect business, despise
thy son came to our place with a company the advice of their friends, and think of no-
of strollers, who were taken up by the ma-thing but to become actors.
gistrate, and committed as vagabonds to Win. You don't say so! a spouting club!
jail.-Zookers! I'm glad of it-a villain of Wounds, I believe they are all mad.
Win. 'Sdeath, you're as mad yourself as
any of them,
a fellow! Let him lie there-I am sorry thy Gar. Ay, mad indeed, sir: madness is oc-
lad should follow such profane courses; casioned in a very extraordinary manner; the
but out of the esteem I bear unto thee, I spirits flowing in particular channels-
have taken thy boy out of confinement, and
sent him off for your city in the waggon,
which left this four days ago. He is con-
signed to thy address, being the needful
from thy friend and servant,
Gar. And continuing to run in the same
ducts--
Win. Ducks! damn your ducks! Who's
below there? Tell that fellow to come up.
Gar. Dear sir, be a little cool-inflammato-
EBENEEZER BROADBRIM.
Wounds! what did he take the fellow out
for? A scoundrel, rascal! turn'd stage-player-ries may be dangerous.-Do pray, sir, mode-
I'll never see the villain's face. Who comes rate your passions.
there?
Re-enter SIMON.
Simon. I met my master over the way,
sir. Our cares are over. Here is Mr. Gar-
gle, sir.
Win. Let him come in-and do you go
down stairs, you blockhead. [Exit Simon.
Enter GARGLE.
So, friend Gargle, here's a fine piece of work
-Dick's turn'd vagabond!
Gar. He must be put under a proper re-
gimen directly, sir.-He arrived at my house
within these ten minutes, but in such a trim.
Win. Pr'ythee be quiet, man;
I can do. Here he comes.
Enter DICK,
r'll try
what
Dick. Now, my good father, what's the
matter?
Win. So, friend, you have been upon your
travels, have you? You have had your frolic?
Lookye, young man, I'll not put myself in a
passion. But, death and fire, you scoundrel,
what right have you to plague me in this
manner? Do you think I must fall in love
with your face, because I am your father?
Dick. A little more than kin, and less than
kind.
[Aside

876
[ACT I.
THE APPRENTICE.
Win. Ha, ha! what a pretty figure you cut
now! Ha, ha! why don't you speak, you
blockhead? Have you nothing to say for your-
self?
Dick. Else, wherefore breathe I in a Chri-
stian land.
Win. Zookers! you blockhead, you'd better
stick to your business, than turn buffoon, and
Dick. Nothing to say for yourself. What get truncheons broke upon your arm, and be
an old prig it is.
[Aside. tumbling upon carpets.
Win. Mind me, friend, I have found you Dick. I shall in all my best obey you, daddy.
out; I see you'll never come to good. Turn Win. Very well, friend-very well said-
stage-player! wounds! you'll not have an eye you may do very well if you please; and so
in your head in a month, ha, ha! you'll have I'll say no more to you, but make yourself
'em knocked out of the sockets with withered useful; and so now go and clean yourself,
apples-remember I tell you so.
and make ready to go home to your business
Dick. A critic too! [Whistles] Well do--and mind me, young man, let me see no
ne, old Squaretoes.
more play-books, and let me never find that
Win. Lookye, young man, take notice of you wear a laced waistcoat-you scoundrel,
what I say: I made my own fortune, and I what right have you to wear a laced waist-
could do the same again. Wounds! if I were coat?-I never wore a laced waistcoat!-ne-
placed at the bottom of Chancery-lane, with ver wore one till I was forty. But I'll not
a brush and black-ball, I'd make my own for- put myself in a passion-go and change your
tune again. You read Shakspeare! Get Co- dress, friend.
cker's Arithmetic; you may buy it for a shil- Dick. I shall sir-
ling on any stall-best book that ever was
wrote.
Dick. Pretty well, that; ingenious, faith!
'Egad, the old fellow has a pretty notion of
letters.
I must be cruel, only to be kind:
Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind.
Cocker's Arithmetic, sir?
Win. Ay, Cocker's Arithmetic-study figures,
[Aside. and they'll carry you through the world.
Dick, Yes, sir. [Stifling a Laugh] Cocker's
Win. Can you tell how much is five-eighths
of three-sixteenths of a pound? Five-eighths of Arithmetic!
three-sixteenths of a pound. Ay, ay, I see
[Exit.
Win. Let him mind me, friend Gargle, and
you're a blockhead. Lookye, young man, if I'll make a man of him.
you have a mind to thrive in this world, study Gar. Ay, sir, you know the world. The
figures, and make yourself useful-make your-young man will do very well-1 wish he were
self useful.
out of his time; he shall then have my daughter.
Dick. How weary, stale, flat, and unpro- Win. Yes, but I'll touch the cash-he shan't
fitable seem to me all the uses of this world! finger it during my life.-I must keep a tight
[Aside. hand over him-[Goes to the Door]-Do ye
hear, friend?-Mind what I say, and go home
Win. Mind the scoundrel now.
Gar. Do, Mr. Wingate, let me speak to to your business immediately.-Friend Gargle
him-softly, softly-I'll touch him gently. I'll make a man of him.
Come, come, young man, lay aside this sulky
humour, and speak as becomes a son.
Dick. O Jephtha, judge of Israel, what a
treasure hadst thou!
Win. What does the fellow say?
Re-enter DICK.
Dick. Who call'd on Achmet?-Did not
Barbarossa require me here?
Win. What's the matter now?-Barossa!
Gar. He relents, sir. Come, come, young-Wounds!-What's Barossa?-Does the fel-
man, he'll forgive.
low call me names?-What makes the block-
Dick. They fool me to the top of my bent. head stand in such confusion?
'Gad, I'll hum 'em, to get rid of 'em-a tru- Dick. That Barbarossa should suspect my
ant disposition, good my lord: No, no, stay, truth!
that's not right-I have a better speech. [Aside] Win. The fellow's stark staring mad-get
It is as you say when we are sober, and re- out of the room, you villain, get out of the
flect but ever so little on our follies, we are room.
[Dick stands in a sullen Mood.
ashamed and sorry: and yet, the very next Gar. Come, come, young man, every thing
minute, we rush again into the very same ab- is easy; don't spoil all again-go and change
surdities.
your dress, and come home to your business.
Win. Well said, lad, well said-Mind me, Nay, nay, be ruled by me. [Thrusts him off.
friend; commanding our own passions, and Win. I'm very peremptory, friend Gargle;
artfully taking advantage of other people's, is if he vexes me once more, I'll have nothing
the sure road to wealth.-Death and fire!- to say to him. Well, but now I think of it
but I won't put myself in a passion. 'Tis my I have Cocker's Arithmetic below stairs in the
regard for you makes me speak; and if I tell counting-house-I'll step and get it for him,
you you're a scoundrel, 'tis for your good. and so he shall take it home with him.-Friend
Dick. Without doubt, sir.
Gargle, your servant.
[Stifling a Laugh. Gar. Mr. Wingate, a good evening to you.
Win. If you want any thing you shall be You'll send him home to his business?
provided. Have you any money in your pock- Win. He shall follow you home directly.
et? Ha, ha! what a ridiculous numskull you Five-eighths of three-sixteenths of a pound!-
are now! ha, ha! Come, here's some money multiply the numerator by the denominator!
for you. [Pulls out his Money and looks at five times sixteen is ten times eight, ten times
it] I'll give it to you another time; an so eight is eighty, and-a-a-carry one. [Exit.
you'll mind what I say to you, and make
yourself useful for the future,
Re-enter DICK and SIMON.
Simon. Lord love ye, master-I'm so glad

SCENE 1.]
877
THE APPRENTICE.
you're come back-come, we had as good with horrid speech, you must take out your
e'en gang home to my master Gargle's. white pocket handkerchief and cry bitterly.
Dick. No, no, Simon, stay a moment-this
is but a scurvy coat I have on-and I know
my father has always some jemmy thing lock'd
up in his closet-I know his ways-He takes
'em in pawn; for he'll never part with a shil-
ling without security.
Simon. Hush! he'll hear us-stay, I believe
he's coming up stairs.
[Teaches him.
Simon. But I haven't got a white pocket
handkerchief.
Dick. Then I'll lend you mine.
[Pulls out a ragged one.
Simon. Thank ye, sir.
Dick. And when I am playing comedy, you
must be ready to laugh your guts out,
[Teaches him] for I shall be very pleasant-
Tolde-roll.
[Dances.
Dick. [Goes to the Door, and listens]
No, no-no-he's going down, growling and
grumbling-ay, say ye so?-"Scoundrel, ras- Simon. Never doubt me, sir.
cal-let him bite the bridle.-Six times twelve Dick. Very well; now run down and open
is seventy-two."-All's safe, man; never fear the street door; I'll follow you in a crack.
him. Do you stand here -I shall dispatch
this business in a crack.
Simon. I'm gone to serve you, master.
Dick. To serve thyself-for, lookye, Simon,
Simon. Blessings on him! what is he about when I am manager, claim thou of me the
now? Why the door is locked, master. care o'the wardrobe, with all those moveables,
Dick. Ay, but I can easily force the lock-whereof the propertyman now stands possess'd.
you shall see me do it as well as any sir John Simon. O lud! this is charming-hush! I
Brute of 'em all-this right leg-
Simon. Lord love you, master, that's not
your right leg.
Dick. Pho! you fool, don't you know I'm
drunk?-this right leg here is the best lock-
smith in England-so, so.
am gone.
[Going.
Dick. Well, but harkye, Simon, come hither
what money have you about you, master
Matthew?
Simon. But a tester, sir.
Dick. A tester!-that's something of the
least, master Matthew-let's see it.
Simon. You have had fifteen sixpences now.
Dick. Never mind that-I'll pay you all at
mind that-
Simon. I don't doubt that, master-but mum.
[Exit.
[Forces the Door and goes in.
Simon. He's at his plays again - Odds my
heart, he's a rare hand-he'll go through with
it, I'll warrant him - Old Cojer must not smoke my benefit.
-
that I have any concern-I must be main cau-
tious-Lord bless his heart, he's to teach me
to act Scrub. He begun with me long ago, Dick. Thus far we run before the wind.-
and I got as far as the jesuit before a went An apothecary!-make an apothecary of me!
out of town: Scrub-Coming, sir-Lord,-what, cramp my genius over a pestle and
ma'am, I've a whole packet full of news-mortar, or mew me up in a shop with an
some say one thing, and some say another; alligator stuft, and a beggarly account of empty
but, for my part, ma'am-I believe he's a je-boxes!-to be culling simples, and constantly
suit- that's main pleasant-I believe he's a adding to the bills of mortality!-No, no! it
jesuit.
will be much better to be pasted up in capi-
tals-The part of Romeo by a young gentle-
man who never appeared on any stage before!
Re-enter DICK.
Dick. I have done the deed.-Didst thou -My ambition fires at the thought-But hold
not hear a noise?
-mayn't I run some chance of failing in my
Simon. No, master; we're all snug. attempt-hissed-pelted-laughed at-not ad-
Dick. This coat will do charmingly. I have mitted into the Green-room.--That will never
bilked the old fellow nicely. -- In a dark cor-do-Down, busy devil, down, down. - Try it
ner of his cabinet, I found this paper; what again.-Loved by the women, envied by the
it is the light will show.-[Reads] I promise men, applauded by the pit, clapped by the
to pay-Ha!-I promise to pay to Mr. Mo- gallery, admired by the boxes.-"Dear colonel,
neytrap, or order, on demand-Tis his hand is not he a charming creature?"-"My lord,
a note of his-yet more-The sum of seven don't you like him of all things?"-"Makes
pounds, fourteen shillings, and seven-pence, love like an angel!"-"What an eye he has!"
value received, by me-London, this 15th "Fine legs!"-"I'll certainly go to his bene-
June, 1755.-'Tis wanting what should follow fit."-Celestial sounds! And then I'll get in
-his name should follow-but 'tis torn off-with all the painters, and have myself put up
because the note is paid.
in every printshop-in the character of Mac-
1
Simon. O lud! dear sir, you'll spoil all. I beth! This is a sorry sight. [Stands in an
wish we were well out of the house. Our Attitude] In the character of Richard - Give
best way, master, is to make off directly. me another horse; bind up my wounds.--This
Dick. I will, I will; but first help me on will do rarely-And then I have a chance of
with this coat.-Simon, you shall be my dress- getting well married-O glorious thought!-
er-you'll be fine and happy behind the By heaven I will enjoy it, though but in fancy.
But what's o'clock?-It must be almost
scenes.
go,
Simon. O lud! it will be main pleasant-I nine. I'll away at once: this is club-night.-
have been behind the screens in the country. 'Egad, I'll go to them for awhile-The spout-
Dick. Have you, where?
hers are all met-little they think I'm in town
Simon. Why, when I liv'd with the man-they'll be surprised to see me.-Off I
that show'd wild beastices.
and then for my assignation with my master
Dick. Harkye, Simon-when I am playing Gargle's daughter-Poor Charlotte! - she's
some deep tragedy, and cleave the general ear locked up, but I shall find means to settle mat-

878
[ACT II.
THE APPRENTICE.
ters for her escape-She's a pretty theatrical as well timber'd myself as any of them, and
genius. If she flies to my arms like a hawk shall make a figure in genteel and top comedy.
to its perch, it will be so rare an adventure,
and so dramatic an incident-
Limbs do your office, and support me well;
Bear me but to her, then fail me if you can.
ACT II.
[Exit.
Scotch. I'll give you a speecimen of Mockbeeth.
Irish. Make haste then, and I'll begin Othollo.
Scotch. Is this a dagger that I see before
me, etc.
Irish. [Collaring him] Willain, be sure
you prove my love a whore, etc.
[Another Member comes forward with
his Face powdered, and a Pipe in
his Hand.
SCENE I.-Discovers the Spouting Club.
The President and Members sealed.
Pres. Come, we'll fill a measure the table
round. Now good digestion wait on appe-was a better man than ever you was.
tite, and health on both. Come, give us a
speech.
Mem. I am thy father's spirit, Hamlet-
Irish. You my father's spirit? My mother
Scotch. Come now, I'll gee you a touch of
Mocbeeth.
Dick. Pho! pr'ythee! you are not fat enough
for a ghost.
Mem. I intend to make my first appearance
in it for all that; only I'm puzzled about one
1 Mem. That will be rare. Come, let's have it. thing, I want to know, when I come on first,
Scotch. What dost lier at, mon? I have whether I should make a bow to the audience?
had muckle applause at Edinburgh, when I Watch. [Behind the Scenes] Past five
enacted in the Reegiceede-and now I intend o'clock, cloudy morning.
to do Mocbeeth-I seed the degger yesterneet, Dick. Hey! past five o'clock-'sdeath, I shall
and I thought I should ha' killed every one miss my appointment with Charlotte; I have
that came in my way.
staid too long, and shall lose my proselyte.
Irish. Stand out of the way, lads, and Come, let us adjourn. We'll scower the
you'll see me give a touch of Othollo, my watch-confusion to morality-I wish the con-
dear. [Takes the Cork, burns it, and blacks stable were married.-Huzza! huzza!
his Face] The devil burn the cork-it would All. Huzza, huzza!
nct do it fast enough.
1 Mem. Here, here, I'll lend you a helping
hand. [Blacks him. Knocking at the Door.
Pres. Open locks, whoever knocks.
Enter DICK.
SCENE II.A Street.
[Exeunt.
Enter DICK, with a Lantern and Ladder.
Dick. All's quiet here; the coast's clear-
now for my adventure with Charlotte; this
ladder will do rarely for the business, though
Dick. How now, ye secret, black, and mid- it would be hetter if it were a ladder of ro-
night hags? What is't ye do?-How fare pes-but hold; have I not seen something like
the honest partners of my heart?-What bloody this on the stage? yes I have, in some of the
scene has Roscius now to act?-Arrah, my entertainments. Ay, I remember an apothe-
dear cousin Mackshane, won't you put a re- cary, and here-about he dwells-this is my
membrance upon me?
master Gargle's; being dark, the beggar's shop
Irish. Ow! but is it mocking you are? is shut; what, ho! apothecary! but soft-what
Look ye, my dear, if you'd be taking me off light breaks through yonder window? It is the
-don't you call it taking off?-by my shoul, east, and Juliet is the sun; arise, fair sun, etc.
I'd be making you take yourself
off. What,
if you're for being obstroporous, I would not
matter you three skips of a flea.
CHARLOTTE appears at a Window.
Char. Who's there? My Romeo?
Dick. The same, my love, if it not thee
displease.
Char. Hush! not so loud; you'll waken my
father.
Dick. Alas! there is more peril in thine
eye-
Dick. Nay, pr'ythee, no offence-I hope
we shall be brother-players.
Irish. Ow! then we'd be very good friends;
for you know two of a trade can never agree,
my dear.
Dick. What do you intend to appear in?
Irish. Othollo, my dear; let me alone; Char. Nay, but pr'ythee now; I tell you
you'll see how I'll bodder 'em; though by my you'll spoil all. What made you stay so long?
shoul, myself does not know but I'll be fright- Dick. Chide not, my fair; but let the god
ened when every thing is in a hub-bub, and of love laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy
nothing to be heard, but "Throw him over." heart.
[Going.
"Over with him."-"Off, off, off the stage." Char. As I am a living soul, you'll ruin
"Music." Ow! but may be the dear cra- every thing; be but quiet, and I'll come down
turs in the boxes will be lucking at my legs, to you.
ow! to be sure-the devil burn the luck they'll Dick. No, no, not so fast; Charlottte, let
give 'em,
us act the garden scene first-
Dick. I shall certainly laugh in the fellow's
[Aside.
Scotch. Stay till you hear me give a spee-neck or nothing.
cimen of elocution.
face.
Char. A fiddlestick for the garden scene.
Dick. Nay, then I'll act Ranger-up I go,
Char. Dear heart, you're enough to frighten
Dick. What, with that impediment, sir? a body out of one's wits. Don't come up-I
Scotch. Impeediment! what impeediment?
I do not leesp-do I? I do not squeent; I am
well leem'd, am I not?
Irish. By my shoul, if you go to that, I am
tell you there's no occasion for the ladder. I
have settled every thing with Simon, and he's
to let me through the shop, when he opens it.
Dick. Well, but I tell you I would not give

SCENE 2.]
879
THE APPRENTICE.
a farthing for it without the ladder, and so
up I go; if it was as high as the garret, up
I go.
Enter SIMON, at the Door.
Simon, Sir, sir; madam, madam-
Watch. Nay, then 'tis time for me to go.
[Exit.
Enter GARGLE.
Gar. Dear heart! dear heart! she's gone,
she's gone!-my daughter! my daughter!-
Dick. Pr'ythee be quiet, Simon, I am a- What's the fellow in such a fright for?
scending the high top-gallant of my joy.
Simon. Down on your knees-down on
Simon. An't please you, master, my young your marrow-bones-down on your marrow-
mistress may come through the shop; I am bones.
going to sweep it out, and she may escape
that way fast enow.
Char. That will do purely; and so do you
stay where you are, and prepare to receive
[Exit from above.
Simon. Master, leave that there, to save me
from being respected.
me.
Dick. With all my heart, Simon.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Gar. Get up, you fool, get up.-Dear heart,
I'm all in a fermentation.
Enter WINGATE.
Win. So, friend Gargle, you're up early, I
see-nothing like rising early-nothing to be
got by lying in bed, like a lubberly fellow-
What's the matter with you? ha, ha! you
look frightened.
Gar. O, no wonder-my daughter, my
Char. O lud! I'm frightened out of my daughter!
wits-feel with what a pit-a-pat action my
heart beats.
me
Dick. 'Tis an alarm to love-quick let
snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms, etc.
Watch. [Behind the Scenes] Past six
o'clock, and a cloudy morning.
Dick. Is that the raven's voice I hear?
Simon. No master, it's the watchman's.
Char. Dear heart, don't let us stand fooling
here as I live and breathe we shall both be
taken-do, for heaven's sake, let us make our
escape.
Dick. Yes, my dear Charlotte, we will go
together,
Together to the theatre we'll go,
There to their ravish'd eyes our skill we'll
show,
And point new beauties-to the pit below.
[Exit with Charlotte.
Simon, And I to sweep my master's shop
will go.
[Exit into the House, and shuts the Door.
Enter a Watchman.
Win. Your daughter! What signifies a
foolish girl?
Gar. Oh, dear heart! dear heart! - out of
the window-
Win. Fallen out of the window? Well,
she was a woman, and 'tis no matter-if she's
dead, she's provided for. Here, I found the
book-could not meet with it last night-here
it is, friend Gargle; take it, and give it that
scoundrel of a fellow.
Gar. Lord, sir, he's returned to his tricks.
Win, Returned to his tricks?-What, broke
loose again?
Gar. Ay, and carried off my daughter with
him.
Win. Carried off your daughter? How did
the rascal contrive that?
Gar. Oh, dear sir, the watch alarmed us
awhile ago, and I found a ladder at the win-
dow; so I suppose my young madam made
her escape that way.
Win. I'll never see the fellow's face.
Simon. Secrets! secrets!
Win. What, are you in the secret, friend?
Watch. Past six o'clock, and a cloudy Simon. To be sure, there be secrets in all
morning-Hey-day! what's here? A ladder families; but for my part, I'll not speak a
at master Gargle's window!-I must alarm the word, pro or con, till there's a peace.
family-Ho! master Gargle!
Win. You won't speak, sirrah? I'll make
Who Knocks at the Door. you speak. Do you know nothing of this
Gar. [Above] What's the matter? How numskull?
comes this window to be open?-Ha! a lad-
der!-Who's below there?
Watch. I hope you an't robbed, master
Gargle? As I was going my ronnds, I found
your window open.
Simon. Who I, sir?-He came home last
night from your house, and went out again
directly.
Win. You saw him then?
Simon. Yes, sir-saw him, to be sure, sir
Gar. I fear this is some of that young dog's-he made me open the shop-door for him-
tricks-Take away the ladder; I must inquire he stopp'd on the threshold and pointed at
into all this.
[Exit. one of the clouds, and asked me if it was not
like an ouzel?
Win. Like an ouzel!-Wounds! what's an
Re-enter SIMON, like Scrub.
Simon. Thieves! murder! thieves! popery!-ouzel?
Watch. What's the matter with the fellow? Gar. And the young dog came back in the
Simon. Spare all I have, and take my life! dead of night to steal away my daughter.
Watch. Any mischief in the house?
Simon. They broke in with fire and sword
-they'll be here this minute.
Watch. What, are there thieves in the
house?
Simon. With sword and pistol, sir-
Watch. How many are there of them?
Simon. Five-and-forty.
Enter a Porter.
Win. Who are you, pray? What do
want?
Por. Is one Mr. Gargle here?
Gar. Yes. Who wants him?
Por. Here's a letter for you.
you
Gar. Let me see it. O, dear heart! [Reads]

880
[ACT II.
THE APPRENTICE.
Dick. Now, thank heaven, I'm not worth
To Mr. Gargle, at the Pestle and Mortar.
Slidikins, this is a letter from that unfortu-a groat.
nate young fellow.
Win. Let me see it, Gargle.
Bail. Then there's no credit here, I can tell
[Reads. you that; you must get bail, or go to New-
gate. Who do you think is to pay house-
To Mr. Gargle, etc.
rent for you? Such poverty struck devils as
Most potent, grave, and reverend doctor, you shan't stay in my house. You shall go
my very noble and approv'd good master to quod, I can tell you that. [A Knocking at
That I have ta'en away your daughter, the Door] Coming, coming, I am coming. I
it is most true; true I will marry her-'tis shall lodge you in Newgate, I promise you,
true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true.-What before night. Not worth a groat! You're a
in the name of common sense is all this?-fine fellow to stay in a man's house. You
I have done your shop some service, and shall go to quod.
[Exit.
you know it; no more of that; yet I could Dick. Come, clear up, Charlotte, never mind
wish, that at this time I had not been this this.-Come now, let us act the prison scene
thing - What can the fellow mean? - For in the Mourning Bride.
time may have yet one fated hour to come, Char. How can you think of acting speeches
which wing'd with liberty, may overtake when we're in such distress?
occasion past.-Overtake occasion past!--no,
no, time and tide waits for no man.
pect redress from thy noble sorrows, Thine
and my poor country's ever, R. WINGATE.
Mad as a March hare! I have done with him;
let him stay till the shoe pinches, a crack-
brained numskull!
-
-I ex-
Dick. Nay but, my dear angel-
Enter WINGATE and GARGLE.
Come, now we'll practice an attitude. How
many of 'em have you?
Char. Let me see: one-two-three-and
then in the fourth act, and then-O gemini,
Por. An't please ye, sir, I fancies the gen- I have ten at least.
tleman is a little beside himself; he took hold Dick. That will do swimmingly. I've a
un me here by the collar, and called me vil-round dozen myself.
lain, and bid me prove his wife a whore. fancy me dead, and I
Lord help him, I never see'd the gentleman's Now mind.
spouse in my born days before.
Gar. Is she with him now?
Por. I believe so; there's a likely young
woman with him, all in tears.
Gar. My daughter, to be sure.
Por. I fancy, master, the gentleman's under
troubles. I brought it from a spunging-house.
Win. From a spunging house?
Por. Yes, sir, in Gray's-inn-lane.
Win. Let him lie the let him lie there!
I am glad of it.
Gar. Do, my dear sir, let us step to him.
Win. No, not 1; let him stay there. This
it is to have a genius, ha, ha!-a genius, ha,
ha!-a genius is a fine thing indeed, ha, ha!
[Exit.
Gar. Poor man he has certainly a fever
on his spirits. Do you step in with me, ho-
nest man, till I slip on my coat, and then
I'll go after this unfortunate boy.
Por. Yes, sir; 'tis in Gray's-inn-lane.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III-A Spunging-house.
Come, now begin; you
think the same of you.
[They stand in Attitudes.
Win. Only mind the villain.
[Apart to Gargle.
Dick. O thou soft fleeting form of Lindamira!
Char. Illusive shade of my beloved lord!
Dick. She lives, she speaks, and we shall
still be happy.
Win. You lie, you villain, you shan't be
happy.
[Knocks him down.
Dick. [On the Ground] Perdition catch
your arm, the chance is thine!
Gar. So, my young madam, I have found
you again.
Dick. Capulet, forbear; Paris, let loose your
hold. She is my wife; our hearts are twin'd
together.
Win. Sirrah! villain! I'll break every bone
in your body.
[Strikes him.
Dick. Parents have flinty. hearts; no tears
can move 'em: children must he wretched.
Win. Get off the ground, you villain, get
off the ground.
Dick. 'Tis a pity there are no scene-draw-
ers to lift me.
Win. 'Tis mighty well, young man. Zoo-
DICK and Bailiff discovered at a Table,kers, I made my own fortune; and I'll take a
and CHARLOTTE sitting in a disconsolate
Manner by him.
him all I have. Lookye here, friend. Gargle,
boy out of the Blue-coat Hospital, and give
you know I'm not a hard-hearted man. The
Bail. Here's my service to you, young gen-scoundrel, you know, has robbed me; so, d'ye
tleman. - Don't be uneasy; the debt is not see, I won't hang him; I'll only transport the
much. Why do you look so sad?
fellow: and so, Mr. Catchpole, you may take
Dick. Because captivity has robb'd me of him to Newgate.
a just and dear diversion.
Gar. Well but, dear sir, you know I al-
Bail. Never look sulky at me; I never use ways intended to marry my daughter into
any body ill.
Come, it has been many a your family; and if you let the young man
good man's lot-here's my service to you-be ruined, my money must all go into ano-
but we've no liquor-come, we'll have t'other ther channel."
bowl.
Win. How's that? Into another channel?
Dick. I've now not fifty ducats in the world, Must not lose the handling of his money.
yet still I am in love, and pleased with ruin. [Aside] Why, I told you, friend Gargle, I'm
Bail. What do you say? You've fifty shil-not a hard-hearted man. If the blockhead
ngs, I hope?
would but get as many crabbed, physical

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
881
THE LYING VALET.
words from Hyppocrites and Allen, as he has the future, that we'll both endeavour to give
from his nonsensical trumpery, ha, ha! I don't you all the satisfaction in our power.
know, between you and I, but he might pass
for a very good physician.
Dick. And must I leave thee, Juliet?
Char. Nay, but pr'ythee now have done
with your speeches. You see we are brought
to the last distress, and so you had better
make it up.
[Apart to Dick.
Dick. Why, for your sake, my dear, I don't
care if I do. [Apart] Sir, you shall find, for
Win. Very well, that's right.
Dick. And since we don't go on the stage,
'tis some comfort that the world's a stage, and
all the men and women merely players.
Some play the upper, some the under parts,
And most assume what's foreign to their
hearts;
Thus life is but a tragic-comic jest,
And all is farce and mummery at best.
[Exeunt.
FARCE by David Garrick.
THE LYING VALET,
One of the earlier productions of this excellent writer, but abounding with spirit, in-
cident and variety. The language is well adapted to the characters, and the piece has ever met with considerable success
on the stage.
SHARP.
JUSTICE GUTTLE.
BEAU TRIPPET.
ACT I.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SCENE I-GAYLESS's Lodgings.
DICK.
MELISSA.
Enter GAYLESS and SHARP.
Sharp. How, sir, shall you be married to-
morrow? Eh, I'm afraid you joke with your
poor humble servant.
KITTY PRY.
MRS. GADABOUT.
MRS. TRIPPET.
certainly be a very great philosopher, sir, to
moralize and declaim so charmingly as you
do, about honour and conscience, when your
doors are beset with bailiffs, and not one
single guinea in your pocket to bribe the
villains.
[sirrah!
Gay. Don't be witty, and give your advice,
Gay. I tell thee, Sharp, last night Melissa Sharp. Do you be wise, and take it, sir.
consented, and fixed to-morrow for the happy But to be serious; you certainly have spent
day.
your fortune, and out-lived your credit, as
Sharp. "Tis well she did, sir, or it might your pockets and my belly can testify: your
have been a dreadful one for us, in our pre- father has disowned you; all your friends for-
sent condition: all your money spent, your sook you, except myself, who am starving
moveables sold, your honour almost ruined, with you. Now, sir, if you marry this young
and your humble servant almost starved; we lady, who as yet, thank heaven, knows no-
could not possibly have stood it two days thing of your misfortunes, and by that means
longer. But if this young lady will marry procure a better fortune than that you squan-
you, and relieve us, o'my conscience, I'll turn dered away, make a good husband, and turn
friend to the sex, and think of a wife myself. economist, you still may be happy, may still
Gay. And yet, Sharp, when I think how I be sir William's heir, and the lady too no
have imposed upon her, I am almost resolved loser by the bargain.-There's reason and ar-
to throw myself at her feet, tell her the real gument, sir.
situation of my affairs, ask her pardon, and
implore her pity.
sir.
Sharp. After marriage, with all my heart,
Gay. What, because I am poor, shall
abandon my honour?
I
Gay. Twas with that prospect I first made
love to her.
Sharp. Pray then make no more objections
to the marriage. You see I am reduced to
my waistcoat already; and when necessity has
undressed me from top to toe, she must begin
Sharp. Yes, you must, sir, or abandon me: with you; and then we shall be forced to
so pray discharge one of us; for eat I must, keep house, and die by inches, Look you,
and speedily too: and you know very well that sir, if you won't resolve to take my advice,
that honour of yours will neither introduce while you have one coat to your back, I must
you to a great man's table, nor get me credit e'en take to my heels while I have strength to
for a single beef-steak.
Gay. What can I do?
Sharp. Nothing, while honour sticks in
your throat: do gulp, master, and down with it.
Gay. Pr'ythee leave me to my thoughts.
Sharp. Leave you! No, not in such bad
company, I'll assure you. Why you must
run, and something to cover me: so, sir, wishing
you much comfort and consolation with your
bare conscience, I am your most obedient
[Going.
and half-starv'd friend and servant.
Gay. Hold, Sharp, you won't leave me?
Sharp. I must eat, sir; by my honour and
appetite, I must!
111

882
[ACT 1.
THE LYING VALET.
Gay. Well then, I am resolved to favour name any particular place, it lies in so many:
the cheat; and as I shall quite change my for- his effects are divided, some here, some there;
mer course of life, happy may be the conse- his steward hardly knows himself.
quences: at least, of this I am sure-
Kitty. Scatter'd, scatter'd, I suppose. But
Sharp. That you can't be worse than you harkye, Sharp, what's become of your furnis
are at present.
[A Knocking without. ture? You seem to be a little bare here at
Gay, Who's there?
present.
Sharp. Some of your former good friends, Sharp. Why, you must know, as soon as
who favoured you with money at fifty per the wedding was fixed, my master ordered
cent, and helped you to spend it; and are me to remove his goods into a friend's house,
now become daily memento's to you of the to make room for a ball which he designs to
folly of trusting rogues, and laughing at my give here the day after the marriage.
advice.
Kitty. The luckiest thing in the world! for
Gay. Cease your impertinence!-to the door! my mistress designs to have a ball and enter-
-If they are duns, tell 'em my marriage is tainment here to-night before the marriage;
now certainly fixed, and persuade 'em still to and that's my business with your master.
forbear a few days longer.-And do you hear, Sharp. The devil it is!
[Aside.
Sharp, if it should be any body from Melissa, Kitty. She'll not have it public; she designs
say I am not at home, lest the bad appearance, to invite only eight or ten couple of friends.
we make here should make 'em suspect some-
thing to our disadvantage.
Sharp. No more?
Kitty. No more: and she ordered me to
Sharp. I'll obey you, sir; but I'm afraid desire your master not to make a great en-
they will easily discover the consumptive si- tertainment.
tuation of our affairs by my chop-fallen coun- Sharp. Oh, never fear.
tenance.
[Exit. Kitty. Ten or a dozen little nice things,
Gay. These very rascals who are now con- with some fruit, I believe, will be enough in
tinually dunning and persecuting me, were all conscience.
the very persons who led me to my ruin,
partook of my prosperity, and professed the
greatest friendship.
Sharp. [Without] Upon my word, Mrs.
Kitty, my master's not at home.
Kitty. [Without] Lookye, Sharp, I must
and will see him.
Gay. Ha, what do I hear? Melissa's maid!
-She's coming up stairs. What must I do?
-I'll get into this closet and listen. [Exit.
Re-enter SHARP, with KITTY.
Kitty. I must know where he is, and
know too, Mr. Impertinence!
Sharp. Oh, curse your conscience! [Aside.
Kitty. And what do you think I have done
of my own head?
Sharp. What?
Kitty. I have invited all my lord Stately's
servants to come and see you, and have a
dance in the kitchen: won't your master be
surprised?
Sharp. Much so, indeed!
Kitty. Well, be quick and find out your
master, and make what haste you can with
your preparations: you have no time to lose.
will-Pr'ythee, Sharp, what's the matter with you?
I have not seen you for some time, and you
seem to look a little thin.
Sharp. Not of me you won't. [Aside] He's
ot within, I tell you, Mrs. Kitty. I don't Sharp. Oh, my unfortunate face! [Aside]
w myself. Do you think I can conjure? I'm in pure good health, thank you, Mrs.
tty. But I know you will lie abominably; Kitty; and I'll assure you I have a very good
efore don't trifle with me. I come from stomach, never better in all my life; and I
mistress, Melissa: you know, I suppose, am as full of vigour, hussy!
at's to be done to-morrow morning?
[Offers to kiss her.
Sharp. Ay, and to-morrow night too, girl! Kitty. What, with that face? Well, by,
Kitty. Not if I can help it. Aside] But by. [Going] Oh, Sharp, what ill-looking fel-
come, where is your master? for see him I lows are those, were standing about your
door when I came in? They want your ma-
Sharp. Pray, Mrs. Kitty, what's your opi-ster too, I suppose?
nion of this match between my master and Sharp. Hum! Yes, they are waiting for him.
your mistress?
They are some of his tenants out of the coun-
try, that want to pay him some money.
must.
Kitty. Tenants! What, do you let his te-
nants stand in the street?
Kitty. Why, I have no opinion of it at all;
and yet most of our wants will be relieved
by it too: for instance now, your master will
get a fortune, that's what I'm afraid he wants; Sharp. They choose it; as they seldom
my mistress will get a husband, that's what come to town, they are willing to see as much
she has wanted for some time; you will have of it as they can when they do: they are raw,
the pleasure of my conversation, aud I an op- ignorant, honest people.
portunity of breaking your head for your im- Kitty. Well, I'must run home-farewell!-
pertinence.
But do you hear? Get something substantial
Sharp. Madam, I'm your most humble ser- for us in the kitchen: a ham, a turkey, or
vant! But I'll tell you what, Mrs. Kitty, I am what you will. We'll be very merry. And
positively against the match; for, was I a man be sure to remove the tables and chairs away
of my master's fortune-
there too, that we may have room to dance:
Kitty. You'd marry, if you could, and mend I can't bear to be confined in my French dan-
it; ha, ha, ha!--Pray, Sharp, where does your ces-tal, lal, lal. [Dances] Well, adieu!
master's estate lie?
Without any compliment, I shall die, if I
Sharp. Lie, lie! why, it lies-faith, I can't don't see you soon.
[Exit.

SCENE 1.]
883
THE LYING VALET.
Sharp. And, without any compliment, I in love with an hundred, and tried 'em all;
pray heaven you may
and know 'em to be a parcel of barbarous,
perjured, deluding, bewitching devils.
Re-enter GAYLESS.
They look for some
time sorrowful at each other.
Gay. Oh, Sharp!
Sharp. Oh, master!
Mel. The low wretches you have had to do
with may answer the character you give 'em;
but Mr. Gayless-
Kitty. Is a man, madam.
Mel. I hope so, Kitty, or I would have
nothing to do with him.
Gay. We are certainly undone!
Sharp. That's no news to me.
Gay. Eight or ten couple of dancers-ten Kitty. With all my heart.-I have given
or a dozen little nice dishes, with some fruit you my sentiments upon the occasion, and
-my lord Stately's servants-ham and turkey! shall leave you to your own inclinations.
Sharp. Say no more; the very sound crea- Mel. Oh, madam, I am much obliged to
tes an appetite: and I am sure, of late, I have you for your great condescension; ha, ha, ha!
had no occasion for whetters and provocatives. However, I have so great a regard for your
Gay. Cursed misfortune! what can we do? opinion, that had I certain proofs of his vil-
Sharp. Hang ourselves; I see no other re- lany-
medy; except you have a receipt to give a
ball and a supper, without meat or music.
Gay. Melissa has certainly heard of my bad
circumstances, and has invented this scheme
to distress me, and break off the match.
Sharp. I don't believe it, sir; begging your
pardon.
Kitty. Of his poverty you may have a hun-
dred; I am sure I have had none to the con-
trary.
Mel. Oh, there the shoe pinches. [Aside.
Kitty. Nay, so far from giving me the usual
perquisites of my place, he has not so much
as kept me in temper with little endearing
Gay. No! why did her maid then make so civilities; and one might reasonably expect,
strict an inquiry into my fortune and affairs? when a man is deficient in one way, that he
Sharp. For two very substantial reasons; should make it up in another. [A Knocking.
the first, to satisfy a curiosity natural to her Mel. See who's at the door. [Exit Kitty]
as a woman; the second, to have the pleasure I must be cautious how I hearken too much
of my conversation, very natural to her as a to this girl: her bad opinion of Mr. Gayless
woman of taste and understanding.
seems to arise from his disregard of her.
Gay. Pr'ythee be more serious: is not our
all at stake?
Re-enter KITTY, with SHARP.
Sharp. Yes, sir; and yet that all of ours is So, Sharp, have you found your master?
of so little consequence, that a man, with a Will things be ready for the ball and enter-
very small share of philosophy, may part from tainment?
it without much pain or uneasiness. Howe- Sharp. To your wishes, madam. I have
ver, sir, I'll convince you, in half an hour, just now bespoke the music and supper, and
that Mrs. Melissa knows nothing of your cir- wait now for your ladyship's further commands.
cumstances. And I'll tell you what too, sir, Mel. My compliments to your master, and
she shan't be here to-night, and yet you shall
marry her to-morrow morning.
Gay. How, how, dear Sharp?
Sharp. 'Tis here, here, sir! warm, warm;
and delays will cool it; therefore I'll away to
her, and do you be as merry as love and po-
verty will permit you.
let him know I and my company will be with
him by six; we design to drink tea, and play
at cards, before we dance.
Kitty. So shall I and my company, Mr.
Aside.
Sharp.
Aside.
Sharp. Mighty well, madam!
Mel. Pr'ythee, Sharp, what makes you come
Would you succeed, a faithful friend depute, without your coat? 'Tis too cool to go so
Whose head can plan, and front can exe-airy, sure.
cute.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.--MELISSA'S Lodgings.
Enter MELISSA and KITTY.
Mel. You surprise me, Kitty! the master
not at home, the man in confusion, no furni-
ture in the house, and ill-looking fellows about
the doors! 'Tis all a riddle.
Kitty. But very easy to be explained.
Mel. Pr'ythee explain it then, nor keep me
longer in suspense.
Kitty. Mr. Sharp, madam, is of a very hot
constitution; ha, ha, ha!
Sharp. If it had been ever so cool, I have
had enough to warm me since I came from
home, I'm sure; but no matter for that. [Sighs.
Mel. What d'ye mean?
Sharp. Pray don't ask me, madam; I be-
seech you don't: let us change the subject.
Kitty. Insist upon knowing it, madam.-My
curiosity must be satisfied, or I shall burst.
[Aside.
Kitty. The affair is this, madam: Mr. Gay-
less is over head and ears in debt; you are my displeasure, tell me!
over head and ears in love; you'll marry him
to-morrow; the next day your whole fortune not tell you, madam, indeed.
goes to his creditors, and you and your chil-
dren are to live comfortably upon the re-
Mel. I do insist upon knowing; on pain of
Sharp. If my master should know-I must
mainder.
Mel. I cannot think him base.
Kitty. But I know they are all base. - You
are very young, and very ignorant of the sex;
I am young too, but have more experience:
you never was in love before; I have been
Mel. I promise you, upon my honour, he
never shall.
Sharp. But can your ladyship insure se-
crecy from that quarter?
Kitty. Yes, Mr. Jackanapes, for any thing
you can say.
Mel. I engage for her.
[not tell you.
Sharp. Why then, in short, madam-I can-

884
[ACT I. SCENE 2.]
THE LYING VALET.
Mel. Don't trifle with me.
Mel. Very well!-But I'll be revenged. And
Sharp. Then since you will have it, ma- did not you tell your master of this?
dam, I lost my coat in defence of your re-
putation.
Sharp. Tell him! No, madam. Had I told
him, his love is so violent for you, that he
would certainly have murdered half the attor
Mel. In defence of my reputation?
Sharp. I will assure you, madam, I've suf-nies in town by this time.
fered very much in defence of it; which is
more than I would have done for my own.
Mel, Pr'ythee explain.
Sharp. In short, madam, you was seen,
about a month ago, to make a visit to
master alone.
my
Mel. Very well!-But I'm resolved not to
go to your master's to-night.
Sharp. Heavens, and my impudence, be
praised!
[Aside.
Kitty. Why not, madam? If you are not
guilty, face your accusers.
Mel. Alone! my servant was with me. Sharp. Oh, the devil! ruined again! [Aside]
Sharp. What, Mrs. Kitty? So much the To be sure, face 'em by all means, madam:
worse; for she was looked upon as my pro- they can but be abusive, and break the win-
perty; and I was brought in guilty, as well dows a little. Besides, madam, I have thought
as you and my master.
Kitty. What, your property, jackanapes?
Mel. What is all this?
of a way to make this affair quite diverting to
you: I have a fine blunderbuss, charged with
half a hundred slugs, and my master has a
Sharp. Why, madam, as I came out but delicate, large, Swiss broad-sword; and be-
now to make preparation for you and your tween us, madam, we shall so pepper and
company to-night, Mrs. Pryabout, the attor-slice 'em, that you will die with laughing.
ney's wife at next door, calls to me: "Harkye, Mel. What, at murder?
fellow!" says she, "do you and your modest
master know that my husband shall indict
your house, at the next parish meeting, for a
nuisance?
Mel. A nuisance!
Kitty. Don't fear, madam, there will be no
murder if Sharp's concerned.
Sharp. Murder, madam! 'Tis self-defence:
besides, in these sort of skirmishes, there are
never more than two or three killed: for,
Sharp. I said so-"A nuisance! I believe supposing they bring the whole body of mili-
none in the neighbourhood live with more de- tia upon us, down but with a brace of them,
cency and regularity than I and my master;" and away fly the rest of the covey.
as is really the case.-"Decency and regular- Mel. Persuade me ever so much, I won't
ity!" cries she, with a sneer-"why, sirrah, go; that's my resolutiou.
does not my window look into your master's Kitty. Why then, I'll tell you what, ma-
bed-chamber? And did not he bring in a cer- dam; since you are resolved not to go to the
tain lady, such a day?" describing you, ma- supper, suppose the supper was to come to
dam.-"And did not I see-"
you: 'tis great pity such great preparations as
Mr. Sharp has made should be thrown away.
Sharp. So it is, as you say, Mrs. Kitty;
but I can immediately run back and unbespeak
what I have ordered; 'tis soon done.
Mel. But then what excuse can I send to
Mel. See! O scandalous! What?
Sharp. Modesty requires my silence.
Mel. Did not you contradict her?
Sharp. Contradict her! Why, I told her I
was sure she lied: "for, zounds!" said I, for
I could not help swearing, "I am so well your master? he'll be very uneasy at my not
convinced of the lady's and my master's pru- coming.
dence, that I am sure, had they a mind to Sharp. Oh, terribly so!-But I have it: I'll
amuse themselves, they would certainly have tell him that you were suddenly taken with
drawn the window-curtains."
the vapours, or qualms, or what you please,
Mel. What, did you say nothing else? Did madam.
not you convince her of her error and imper-
tinence?
Mel. I'll leave it to you, Sharp, to make my
apology; and there's half-a-guinea for you to
Sharp. She swore to such things, that I help your invention.
could do nothing but swear and call names: Sharp. Half-a-guinea!-Tis so long since
upon which, out bolts her husband upon me, I had any thing to do with money, that I
with a fine taper crab in his hand, and fell scarcely know the current coin of my own
upon me with such violence, that, being half country. Oh, Sharp, what talents hast thou!
delirious, I made a full confession.
to secure thy master, deceive his mistress, out-
Mel. A full confession! What did you confess? lie her chambermaid, and yet be paid for thy
Sharp. That my master loved fornication; honesty!-But my joy will discover me. [Asi-
that you had no aversion to it; that Mrs. Kitty de] Madam, you have eternally fixed Timothy
was a bawd, and your humble servant a pimp. Sharp your most obedient, humble servant.—
Kitty. A bawd! a bawd! Do I look like a Oh, the delights of impudence and a good
bawd, madam?
understanding!
[Aside, and exit.
Sharp. And so, madam, in the scuffle, my Kitty. Ha, ha, ha! Was there ever such a
coat was torn to pieces, as well as your re-lying varlet! with his slugs and his broad-
putation.
[famous! swords, his attornies and broken heads, and
Mel. And so you joined to make me in-nonsense! Well, madam, are you satisfied
Sharp. For heaven's sake, madam, what now? Do yon want more proofs?
could I do? His proofs fell so thick upon me, Mel. Of your modesty I do; but I find you
as witness my head, [Shows his Head, pla- are resolved to give me none.
stered] that I would have given up all the
reputations in the kingdom, rather than have
my brains beat to a jelly.
Kitty. Madam!
Mel. I see through your little mean artifice:
you are endeavouring to lessen Mr. Gayless

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
885
THE LYING VALET.
in my opinion, because he has not paid you
paid you
for services he had no occosion for.
Kitty. Pay me, madam! I am sure I have
very little occasion to be angry with Mr. Gay-
less for not paying me, when, I believe, 'tis
his general practice.
Mel. 'Tis false! He's a gentleman, and a
man of honour, and you are-
Kitty. Not in love, I thank heaven!
Mel. You are a fool.
[Courtesies.
Kitty. I have been in love, but I'm much
wiser now.
Mel. Leave me.
Gay. Hell and confusion! have you betrayed
me, villain? Did you not tell me, this mo-
ment, she did not in the least suspect my cir-
cumstances?
Sharp. No more she did, sir, till I told her.
Gay. Very well!-And was this your skill
and dexterity?
Sharp. I was going to tell you, but you
wou't hear reason. My melancholy face and
piteous narration had such an effect upon her
generous bowels, that she freely forgives all
that's past.
Gay. Does she, Sharp?
Mel. Hold your tongue, impertinence! Sharp. Yes, and desires never to see your
Kitty. That's the severest thing she has said face again; and, as a further consideration
yet.
[Aside. for so doing, she has sent you half-a-guinea.
[Shows the Money.
Gay. What do you mean?
Sharp. To spend it, spend it, sir, and regale.
Gay. Villain, you have undone me!
Sharp. What, by bringing you money,
Kitty. Oh, this love, this love is the devil!
[Exit.
Mel. We discover our weaknesses to our
servants, make them our confidants, put 'em
upon an equality with us, and so they become when you are not worth a farthing in the
our advisers. Sharp's behaviour, though I whole world? Well, well, then to make you
seemed to disregard it, makes me tremble with happy again, I'll keep it myself; and wish
apprehensions: and though I have pretended somebody would take it in their head to load
to be angry with Kitty for her advice, I think me with such misfortunes.
it of too much consequence to be neglected.
Re-enter KITTY.
Kitty. May I speak, madam?
[Puts up the Money.
Gay. Do you laugh at me, rascal?
Sharp. Who deserves more to be laughed
at? ha, ha, ha!-Never for the future, sir, dis-
Mel. Don't be a fool. What do you want? pute the success of my negociations, when
Kitty. There is a servant, just come out of even you, who know me so well, can't help
the country, says he belongs to sir William swallowing my hook. Why, sir, I could have
Gayless, and has got a letter for you from played with you backwards and forwards at
his master, upon very urgent business.
Mel. Sir William Gayless! What can this
mean? Where is the man?
the end of my line till I had put your senses
into such a fermentation, that you should not
have known, in an hour's time, whether you
was a fish or a man.
Sharp. A downright lie from beginning to
Kitty. In the little parlour, madam.
Mel. I'll go to him.-My heart flutters strange- Gay. Why, what is all this you have been
ly.
[Exit. telling me?.
Kitty. O woman, woman, foolish woman!
She'll certainly have this Gayless: nay, were end.
she as well convinced of his poverty as I am, Gay. And have you really excused me to
she'd have him. Here is she going to throw her?
away fifteen thousand pounds-upon what? Sharp. No, sir; but I have got this half-
He's a man, and that's all; and, heaven knows, guinea to make her excuses to you; and in-
mere man is but small consolation now-a- stead of a confederacy between you and me
days!
[Exit. to deceive her, she thinks she has brought me
over to put the deceit upon you.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter GAYLESS and SHARP.
Gay. Pr'ythee be serious, Sharp: hast thou
really succeeded?
Gay. Thou excellent fellow!
Sharp. Don't lose time, but slip out of the
house immediately-the back way, I believe,
will be the safest for you-and to her as fast
as you can; pretend vast surprise and con-
cern that her indisposition has debarred you
Sharp. To our wishes, sir. In short, I have the pleasure of her company here to-night.
managed the business with such skill and dex-You need know no more-away!
terity, that neither your circumstances nor my
veracity are suspected.
Gay. But how hast thou excused me from
the ball and entertainment?
Gay. But what shall we do, Sharp? Here's
her maid again.
Sharp. The devil she is! I wish I could
poison her: for I'm sure while she lives I can
never prosper.
Enter KITTY.
Kitty. Your door was open, so I did not
stand upon ceremony.
But in
Sharp. Beyond expectation, sir.
that particular, I was obliged to have recourse
to truth, and declare the real situation of your
affairs. I told her we had so long disused
ourselves to dressing either dinners or suppers,
that I was afraid we should be but awkward
in our preparations. In short, sir, at that in-
stant a cursed gnawing seized my stomach, Kitty. Vapours, vapours only, sir; a few
that I could not help telling her, that both you matrimonial omens, that's all: but I suppose
and myself seldom made a good meal, now- Mr. Sharp has made her excuses.
a-days, once in a quarter of a year.
Gay. I am sorry to hear your mistress is
taken so suddenly-
Gay. And tells me I can't have the pleasure

886
[ACT II.
THE LYING VALET.
of her company to-night. I had made a small Mrs. G. We are come to give you
preparation; but 'tis no matter: Sharp shall joy, Mr. Gayless; and here's Mr. Guttle
go to the rest of the company, and let them come to give you joy. Mr. Gayless, justice
know 'tis put off.
Guttle.
---
Kitty. Not for the world, sir: my mistress Sharp. Ob, destruction! one of the quorum.
was sensible you must have provided for her,
Aside.
and the rest of the company; so she is re- Just G. Hem! Though I had not the ho-
solved, though she can't, the other ladies and nour of any personal knowledge of you, yet
gentlemen shall partake of your entertain- at the instigation of Mrs. Gadabout, I have,
ment. She's very good-natured.
without any previous acquaintance with you,
Sharp. I had better run and let 'em know thrown aside all ceremony, to let you know
'tis deferred.
[Going. that I joy to hear the solemnization of
Kitty. [Stops him] I have been with 'em nuptials is so near at hand.
already, and told 'em my mistress insists upon Gay. Sir, though I cannot answer you with
their coming; and they have all promised to the same elocution, however, sir, I thank you
be here: so pray don't be under any apprehen- with the same sincerity.
sions that your preparations will be thrown
away.
your
the
Mrs G. Mr. and Mrs. Trippet, sir;
properest lady in the world for your purpose,
Gay. But as I can't have her company, Mrs. for she'll dance for four-and-twenty hours
Kitty, 'twill be a greater pleasure to me, and together.
a greater compliment to her, to defer our Trip. My dear Charles, I am very angry
mirth; besides, I can't enjoy any thing at with you, faith: so near marriage, and not
present, and she not partake of it.
let me know, 'twas barbarous. You thought,
Kitty. Oh, no, to be sure; but what can II suppose, I should rally you upon it; but
do? My mistress will have it so; and Mrs. dear Mrs. Trippet here has long ago eradi-
Gadabout, and the rest of the company, will cated all my anti-matrimonial principles.
be here in a few minutes: there are two or Kitty. Pray, ladiss, walk into the next room;
three coachfuls of 'em.
Mr. Sharp can't lay his cloth till you are set
Sharp. Then my master must be ruined, down to cards.
in spite of my parts.
Gay. 'Tis all over, Sharp.
Sharp. I know it, sir.
Gay. I shall go distracted!
do?
[Aside. Mrs. G. One thing I had quite forgot: Mr.
[Apart. Gayless, my nephew, who you never saw,
[Apart. will be in town from France presently; so I
What shall I left word to send him here immediately, to
[Apart. make one.
Sharp. Why, sir, as our rooms are a little Gay. You do me honour, madam.
out of furniture at present, take 'em into the Sharp. Do the ladies choose cards or the
captain's, that lodges here, and set 'em down supper first?
to cards: if he should come in the mean time,
I'll excuse you to him.
[Apart.
Gay. Supper! what does the fellow mean?
[Aside.
Just. G. Oh, the supper, by all means; for
have eat nothing to signify since dinner.
Sharp. Nor I, since last Monday was a
fortnight.
[Aside.
Sharp. Well said, master.
Mrs. G. Without ceremony, ladies.
Kitty. I have disconcerted their affairs, I
find. I'll have some sport with them. [Aside] I
Pray, Mr. Gayless, don't order too many
things: they only make you a friendly visit;
the more ceremony, you know, the less wel- Gay. Pray, ladies, walk into the next room.
come. Pray, sir, let me entreat you not to -Sharp, get things ready for supper, and call
be profuse. If I can be of service, pray com- the music.
mand me; my mistress has sent me on purpose.
While Mr. Sharp is doing the business with-
out doors, I may be employed within. If [Exeunt Gayless, Trippet, and Ladies.
you'll lend me the keys of your side-board, Kitty. I'll to my mistress, and let her know
I'll dispose of your plate to the best advan- every thing is ready for her appearance.
tage.
[To Sharp.
[Aside, and exit.
Sharp. Thank you, Mrs. Kitty; but it is Just. G. Pray Mr.-what's your name, don't
disposed of already.
[A Knocking. he long with supper: - but harkye, what can
Kitty. Bless me, the company's come! I'll I do in the mean time? Suppose you get me
go to the door and conduct them into your a pipe and some good wine; I'll try to divert
[Exit. myself that way till supper's ready.
presence.
Sharp. If you'd conduct them into a horse- Sharp. Or suppose, sir, you was to take a
pond, and wait of them there yourself, we nap till then; there's a very easy couch in
should be more obliged to you.
that closet.
Gay. I can never support this!
when supper is ready.
[Exit.
Just. G. The best thing in the world! I'll
Sharp. Rouse your spirits, and put on an take your advice; but be sure to wake me
air of gaiety, and I don't despair of bringing
you off yet.
Sharp. Pray heaven you may not wake
Gay. Your words have done it effectually. till then! What a fine situation my master
is in at present! I have promised him my as-
Re-enter KITTY, with MRS. GADABOUT, her sistance; but his affairs are in so desperate a
Daughter, and Niece; JUSTICE GUTTLE, way, that I am afraid 'tis out of my skill to
TRIPPET, and MRS. TRIPPET.
recover them. Well, "Fools have fortune,'
Mrs G. Ah, my dear Mr. Gayless! says an old proverb, and a very true one it
[Kisses him. is; for my master and I are two of the most
Gay. My dear widow! [Kisses her. unfortunate mortals in the creation.

SCENE 1.]
887
THE LYING VALET.
Re-enter GAYLESS, TRIPPET, and MRS. GADA-
BOUT, with MELISSA, in Boys' Clothes,
dressed in the French manner.
Mrs. G. Well but, my dear Jemmy, you
are not hurt, sure?
Mel. A little with riding post only.
Re-enter GAYLESS.
Gay. Well, Sharp, I have set them down
to cards; and now what have you to propose?
Sharp. I have one scheme left, which in
all probability may succeed. The good citizen,
overloaded with his last meal, is taking a nap
in that closet, in order to get him an appetite Mrs. G. Mr. Sharp alarmed us all with an
for yours. I'll pick his pocket, and provide account of your being set upon by four men;
us a super with the booty.
that you had killed two, and was attacking
Gay. Monstrous! for without considering the other when he came away; and when
the villany of it, the danger of waking him we met you at the door, we were running to
makes it impracticable.
your rescue.
Sharp. If he wakes, I'll smother him, and Mel. I had a small rencounter with half a
lay his death to indigestion: a very common dozen villains; but finding me resolute, they
death among the justices.
were wise enough to take to their heels. I
believe I scratched some of them.
Gay. Pr'ythee be serious; we have no time
to lose. Can you invent nothing to drive them
out of the house?
Sharp. I can fire it.
Gay. Shame and confusion so perplex me,
I cannot give myself a moment's thought.
Sharp. I have it; did not Mrs. Gadabout
say her nephew would be here?
Gay. She did.
[Lays her Hand to her Sword.
Sharp. His vanity has saved my credit. I
have a thought come into my head may prove
to our advantage, provided monsieur's igno-
rance bears any proportion to his impudence.
[Aside.
Mrs. G. Now my fright's over, let me intro-
duce you, my dear, to Mr. Gayless.-Sir, this
Sharp. Say no more, but in to your com- is my nephew.
pany. If I don't send them out of the house Gay. Sir, I shall be proud of your friend-
for the night, I'll at least frighten their sto-ship.
machs away; and if this stratagem fails, I'll Mel. I don't doubt but we shall be better
relinquish politics, and think my understanding acquainted in a little time.
no better than my neighbours.
Salutes her.
Just. G. Pray, sir, what news in France?
Gay. How shall I reward thee, Sharp? Mel. Faith, sir, very little that I know of
Sharp. By your silence and obedience. in the political way; I had no time to spend
Away to your company, sir. [Exit Gayless] among the politicians. I was-
Now, dear madam Fortune, for once open Gay. Among the ladies, I suppose?
your eyes, and behold a poor unfortunate Mel. Too much indeed. Faith, I have not
man of parts addressing you. Now is your philosophy enough to resist their solicitations.
time to convince your foes you are not that You take me?
[Apart to Gayless.
blind, whimsical whore they take you for; Gay. Yes, to be a most incorrigible fop.
but let them see, by your assisting me, that [Aside] 'Sdeath! this puppy's impertinence is
men of sense, as well as fools, are sometimes an addition to my misery. [Apart to Sharp.
entitled to your favour and protection. So Mel. Poor Gayless! to what shifts is he re-
much for prayer; now for a great noise and duced! I cannot bear to see him much longer
a lie. [Goes aside, and cries out] Help, help, in this condition; I shall discover myself.
master! help, gentlemen, ladies! Murder, fire,
brimstone! help, help, help!
Re-enter GAYLESS, TRIPPET, and the Ladies,
with Cards in their Hands, and SHARP
enters, running, and meets them.
Gay. What's the matter?
[Apart to Mrs. Gadabout,
Mrs. G. Not before the end of the play;
besides, the more his pain now, the greater
his pleasure when relieved from it. [Apart.
Trip. Shall we return to our cards? I have
a sans prendre here, and must insist you play
it out.
Ladies. With all my heart.
Mel. Allons donc.
[As the Company go out, Sharp pulls
Melissa by the Sleeve.
Sharp. Matter, sir! If you don't run this
minute with that gentleman, this lady's nephew
will be murdered. I am sure 'twas he; he
was set upon at the corner of the street by
four; he has killed two; and if you don't Sharp. Sir, sir, shall I beg leave to speak
make haste, he'll be either murdered or took with you? Pray did you find a bank-note in
to prison.
your way hither?
you mean?
Mrs. G. For heaven's sake, gentlemen, run Mel. What, between here and Dover, do
to his assistance.-How I tremble for Melissa!
this frolic of her's may be fatal.
Gay. Draw, sir, and follow me.
[Aside.
[Exeunt all but Sharp.
Re-enter JUSTICE GUTTLE, disordered, as
from Sleep.
Just. G. What noise and confusion is this?
Sharp. Sir, there's a man murdered in the
street.
Sharp. No, sir, within twenty or thirty
yards of this house.
Mel. You are drunk, fellow.
Sharp. I am undone, sir, but not drunk,
I'll assure you.
Mel. What is all this?
Sharp. I'll tell you, sir: a little while ago
my master sent me out to change a note of
twenty pounds; but I unfortunately hearing
Just G. Is that all? Zounds! I was afraid a noise in the street of "Damme, sir!" and
you had thrown the supper down. A plague clashing of swords, and ,,Rascal!" and "Mur-
of your noise! I shan't recover my stomach der!" I runs up to the place, and saw four
men upon one; and having heard you was a
this half hour.

888
[ACT II.
THE LYING VALET.
[Exit.
mettlesome young gentleman, I immediately understand one another; I do but lose time;
concluded it must be you; so ran back to call and if I had any thought, I might have known
my master; and when I went to look for the these young fops return from their travels
note, to change it, I found it gone, either generally with as little money as improve-
stole or lost: and if I don't get the money ment.
immediately, I shall certainly be turned out Mel. Ha, ha, ha! What lies does this fellow
of my place, and lose my character.
invent, and what rogueries does he commit,
Mel. I shall laugh in his face. [Aside] Oh, for his master's service! There never sure was
I'll speak to your master about it, and he will a more faithful servant to his master, or a
forgive you at my intercession.
greater rogue to the rest of mankind. - But
Sharp. Ah, sir! you don't know my master. here he comes again. The plot thickens. I'll
Mel. I'm very little acquainted with him; in and observe Gayless.
[Exit.
but I have heard he's a very good-natured man.
Sharp. I have heard so too, but I have Re-enter SHARP, before several Persons
felt it otherwise: he has so much good na-
ture, that if I could compound for one broken
head a day, I should think myself very
well off.
with Dishes in their Hands, and a
Cook, drunk.
Sharp, Fortune, I thank thee; the most lucky
accident! [Aside] This way, gentlemen, this
way.
Mel. Are you serious, friend?
Sharp. Lookye, sir, I take you for a man Čook. I am afraid I have mistook the house.
of honour; there is something in your face Is this Mr. Treatwell's?
ture.
-
that is generous, open, and masculine; you Sharp. The same, the same. What, don't
don't look like a foppish, effeminate tell-tale; you know me?
so I'll venture to trust you. See here, sir, Cook. Know you?-Are you sure there was
these are the effects of my master's good na-a supper bespoke here?
[Shows his Head. Sharp. Yes; upon my honour, Mr. Cook:
Mel. Matchless impudence! [Aside] Why the company is in the next room, and must
do you live with him then after such usage? have gone without, had not you brought it.
Sharp. He's worth a great deal of money, I'll draw a table. I see you have brought a
and when he's drunk, which is commonly once cloth with you; but you need not have done
a day, he's very free, and will give me any that, for we have a very good stock of linen-
thing; but I design to leave him when he's at the pawnbroker's. [Aside, and exit; but
married, for all that.
returns immediately, drawing in a Table]
Mel. Is he going to be married then? Come, come, my boys, be quick. The com-
Sharp. To-morrow, sir; and between you pany began to be very uneasy; but I knew
and I, he'll meet with his match, both for hu- my old friend Lickspit here would not fail us.
mour and something else too.
Cook. Lickspit! I am no friend of yours,
so I desire less familiarity-Lickspit too!
Mel. What, she drinks too?
Sharp. Damnably, sir; but mum.-You must
know this entertainment was designed for
madam to-night; but she got so very gay after
dinner, that she could not walk out of her
own house; so her maid, who was half gone
too, came here with an excuse, that Mrs. Me-
lissa had got the vapours; and so she had
indeed violently, here, here, sir.
Re-enter GAYLESS.
Gay. What is all this? [Apart to Sharp.
Sharp. Sir, if the sight of the supper is
offensive, I can easily have it removed. Apart.
Gay. Pr'ythee explain thyself, Sharp. [Apart.
Sharp. Some of our neighbours, I suppose,
have bespoke this supper; but the cook has
[Points to his Head. drank away his memory, forgot the house,
Mel. This is scarcely to be borne. [Aside] and brought it here: however, sir, if you dis-
Melissa! I have heard of her: they say she's like it, I'll tell him of his mistake, and send
very whimsical.
him about his business.
[Apart.
Sharp. A very woman, and please your Gay. Hold, hold, necessity obliges me against
honour; and, between you and I, none of the my inclination to favour the cheat, and feast
mildest and wisest of her sex.-But to return, at my neighbour's expense.
[Apart.
sir, to the twenty pounds.
Cook. Hark you, friend, is that your master?
[To Sharp.
Mel. I am surprised, you, who have got so
much money in his service, should be at a
loss for twenty pounds, to save your bones
at this juncture.
Sharp. I have put all my money out at
interest; I never keep above five pounds by
me; and if your honour would lend me the
other fifteen, and take my note for it-
[A Knocking.
Mel. Somebody's at the door.
Sharp. I can give very good security.
[A Knocking.
Mel. Don't let the people wait, Mr.-
Sharp. Ten pounds will do. [A Knocking.
Mel. Allez vous en.
Sharp. Five, sir.
[A Knocking.
Mel. Je ne puis pas,
Sharp. Je ne puis pas.
Sharp. Ay, and the best master in the world.
Cook. I'll speak to him then.- Sir, I have,
according to your commands, dressed as gen-
teel a supper as my art and your price would
admit of.
[To Gayless.
Sharp. Good again, sir! 'tis paid for.
[Apart to Gayless.
Gay. I don't in the least question your
abilities, Mr. Cook; and I am obliged to you
for your care.
Cook. Sir, you are a gentleman; and if you
would but look over the bill, and approve it,
you will over and above return the obligation.
[Pulls out a Bill.
Sharp. Oh, the devil!
[Aside.
Gay. [Looks on the Bill] Very well, I'll
I find we shan't send my man to pay you to-morrow.

SCENE 1.]
889
THE LYING VALET.
Cook. I'll spare him that trouble, and take such pain and perplexity I can't hold it out
it with me, sir. I never work but for ready much longer.
money.
Gay. Ha!
Sharp. Then you won't have our custom.
[Aside] My master is busy now, friend.
you think he won't pay you?
Kitty. Ay, that holding out is the ruin of
half our sex.
Sharp. I have pacified the cook; and if
Do you can but borrow twenty pieces of that
young prig, all may go well yet. You may
Cook. No matter what I think; either my succeed, though I could not. Remember what
I told you.-About it straight, sir.
meat or my money.
Sharp. Twill be very ill-convenient for him
to pay you to-night.
Re-enter MELISSA.
[Apart to Gayless.
Gay. Sir, sir, I beg to speak a word with
Cook. Then I'm afraid it will be ill-con- you. [To Melissa] My servant, sir, tells me
venient to pay me to-morrow, so, d'ye hear- he has had the misfortune, sir, to lose a note
of mine of twenty pounds, which I sent him
to receive; and the bankers' shops being shut
Gay. Pr'ythee be advised.-'Sdeath, I shall up, and having very little cash by me, I should
be discovered! [Takes the Cook aside. be much obliged to you if you would favour
Mel. What's the matter? [To Sharp. me with twenty pieces till to-morrow.
Sharp. The cook has not quite answered Mel. Oh, sir, with all my heart; [Takes
my master's expectations about the supper, sir, out her Purse] and as I have a small favour
and he's a little angry at him; that's all. to beg of you, sir, the obligation will be
mutual.
Mel. Come, come, Mr. Gayless, don't be
uneasy; a bachelor cannot be supposed to have
things in the utmost regularity: we don't ex-
pect it.
Cook. But I do expect it, and will have it.
Mel. What does that drunken foul say?
Cook. That I will have my money, and I
won't stay till to-morrow, and-and-
Gay. How may I oblige you, sir?
Mel. You are to be married, I hear, to
Melissa?
Gay. To-morrow, sir.
Mel. Then you'll oblige me, sir, by never
seeing her again.
Gay. Do you call this a small favour, sir?
Sharp. Hold, hold! what are you doing? Mel. A mere trifle, sir. Breaking of con-
Are you mad? [Runs and stops his Mouth. tracts, suing for divorces, committing adultery,
Mel. VVhat do you stop the man's breath for? and such like, are all reckoned trifles now-a-
Sharp. Sir, he was going to call you names.-days; and smart young fellows, like you and
Don't be abusive, cook; the gentleman is a myself, Gayless, should be never out of fashion.
man of honour, and said nothing to you. Gay. But pray, sir, how are you concerned
Pray be pacified. You are in liquor.
in this affair?
Cook. I will have my-
Sharp. [Still holding] Why, I tell you,
fool, you mistake the gentleman; he is a friend
of my master's, and has not said a word to
you.-Pray, good sir, go into the next room.
The fellow's drunk, and takes you for another.
[To Melissa] You'll repent this when you
are sober, friend.-Pray, sir, don't stay to hear
his impertinence.
Gay. Pray, sir, walk in.
anger.
He's below your
[To Melissa.
Mel. Damn the rascal! what does he mean
by affronting me?-Let the scoundrel go; I'll
polish his brutality, I warrant you. Here's
the best reformer of manners in the universe.
[Draws his Sword] Let him go, I say.
Sharp. So, so, you have done finely now.-
Get away as fast as you can. He's the most
courageous, metilesome man in all England.
Why, if his passion was up, he could eat
you. Make your escape, you fool!
Cook. I won't-Eat me! He'll find me damn'd
hard of digestion though.
Sharp. Pr'ythee come here; let me speak
with you.
[Takes Cook aside.
Mel. Oh, sir, you must know I have a very
great regard for Melissa, and indeed she for
me; and, by the by, I have a most despicable
opinion of you; for, entre nous, I take you,
Charles, to be a very great scoundrel.
Gay. Sir!
Mel. Nay, don't look fierce, sir, and give
yourself airs-damme, sir, I shall be through
your body else in the snapping of a finger.
Gay. I'll be as quick as you, villain!
[Draws, and makes at Melissa.
Kitty. Hold, hold, murder! you'll kill my
mistress-the young gentleman, I mean.
Gay. Ah! her mistress! [Drops his Sword.
Sharp. How! Melissa! Nay, then drive away,
carl; all's over now.
Enter all the Company, laughing.
Mrs. G. What, Mr. Gayless, engaging with
Melissa before your time? Ha, ha, ha!
Kitty. Your bumble servant, good Mr. Po-
litician.. [To Sharp] This is, gentlemen and
ladies, the most celebrated and ingenious Ti-
mothy Sharp, schemer-general and redoubted
squire, to the most renowned and fortunate
adventurer, Charles Gayless, knight of the
woful countenance-ha, ha, ha!-Oh, that dis-
Kitty. Gad's me! is supper on the table al-mal face, and more dismal head of yours!
ready?--Sir, pray defer it for a few moments;
my mistress is much better, and will be here
immediately.
Re-enter KITTY.
Gay. Will she indeed? Bless me, I did not
expect-but however-Sharp!
Kitty. What success, madam?
[Apart to Melissa.
Mel. As we could wish, girl: but he is in
[Strikes Sharp upon the Head.
Sharp. 'Tis cruel in you to disturb a man
in his last agonies.
Mel. Now, Mr. Gayless! - What, not a
word? You are sensible I can be no stranger
to your misfortunes, and I might reasonably
expect an excuse for your ill-treatment of me.
Gay. No, madam, silence is my only re-
112

890
[ACT II.
THE LYING VALET.
fuge; for to endeavour to vindicate my crimes, | Oh, Melissa, this is too much! Thus let me
would show a greater want of virtue than show my thanks and gratitude; for here 'tis
even the commission of them.
Mel. Oh, Gayless! 'twas poor to impose
upon a woman, and one that loved you too.
Gay. Oh, most unpardonable; but my ne-
cessities-
only due.
[Kneels; she raises him.
Sharp. A reprieve! a reprieve! a reprieve!
Kitty. I have been, sir, a most bitter enemy
to you; but since you are likely to be a little
more conversant with cash than you have
Sharp. And mine, madam, were not to be been, I am now, with the greatest sincerity,
matched, I'm sure, o'this side starving. your most obedient friend and humble servant.
Mel. His tears have softened me at once. Gay. Oh, Mrs. Pry, I have been too much
[Aside] Your necessities, Mr. Gayless, with indulged with forgiveness myself, not to for-
such real contrition, are too powerful motives give lesser offences in other people,
not to affect the breast already prejudiced in Sharp. Well then, madam, since my master
your favour.-You have suffered too much has vouchsafed pardon to your handmaid Kitty,
already for your extravagance; and as I take I hope you'll not deny it to his footman
part in your sufferings, 'tis easing myself to Timothy.
relieve you: know, therefore, all that's past I
freely forgive.
Mel. Pardon! for what?
Sharp. Gnly for telling you about ten
Gay. You cannot mean it, sure! I am lost thousand lies, madam; and, among the rest,
in wonder!
insinuating that your ladyship would-
Mel. Prepare yourself for more wonder. Mel. I understand you; and can forgive
You have another friend in masquerade here. any thing, Sharp, that was designed for the
Mr. Cook, pray throw aside your drunken-service of your master; and if Pry and you
ness, and make your sober appearance.-Don't will follow our example, I'll give her a small
you know that face, sir?
fortune, as a reward for both your fidelities.
Cook. Ay, master, what have you forgot Sharp. I fancy, madam, 'twould be better
your friend Dick, as you used to call me? to halve the small fortune between us, and
Gay. More wonder indeed! Don't you live keep us both single; for as we shall live in
with my father?
the same house, in all probability we may
Mel. Just after your hopeful servant there taste the comforts of matrimony, and not be
had left me, comes this man from sir Wil-troubled with its inconveniences. What say
liam, with a letter to me; upon which (being you, Kitty?
by that wholly convinced of your necessitous Kitty. Do you hear, Sharp; before you talk
condition) I invented, by the help of Kitty and of the comforts of matrimony, taste the com-
Mrs. Gadabout, this little plot, in which your forts of a good dinner, and recover your flesh
friend Dick there has acted miracles, resolv- a little; do, puppy.
ing to teaze you a little, that you might have Sharp. The devil backs her, that's certain;
a greater relish for a happy turn in your af- and I am no match for her at any weapon.
fairs. Now, sir, read that letter, and complete
[Aside.
your joy.
Gay. Behold, Melissa, as sincere a convert
Gay. [Reads] Madam, I am father to as ever truth and beauty made. The wild,
the unfortunate young man, who, I hear impetuous sallies of my youth are now blown
by a friend of mine (that by my desire over, and a most pleasing calm of perfect
has been a continual spy upon him) is happiness succeeds.
making 'his addresses to you. If he is so
happy as to make himself agreeable to you,
whose character I am charmed with, I shall
own him with joy for my son, and forget
his former follies.I am, madam, your
most humble servant, WILLIAM GAYLESS.
P. S. I will be soon in town myself to
congratulate his reformation and marriage.
Thus Aetna's flames the verdant earth con-
sume,
But milder heat makes drooping nature
bloom;
So virtuous love affords us springing joy,
Whilst vicious passions, as they burn, destroy.
[Exeunt.

FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
Farce by John Till Allingham. This excellent little piece was first produced at Covent Garden in 1799, and has
since been acted at all the theatres with the greatest applause. The English theatre recently opened at Paris, com-
menced its representations with it to the greatest satisfaction of the audience.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
891
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ROBIN ROUGHEAD,
SNACKS.
MR. FRANK.
RATTLE.
ACT I.
SCENE 1.-A Hall in the Castle.
Enter MR. FRANK.
Frank. To what humiliation has my bad
fortune reduced me, when it brings me here
an humble suppliant to my base oppressor!
CLOWN.
SERVANT.
VILLAGER.
MISS NANCY.
DOLLY
LARGERY.
of time I've lost with that beggar! [Reads.
Sir,-This is to inform you that my lord
Lackwit died- an heir to his estate-his
lordship never acknowledged her as his
wife-son called Robin Roughead-Robin
is the legal heir to the estate-to put him
in immediate possession, according to his
lordship's last will and testament. Yours
to command, KIT CODICIL, Atty at Law.
Snacks. A letter for me by express! What Here's a catastrophe! Robin Roughead a lord!
can it be about? Something of great con- My stewardship has done pretty well for me
sequence from my lord, I suppose.-Frank already, but I think I shall make it do better
here! What the devil does he want?-Come now. I know this Robin very well; he's de-
a begging though, I dare say.
vilish cunning, I'm afraid; but I'll tickle him.
come to-
Enter SNACKS, speaking.
Frank. Good morning to you, Mr. Snacks. He shall marry my daughter-then I can do
Snacks. Good morning.
[Coldly. as I please. To be, sure, I have given my
Frank. I'm come, sir, to-I say, sir, I'm promise to Rattle; but what of that? he hasn't
got it under my hand. I think I had better
Snacks. Well, sir, I see you are come; tell Robin this news at once; it will make
and what then? What are you come for, sir? him mad-and then I shall do as I please with
Frank. The termination of the lawsuit which him. Ay, ay, I'll go. How unfortunate that
you have so long carried on against me, owing I did not make friends with him before! He
to my entire inability to prosecute it any has no great reason to like me; I never gave
further, has thrown me into difficulties which him any thing but hat words.-[Rattle sings
I cannot surmount without your kind as-without] Confound it! here's that fellow Rattle
coming.
sistance.
Snacks. Very pretty, indeed! You are a
very modest man, Mr. Frank; you've spent
your last shilling in quarrelling with me, and
now you want me to help you.
Frank. The farm called Hundred Acres is
at present untenanted-I wish to rent it.
Snacks. You wish to rent it, do you? And
pray, sir, where's your money? And what do
you know about farming?
Enter RATTLE.
Rat. Ah, my old daddy! how are you?-
What! have you got the mumps- can't you
speak?
Snacks. I wish you had the mumps, and
could not speak. What do you old daddy
me for?
Rat. Why, father-in-law! curse me but you
Frank. I have studied agriculture; and, are most conceitedly crusty to-day; What's
with care, have no doubt of being able to the matter with you? why, you are as me-
pay my rent regularly.
lancholy as a lame duck.
Snacks. But I have a great doubt about
it.No, no, sir; do you think I'm so unmind-
ful of his lordship's interest as to let his land
to a poor novice like you? It won't do, Mr.
Frank; I can't think of it-Good day, friend;
good day. [Showing him the Door.
Frank. My necessities, sir-
Snacks. I have nothing to do with your
necessities, sir; I have other business-Good
day-There's the door.
Frank. Unfeeling wretch!
Snacks. What!
Frank. But what could I expect? Think
Snacks. The matter is that I am sick.
Rat. What's your disorder?
Snacks. A surfeit: I've had too much of you.
Rat. Oh! you'll soon get the better of that;
for when I've married your daughter, curse
me if I shall trouble you much with my
company!
Snacks. But you hav'n't married her yet.
Rat. Oh, but I shall soon; I have got your
promise, you know.
Snacks. Can't remember any such thing.
Rat. No! Your memory's very short then.
Snacks. A short memory's very convenient
not, thou sordid man, 'tis for myself I sue-sometimes.
My wife, my children-'tis for them. I ask Rat. And so is a short stick; and I've a
your aid, or else my pride had never stoop'd great mind to try the utility of it now. I tell
so low: my honest poverty is no disgrace: you what, Snacks-I always thought you was
your ill-gotten gold gives you no advantage a damn'd old rascal, but now I'm sure of it:
over me; for I had rather feel my heart beat it's no matter, though: I'll marry your daughter
freely, as it does now, than know that I pos- notwithstanding.
sess'd your wealth, and load it with the crimes Snacks. You will-will you?
entail'd upon it.
[Exit. Rat. Yes, snacks, I will; for I love her. I
Snacks. A mighty fine speech, truly! I think wonder how the devil such a pretty girl ever
I'll try if I can't lower your tone a little, my came to have such a queer, little, shrivelled,
fine, blustering fellow: I'll have you laid by old mopstick as you for a father. Snacks,
the heels before night for this. Proud as you your wife most certainly made a cuckold of
are, you'll have time to reflect in a jail, and you; it could not be else.
bring down your spirit a little. But, come,
let me see what my letter says. What a deal
Snacks. Impudent rascal!
Rat. But it signifies not who her father is

892
[ACT 1.
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
miss Nancy is lovely, and I'll marry her. Let as work; it should be one long holiday all
me see-five thousand pounds you promised; the year round. Your great folks have strange
yes, you shall give her that on the wedding-whims in their heads, that's for sartin. I don't
day. You have been a steward a long time; know what to make of 'un, not I. Now there's
that sum must be a mere fleabite to you. all yon great park there, kept for his lord-
Snacks. I rather think I shall never give ship to look at, and his lordship hat not seen
her a farthing, if she marries such a paltry it these twelve years-Ah! if it was mine, I'd
fellow as you.
let all the villagers turn their cows in there,
Rat. Why lookye; I'm a lively spark, with and it should not cost 'em a farthing; then,
a good deal of fire in me, and it is not a as the parson said last Sunday, I should be
little matter that will put me out: where others as rich as any in the land, for I should have
sink I rise: and this opposition of yours will the blessings of the poor. Dang it! here comes
only serve to blow me into a blaze that will Snacks. Now I shall get a fine jobation, I
burn you up to a cinder. I'm up to your suppose.
gossip; I'm not to be had.
Snacks. No, nor my daughter's not to be
had, Mr. Banker's Clerk; so I shan't waste
any more time with you: go, and take in the
flats in Lombard-street; it won't do here.
Enter SNACKS, bowing very obsequiously;
ROBIN takes his Hat off, and stands
staring at him.
Rob. I be main tir'd, master Snacks; so I
[Exit. stopt to rest myself a little; I hope you'll ex-
Rat. Oh! what he has mizzled, has he? Icuse it. I wonder what the dickens he's
fancy you'll find me the most troublesome grinning at.
[Aside.
blade you ever settled an account with, old Snacks. Excuse it! I hope your lordship's
Raise-rent. I'll astonish you, some how or
other. I wonder what has changed him so!
Enter MISS NANCY.
Ah, my sweet, little, rural angel! How fares
it with you? You smile like a May morning.
Nan. The pleasure of seeing you always
makes me-
Rat. Indeed! give me a kiss then. I love
you well enough to marry you without a
farthing; but I think I may as well have the
five thousand pounds, if it's only to tease old
Longpurse.
Nan. Oh, you know you have his promise
for that.
Rat. Yes, but he says he has forgot all
about that, though it was no longer ago than
yesterday; and he says I shan't have you.
Nan. Does he indeed?
Rat. Yes; but never mind that.
Nan. I thought you said you loved me?
Rat. And so I do, better than all the gold
in Lombard-street.
Nan. Then why are you not sorry that my
father won't give his consent?
infinite goodness and condescension will ex-
cuse your lordship's most obsequious, devoted,
and very humble servant Timothy Snacks,
who is come into the presence of your lord-
ship, for the purpose of informing your lord-
ship-
Rob. Lordship! he, he, he! Ecod! I never
knew as I had a hump before. Why, master
Snacks, you grow funny in your old age.
Snacks. No, my lord, I know my duty
better; I should never think of being funny
with a lord.
Rob. What lord? Oh, you mean the lord
Harry, I suppose. No, no, must not be too
funny with him, or he'll be after playing the
very devil with you.
Snacks. I say I should never think of jesting
with a person of your lordship's dignified
character.
Rob. Did-dig-What! Why, now I look
at you, I see how it is: you are mad. I
wonder what quarter the moon's in. Lord!
how your eyes roll! I never saw you so
before.-How came they to let you out alone?
Snacks. Your lordship is most graciously
pleased to be facetious.
Rat. His consent! I have got yours and my
own, and I'll soon manage him. Don't you Rob. Why, what gammon are you at;-
remember how I frighten'd him one night, Don't come near me, for you have been bit
when I came to visit you by stealth, drest like by a mad dog; I'm sure you have.
a ghost, which he thinks haunts the castle. Snacks. If your lordship will be so kind
Oh! I'll turn that to account. I know he's as to read this letter, it would convince your
very superstitious, and easily frightened into lordship-Will your lordship condescend?
any thing. Come, let's take a walk, and plot Rob. Why, I would condescend, but for a
how I, your knight-errant, shall deliver you few reasons, and one of 'em is, that I can't
from this haunted castle,
SCENE II.-A Corn-field.
[Exeunt.
ROBIN ROUGHEAD discovered binding up a
Sheaf.
read.
Snacks. I think your lordship is perfectly
right; for these pursuits are too low for one
of your lordship's nobility.
Rob. Lordship, and lordship again! I'll tell
you what, master Snacks-let's have no more
Rob. Ah! work, work, work all day long, of your fun, for I won't stand it any longer,
and no such thing as stopping a moment to for all you be steward here: my name's Robin
rest! for there's old Snacks the steward, al- Roughead, and if you don't choose to call me
ways upon the look-out; and if he sees one, by that name, I shan't answer you, that's
slap he has it down in his book, and then flat.-[Aside] I don't like him well enough
there's sixpence gone plump. [Comes forward] to stand his jokes.
I do hate that old chap, and that's the truth Snacks. Why then, master Robin, be so
on't. Now, if I was lord of this place, I'd kind as to attend whilst I read this letter.
make one rule-there should be no such thing!
[Reads.

SCENE 2. 3.]
893
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
Sir,This is to inform you, that my tell him- No, I'll not go there; I'll go to-
lord Lackwit died this morning, after a Damn it, I'll go no where; yes, I will; I'll
very short illness; during which he declared go every where; I'll be neither here, nor
that he had been married, and had an there, nor any where else. How pleas'd Dolly
heir to his estate: the woman he married will be when she hears-
was commonly called, or known, by the
name of Roughead: she was poor and il-
Enter Villagers, shouting.
literate, und, through motives of shame, Dick, Tom, Jack, how are you, my lads?
his lordship never acknowledged her as his Here's news for you! Come, stand round,
wife: she has been dead some time since, make a ring, and I'll make a bit of a speech
and left behind her a son called Robin to you. [They all get round him] First of
Roughead: now this said Robin is the legal all, I suppose Snacks has told you that I'm
heir to the estate. I have therefore sent
I have therefore sent your landlord.
you the necessary writings to put him into Vil. We are all glad of it.
immediate possession, according to his tord-
Rob. So am I; and I'll make you all happy:
ship's last will and testament. Yours to I'll lower all your rents.
command, KIT CODICIL, Atty at Law.
Rob. What!-What all mine? the houses,
the trees, the fields, the hedges, the ditches,
the gates, the horses, the dogs, the cats, the
All. Huzza! long live lord Robin!
Rob. You shan't pay no rent at all.
All. Huzza! huzza! long live lord Robin!
Rob. I'll have no poor people in the parish,
cocks and the hens, and the cows and the for I'll make 'em all rich; I'll have no widows,
bulls, and the pigs and the-What! are they for I'll marry 'em all. [Women shout] I'll
all mine? and I, Robin Roughead, am the have no orphan children, for I'll father 'em
rightful lord of all this estate!-Don't keep me all myself; and if that's not doing as a lord
a minute now, but tell me it is so-Make should do, then I say I know nothing about
haste, tell me-quick, quick!
the matter-that's all.
All. Huzza! Huzza!
Enter SNACKS.
Snacks. I repeat it, the whole estate is yours.
Rob. Huzza! huzza! [Catches off Snacks'
Hat and Wig] Set the bells a ringing; set Snacks. I have brought your lordship the
the ale a running; make every body drunk-money.-He means to make 'em fly, so I've
if there's a sober man to be found any where taken care the guineas shall be all light. [Aside.
to-day, he shall be put in the stocks. Go, get Rob. Now then, young and old, great and
my hat full of guineas to make a scramble small, little and tall, merry men all, here's
with; call all the tenants together. I'll lower
the rents-I'll-
Snacks. I hope your lordship will do me
the favour to-
can't tell.
Rob. Why, that may be as it happens; I
[Carelessly.
Snacks. Will your lordship dine at the
castle to-day?
Rob. Yes.
Snacks. What would your lordship choose
for dinner?
Rob. Beef-steaks and onions, and plenty I
among you - [Throws the Money; they
scramble] Now you've got your pockets fill'd,
come to the castle, and I'll fill all your bellies
for you.
[Villagers carry him off shouting;
Snacks follows.
SCENE III.-Inside of a neat Cottage; Table
spread for Dinner.
MARGERY and DOLLY discovered.
Dolly. There, now, dinner's all ready, and
wish Robin would come. Do you think I
may take up the dumplings, mother?
Snacks. Beef-steaks and onions! What a
Mar. Ay, ay, take 'em up; I warrant him
dish for a lord!-He'll be a savoury bit for he'll soon be here - he's always in pudding-
my daughter, though.
[Aside. time.
of 'em.
Rob. What are you at there, Snacks? Go, Dol. And well he may, for I'm sure you
get me the guineas-make haste; I'll have the keep him sharp set enough.
scramble, and then I'll go to Dolly, and tell Mar. Hold your tongue, you baggage! He
her the news.
pays me but five shillings a week for board,
Snacks. Dolly! Pray, my lord, who's Dolly? lodging, and washing-I suppose he's not to
Rob. Why, Dolly is to be my lady, and be kept like a lord for that, is he? I wonder
your mistress, if I find you honest enough to how you'll keep him when you get married,
keep you in my employ.
as you talk of!"
Snacks. He rather smokes me.-I have a
beauteous daughter, who is allow'd to be the
very pink of perfection.
Dol. Oh, we shall contrive to make both
ends meet! and we shall do very well I dare
say; for Robin loves me, and I loves Robin
dearly.
Rob. Damn your daughter! I have got
something else to think of: don't talk to me Mar. Yes; but all your love won't keep
of your daughter; stir your stumps, and get the pot boiling, and Robin's as poor as Job.
the money.
Dol. La, now, mother, don't be so cross!-
Snacks. I am your lordship's most obse-Oh dear, the dinner will get cold, and the
quious-Zounds! what a peer of the realm. dumplings will be quite spoil'd; I wish Robin
[Aside. Exit. would come. [Robin sings without] Oh, here
Rob. Ha! ha! ha! What work I will make he comes, in one of his merry humours.
in the village!-Work! no, there shall be no
such thing as work; it shall be all play. Enter ROBIN; he cools himself with his Hat,
then sings and dances.
No, I won't
Where shall I go? I'll go to No,
go there; I'll go to Farmer Hedgestake's, and Why, Robin, what's the matter with you?
-

894
[ACT II.
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
Rob. What! you hav'n't heard then?
hav'n't heard then? Oh,
Rob. It's all true, Dolly, as sure as the
I'm glad of that! for I shall have the fun of devil's in Lunnun.
telling you.
Dol. Well, sit down then, and eat your
dinner; I have made you some nice hard
dumplings.
Rob. Dumplings! Damn dumplings.
Dol. Damn dumplings--La, mother, he damns
dumplings.-Oh, what a shame! Do you know
what you are saying, Robin?
Rob. Never talk to me of dumplings.
Mar. But I'll talk of dumplings though in-
deed. I shouldn't have thought of such be-
haviour: dumplings are very wholesome food,
quite good enough for you,
I'm sure.
[Very angry.
Rob. Are they, mother Margery? [Upsets
the Table, and dances on the Plates, etc.
and sings] Tol de rol lol.
1
Dol. What! are you in right down arnest?
Rob. Yes, I am his lordship's dead, and
he has left word as how that my mother was
his wife, and I his son.
Dol. What!
Rob. Yes, Dolly, and you shall be my lady.
Dol. No! Shall I?
Rob. Yes, you shall.
Dol. Ecod, that will be fine fun-my lady-
Rob. Now, what do you think on't?
Dol. My lady-Lady Roughead-
Rob. Why, Dolly!
Dol. Lady Roughead! How it sounds!--
Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughs immoderately.
Rob. 'Gad, I believe she's going into a high
strike-Dolly! Dolly! [Slapping her Hands.
Dol. Ha! ha! ha!
Mar. Oh dear! the boy's mad; there's all
my crockery gone! [Picking up the Pieces. it.
Dol. [Crying] I did not think you could
have us'd us so; I'm quite asham'd of you, to
Robin!
Rob. Now doan'tye cry now, Dolly; doan't-a
ye cry.
Rob. Doan'tye laugh so; I don't half like
[Shakes her] Dolly!
Dol. Oh, my dear Robin, I can't help laughing
think of lady Roughead.
Rob. The wench will go beside herself to
sartainty.
Dol. But now is it true in arnest?
Dol. I will cry, for you behave very ill. Rob. Ay, as sure as you are there. But
Rob. No, doan'tye, Dolly, doan'tye, now.come, what shall we do? where shall we go?
[Shows a Purse. Oh! we'll go and see old mother Dickens;
Dol. How did you come by that, Robin? you know she took my part, and was very
Mar. What, a purse of gold? let me see.-kind to me when poor mother died; aud now
[Snatches it, and sits down to she's very ill, and I'll go and give her some-
count the Money.
thing to comfort her old soul. Lord! Lord!
Dol. What have you been about, Robin? I have heard people say as riches won't make
Rob. No, I have not been about robbing; a body happy; but while it gives me the
I have been about being made a lord of, power of doing so much good, I'm sure I shall
that's all.
be the happiest dog alive.
Dol. What are you talking about? Your
head's turn'd, I'm sure:
Rob. Well, I know it's turn'd; it's turn'd
from a clown's head to a lord's. I say, Dolly,
how should you like to live in that nice place
at the top o'the hill, yonder?
Dol. Oh, I should like it very much, Robin;
it's a nice cottage.
Rob. Doan't talk to me of cottages, I mean
the castle!
Dol. Why, what is your head running
upon?
Mar. Every one golden guineas, as I'm a
vartuous woman. Where did you get 'em,
Robin?
ACT II.
[Exeunt.
SCENE I.-The Road to the Castle.
Enter MR. FRANK.
Frank. Well, then, to the house of woe I
must return again. And can I take no com-
fort with me? nothing to cheer my loving
wife and helpless children? What misery to
see them want!
Enter ROBIN, unobserved by FRANK.
Rob. Want! No, there shall be no such
thing as want where I am-Who talks of want?
Frank. My own distress I could bear well,
very well; but to see my helpless innocents
enduring all the woes poverty brings with it,
[Exit. is more than I can bear.
Rob. Why, where there's more to be had.
Mar. Ay, I always said Robin was a clever
lad. I'll go and put these by.
Dol. Now, do tell me what you've been
about. Where did you find all that money?
Rob. Dolly, Dolly, gee'us a buss, and I'll
tell thee all about it.
Dol. Twenty, an' you pleasen, Robin.
Rob. First then, you must know that I'm
the cleverest fellow in all these parts.
Dol. Well, I know'd that afore.
Rob. But I'll tell you how it is-it's because
I'm the richest fellow in all these parts; and
Rob. And more than I can bear too.
[Throws his Hat upon the Ground,
and takes Money out of his Pocket,
which he throws into it.
Frank. To-day I almost fear they have not
tasted food.
Rob. And I ha' been stuffing my damn'd
guts enough to make 'em burst.
[Drops more Money into his Hat.
Frank. How happy once my state! Where'er
if I hav'n't it here, I have it here-[Pointing I turned my eyes good fortune smiled upon
to his Head and his Pocket] That castle's me; then, did the poor e'er tell a tale of woe
mine, and all these fields, up to the very sky. without relief? Were not my doors open to
Dol. No, no; come, Robin, that won't do. the unfortunate?
Rob. Won't it?-I think it will do very well. Rob. How glad I be as I be-a lord. Hey,
Dol. No, no; you are running your rigs-what! Yes it is; it's Mr. Frank. Lord, sir,
I know you are, Robin.
I'm very glad as I met with you.

SCENE 1.]
895
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
Frank. Why so, my friend?
Rob. Because you be mortal poor, and I be
mortal rich; and I'll share my last farthing
with you.
Frank. Thank you, my kind lad.
reason have you?
But what
Rob. What reason have I? Why, you gave
me when I wanted it.
Frank. I can't remember.
Rob. Well, but you'll come back?
Frank. To-morrow.
Rob. No-to-night-Doo'e favour me; I
want to speak to you.
Frank. I have a long way to walk, and it
will be very late before I can return; but I
will refuse you nothing.
Rob. Thank ye, sir; you're very kind! I
shall stay till you come, if it's all night. [Exeunt.
Enter RATTLE.
Rob. Mayhap not; but that's no reason as
I should forget it; it's a long time ago, too;
but it made such a mark here, that time won't Rat. Well, every thing's prepar'd for my
rub it out. It's now fourteen years sin poor attack on the castle to-night; and I don't much
mother died; she was very ill one day when fear but I shall find means to terrify the enemy,
you happen'd to come by our cottage, and and make him surrender at discretion - Yes,
saw me stand blubbering at the door; I was yes, master Snacks, I shall soon be with you.
then about this high. You took me by the [Shouting, Music, and ringing of Bells
hand; and I shall never forget the look you without! What a damn'd racket here is in
gave me, when you ax'd me what was the the village to-day!-I wonder what it's all
matter with me; and when I told you, you about?
call'd me a good lad, and went in and talk'd
to mother. From that time you came to see
Enter ROBIN,
her ev'ry day, and gave her all the help as Holloa, there! Stop, my fine fellow. Pray can
you could; and when she died, poor soul! you tell me what all this uproar is about in
you buried her: and if ever I forget such the village?
kindness, I hope good luck will for ever Rob. Why, you be master Rattle from
forget me!
Frank. Tell me your name: it will re-
mind me.
Rob. Robin Roughead, your honour; to- a
day I be come to be lord of all this estate;
and the first good I find of it is, that I am
Lunnun.
Rat. Well, I don't want to be told that.
Rob. Gee us your hand, Rattle; thou bee'st
damn'd honest fellow, and I like thee; I do
indeed.
Rat. Very familiar, upon my word.
able to make you happy-[Stuffing the Money Rob. I lik'd you ever sin you let old Toppin
into his Pockets] Come up to the castle, have the three pounds to pay his rent with;
and I'll give you as much money as you can and now whilst I think on't, here 'tis again-
take it, for I won't let any body give away
carry away in a-sack.
money here but myself.
Frank. Proud wealth, look here for an
example! My generous heart, how shall I
thank you?
Rob. Lord! Lord! doan't think of thanking
a man for paying his debts. Besides, if you
only know'd how I feel all o'er me- it's a
kind of a-I could cry for joy.
Frank. What sympathy is in that honest
bosont! But how has this good fortune come
to you?
Rob. Why, that poor woman as you buried
was wife to his lordship: he has own'd it on
his death bed, and left word as I'm his son.
Frank. How strange are the vicissitudes
of life!
Rob. Now, sir, I am but a simple lad, as
a body may say; and if you will but be so
good as to help me with your advice, I shall
take it very kind of
kind of you, sir.
Frank. I thank you for the good opinion
you have of me; and as far as my poor abi-
lities go, they shall be at your service.
Rob. Thank ye, sir, thank ye!, But pray
what bad luck made you so devilish poor?
Frank. It would take a long time to tell
you the story of my misfortunes; but I owe
them to the oppression of Mr. Snacks, the
steward.
Rat. Why, what in the name of wonder
is all this? What are you at? I think I'll
open a shop here for the sale of bad debts.
Rob. Here, take the money.
Rat. Put it up, my fine fellow! you'll want
it, perhaps.
Rob. Me want money! Shall I lend you
an odd thousand, and set you up in a shop?
Rat. Why, who the devil are you?
Rob. Why, doan't ye know? I be Robin.
Rat. Robin, are you? 'Egad, I think you
sing like a goldfinch.
Rob. Very well, Rattle, that's a good joke.
Rat. Why, curse me if I am up to you,
master Robin; you are queering me, I believe.
Rob. Well, I shall be glad to see thee at
the castle, Rattle. You see, I'm not asham'd
of my old acquaintance, as some folks are.
Rat. Not asham'd of his old acquaintance!
Why, what do you mean?
Rob. I can't stop to talk to you any longer
Good by, Rattle; thou bee'st an honest
fellow, and I shall be glad to see thee at the
castle.
[Exit.
Rat. I declare I'm quite dumb-founder'd.-
And have I liv'd all my days in Lombard-
street for this-to be humbug'd by a clown?
Rob. Snacks! Oh, damn' un! I'll do for him [Laughing, Music, ringing of Bells, etc.
soon: he's rotten here, master Frank: I do without] I believe the people are all mad to-
think as how he's a damn'd old rogue. day; I can't think what they are at.
Frank. Judge not too harshly.
Rob. Come, sir, will you go up to the castle?
Frank. Excuse me; the relief which you
have so generously given me, enables me to
return to my family.
Enter CLOWN, in a hurry.
Here, here, Hob! I want to speak with you.
Clown. You mun meak heast then, for I be
going to dine wi' my lord, and I shall be too late..

896
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
[ACT II.
Snacks. It's true indeed; I am very sorry.
Mar. And she is not to be my lady, af-
ter all?
Snacks. No, poor girl!
Rat. Wheugh! What, are you drunk?
Clown. Noa, noa, but I soon shall be, I
take it, for there's plenty o'yeale to be gotten.
Rat. Plenty o'yale to be gotten, is there?
Clown. Ees, I shall have a rare swig at it.
Rat. Pray, my fine fellow, can you tell me
what the bells are ringing for?
Clown. Ees, to be sure I cen.
Rat. Well, what is it?
[Runs off; Rattle runs after him, and
brings him back.
Dol. And Robin has quite forgot me!
[Crying] Oh dear, oh dear!-I was afraid
how it would be when he came to be a lord-
and has he quite forgot me?
Snacks. Yes, he told me to tell you that
he has done with you.
Clown. Why it's bekeas they do pull the
ropes, I tell thee.-[Gets round] Dinner will Mar. [Very noisy] But I have not done
all get yeaten up whilst I stond here talking with him though-pretty work indeed; but
wi' you.
I'll ring a peal in his ears, that shall bring
him to his senses, I warrant; I'll teach him
to use my daughter ill-he's a rogue, a rascal,
Rat. You are a very communicative young a scapegallows, a vagabond; I'll find him out
fellow, indeed-I have learnt one thing from
you, however-that there's plenty of eating
and drinking going on; so I'll try if I can't
be in at the death. Now, start fair, and the
devil take the hindmost. [They run off.
SCENE II.-A Hall in the Castle. A Door
leading to an inner Apartment.
Enter SNACKS, speaking.
-I'll-
Snacks. [Trying to appease her] Hush!
hush!
Mar. I'll raise the dead, I will.
Snacks. Be cool, be cool! Robin will cer-
tainly hear this old bell-weather, and I shall
be blown.
[Aside.
Mar. I'll make him down of his knees, I
will; I'd have him to know, that though he is
a lord, he shall remember his promise; I'll
Snacks. Tell her to come this way. A play the very devil with him, if I can find
young woman wanting Robin!--This must be him. I'm in such a passion, I could tear his
his sweetheart, Dolly, that he talks so much eyes out: oh, if I can but see him!
about; they must not come together; if they
do, it will knock up all my plan-What shall
I do with her? If I could but get her into
this room, she'd be safe enough-here she is.
Enter DOLLY and MARGERY.
Are you the young woman that wanted to
speak with his lordship?
Dol. Yes, sir.
Snacks. And pray what might you want
with him?
Mar. She wants to settle some matters of
her own with him.
Dol. Yes, that's all, sir.
[Going; Snacks stops her.
Snacks. Here, here; stop, stop-I'll go and
bring him to you. - Curse her old throat!
[Aside] Only just walk in here a moment,
I'll talk to him myself; I will indeed; perhaps
I shall bring him round, my dear.
Dol. Thank ye, sir; tell him I'll kill my-
self if he doesn't marry me.
[Goes in.
Mar. And tell him I'll kill him if he
doesn't marry her.
[Goes in. Snacks locks the Door.
Snacks. Well, they are safe for the pre-
sent-I wish they were out of the house
though. If I can but bring this marriage to
Snocks. I dare say! But I must know what bear, I'm a made man. I have been very
these matters are.
careful of the old lord's money, and I should
[Margery feels herself of great im-like to take care of a little of the young lord's
portance, and is particularly noisy money: if I can but marry the girl and him,
through the whole of this Scene. I'll soon double the twenty-six thousand pounds
Snacks is alarmed lest Robin should I have in the five per cents, sacked from my
hear her.
old master.
Mar. Such malters as consarn nobody but Rat. [Without, in a hollow Voice] Villan-
themselves, and you must not meddle with ous robber!
them.
Snacks. O Lord! what's that?-[Pauses]-
Snacks. Curse that old devil, what a tongue It has put me in such a fright;-that ghost's
she has! I shall never be able to manage her. abroad again-What else could it be? I am
[To Dolly] You can't see his lordship, he's afraid to open my eyes for fear he should
engaged.
Dol. Yes, I know his lordship's engaged,
for he promised me a long while ago.
Snacks. Oh, then you are the poor unfor-
tunate young woman that-
Mar. [Very angry] No, sir; she is the
lucky young woman that is to be my lady;
and I'd have you to know that I'm her mother.
Snacks. Ah, poor soul! I pity her, I do
indeed, from the bottom of my heart.
Mar. But she is not to be pitied; I shouldn't
have thought of that!-pity indeed!
stare me in the face: I confess I've been a
rogue, but it's never too late to mend. Say
no more, and I'll make amends; indeed I will.
[Gets near the Door]-Upon my soul I will-
upon the word of an honest man I will.
[Sneaks off.
Enter RATTLE.
Rat. Ha! ha! ha! I think I gave his con-
science a kick there; twenty-six thousand
pounds in the five per cents-let me remember
that-I'm up to your tricks, Mr. Snacks; but
Snacks. Poor dear creature; it's a sad job, you shan't carry on your scheme much longer,
but it can't be help'd: his lordship is going if I have any skill-If I don't quicken your
to be married to-morrow to another woman. memory a little, I'll give over conjuring, and
Dol. What!
set up a chandler's shop.
[Exit.

SCENE 3. 4.]
897
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
SCENE III-A handsome Apartment in the
Castle. A Table, with Wines, etc.
ROBIN and SNACKS discovered.
Rob. [Rather tipsy] Well, Snacks, this is
very good stuff. I don't know as ever I drank
any before; what do you call this, Snacks?
Snacks. Port wine, an't please your lord-
ship.
Rob. Yes, Port wine pleases his lordship-
I wonder where this comes from!--Oh! from
the Red Sea, I suppose.
Snacks. No, my lord: there's plenty of
spirits there, but no wine, I believe.
Rob. Well, one more thing full; only one,
because you know, now I am a lord, I must
not make a beast of myself-that's not like a
nobleman, you know.
Snacks. Your lordship must do as your
lordship pleases.
Rob. Must I? then give us t'other sup.
Snacks. I think his lordship is getting rather
forward- I'll bring my daughter upon the
carpet presently.
Enter Servant.
[Aside.
Snacks. What a cunning dog it is!-he's
up to me now, but I think I shall be down
upon him by-and-by- [Aside. Exit.
Rob. Ha! ha! ha! how he hopp'd about
and halloo'd-but I'll work him a little more yet.
Re-enter SNACKS.
Well, Snacks, what d'ye think of
cing-master?
your dan-
Snacks. I hope your lordship won't give
me any more lessons at present; for, to say
the truth, I don't much like the accompaniment.
Rob. You must have a lesson every day,
or you'll forget the step.
Snacks. No:-your lordship has taken care
that I shan't forget it for some time.
Rob. I can't think where Dolly is; I told
her to come to me.
Snacks. Oh, don't think of her.
Rob. Not think of her!-why, pray?
Snacks. Oh, she's a-
Rob. A what?-Take care, or I shall make
you dance another hornpipe.
Snacks. I only mean to say, that she's too
low for your lordship.
Sero. Please you, master Snacks, here's Rob. Too low! why, what was I just now?-
John the carter says he's so lame he can't If I thought riches would make me such a
walk, and he hopes you'll let him have a poney rascal as to use the poor girl ill-a fig for
to-morrow, to ride by the waggon.
'em all; I'd give 'em up, and be plain Robin,
Snacks. Can't walk, can't he?-lame, is he? honest Robin, again. No:- I've given Dolly
Serv. Yes, sir.
my promise, and I'll never break it.
Snacks. And what does he mean by being
lame at this busy time?-tell him he must
walk; it's my will.
Rob. You, sir, bring me John's whip, will
you? [Exit Servant] That's right, Snacks:
damn the fellow, what business has he to
be lame!
Snacks. Oh, please your lordship, it's as
much as I can do to keep these fellows in
order.
Rob. Oh, they are sad dogs - not walk,
indeed! I never heard of such impudence.
Snacks. Oh, shameful, shameful! if I was
behind him, I'd make him walk.
Enter Servant, with a Whip, which he
gives to ROBIN.
Rob. Come, Snacks, dance me a hornpipe.
Snacks. What?
Rob. A hornpipe.
Snacks. A hornpipe! I can't dance, my
lord.
Snacks. My daughter's very beautiful.
Rob. Dang it, you talk a great deal:-come,
we'll go and have a look at her. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-A Chamber, with a Picture
hanging over a Closet-door.
Enter RATTLE and MISS NANCY.
Rat. Well, you see I've gained admission,
notwithstanding your father's order to the
contrary.
Nan. Yes; but how do you mean to get
his consent to-
Rat. Why, as to his consent, I don't value
it a button: but then five thousand pounds is
a sum not to be sneezed at. I have given
the old boy a bit of a hint to-night that he
didn't much relish.
Nan. I expect my father here every minute,
with his new-made lordship
Rat. Indeed! then only hide me in this
room, and the business is done.
Nan. That I will, where nobody can find
Rob. Come, none of your nonsense; I know you, I'm sure; -I have a closet behind this
you can dance; why, you was made for picture of the old lord, made, I believe, to
dancing-there's a leg and foot-Come, begin! hide the family plate and jewels in; but it's
Snacks. Here's no music.
quite forgotten now.
Rob. Isn't there? then I'll soon make some-
Lookye, here's my fiddlestick; how d'ye
like
[Opens it.
Rat. Oh, it was made on purpose for me:
I'll put a jewel into it presently-Here [Gives
it? Come, Snacks, you must dance; it's a Paper]-let this lie carelessly on the table;
it's worth five thousand pounds.
my will.
Snacks. [Without] This way, this way,
my lord.
-
Snacks. Indeed I'm not able.
Rob. Not able! Oh, shameful, shameful!
Come, come, you must dance; it's my will.
[Whips him.
Snacks. Must I?-Then here goes-
[Hops about.
Rob. What, d'ye call that dancing fit for
a lord? Come, quicker, quicker-Whips
Snacks round the Stage, who roars out]-
There, that will do; now go and order John
the carter the poney-will you?
Rat. O, damn it! here they come; tell him
you've been frighten'd by a ghost; and if he
signs the paper, give a loud cough.
[Puts the Paper on the Table, and
exit into the Closet.
Enter SNACKS and ROBIN.
Snacks. There, there she is isn't she a
beauty? What do you say now?
113
-

898
FORTUNE'S FROLIC.
[ACT II.
Mar. Without Only let me catch hold
of him, I'll give it him-an old, abominable-
Enter MARGERY.
Rob. Why, I say she is not fit to hold a
candle to my Dolly.
-
Nan. Pretty courtship indeed.
Snacks. Ah, you'll alter your mind soon;
I know you will. Come, let's sit down and Oh, you are there, are you? You wicked
talk of it.
[They sit. wretch!-let me get at him-[Runs after
Nan. [To Snacks] Oh, my dear sir, I've Snacks, and beats him]-A pretty pack of
been so frighten'd-Do you know I think I've lies you have told; you old ragamuffin, you.
seen the very ghost that alarm'd you so once.
Snacks. A what? a ghost?-O Lord, I hope
not. I hate the very sight of 'em:-It's very
odd; but-[Starting]-didn't I hear a noise?
Nan. Oh, sir, that's a very common thing
in this part of the castle; I have been most
terribly frighten'd lately.
Rob. Why, what frighten'd you?-We are
all good people here; they won't hurt us
will they, Snacks?
-
Snacks. No, no-they-that is-[Alarmed.
Rat. [From behind] Hear!
Rob. What?
Rat. Hear!
Snacks. Lord ha' mercy upon me? [Kneels.
Rat. Offspring of mine, listen not to the
advice of that wretch.
Rob. I doan't intend it.
Rat. He'll betray you! your intended bride
he has imprison'd in the yellow chamber; go,
set her at liberty.
Enter ROBIN and DOLLY.
Rob. What! are you there, Rattle?
Rat. Yes, I'm the ghost-Hear!
Rob. Why you frighted old Honesty a little.
Enter Servant.
Sere. Please you, master Snacks, the bai-
liffs ha' gotten master Frank, and ha' bringing
him here.
Rob. What! the bailiffs got him? - Oh,
you old rascal! [To Snacks]-Let him come
here in a moment! [Exit Servant] - Oh,
Snacks, I'm sorry for you; for I'm sure you
can't be happy: a man as does so much
harm, and so little good, never can be happy,
I'm sure:-
Enter MR. FRANK.
I be very sorry as they us'd you so, Mr.
Frank, but I couldn't-
Frank. I know your heart too well to think
Rob. What! my Dolly?-has he imprison'd
her in the yellow chamber?-Oh, dang your you could.
old head! [Knocks Snacks down, and exit. Rob. I have a great favour to ask of you,
Rat. Wretch! restore your ill-gotten wealth Mr. Frank: you see we've rather found Snacks
-twenty-six thousand pounds in the five per
cents.
Snacks. I'll do any thing that you command.
Rat. Sign the paper before you.
[Snacks signs the Paper. Nancy coughs.
Rattle jumps out of the Closet,
takes the Paper.
-
out; now, will you-dang it, will you take
care of me, and come and live in the castle
with me, and give me your advice?-you know
how I mean; like-teach me a bit, you know.
Frank. You are too generous: but I accept
and your proffered kindness; and, by my care
and attention to your welfare, will repay a
small part of the debt I owe you.
Rat. How do you do? how are you?
Snacks. Give me the paper.
Rob. Now, then, I am happy, with such a
Rat. Not a word twenty-six thousand friend as Mr. Frank-Dolly, we shall know
pounds in the five per cents. Now, dear how to take care of ourselves and our neigh-
Nancy, you are mine, and five thousand pounds. bours-and I'll take care that poor folk shall
Snacks. You to rebel against me too, you bless the day as made me a lord.
baggage.
WHO'S THE DUPE?
THIS lively Farce was produced, in 1779, by Mrs. Cowley, a Indy whose naturally superior gifts, refined by cul-
tivation, were particularly devoted to the service of the dramatic muse. The judgment and contrivance evinced in this
after-piece, and the truly laughable mode in which it is conducted, are creditable to the varied talent of the authoress.
-In spite of Granger's impolite definition of woman, to be "only one of nature's agreeable blunders," the ladies will
probably agree with Miss Doiley in her choice, and rejection of so non-descript a lover as Gradus: scholastic acquire-
ment must be interspersed and seasoned with the ordinary but indispensable trifles of life, or society will despise and
ridicule it*). In old Doiley, the positive mandates of ignorance are fairly exposed, and the lovers are entitled to bap-
piness, who have so ingeniously defeated their influence.
DOILEY.
SANDFORD.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GRADUS.
GRANGER.
ELIZABETH.
CHARLOTTE.
Servant.
*) "When follies are pointed out, and vanity ridiculed, it may be very improving; and perhaps the stage is the
only place where ridicnle is useful."-Wollstonecraft.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
899
WHO'S THE DUPE?
ACT I
SCENE 1.-The Park.
nest; but he married a fine lady, so died in-
solvent, I had a few more accidents of the
Flower GIRLS, and several persons passing. and the necessary expenses in America, with
same kind; my captaincy cost a thousand;
1 Girl. I vow I han't had a customer to- the distresses of my fellow-soldiers, have
day. Summer is coming, and we shall be swallowed the rest.
ruined. When flowers are plenty, nobody
plenty, nobody Sand. Poor Granger! So, with a spirit to
do honour to five thousand a year, thou art
will buy 'em.
2 Girl. Ay, very true; people talks of sum- not worth five shillings.
mer, but, for my part, give me Christmas.
Grang. C'est vrai. Should my affairs with
In a hard frost, or a deep snow, who's dress- Elizabeth be crossed, I am the most undone
ed without flowers and furs? Here's one of dog on earth.
the captains.
Flowers, Sir?
Enter SANDFORD.
Sand. I have no silver.
2 Girl. Bless your honour! I'll take gold.
Sand. Indeed!
2 Girl. Here's hyacinths, and a sprig
myrtle.
Sand. Now, tell me honestly, is it Elizabeth
or the fortune, which is your object?
Grang. Why, look'e, Sandford; I am not
one of those sighing milksops, who could live
in a cottage on love, or sit contentedly under
a hedge and help my wife to knit stockings;
but on the word of a soldier, I had rather
of marry Elizabeth Doiley with ten thousand
pounds, than any other woman on earth with
Sand. I'd rather have roses. What will a hundred.
you take for these? [Pinching her cheek.
2 Girl. I can't sell them alone--the tree and
the roses must go together.
Enter GRANGER.
Sand. Ah! Granger, by all that's fortunate.
I wrote to you last night, in Devonshire, to
hasten your return.
Sand. And the woman must be very un-
reasonable, who would not be satisfied with
such a distinction. But do you know that
Elizabeth's father has taken the liberty to
choose a son in law, without your permission?
Grang. Ha! a lover! That then is the se-
cret she hinted, and which brought me so
hastily to town. Who-what is he?
Sand. Every thing that you are not.
Grang. There is such a mixture of jest and
earnest-
Grang. Then your letter and I jostled each
other at two o'clock on this side Hounslow.
My damned postilion-nodding, I suppose,
over the charms of some Greasalinda- ran Sand. Upon my soul, 'tis confoundedly se-
against the letter-cart, tore off my hind wheel, rious. Since they became my neighbours in
and I was forced to mount his one-eyed hack; Suffolk, I am in the secrets of the whole fa-
and, in that curious equipage, arrived at three mily; and, for your sake, have cultivated an
this morning.
intimacy with Abraham Doiley, citizen and
Sand. But how has the negotiation with slop-seller. In a word, the father consults me,
your brother ended? Will he put you into a the daughter complains to me, and the cousin,
fille-de-chambre, romps with me. Can my
importance be increased?
situation to-
Grang. Yes, to take a sweating with the
Gentoos. He'll speak to Sir Jacob Jaghire to Grang. My dear Sandford. [Impatiently.
get me a commission in the East Indies: and,
Sand. My dear Granger! The sum total is
you know, every body grows rich there-and this:-Old Doiley, bred, you know, in a char-
then, you know, you're a soldier, you can ity-school, swears he'll have a man of "larn-
fight.
[In a tone of mimickry. ing" for his son. His caprice makes him re-
Sand. Well, what answer did you give gardless of fortune; but Elizabeth's husband
him?
must have Latin at his fingers' ends, and be
Grang. Yes, Sir Bobby, I can fight, [Mi-able to teach his grandsons to sputter in Greek.
micking] but I can't grow rich on the smell Grang. Oh! I'll study Hebrew, and write
of gunpowder. Your true East India soldier odes in Chaldee, if that will content him: but,
is of a different genus from those who strewed may I perish, if all the pedants in England,
Minden with Frenchmen, and must have as with the universities to back 'em, shall rob me
great a fecundity of character as a Dutch of my Elizabeth!-See here-[Producing a
Burgomaster. Whilst his sword is in his Letter] an invitation from her own dear hand.
hand, his pen must be in his cockade: he must This morning-this very hour-in a moment
he as expert at fractions as at assaults: to-day I shall be at her feet. [Going]-Go with me
mowing down ranks of soft beings, just risen through the Park.-Oh, no-I cry you mer-
from their embroidery: to-morrow selling cy-You walk, but I fly.
[Exit.
pepper and beetle nut: this hour, a son of Sand. Propitious be your flight!-Egad!
Mars, striding over heaps of slain; the next, there are two fine girls-I'll try 'em-half
an auctioneer, knocking down chintz and ca- afraid-the women dress so equivocally, that
lico to the best hidder.
one is in danger of attacking a countess, when
one only means to address a nymph of King's
Place.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-An Apartment at MR. DOILEY'S.
MR. and MISS DOILEY at breakfast.
Sand. And thus your negotiation ended?
Grang. Except that I was obliged to listen
to some very wise dissertation about "run-
ning out," as he calls it. Five thousand.
enough for any younger son, but the prodigal.
[Mimicking] Really, Sandford, I can't see Doil. Here, take away-take away. Remem-
how I can help it. Jack Spiller, to be sure, ber,
had nine hundred-the poor fellow was ho- Mr. Gradus.
we are not at home to nobody, but to

900
[ACT I.
WHO'S THE DUPE?
Sero. The formal gentleman that was here Doil. No, no; don't be
Doil. No, no; don't be sorry; be obedient,
last night, Sir.
and all will be as it should be. You know I
Doil. Yes, [Snappishly] the gentleman that dote on you, you young slut. I left East-
was here last night. [Exit Servant] What! cheap for Westminster, on purpose to please
I see you are resolved for to have poor Gra-you-Haven't I carried you to Bath, Brimmi-
dus's heart, Elizabeth!-I never saw you so gem, and Warley Common, and all the gen-
tricked out in a morning before. But he isn't teel places? I never grudge you no expense,
none of your chaps that's to be catched with nor no pleasure whatsomever.
a mountain head, nor knots, nor gew-gaws. Miss D. Indeed, Sir, you are most in-
-No, no; you must mind your P's and Q's dulgent.
with him, I can tell you. And don't laugh Doil. Well then, don't thwart me, Betty;
now, when he's with you. You've a confound-don't go for to thwart me, that's all. Since
ed knack at laughing; and there's nothing you came into the world, and disappointed
so odious in the eyes of a wise man, as a your father of a son, 'tis your duty to give
great laugher.
him a wise son-in-law, to make up his loss.
Enter CHARLOTTE.
Miss D. Oh! his idea is as reviving as burnt
feathers in hysterics. I wish I had seen him
last night, with all the rust of Oxford about
him; he must have been the greatest provoca- in your dressing-room, Ma'am.
tive to mirth.
Char. Mrs. Taffety, the mantua-maker, is
Doil. Then send her away: she hasn't no
Miss D. Ay, send her away, Charlotte.
Doil. How! What! a provokive to mirth! time now for Mrs. Taffety.
Why, why, hussy, he was recommended to
me by an antikary doctor of the Royal So-What does she want? I didn't send for her.
ciety-he has finished his larning some time; Char. Bless me-'tis the captain. [Apart.
and they want him to come and drink and Miss D. Oh, heavens! [Aside] Yes, I do
hunt in Shropshire. Not he-he sticks to Al remember-Ay, I did-I did sent for her about
Mater; and the College heads have been laid the painted lutestring.
together many a time to know whether he
shall be a great judge, a larned physician, of
a civility doctor.
Doil. Bid her come again to-morrow, I say.
Char. Lord bless me, Sir; I dare say she
can't come again to-morrow. Such mantua-
this-makers as Mrs. Taffety wont wait half a do-
zen times on people.- Why, Sir, she comes
Doil. Don't put me in a passion, Betty; to her customers in a chair of her own; and
don't go for to put me in a passion. What her footman beats a tattoo at the door as if
would you have a man with an etarnal grin she was a countess.
Miss D. Nay then, Sir, if he's all
laughing will be irresistible.
upon his face, like the head of a knocker? Doil. A mantua-maker with her footman
And hopping and skipping about like a Dutch and chair! O lud! O lud! I should as soon
doll with quicksilver in its heels? If you must have expected a duchess in a wheel-barrow.
have a husband of that sort, so be it-so be Miss D. Pray, Sir, allow me just to step
it-you know the rest.
and speak to her. It is the sweetest gown
Miss D. Surely, Sir, 'tis possible for a man-and I'd give the world were you as much
who does not move as if cut in wood, of charmed with it as I am.
speak as though he delivered his words by Doil. Coaxing slut! [Exeunt Miss D. and
tale, to have breeding, and to-
Charlotte]-Where the devil can Gradus be
Doil. May be-may be; but your man or now?-Well, good fortune never comes in a
breeding is not fit for old Doiley's son. What! hurry. If I'd pitched upon your man of breed-
shall I go for to give the labour of thirty-years ing, he'd have been here au hour ago-sipped
to a young jackanapes, who'll come into the his jocklate, kissed Elizabeth's fingers, hopped
room with a dancing-school step, and prate into his carriage, and away to his wench, to
of his grandfather Sir Thomas, his great grand-divert her with charatures of the old fellow
father the general, and his great-great-great- and his daughter. Oh! before I'd give my
grandfather, merely because I can't tell whe-gains to one of these puppies, I'd spend 'em
ther I ever had one or no?
all in building hospitals for lazy lacquies and
Miss D. I hope, Sir, that such a man could decayed pimps.
never engage my-
Doil. Pshaw! pshaw! you can't pertend for
to judge of a man-all hypocrites and deceivers.
Miss D. Except Mr. Gradus.
[Exit.
SCENE III-A Dressing Room.
MISS DOILEY and GRANGER.
Miss D. A truce to your transports! Per-
Doil. Oh, he! He's very different from your haps I am too much inclined to believe all
men of breeding, I assure you: the most ex-you can swear; but this must be a moment
traordinary youth that was ever turned out of business. To secure me to yourself, are
of college. None of your randans, up all you willing to enter into measures that-
night-not drinking and wenching. No, in Grang. Any thing! every thing! I'll have a
his room-poring, and reading, and reading, chaise at the Park-gate in five minutes; and
and studying. Oh, the joy that I shall have we'll be in Scotland, my Elizabeth, before your
in hearing him talk! I do love larning. I was new lover has settled his address.
grieved-grieved to the soul, Betty, when thou Miss D. Pho! pho! you're a mere bungler
wert born. I had set my heart upon a boy; at contrivance; if you'll be guided by me, my
and if thou hadst been a boy, thou shouldst father shall give me to you at St. James's
have had Greek, and algebra, and jometry, church, in the face of the world.
enough for an archbishop.
Miss D. I am sorry-
Grang. Indeed!
Miss D. Indeed.

SCENE 1.]
901
WHO'S THE DUPE?
Grang. I fear to trust to it, my angel! should have in conversing with Graevius and
Beauty can work miracles with all mankind; Gronovius: I had rather possess your appro-
but an obstinate father-
bation than that of the elder Scaliger; and
Miss D. It is you who must work the mi- this apartment is more precious to me than
racle. I have settled the whole affair with my was the Lyceum Portico to the most zealous
cousin, who has understanding and wit-and of the Peripatetics.
you have only to be obedient.
Grang. I am perfectly obedient.
me my lesson.
Doil. There! Show me a man of breeding
who could talk so!
Pray give
[Aside.
Miss D. I believe all you have said to be
Miss D. Why, luckily, you know my fa- very fine, Sir; but, unfortunately, I don't know
ther has never seen you: he left Bath before the gentlemen you mentioned. The education
you had the sauciness-
Enter CHARLOTTE with a bundle.
given to women shuts us entirely from such
refined acquaintance.
Grad. Perfectly right, Madam; perfectly
Char. There! you're finely caught! Here's right. The more simple your education, the
your father and Mr. Gradus actually upon nearer you approach the pure manners of the
the stairs, coming here.
purest ages. The charms of women were
never more powerful-never inspired such
Grang. Zounds! where's the closet?
Miss D. Oh, Lord! here's no closet-I shall achievements, as in those immortal periods,
faint with terror.
when they could neither read nor write.
Grang. No back stairs? No clothes press? Doil. Not read nor write! Zounds what a
Char. Neither, neither! But here-I'm your time was that to bring up a daughter! Why,
guardian angel-[Untying the bundle] I told a peeress in those days did not cost so much
'em Mrs. Taffety was here; so. without more as a barber's daughter in ours. Miss Friz
ceremony, clap on these-speak broken Eng- must have her dancing, her French, her tam-
lish, and, my life for it, you'll pass muster bour, her harpischoll, her jography, her 'stro-
with my uncle.
[Jupiter-nomy-whilst her father, to support all this,
Grang. What! make a woman of me? By lives upon sprats; or, once in two years, calls
Char. Lay your commands on him. If he his creditors to a composition.
doesn't submit, we are ruined.
Grad. Oh, tempora mutantur! but these
Miss D. Oh, you shall, I protest. Here, I'll exuberances, Mr. Doiley, indigitate unbounded
put his cap on.
Doil. [Without] This way, Sir; come this
way-We'll take her by surprise-least pre-
paration is best-[Pulling at the Door] Open
the door.
Miss D. Presently, Sir.
liberty.
Doil. Digitate or not-ifackens, if the ladies
would take my advice, they'd return to their
distaffs, and grow notable to distinguish
themselves from their shopkeepers' wives.
Grad. Ah! it was at the loom, and the
Doil. [Knocking] What the dickens are spinning wheel, that the Lucretias and Por-
you doing, I say? Open the door.
tias of the world imbibed their virtue; that
Char. In a moment-I'm only pinning my the mothers of the Gracchi, the Horatii, the
cousin's gown.
Lord bless me! you hurry Antonini, caught that sacred flame with which
one so, you have made me prick my finger. they inspired their sons, and with the milk of
-There, now you may enter.
Enter DOILEY and GRADUS.
Doil. Oh! only my daughter's mantua-ma-
ker.-[Granger makes courteseys, and goes
out, followed by Charlotte] Here, Elizabeth,
this is that Mr. Gradus I talked to you about.
Bless me! I hope you a'n't ill-you look as
white as a candle.
Miss D. No, Sir, not ill; but this woman
has fretted me to death-she has spoiled my
gown.
their own pure bosoms gave them that forti-
tude, that magnanimity, which made them
conquerors and kings.
Enter a Servant.
Sero. Sir, here's a lord! Lord Pharo!
Doil. Lord Pharo! hum, then the four aces
run against him last night. Well, the ill-luck
of some, and the fine taste of others, makes
my money breed like rabbits.
[Aside.
Serv. Sir-
Doil. Well, well, I'm coming. When a lord
wants money, he'll wait as patiently as any
Doil. Why then, make her pay for it, d'ye body. Well, Mr. Gradus, I'm your humble
hear? It's my belief, if she was to pay for sarvant. Elizabeth! you understand me. [Exit.
all she spoils, she'd soon drop her chair, and Grad. How unlucky the old gentleman
trudge a-foot. Mr. Gradus-beg pardon-this should be called away! Hem! [Addressing
is my daughter-don't think the worse of her himself to speak to her] There is something
because she is a little dashed or so.
in her eye so sarcastic, I'd rather pronounce
Grad. Bashfulness, Mr. Doiley, is the robe the terrae-filius, than address her. Madam!
of modesty; and modesty, as hath been well
observed, is a sunbeam to a diamond-giving
force to its beauty, and exalting its lustre.
Doil. He was a deep one, I warrant him,
that said that. I remember something like it
in the Wisdom of Solomon. Come, speak to
Elizabeth there I see she won't till you've
broke the ice.
Grad. Madam! [Bows] hem-permit me
-this honour-hem-believe me, Lady, I have
more satisfaction in beholding you, than I
What can I say? Oh now-that's fortunate
[Pulling out some papers] Hem! I will ven-
ture to request your ideas, Madam, on a little
autographon, which I design for the world.
Miss D. Sir!
Grad. In which I have found a new chro-
nometer, to prove that Confucius and Zoro-
aster were the same person; and that the py-
ramids are not so ancient, by two hundred
years, as the world believes.
Miss D. To what purpose, Sir?
902
Rand [ACT I.
WHO'S THE DUPE?

Grad. Purpose!-Purpose, Madam! Why, Miss D. Now I see, by the twist of your
really, Miss, our booksellers' shelves are loaded chin, Sir, you are beginning another oration;
with volumes in the unfruitful road of plain-but, I protest, I will never hear you speak
sense and nature; and unless an author can again, till you have forsworn those tones, and
elance himself from the common track, he that manner. Go, Sir; throw your books into
stands as little chance to be known, as a co- the fire, turn your study into a dressing-room,
met in its aphelion. Pray, Ma'am, amuse hire a dancing-master, and grow agreeable.
yourself.
[Exit.
Miss D. O Lord, Sir! you may as well of- Grad. Plato! Aristotle! Zeno! I abjure ye.
fer me a sheet of hieroglyphics-besides, I hate A girl bred in a nursery, in whose soul the
reading.
bosacred lamp of knowledge hath scarcely shed
Grad. Hate reading!
on its faintest rays, hath vanquished, and struck
Miss D. Ay, to be sure; what's reading dumb, the most faithful of your disciples.
good for, but to give a stiff, embarrassed air? [Enter Charlotte] Here's another she-devil,
It makes a man move as if made by a car- I'd as soon encounter a she-wolf. [Going.
penter, who had forgot to give him joints- Char. Stay, Sir, pray, an instant! Lord
[Observing him he twirls his hat, and bites bless me! am I such a scare-crow? I was
his thumb, whilst his hearers, his beholders, never run from by a young man before in
I mean, are gaping for his wit.
my life.
[Pulls him back.
Grad. I resolve henceforward to run from
your whole sex.-Youth and beauty are only
other names for coquetry and affectation. Let
me go, Madam, you have beauty, and doubt-
less all that belongs to it.
Grad. The malicious creature! 'Tis my pic-
ture she has been drawing, and now 'tis more
impossible for me to speak than ever.
Miss D. For my part-for my part, if I
was a man, I'd study only dancing and bon-
mots. With no other learning than these, Char. Lud! you've a mighty pretty, whim-
he may be light and frolicsome as Lady Airy's sical, way of complimenting-Miss Doiley
ponies: but, loaded with Greek, philosophy, might have discerned something in you worth
and mathematics, he's as heavy and dull as cherishing, in spite of that husk of scholar-
a cart-horse.
ship.-To pass one's life with such a being,
seems to me to be the very apex of human
si-felicity. I found that word for him in a book
of geometry, this morning.
Grad. Indeed!
[Aside.
Grad. Foemina cum voce diaboli.
Miss D. Bless me, Sir! why are you so
lent? My father told me you was a lover
never saw such a lover in my life. By this
time you should have said fifty brilliant things Char. Positively. I have listened to your
-found a hundred similes for my eyes, com- conversation; and I can't help being concerned
plexion, and wit. Can your memory furnish that talents, which ought to do you honour,
you with nothing pat? No poetry-no heroics? should, by your mismanagement, be converted
What subject did Portia's lovers entertain her into downright ridicule.
with, while she sat spinning-aye?
Grad. This creature is of a genus quite
Grad. The lovers of that age, Madam, were different from the other. She has understand-
ignorant of frothy compliments. Instead of ing! [Aside]-I begin to suspect, Madam!
being gallant, they were brave; instead of that, though I have some knowledge, I have
flattery, they studied virtue and wisdom. It still much to learn.
was these, Madam, that nerved the Roman Char. You have indeed-knowledge, as you
arm; that empowered her to drag the nations manage it, is a downright bore.em gau
of the world at her chariot wheels; and that
Grad. Boar! What relation can there be
raised her to such an exalted height- between knowledge and a hog!
Miss D. That down she tumbled in the dust Char. Lord bless me! how ridiculous. You
-and there I beg you'll leave her. Was ever have spent your life in learning the dead lan-
any thing so monstrous! I ask for a compli-guages, and are ignorant of the living-Why,
ment, and you begin an oration - an oration Sir, bore is all the ton.
on a parcel of stiff warriors, and formal pe- Grad. Ton! ton! What may that be? It
dants. Why, Sir, there is not one of these cannot be orthology: I do not recollect its
brave, wise, godlike men, but will appear as root in the parent languages.
ridiculous in a modern assembly, as a judge Char. Ha, ha, ha! better and better. Why,
in his long wig and a maccaroni jacket. Sir, ton means-ton is-Pho! what signifies
Grad. Now I am dumb again. Oh, that I where the root is? These kinds of words are
had you at Brazen-nose, Madam!--I could the short hand of conversation, and convey
manage you there.
[Aside. whole sentences at once. All one likes is ton,
Miss D. What! now you're in the pouts, and all one hates is bore.
Sir? 'Tis mighty well. Bless us! what a life Grad. And is that divine medium, which
a wife must lead with such a being! for ever pourtrays our minds, and makes us first in
talking sentences, or else in profound silence, the animal climax! is speech become so ar-
No delightful nonsense, no sweet trifling. All bitrary, that-
must be solemn, wise, and grave. Hang me, Char. Divine medium! animal climax! [Con-
if I would not sooner marry the bust of Se-temptuously]-You know very well, the use
neca, in bronze: then I should have all the of language is to express one's likes and dis-
gravity and coliness of wisdom, without its likes: and a pig will do this as effectually by
impertinence.
its squeak, or a hen with her cackle, as you
with your Latin and Greek.
Grad. The impertinence of wisdom!
Surely, Madam, or I am much deceived, you
possess a mind capable of-
Grad. What can I say to you?
Char. Nothing;-but yield yourself to my

[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
903
WHO'S THE DUPE?
guidance, and you shall conquer Miss Doiley. Char. Study your mistress only: your visit
Grad. Conquer her! she's so incased with will be to her-and that visit decides your
ridicule, there is not a single vulnerable spot fate. Resolve then to take up your new cha-
about her.
racter boldly-in all its strongest lines, or
Char. Pshaw, pshaw! What becomes of give up one of the richest heiresses in the
her ridicule, when you have banished your kingdom.
absurdities? One can no more exist without Grad. My obligations, Madam,
nos
the other, than the mundane system without Char. Don't stay, now, to run the risk of
air. There's a touch of my science for you. meeting Mr. Doiley; for if he should discover
[Aside. that you have disgusted his daughter, Sand-
Grad. Madam, I'll take you for my Minerva ford, the dinner, and the plot, will be worth
-Cover me with your shield, and lead me to no more than your gravity. Away, I'll meet
battle.
you at Story's Gate to introduce you.
[Exit Gradus.
Enter MISS DOILEY.
Char. Enough. In the first place, [Leading
him to a glass]-in the first place, don't you
think you are habited à la mode d'amour?
Did you ever see a cupid in a grizzle wig, Miss D. Excellent Charlotte! you've out-gone
curled as stiffly as Sir Cloudsley Shovel's in my expectation-did ever a woodcock run so
the Abbey?-A dingy brown coat, with vellum blindly into a snare?
button holes, to be sure, speaks an excellent Char. Oh, that's the way of all your great
taste: but then I would advise you to lay it scholars-take them but an inch out of their
by in lavender, for your grandson's christen-road, and you may turn 'em inside out, as
ing; and here's cambric enough in your ruf- easily as your glove.
fles to make his shirt.
Miss D. Well, but have you seen Sandford?
Grad. I perceive my error. The votaries-Is every thing in train?-VVill Gradus be
of love commence a new childhood; and dig-hoodwinked?
nity would be as unbecoming in them, as a Char. Hoodwinked! Why, don't you see
hornpipe to a Socrates. But habit is so strong, he's already stark blind? or, if he has any
that, to gain an empress, I could not assume eyes, I assure ye they are all for me.
that careless air, that promptness of expres- Miss D. My heart palpitates with appre-
sion-
hension: we shall never succeed.
Char. Then you may give up the pursuit Char. Oh, I'll answer for the scholar, if
of Miss Doiley; for such a wise piece of up- you'll undertake the soldier. Mr. Sandford
rightness would stand as good a chance to be has engaged half a dozen of the savoir vivre;
secretary to the coterie, as her husband. all in high spirits at the idea of tricking old
Grad. It is Mr. Doiley, who will- Leather-purse and they have sworn to ex-
Char. Mr. Doiley! ridiculous-Depend on't, haust wit and invention, to turn our Solon
he'll let her marry just whom she will. This out of their hands a finished coxcomb.
Mr. Gradus, says he why, I don't care a
groat whether you marry him or no, says he
-there are fifty young fellows at Oxford,
who can talk Greek as well as he-
Grad. Indeed!
Char. I have heard a good account of the
young man, says he. But all I ask of you is,
to receive two visits from him-no more than
two visits. If you don't like him-so; if you
do, I'll give you half my fortune on the day
of marriage, and the rest at my death.
Miss D. Blessing on their labours! My
Granger is gone to study his rival; and will
make, I hope, a tolerable copy. Now follow
Gradus, my dear Charlotte, and take care
they give him just champaign enough to raise
him to the point, without turning over it.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-An Apartment.
[Exeunt.
Grad. What a singularity! to limit me to DOILEY asleep; a Table before him, with
bottles, etc.
Enter Servant.
two visits. One is already past, and she ha-
tes me-What can I expect from the other?
Char. Every thing. It is a moment that
decides the fate of a lover. Now fancy me, Serv. Sir! Sir! [Jogging him] Sir! What
Miss Doiley-swear I'm a divinity-then take a pise! sure my master has drained the bot-
my hand, and press it-thus.
tles, he sleeps so sound-Oh, no-[Pours out
Grad. Heavens! her touch has thrilled me. a glass]-Here's t'ye, old gentleman! can't
Char. And if I should pout, and resent the think why they send me to wake thee - am
liberty, make your apology on my lips. [Gra- sure the house is always quietest when you're
dus catches her in his arms and kisses her] a snoring. [Drinks, then awakes him.
So, so, you have fire, I perceive.
Doil. Hey!-how! what! Is Mr. Gradus
Grad. Can you give me any more lessons? come?
Char. Yes; but this is not the place. I Serv. No, Sir-but Mr. Sandford's above
have a friend-Mr. Sandford, whom you saw stairs, and a mortal fine gentleman.
here last night-you shall dine with him: he Doil. Fine gentleman!-ay-some rake, I
will initiate you at once in the fashionable suppose, that wants to sell an annuity.-I
rage, and teach you to trifle agreeably. You wonder where Gradus is-past seven.
shall be equipped from his wardrobe, to ap-
pear here in the evening a man of the world.
Adieu to grizzles, and-
Grad. But what will the father think of
such a metamorphosis?
a
[Looking at his watch.
Serv. His friends keep the gentleman over
bottle, mayhap, Sir, longer than he thought for.
Doil. He over a bottle!-more liker he's
over some crabbed book; or watching what
904
[ACT II.
WHO'S THE DUPE?

the moon's about, through a microscope. Sand. Well, you've hit it off tolerably, for
Come, move the things; and empty them two a coup d'essai.-But pr'ythee, Gradus, can't
bottoms into one bottle, and cork it up close you talk in a style a little less fustian? You
-d'ye hear. I wish Gradus was come.-remember how those fine fellows conversed
Well, if I succeed in this one point, the devil you saw at dinner; no sentences, no cramp
may run away with the rest. Let the world words-all was ease and impudence.
go to loggerheads; grass grow upon 'Change; Grad. Yes, I remember. Now the shell is
land-tax mount up; little Doiley is snug. Doi-burst, I shall soon be fledged.
ley, with a hundred thousand in annuities, and
a son-in-law as wise as a chancellor, may
bid defiance to wind and weather. [Exit.
SCENE II-A Drawing Room.
Enter GRADUS, led by CHARLOTTE, and fol-
lowed by MR. SANDFORD.
DOILEY entering, starts back.
Doil. Why, who the dickens have we here?
Sand. So, there's the old genius!
Miss D. But I am convinced now-I am
convinced now this is all put on-in your
heart you are still Mr. Gradus.
Grad. Yes, Madam, still Gradus: but not
Char. Well, I protest this is an improve-
ment! Why, what with satins aud tassels,
and spangles and foils, you look as fine as a that stiff scholastic fool you saw this morning.
chemist's shop by candle light.
No, no, I've learned that the acquisitions of
which your father is so ridiculously fond, are
Grad. Madam, do you approve-
Char. Oh, amazingly-I'll run and send useless lumber; that a man who knows more
Miss Doiley to admire you.
than his neighbours, is in danger of being
Grad. [Looking in a glass] Oh, if our shut out of society; or, at best, of being in-
proctor could now behold me! he would never vited at dinner once in a twelvemonth, to be
believe that figure to be Jeremy Gradus. exhibited like an antique bronze, or a por-
Sand. Very true, and I give ye joy. No ridge-pot from Herculaneum.
one would conceive you'd ever been within
gun-shot of a college.
Doil. Zounds! 'tis he! I'm all over in a
cold sweat.
[Behind.
Miss D. And don't you think learning the
Grad. What must I do with this?
Sand. Your chapeau bras-wear it thus. greatest blessing in the world?
These hats are for the arm only.
Grad. Not I, truly, Madam -Learning! a
Grad. A hat for the arm! what a subver-vile bore!
sion of ideas! Oh, Mr. Sandford-if the sump-
tuary laws of Lycurgus-
Doil. Do I stand upon my head or my
heels?
Sand. Damn it! will you never leave off Grad. I shall leave all those fopperies to
your college cant? I tell you once more-the gray-beards at college. Let 'em chop lo-
and, by Jupiter, if you don't attend to me, gic, or make English hashes out of stale He-
I'll give you up; I say, you must forget brew, till they starve, for me.
that such fellows ever existed-that there ever
was a language but English-a classic but
Ovid, or a volume but his Art of Love.
Grad. I will endeavour to form myself from
your instructions; but tarry with me, I entreat
you-if you should leave me-
Sand. This is your resolution?
Grad. Fixed as Ixion on his wheel. I have
no study now but the ton.
Doil. Indeed!
Grad. You shall confess, my friend, in
spite of prejudice, that 'tis possible for a man
Sand. I won't leave you. Here's your mis-of letters to become a man of the world. You
tress.-Now, Gradus, stand to your arms.
shall see that he can dress, grow an adept in
Grad. I'll do my best; but I could wish the science of taste, ogle at the opera, be vo-
the purse-keeper was Miss Charlotte.
Enter Miss DOILEY.
ciferous at the playhouse, suffer himself to be
pigeoned with an easy air at Boodle's, and
lose his health for the benefit of his reputa-
tion in King's Place.
Sand. Hush! Your devoted: allow me, Ma-
dam, to introduce a gentleman to you, in
Miss D. Bless me! one would suppose you
whose affairs I am particularly interested- had been familiar in the bon ton all your
Mr. Gradus.
Miss D. Mr. Gradus! Is it possible?
Grad. Be not astonished, oh lovely maiden,
at my sudden change! Beauty is a talisman I
which works true miracles, and, without a
fable, transforms mankind.
life;-you have all the requisites to make a
figure in it, by heart.
Grad. The mere force of beauty, Madam-
wished to become worthy of you, and that
wish has worked a miracle.
Doil. A miracle with a vengeance! Jacquet
Miss D. Your transformation, I fear, is too Droz'-wood and wire-work was nothing to it.
sudden to be lasting-
Miss D. How different from what you was
Grad. Transformation! Resplendent Virgo! this morning!
brightest constellation of the starry zone! I
Grad. Oh, mention it not.-This morning-
am but now created. Your charms, like the may it be blotted from time's ledger, and ne-
Promethean fire, have warmed the clod to life ver thought on more! I abhor my former self,
and rapt me to a new existence.
Madam, more than you can: witness now the
Miss D. But may I be sure you'll never recantation of my errors.-Learning, with all
take up your old rust again?
its tribe of solemn fopperies, I abjure-abjure
Doil. You do?
Grad. Never. Sooner shall Taurus with for ever.
the Pisces join, Copernicus to Ptolemy resign
the spheres, than I be what I was.
Miss D. I shall burst.
[Aside.
Grad. The study of what is vulgarly called
philosophy, may suit a monk: but it is as un-

SCENE 2.]
905
WHO'S THE DUPE?
becoming a gentleman, as loaded dice or a low, he has entered into my plot with such
brass-hilted sword.
Doil. Larning unbecoming a gentleman!-
Very well!
spirit.
[Exit.
Doil. Why, you've been in wonderful haste
to get rid of the igranter part-but as it hap-
Grad. Hebrew I leave to the Jew rabbis, pened, that was the only part I cared for; so
Greek to the bench of bishops, Latin to the now you may carry your hogs to another
apothecaries, and astronomy to almanac ma- market; they won't do for me.
[kers. Grad. My hogs!
Doil. Better and better.
Grad. The mathematics-mixed, pure, spe- Doil. Ay, your boars-your improvements
culative, and practical, with their whole circle -your fashionable airs-your-in short, you
of sciences, I consign in a lump to old men are not the man I took you for, so you may
who want blood, and to young ones who trot back to college again; go, mister, and
want bread. And now you've heard my whole teach 'em the tone, do. Lord, how they'll
abjuration. [Doiley, rushing forward. stare! Jeremy Gradus, or the monkey returned
Doil. Yes: and I have heard too-I have from trave!!
heard. Oh, that I should ever have been such Sand. Upon my honour, you are too se-
a dolt, as to take thee for a man of larning! vere. Leave us, man- leave us-I'll settle
Grad. Mr. Doiley!
[Confounded. your affair, I warrant.
[To Gradus.
Doil. What! don't be dashed, man; go on Grad. Not so easily, I fear, he sticks to his
with your abjurations, do, Yes, you'll make point, like a rusty weather-cock-all my de-
a shine in the tone?-Oh, that ever I should pendance is on the lady.
have been such a nincompoop!
Sand. You'll allow Gradus to speak to Miss
-
Sand. My dear Mr. Doiley, do not be in a Doiley?
heat. How can a man of your discernment Doil. Oh, ay, to be sure-the more he
-Now look at Gradus-I'm sure he's a much speaks the less she'll like him. Here, show,
prettier fellow than he was his figure and Mr. Gradus the dressing-room. [Exit Gra-
his manner quite different things.
dus] Give her another dose; surfeit her by
Doil. Yes, yes, I can see that I can see all means.-Why, sure, Mr. Sandford, you
that-Why, he has turned little Aesop upside had no hand in transmogrifying the-
down; he's the lion in the skin of an ass. Sand. Yes, faith, I had. I couldn't endure
[Walking about. the idea of seeing your charming daughter
Grad. I must retrieve myself in his opini-tied to a collection of Greek apothegms and
on. The skin, Mr. Doiley, may be put off; Latin quotations; so I endeavoured to English
and be assured that the mind which has once him.
felt the sacred energies of wisdom, though it
may assume, for a moment-
Miss D. So, so!
[Angrily.
Sand. [Apart] Hark ye, Sir! that won't do.
By Heaven, if you play retrograde, I'll forsake
you on the spot. You are ruined with your
mistress in a moment.
Doil. English him! I take it shocking ill of
you, Mr. Sandford-that I must tell you.-
Here are all my hopes gone, like a whiff of
tobacco!
Sand. Pho! my dear Mr. Doiley, this at-
tachment of yours to scholarship is a mere
whim-
Grad. Dear Madam! believe me, that as Doil. Whim! well, suppose it is, I will
for-What can I say?-How assimilate my-have my whim. Worked hard forty years,
self to two such opposite tastes? I stand reel- and saved about twice as many thousand
ing here between two characters, like a sub-pounds; and if so much labour and so much
stantive between two adjectives.
money won't entitle a man to whim, I don't
Doil. You! you for to turn fop and mac-know what the devil should.
caroni! Why, 'twould be as natural for a Jew Sand. Nor I either, I'm sure.
rabbi to turn parson. An elephant in pin- Doil. To tell you a bit of a secret-lack of
ners-a bishop with a rattle and bells, couldn't larning has been my great detriment. If I'd
be more posterous.
been a scholar, there's no knowing what I
Sand. Nay, now, my dear Mr. Doiley-mought have got-my plumb might have been
Doil. Dear me, no dears. Why, ifI wanted two-my-
a maccaroni, I might have had choice; every Sand. Why, doubtless, a little classical
alley from Hyde Park to Shadwell Dock swarms knowledge might have been useful in driving
with 'em-genuine; and d'ye think I'll have your bargains for Russia tallow and whale
an amphiberous thing-half and half, like the blubber.
sea-calf at Sir Ashton's?
Doil. Ay, to be sure! And I do verily be-
Sand. Oh, if that's all, a hundred to ten lieve it hindered me from being Lord Mayor
Gradus will soon be as complete a character-only think of that-Lord Mayor of London!
as if he had never learned his alpha beta: or Sand. How so?
known more of the classics than their names. Doil. Why, I tended the common council
Doil. Oh, I warrant him. Now, what do and all the parish meetings for fifteen years,
ye think of the Scratchi, the Horsi, and the without daring for to make one arangue; at
rest of 'em? ay?
last a westry was called about chusing of a
Grad. Oh, a mere bore! a parcel of hrawny, turncock. So now, thinks I, I'll show 'em
untaught fellows, who knew no more of life what I'm good for. Our alderman was in the
than they did of Chinese. If they'd stood purples-so, thinks I, if he tips off, why not
candidates for rank in a college of taste, they'd I as well as another;-So I'll make a speech
have been returned ignorantur-Would they about patrots, and then ax for their votes.
not, Madam?
Sand. Very judicious!
Miss D. Oh certainly. I could kiss the fel-
Doil. If you'll believe me, I got up three
114
906
[ACT II.
WHO'S THE DUPE?

times-Silence! says Mr. Crier; and my ton- Sand. Well, since you are so very earnest,
gue grew so dry with fright, that I couldn't I'll see what I can do.
[Exit.
wag it; so I was forced to squat down again, Doil. Thank'e, thank'e! I'cod! I'll buy him
'midst horse-laughs; and they nick-named me twice as many books as a college library, but
Dummy, through the whole ward.
what I'll bribe him that I will. What the
Sand. Wicked rogues! Well, I ask your dickens can Elizabeth be about with that thing
pardon-I had no idea of these important rea-there, that Gradus! He a man of larning!
sons. Yet, how men differ! Now the family Hang me, if I don't believe his head's as hol-
of Sir Wilford Granger are quite distressed low as my cane. Shure, she can't have taken
by the obstinate attachment to the sciences, a fancy to the smattering monkey! Ho, there
of that fine young fellow I told you of this they are-here he comes! Why, there's Greek
morning.
and algebra in his face
black.
Doil. Ay! What's he Sir William Gran-
ger's son? Knew his father very well:-kept Enter SANDFORD and GRANGER, dressed in
a fine study of horses, and lost many thou-
sands by it; lent him money many a time-
good man-always punctual.
Mr. Granger, your very humble servant, Sir,
Sand. Ay, Sir, but this youth disappointed-I'm very glad to see you, Sir.
all his hopes. Mighty pleasant, to see a Grang. I thank you, Sir. [Very solemnly.
young fellow, formed to possess life in all its Doil. I knew your father, Sir, as well as a
points and bewitching varieties, shrink from beggar knows his dish. Mayhap, Mr. Sand-
the world, and bury himself amidst obsolete ford told you that I wanted for to bring you
books, systems, and schisms, whilst pleasure and my daughter acquainted-I'll go and call
wooes him to her soft embrace and joys so- her in.
licit him in vain! Oh, it gave his father great Grang. 'Tis unnecessary.
Doi!. He seems a mighty silent man.
trouble.
[Apart.
Doil. Great trouble! Dear me, dear me! I
always thought Sir Wilford had been a wiser Sand. Studying-studying. Ten to one he's
man.-Why, I would have given the world forming a discourse in Arabic, or revolving
for such a son.
Sand. He swallows it rarely! [Aside] Oh,
he piques himself on such trifles as reading
the Greek and Latin authors in their own
tongues, and mastering all the quibbles of our
English philosophers-
Doil. English philosophers! I wouldn't give
a farthing for them.
Sand. Why, sure you have heard of a
Bacon, a Locke, a Newton-
I
one of Euclid's problems.
Doil. Couldn't you set him a talking a bit!
long for to hear him talk.
Sand. Come, man! forget the old sages a
moment. Can't the idea of Miss Doiley give
fillip to your imagination?
a
Grang. Miss Doiley, I'm informed, is as
lovely as a woman can be. But what is wo-
man?-Only one of Nature's agreeable blunders.
Doil. Hum! That smacks of something!
Doil. Newton! oh, ay-I have heard of [Aside]-Why, as to that, Mr. Granger, a
Sir Isaac-every body has heard of Sir Isaac woman with no portion but her whims, might
-greal man-master of the Mint.
be but a kind of a Jew's bargain; but when
Sand. Oh, Sir! this youth has found a do- fifty thousand is popped into the scale, she
zen mistakes in his theories, and proved him must be bad indeed, if her husband does not
wrong in one or two of his calculations. In find her a pen'worth.
short, he is advised to give the world a system Grang. With men of the world, Mr. Doi-
of his own, in which, for aught I know, he'llley, fifty thousand pounds might have their
prove the earth to be concave instead of sphe- weight; but in the balance of philosophy, gold
rical, and the moon to be no bigger than a is light as dephlogisticated air.
Doil. That's deep-I can make nothing of
Doil. [Aside] He's the man-he's the man! it: that must be deep. [Aside] Mr. Granger!
Look'e, Mr. Sandford, you've given a descrip- the great account I have had of your larning,
tion of this young fellow, that's set my blood and what not, has made me willing for to be
in a ferment. Do you-now, my dear friend, akin to you.
punchbowl.
do you think that you could prevail upon him Grang. Mr. Sandford suggested to me your
to marry my daughter!
design, Sir; and as you have so nobly pro-
Sand. Why, I don't know-neither beauty posed your daughter as the prize of learning,
nor gold has charms for him. Knowledge- I have an ambition to be related to you.
knowledge is his mistress.
Doil. [Aside] But I'll see a bit farther into
Doil. Ay! I'm sorry for that-and yet I'm him, though, first. Now pray, Mr. Granger!
glad of it too. Now, see what ye can do pray now-a-I say [To Sand.] Ax him some
with him-see what ye can do with him! deep question, that he may show himself a
Sand. Well, well, I'l! try, He promised to bit.
call on me here this evening, in his way to Sand. What the devil shall I say? A deep
the Museum. I don't know whether he isn't question you would have it? Let me see!-
below now.
Oh, Granger, is it your opinion that the an-
Doil. Below now! Ifackins, that's lucky-cient antipodes walked erect, or crawled on
hang me if it isn't! Do, go and- and speak all fours?
to him a bit-and bring him up-bring him Grang. A thinking man always doubts-
up. Tell him, if he'll marry Elizabeth, I'll but the best informations concur, that they
give him, that is, I'll leave him every farthing were quadrupedes during two revolutions of
I have in the world.
the sun, and bipedes ever after.

SCENE 2.1
907
WHO'S THE DUPE?
Doil. Quadpedes! Bipedes! What a fine Granger- he's one of your great genus men
inan he is.
[Aside.-going to write a book abont Sir Isaac, and
the moon, and the devil knows what.
[Miss Doil, and Char. enter at the
back of the stage.
Sand. A surprising transformation!
Grung. Not more surprising than the trans-
formation of an eruca to a chrysalis, a chry-
salis to a nymph, and a nymph to a butterfly. Grad. If so, the more glorious will be my
Doil. There again! I see it will do-I see victory. Come, Sir! let us enter the lists,
it will do: ay, that I will-hang me if I don't. since it must be so, for this charming prize;
[Aside. Exit, chuckling and laughing. [Pointing to Miss Doiley] choose your wea-
Grang. What's he gone off for, so abruptly? pons,-Hebrew - Greek-Latin, or English.
Sand. For his daughter, I hope. Give ye Name your subject; we will pursue it syllo-
joy, my dear fellow! the nymph, the eruca, gistically, or socratically, as you please.
and the chrysalis, have won the day.
Grang. [Aside] Curse your syllogisms and
Grang. How shall I bound my happiness! socratisms.
My dear Sandford, that was the luckiest ques-
tion, about the antipodes.
Sand. Yes, pretty successful. Have you
been at your studies?
Grang. Oh, I've been in the dictionary this
half hour; and have picked up cramp words
enough to puzzle and delight the old gentle-
man the remainder of his life.
Sand. Here he is, faith-
Grang. And Elizabeth with him-I hear her
dear footsteps! O how shall I!-
Doil. No, no, I'll not have no English-
what a plague! every shoe-black jabbers Eng-
lish, so give us a touch of Greek to set off
with-come, Gradus, you begin.
Miss Doil. Undone! undone !
Grad. If it is merely a recitation of Greek
that you want, you shall be gratified. An
epigram that occurs to me, will give you an
idea of that sublime language!
Char. [Aside] Oh, confound your sublime
language!
Grad. Panta gelos, kai panta konis kai
panta to meden
Panta gar exalagon, esti ta gino-
mena.
Doil. [Without] Come along, I say-what
plague are you so modest for? Come in
here, [Pulls in Gradus by the arm] Here,
I've brought him-one of your own kidney-
ha! ha! ha! Now I'll lay you a gallon you Doil. Panta tri pantry! Why, that's all
can't guess what I've brought him for, I've about the pantry. What, the old Grecians
brought him-ha! ha! ha! for to pit him loved tit-bits, mayhap-but that's low! aye,
against you [To Granger] to see which of Sandford?
you two is the most larned-ha! ha!
Grang. Ten thousand devils, plagues, and have talked about a pig-stye.
furies!
Sand. Here's a blow up!
Sand. Oh, cursed low! he might as well
Doil. Come, Granger, now for it! Elizabeth
and fifty thousand pounds!
Doil. Why, for all he looks so like a nin- Grang. Yes, Sir. I-I-am not much pre-
compoop in this pye-picked jacket, he's got pared: I could wish-I could wish-Sandford!
his noddle full of Greek and algebra, and
[Apart.
them things. Why, Gradus, don't stand aloof, Sand. Zounds! say something-any thing!
man-this is a brother scholar, I tell ye. Char. [Aside] Ah! it's all over. He could
Grad. A scholar! all who have earned that as easily furnish the ways and means, as a
distinction are my brethren. Carissime fra- word in Greek.
ter, gaudeo te videre.
Doil. Hoity, toity! What, at a stand! Why
Grang. Sir-you-I-most obedient. I wish sure you can talk Greek as well as Gradus.
thou wert in the bottom of the Red sea, and Grang. 'Tis a point I cannot decide, you
the largest folio in thy library about thy neck. must determine it. Now, impudence, embrace
[Aside. me with thy seven-fold shield! Zanthus, I
Sand. For Heaven's sake, Mr. Doiley, what remember, in describing such a night as this-
do you mean?
Grad. Zanthus! you surely err. Homer
mentions but one being of that name, except
a river, and he was a horse.
Grang. Sir, he was an orator-and such a
one that, Homer records, the gods themselves
Doil. Mean! why I mean for to pit 'em,
to be sure, and to give Elizabeth to the win-
ner.-Touch him up, touch him up! [To
Granger] Show him what a fool he is.
Sand. Why, sure you won't set them toge-inspired him.
ther by the ears!
Zanthus?
Grad. True, Sir-but you won't deny--
Doil. No, no; but I'm resolved for to set Doil. Come, come! I sha'n't have no brow-
them together by the tongues. To cut the beating-nobody offered for to contradict you
business short-Mr. Gradus! you are to be so begin [To Granger] What said orator
sure a great dab at larning, and what not;
but I'll bet my daughter, and fifty thousand Grang. Yon lucid orb, in acther pensile,
to boot, that Granger beats ye-and he that irradiates th' expanse. Refulgent scintillations,
wins shall have her.
in th' ambient void opake, emit humid splen-
Grang. Heavens, what a stake! 'Tis suffi-dor. Chrysalic spheroids th' horizon vivify-
cient to inspire a dolt with the tongues of astifarious constellations, nocturnal sporades,
Babel.
in refrangerated radii, illume our orb terrene.
Miss D. I breathe again.
[Aside.
Doil. There! there; well spoke, Granger
Doil. Fiddle-de-dee!-I tell you, I will have-Now, Gradus, beat that!
my whim-and so, Gradus, set off. By Jen- Grad. I am enwrapt in astonishment! Yor
kin! you'll find it a tough business to beat are imposed on, Sir,-instead of classical lan
Sand. My dear friend, think of the indeli-
cacy-

908
[ACT II.
WHO'S THE DUPE?
guage, you have heard a rant in English- to him of yourself-he's a man after my own
Doil. English! Zounds! d'ye take me for a heart.
fool? D'ye think I don't know my own mo- Miss D. Then, Sir, without reserve, I ac-
ther-tongue!-'Twas no more like English, than knowledge your choice of Mr. Granger is
I am like Whittington's cat.
perfectly agreeable to mine.
Grad. It was every syllable English.
Grad. Yes, so plain, that it has exsuscitated
my understanding-I perceive I have been
duped.
Doil. That's my dear Bet! [Kissing her]-
Doil. There's impudence!-There wasn't no We'll have the wedding directly. There!
word of it English-if you take that for Eng-d'ye understand that, Mr. Tri-pantry?-Is that
lish, devil take me if I believe there was a English?
word of Greek in all your try-pantrys.
Grad. Oh! the torture of ignorance!
Doil. Ignorant!-Come, come, none of your
tricks upon travellers. I know you mean all
that as a skit upon my edication - But I'll
have you to know, Sir, that I'll read the hard-
est chapter of Nehemiah with you for your
ears.
Grad. I repeat that you are imposed on.
Mr. Sandford I appeal to you.
Grang. And I appeal-
Doil. Ay, well! I had rather you should
be the dupe than me.
Grad. Well, Sir, I have no inclination to
contest-if the lovely Charlotte will perform
her promise.
Char. Agreed! provided that, in your cha-
racter of husband, you will be as singular
and old fashioned, as the wig you wore this
Sand. Nay, gentlemen, Mr. Doiley is your morning.
judge in all disputes concerning the vulgar
tongue.
tent.
Doil. What, cousin! have
you taken a
fancy to the scholar? Egad! you're a cute girl,
Doil. Ay, to be sure I am. Who cares and mayhap may be able to make something
for your peals? I peal too; and I tell you, I of him; and I don't care if I throw in a few
won't be imposed on. Here, Elizabeth, I have hundreds, that you mayn't repent your bar-
got ye a husband, at last, to my heart's con- gain. Well, now I've settled this affair ex-
actly to my mind, I am the happiest man in
Miss D. Him, Sir! You presented that gentle- the world. And, d'ye hear, Gradus? I don't
man to me this morning, and I have found love for to bear malice. If you'll trot back
such a fund of merit in him-
to college, and larn the difference between
Greek and English, why you may stand a
chance to be tutor-when they've made me a
grandfather.
Doil. In he! what in that beau-bookworm!
that argufies me down, I don't know English!
Don't go for to provoke me-bid that Mr.
Granger welcome to my house-he'll soon be
master on't.
Grad. I have had enough of languages.
You see I have just engaged a tutor to teach
Miss D. Sir, in obedience to the commands me to read the world; and if I play my part
of my father-
[Significantly. there as well as I did at Brazen-Nose, your
Doil. Sha'n't say obedience, say something indulgence will grant me applause.
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