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 BY; 
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 IN TEN VOLUMES 
 e " VOL. X 
 4 LONDON 
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CON EEN HS: 
 
 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM; OR, THE VIRGIN UNMASKED 
 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 
 St ee Pe a oe ee ey 
 
 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER FOR THE YEAR 1736... . 
 oY SLO a ae a 
 
 EURYDICE HISSED ; OR, A WORD TO THE WISE 
 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK ; OR, PHATON IN THE SUDS. 
 
 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 THE FATHERS ; OR, THE GOOD-NATURED MAN . 
 
 VOL, X. 
 
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OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE VIRGIN UNMASKED. 
 
 A FARCE. 
 
 AS IT WAS PERFORMED AT 
 | 
 
 Torii ere ALL RBS ROY Alt, 
 
 BY HIS MAJESTY’S SERVANTS, 1734. 
 
 ee tr eae ee eer os ae) we 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON. 
 
 GOODWILL 32 2.04) 3 ets 8) oe ee 
 Lucy, his Dawehter.. .2\. wi (27 6) Ae ee eee 
 BLISTER, an, Apothecary . .) 4. 2.05) ee 
 COUPEE} a Dancing-master .. «) 27.) 7 8) eee 
 QUAVER, a'Singing-master. .5°) <7.) Wate eae es 
 WORMWOOD,'a Lawyer. < . 09". (0) Sarees eee 
 MR. THOMAS, a Footman. 7. i) cP ie ee 
 
 SCENE.--A Hall tn GOODWILL’S House in the Country. 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 SCENE.—A Hall in MR. GOODWILL’S House. 
 
 GOODWILL. [So/ws.]| Well! it is to me _ surprising, that 
 out of the multitudes who feel a pleasure in getting an 
 estate, few or none should taste a satisfaction in bestowing 
 it. Doubtless, a good man must have vast delight in re- 
 warding merit, nor will I believe it so difficult to be found. 
 I am at present, I thank Heaven, and my own industry, 
 worth a good ten thousand pounds, and an only daughter, 
 both which I have determined to give to the most 
 worthy of my poor relations. The transport I feel from the 
 hope of making some honest man happy, makes me amends 
 for the many weary days and sleepless nights my _ riches 
 have cost me. I have sent tosummon them. The girl I 
 have bred up under my own eye; she has seen nothing, 
 knows nothing, and has consequently no will but mine. I have 
 no reason to doubt her consent to whatever choice I shall 
 make. How happily must my old age slide away, between 
 the affection of an innocent and dutiful child, and the 
 erateful return I may expect from a so much _ obliged 
 son-in-law! JI am certainly the happiest man on earth. 
 Here she comes. 
 
4 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 Einter LUCY. 
 
 Lucy. Did you send for me, papa? 
 
 GOODWILL. Yes, come hither, child. I have sent for you 
 to mention an affair to you, which you, I believe, have not 
 yet thought of. 
 
 Lucy. I hope it is not to send me to a boarding-school, papa. 
 
 GOODWILL. I hope my indulgence to you has been such, 
 that you have reason to regard me as the best of fathers. 
 I am sure I have never denied you any thing but for your 
 own good: indeed I have consulted nothing else. It is that 
 for which I have been toiling these many years; for which 
 I have denied myself every comfort in life ; and from which 
 I have, from renting a farm of five hundred a year, amassed 
 the sum of ten thousand pounds. 
 
 Lucy. I am afraid you are angry with me, papa. 
 
 GOODWILL. Be not frightened, my dear child, you have 
 done nothing to offend me. But answer me one question 
 ——What does my little dear think of a husband? 
 
 Lucy. A husband, papa! O la! 
 
 GOODWILL. Come, it is a question a girl in her sixteenth 
 year may answer. Should you like to have a husband, Lucy ? 
 
 Lucy. And am I to have a coach? 
 
 GOODWILL. No, no: what has that to do with a husband? 
 
 Lucy. Why you know, papa, Sir John Wealthy’s daughter 
 was carried away in a coach by her husband; and I have 
 been told by several of our neighbours, that I was to have 
 a coach when I was married. Indeed I have dreamt of it a 
 hundred times. I never dreamt of a husband in my whole 
 life that I did not dream of a coach. I have rid about in 
 one all night in my sleep, and methought it was the purest 
 thing !—— 
 
 GOODWILL. Lock up a girl as you will, I find you cannot 
 keep her from evil counsellors. [Aszde.]—I tell you, child, 
 you must have no coach with a husband. 
 
 Lucy. Then let me have a coach without a husband. 
 
 GOODWILL. What, had you rather have a coach than 
 a husband ? 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 5 
 
 Lucy. Hum——I don’t know that. But, if you'll get 
 Memes coach, let me alone, L[’ll warrant I'll get me a 
 husband. 
 
 AIR I. Zhomas, I cannot. 
 
 Do you, papa, but find a coach, 
 And leave the other to me, sir ; 
 For that will make the lover approach, 
 And I warrant we sha’n't disagree, sir ; 
 No sparks will talk 
 To girls that walk, 
 I have heard it, and I confide in’t: 
 Do you then fix 
 My coach and six, 
 I warrant I get one to ride in’t, to ride in 't. 
 I warrant, &c. 
 
 GOODWILL. The girl is out of her wits, sure. Hussy! 
 who put these thoughts into your head? You shall have 
 a good sober husband, that will teach you better things. 
 
 Lucy. Ay, but I won’t though, if I can help it; for Miss 
 Jenny Flant-it says a sober husband is the worst sort of 
 husband in the world. 
 
 GOODWILL. I have a mind to sound the girl’s inclina- 
 tions. Come hither, Lucy; tell me now, of all the men 
 you ever saw, whom should you like best for a husband? 
 
 Lucy. O fie, papa, I must not tell. 
 
 GOODWILL. Yes, you may your father. 
 
 Lucy. No, Miss Jenny says I must not tell my mind to 
 any man whatever. She never tells a word of truth to her 
 father. 
 
 GOODWILL. Miss Jenny is a wicked girl, and you must 
 not regard her. Come, tell me the truth, or I shall be 
 angry. 
 
 Lucy. Why then, of all the men I ever saw in my 
 whole life-time, I like Mr. Thomas, my Lord Bounce’s 
 footman, the best, a hundred thousand times. 
 
 GOODWILL. Oh, fie upon you! like a footman ? 
 
 Lucy. A footman! he looks a thousand times more like 
 
6 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 a gentleman than either Squire Foxchase or Squire Tankard ; 
 and talks more like one, ay, and smells more like one too. 
 His head is so prettily drest, done all down upon the top 
 with sugar, like a frosted cake, with three little curls on 
 each side, that you may see his ears as plain! and then his 
 hair is done up behind just like a fine lady’s, with a little 
 hat, and a pair of charming white stockings, as neat and as 
 fine as any white-legged fowl ; and he always carries a great 
 swinging stick in his hand, as big as himself, that he would 
 knock any dog down with, who was to offer to bite me. A 
 footman, indeed! why Miss Jenny likes him as well as I 
 do; and she says, all the fine young gentlemen that the 
 ladies in London are so fond of, are just such persons as he is. 
 —Icod, I should have had him before now, but that folks told 
 me I should have a man with a coach, and that methinks 
 I had rather have, a great deal. 
 
 GOODWILL. I am amazed! but I abhor the mercenary 
 temper in the girl worse than all_—What, child, would you 
 have any one with a coach! would you have Mr. Achum? 
 
 Lucy. Yes indeed would I, for a coach. 
 
 GOODWILL. Why, he is a cripple, and can scarce walk 
 across the room. 
 
 Lucy. What signifies that? 
 
 AIR II. Wully Honey. 
 
 When he in a coach can be carried, 
 What need has a man to go? 
 That women for coaches are married, 
 I’m not such a child but I know. 
 But if the poor crippled elf 
 In coach be not able to roam, 
 Why then I may go by myself, 
 And he may e’en stay at home. 
 
 Enter BLISTER. 
 
 BLISTER. Mr. Goodwill, your humble servant. I have 
 rid twelve long miles in little more than an hour, I 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 7 
 
 am glad to see you so well; I was afraid by your 
 message—— 
 
 GOODWILL. That I had wanted your advice, I suppose. 
 Truly, coz, I sent for you on a better account.——Lucy, 
 this is a relation of yours you have not seen a great while, 
 iny cousin Blister, the apothecary. 
 
 Lucy. O la! I hope that great huge man is not to be 
 my husband. 
 
 BLISTER. My cousin is well grown, and looks healthy, 
 What apothecary do you employ? He deals in good drugs, 
 I warrant him. 
 
 GOODWILL. Plain wholesome food and exercise are what 
 she deals in. 
 
 BLISTER. Plain wholesome food is very proper at some 
 time of the year, with gentle physic between whiles. 
 
 GOODWILL. Leave us a little, my dear Lucy, I must talk 
 with your cousin. 
 
 Lucy. Yes, papa, with all my heart—-—I hope I shall 
 never see that great thing again. | Baez. 
 
 GOODWILL, I believe you begin to wonder at my 
 message, and will, perhaps, more, when you know the 
 occasion of it. In short, without more preface, I begin to 
 find myself going out of the world, and my daughter very 
 eager to come into it. I have therefore resolved to see her 
 settled without farther delay. I am far from thinking vast 
 wealth necessary to happiness: wherefore, as I can give her 
 a sufficient competency, I have determined to marry her to 
 one of my own relations. It will please me, that the fruits 
 of my labour should not go out of the family. I have sent 
 to several of my kinsmen of whom she shall take her 
 choice; and as you are the first here, if you like my 
 proposal, you shall make the first application. 
 
 BLISTER. With all my heart, cousin; and I am very 
 much obliged to you. Your daughter seems an agreeable 
 young woman, and I have no aversion to marriage. JBut 
 pray why do you think yourself going out of the world? 
 Proper care might continue you in it a considerable while. 
 Let me feel your pulse. 
 
8 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 GOODWILL. To oblige you; though I am in very good 
 health. 
 
 BLISTER. A little feverish—-—I would advise you to lose 
 a little blood, and take an emulsion, with a gentle emetic 
 and cathartic. 
 
 GOODWILL. No, no, I will send my daughter to you; but 
 pray keep your physic to yourself, dear cousin. [ Exit. 
 
 BLISTER. This man is near seventy, and I have heard, 
 never took any physic in his life; and yet he looks as well 
 as if he had been under the doctor’s hands all his life-time. 
 ’Tis strange; but if I marry his daughter, the sooner he 
 dies the better. It is an odd whim of his to marry her in 
 this manner; but he is very rich, and so, so much the 
 better—What a strange dowdy ’tis! No matter, her fortune 
 is never the worse. 
 
 AIR III. Round, round the Mill. 
 
 In women we beauty or wit may admire; 
 Sing, Trol, lerol: 
 
 But sure as we have them, as surely they’ll tire; 
 Oh ho, will they so? 
 
 Abroad for these dainties the wise therefore roam, 
 Sing Trol, lerol: 
 
 And frugally keep but a plain dish at home; 
 Oh ho, do they so? 
 
 Who marries a beauty must hate her when old; 
 Sing Trol, lerol: 
 
 But the older it grows, the more precious the gold. 
 Ohno, iss1tesor 
 
 Enter LUCY. 
 
 Oh, here comes my mistress: what a pox shall I say to 
 her? I never made love in my life. 
 
 Lucy. Papa has sent me hither; but if it was not for 
 fear of a boarding-school, I am sure I would not have 
 come: but they say I shall be whipt there, and a husband 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 9 
 
 can't whip me, let me do what I will; that’s one good 
 
 thing. 
 
 BLISTER. Won’t you please to sit down, cousin? 
 
 Lucy. Yes, thank you, sir—-—Since I must stay with 
 you, I may as well sit down as not. [A szde. 
 
 BLISTER. Pray, cousin, how do you find yourself ? 
 
 Lucy. Find myself? 
 
 BLISTER. Yes, how do you do? Let me feel your pulse. 
 How do you sleep o’ nights? 
 
 Lucy. How? why, upon my back, generally. 
 
 BLISTER. But I mean, do you sleep without interruption ? 
 Are you not restless? 
 
 Lucy. I tumble and toss a good deal sometimes. 
 
 BLISTER. Hum! Pray how long do you usually sleep? 
 
 Lucy. About ten or eleven hours. 
 
 BLISTER. Is your stomach good? Do you eat with an 
 appetite? How often do you find in a day any inclination 
 to eat? 
 
 Lucy. Why, a good many times; but I don’t eat a 
 great deal, unless it be at breakfast, dinner, and supper, 
 and afternoon’s luncheon. 
 
 BLISTER. Hum! I find you have at present no absolute 
 need of an apothecary. 
 
 Lucy. I am glad to hear that; I wish he was gone, with 
 all my heart. 
 
 BLISTER. I suppose, cousin, your father has mentioned 
 to you the affair 1 am come upon; may I hope you will 
 comply with him, in making me the happiest man upon 
 earth? 
 
 Lucy. You need not ask me; you know I must do what 
 he bids me. 
 
 BLISTER. May I then hope you will make me your 
 husband ? 
 
 Lucy. I must do what he’ll have me. 
 
 BLISTER. What makes you cry, Miss? Pray tell me what 
 is the matter? | 
 
 Lucy. No, you will be angry with me, if I tell you. 
 
 BLISTER. I angry! it is not in my power, I can’t be 
 
 (0) ED. © C 
 
10 AN OLD MAN TAUGAT WISDOM 
 
 angry with you; I am to be afraid of your anger, not you 
 of mine; I must not be angry with you, whatever you do. 
 
 Lucy. What! must not you be angry, let me do what 
 I will? 
 
 BLISTER. No, my dear. 
 
 Lucy. Why then, by Goles! I will tell you—I hate you, 
 and I can’t abide you. 
 
 BLISTER. What have I done to deserve your hate? 
 
 Lucy. You have done nothing; but you are such a 
 great ugly thing, I can’t bear to look at you; and if my 
 papa was to lock me up for a twelvemonth I should hate 
 you still. 
 
 BLISTER. Did not you tell me just now, you would make 
 me your husband ? 
 
 LUCY. SY és, sole will aor alkitbac 
 
 AIR IV. Now ponder well, &e. 
 
 Ah, be not angry, good dear sir, 
 Nor do not tell papa; 
 
 For though I can’t abide you, sir, 
 I’ll marry you O la! 
 
 BLISTER. Well, my dear, if you can’t abide me I can't 
 help that, nor you can’t help it; and if you will not tell 
 your father, I assure you I will not; besides, my dear, as 
 for liking me, do not give yourself any trouble about that, 
 it is the very best reason for marrying me; no lady now 
 marries any one but whom she hates; hating one another 
 is the chief end of matrimony. It is what most couples 
 do before they are married, and all after it. I fancy you 
 have not a right notion of a married life. I suppose you 
 imagine we are to be fond, and kiss and hug one another 
 as long as we live. 
 
 Lucy, (Why, ant wee 
 
 BLISTER. Ha, ha, ha! An’t we? no! How ignorant it 
 is! [Aszde.] Marrying is nothing but living in the same 
 house together, and going by the same name; while I am 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM II 
 
 following my business, you will be following your pleasure ; 
 so that we shall rarely meet but at meals, and then we are 
 to sit at opposite ends of the table, and make faces at 
 each other. 
 
 Lucy. I shall like that prodigiously——Ah, but there is 
 one thing though——an’t we to lie together ? 
 
 BLISTER. A fortnight, no longer. 
 
 Lucy. A fortnight! that’s a long time: but it will be 
 over. 
 
 BLISTER. Ay, and then you may have any one else. 
 
 Lucy. May I? then I’ll have Mr. Thomas, by Goles! 
 why, this is pure; la! they told me other stories. I thought 
 when I had been married, I must never have liked any one 
 but my husband, and that if I should he would kill me; 
 but I thought one thing though with myself, that I could 
 like another man without letting him know it, and then 
 a fig for him. 
 
 BLISTER. Ay, ay, they tell children strange stories; I 
 warrant they have told you, you must be governed by 
 your husband, 
 
 Lucy. My papa tells me so. 
 
 BLISTER. But all the married women in England will tell 
 you another story. 
 
 Lucy. So they have already, for they say I must not be 
 governed by a husband; and they say another thing too, 
 that you will tell me one story before marriage and another 
 afterwards, for that marriage alters a man prodigiously. 
 
 BLISTER. No, child, I shall be just the same creature I 
 am now, unless in one circumstance; I shall have a huge 
 pair of horns upon my head. 
 
 Lucy. Shall you! that’s pure, ha, ha! what a comical 
 figure you will make! But how will you make ’em grow? 
 
 BLISTER. It is you that will make ’em grow. 
 
 Lucy. Shall 1? by Goles! then I’ll do’t as soon as 
 eyer 1 can; for I long to see ‘em! Do tell ‘me how I 
 
 shall do it? 
 BLISTER. Every other man you kiss, I shall have a pair 
 
 of horns grow. 
 
12 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 Lucy. By Goles, then, you shall have horns enough; but 
 I fancy you are joking now. 
 
 AIR V. Buff-Coat. 
 
 Ah, sir! I guess 
 You are a fibbing creature. 
 
 BLISTER. Because, dear Miss, 
 You know not human nature. 
 LucY. Married men, I'll be sworn, 
 
 I have seen without horn. 
 BLISTER. Ah, child; you want art to unlock it: 
 The secret here lies, 
 Men now are so wise, 
 To carry their horns in their pocket. 
 
 Lucy. But you shall wear yours on your head, for I 
 shall like ’°em better than any other thing about you. 
 
 BLISTER. Well, then, Miss, I may depend upon you? 
 
 Lucy. And may I depend upon you? 
 
 BLISTER. Yes, my dear. 
 
 Lucy. Ah, but don’t call me so; I hate you should call 
 me so. 
 
 BLISTER. Oh, child, all married people call one another 
 My dear, let ’em hate one another as much as they will. 
 
 LUCY, Do’ they? Well @ then my ecdear Hum, I think 
 there is not any great matter in the word, neither. 
 
 BLISTER. Why, amongst your fine gentry, there is scarce 
 any meaning in any thing they say. Well, I’ll go to your 
 papa, and tell him we have agreed upon matters, and have 
 the wedding instantly. 
 
 Lucy.. The sooner the better. 
 
 BLISTER. Your servant, my pretty dear. [ Aavet. 
 
 Lucy. Your servant, my dear. Nasty, greasy, ugly fellow. 
 Well, marriage is a charming thing though, I long to be 
 married more than ever I did for any thing in my life; 
 since I am to govern, I’ll warrant I’ll do it purely. By 
 Goles, 1’ll make him know who is at home.——Let me see, 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 13 
 
 I’ll practise a little. Suppose that chair was my husband ; 
 and ecod! by all I can find, a chair is as proper for a 
 husband as any thing else; now says my husband to me, 
 “How do you do, my dear?” Lard! my dear, I don't 
 know how I do! not the better for you. “Pray, my dear, 
 let us dine early to-day?” Indeed, my dear, I can’t. “Do 
 you intend to go abroad to-day?” No, my dear! “Then 
 you will stay at home?” No, my dear! “Shall we ride 
 out?” No, my dear. “Shall we go a visiting?” No, my 
 dear. I will never do any thing I am bid, that I am 
 resolved; and then, Mr. Thomas, O good! I am out of 
 my wits. 
 
 Rey De esse DELL, 
 
 La! what swinging lies some people will tell! 
 I thought when another I ’d wedded, 
 I must have bid poor Mr. Thomas farewell, 
 And none but my husband have bedded. 
 But I find I’m deceived, for as Michaelmas day 
 Is still the forerunner of Lammas, 
 So wedding another is but the right way 
 To come at my dear Mr. Thomas. 
 
 [Enter COUPEE. 
 Heyday! what fine gentleman is this? 
 
 COUPEE. Cousin, your most obedient and devoted humble 
 servant. 
 
 Lucy. I find this is one of your fine gentry, by his not 
 having any meaning in his words. 
 
 CoupPEE. I have not the honour to be known to you, 
 cousin; but your father has been so kind to give me 
 admission to your fair hands. 
 
 Lucy. O Gemini Cancer! what a fine charming man 
 this is! 
 
 COUPEE. My name, madam, is Coupee, and I have the 
 honour to be a dancing-master. 
 
 Lucy. And are you come to teach me to dance? 
 
14 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 CouPrEE. Yes, my dear, I am come to teach you a very 
 pretty dance; did you never learn to dance? 
 
 Lucy. No, sir, not I; only Mr. Thomas taught me one, 
 two, three. 
 
 COUPEE. That is a very great fault in your education, 
 and it will be a great happiness for you to amend it by 
 having a dancing-master for your husband. 
 
 Lucy. Yes, sir, but I am not to have a dancing-master ; 
 my papa says I am to have a nasty stinking apothecary. 
 
 COUPEE. Your papa says! What signifies what your 
 papa says? 
 
 Lucy. What, must I not mind what my papa says? 
 
 COUPEE. No, no, you are to follow your own inclinations. 
 —I think if she has any eyes, I may venture to trust ‘em. 
 [Aszde.| Your father is a very comical, queer old fellow, a 
 very odd kind of a silly fellow, and you ought to laugh at 
 him. I ask pardon though for my freedom. 
 
 Lucy. You need not ask my pardon, for I am not at 
 all angry; for, between you and I, I think him as odd, 
 queer a fellow as you can do for your life. I hope you won't 
 tell him what I say. 
 
 COUPEE. I tell him! I hate him for his barbarous usage 
 of you; to lock up a young lady of beauty, wit, and spirit, 
 without ever suffering her to learn to dance! Why, madam, 
 not learning to dance is absolute ruin to a young lady. I 
 suppose he took care enough you should learn to read. 
 
 Lucy. Yes, I can read very well, and spell too. 
 
 COUPEE. Ay, there it is; why now, that’s more than I 
 can do. All parents take care to instruct their children in 
 low mechanical things, while the genteel sciences are neglected. 
 Forgive me, madam, at least, if I throw myself at your feet, 
 and vow never to rise till lifted up with the elevating fire of 
 your smiles. 
 
 Lucy. Lard, sir! I don’t know what to say to these fine 
 things. He’s a pure man. [Aszde. 
 
 CouPEE. Might I hope to obtain the least spark of your 
 love, the least spark, madam, would blow up a flame in me that 
 nothing ever could quench. O hide those lovely eyes, nor dart 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 15 
 
 their fiery rays upon me, lest I am consumed.—Shall I 
 hope you will think of me?. 
 
 Lucy. I shall think of you more than I will let you 
 know. [A sede. 
 
 COUPEE. Will you not answer me? 
 
 Lucy. La! you make me blush so, I know not what to 
 say. 
 
 COUPEE. Ay, that is from not having learnt to dance; a 
 dancing-master would have cured her of that. Let me 
 teach you what to say, that I may hope you will condescend 
 to make me your husband. 
 
 Lucy. No, I won’t say that; but—— 
 
 AIR VII. TZweed-side. 
 
 O press me not, sir, to be wife 
 To a man whom I never can hate; 
 So sweet a fine gentleman's life 
 Should never be soured with that fate. 
 
 But soon as I married have been, 
 Ungrateful I will not be named ; 
 
 O stay but a fortnight, and then, 
 And then you shall——Oh, I’m ashamed. 
 
 CouPEE. A fortnight! bid me live the age of——of 
 ——Mr. What ’s-his-name, the oldest man that ever lived: 
 live a fortnight after you are married! No, unless you 
 resolve to have me, I will resolve to put an end to myself. 
 
 Lucy. O do not do that. But indeed I can never hate 
 you; and the apothecary says no woman marries any man 
 she does not hate. 
 
 COUPEE. Ha, ha,ha! Such mean fellows as those every 
 fine lady must hate; but when they marry fine gentlemen, 
 they love them as long as they live. 
 
 Lucy. O but I would not have you think I love you. 
 I assure you I don’t love you: I have been told I must 
 not tell any man I love him. I don’t love you; indeed I 
 don’t. 
 
16 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 COUPEE. But may I not hope you will? 
 
 Lucy. Lard, sir, I can’t help what you hope; it is equal 
 to me what you hope. Miss Jenny says I must always give 
 myself airs to a man I like. [Aszde. 
 
 COUPEE. Hope, madam, at least you may allow me; 
 the cruellest of your sex, the greatest tyrants, deny not 
 hope. 
 
 Lucy. No, I won’t give you the least crumb of hope.-—— 
 Hope, indeed! what do you take me for? I’ll assure you! 
 No, I would not give you the least bit of hope, though I 
 was to see you die before my face. It is a pure thing to 
 give one’s self airs. [A szde. 
 
 COUPEE. Since nothing but my death will content you, 
 you shall be satisfied, even at that price. [Pulls out his kitt. 
 Ha! cursed fate! I have no other instrument of death 
 about me than a sword, which won’t draw. But I have 
 thought of a way: within the orchard there is an apple-tree, 
 there, there, madam! you shall see me hanging by the neck. 
 
 There shall you see your dancing-master die ; 
 As Bateman hanged for love——e’en so will I. 
 
 Lucy. O stay!——La, sir! you’re so hasty. Must I 
 tell you the first time I see you? Miss Jenny Flant-it has 
 been courted these two years by half a dozen men, and 
 nobody knows which she’ll have yet: and must not I be 
 courted at all? I will be courted, indeed so I will. 
 
 COUPEE. And so you shall; I will court you after we 
 are married. 
 
 Lucy. But will you indeed? 
 
 COUPEE. Yes, indeed; but if I should not, there are 
 others enough that would. 
 
 Lucy. But I did not think married women had ever been 
 courted though. 
 
 COUPEE. That’s all owing to your not learning to dance. 
 Why, there are abundance of women who marry for no other 
 reason; as there are several men who never court any but 
 married women. 
 
 Lucy. Well, then, I don’t much care if I do marry you. 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 17 
 
 But hold; there is one thing, but that does not much 
 signify. 
 
 COUPEE. What is it, my dear? 
 
 Lucy. Only I promised the apothecary just now; that’s 
 all. 
 
 COUPEE. Well, shall I fly then, and put every thing in 
 readiness ? 
 
 Bucy, Ay, do; I’m ready. 
 
 COUPEE. One kiss before I go, my dearest angel! And 
 now one, two, three, and away! [ Baez. 
 
 Lucy. Oh, dear sweet man! He’s as handsome as an 
 angel, and as fine as a lord. He is handsomer than Mr. 
 Thomas, and i’cod, almost as well dressed. I see now why 
 my father would never let me learn to dance. For, by 
 Goles, if all dancing-masters be such fine men as this, I 
 wonder every woman does not dance away with one. O la! 
 now I think on’t he pulled out his fiddling thing, and I did 
 not ask him to play a tune upon ’t.——But when we are 
 married, I’ll make him play upon’t; i’cod, he shall teach 
 me to dance too——He shall play, and I’ll dance; that 
 will be pure. O la! what’s here? Another beau? 
 
 Enter QUAVER. 
 
 QUAVER. Madam, your servant. I suppose my cousin 
 Goodwill has told you of the happiness he designs me? 
 
 Lucy. No, sir, my papa has not told me any thing 
 about you. Who are you, pray? 
 
 QUAVER. I have the honour of being a distant relation 
 of yours, and I hope to be a nearer one. My name is 
 Quaver, madam: I have the honour to teach some of the 
 first quality to sing. 
 
 Lucy. And are you come to teach me to sing? 
 
 QUAVER. I like her desire to learn to sing; it is a proof 
 of an excellent understanding. [Aszde.] Yes, madam, I will 
 be proud to teach you any thing in my power ; and do believe 
 I shall not yield to any one in the science of singing. 
 
 Lucy. Well, and I shall be glad to learn; for I have 
 
 VOE. X, D 
 
 - 
 
18 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 been told I have a tolerable voice, only I don’t know the 
 notes. 
 
 QUAVER. That, madam, may be acquired ; a voice cannot. 
 A voice must be the gift of nature; and it is the greatest 
 sift nature can bestow. All other perfections, without a 
 voice, are nothing at all. Music is allowed by all wise men 
 to be the noblest of the sciences: whoever knows music 
 knows every thing. 
 
 Lucy. Come then, begin to teach me; for dlongmre 
 learn. 
 
 QUAVER. Hereafter I shall have time enough. But at 
 present I have some thing of a different nature to say 
 to you. 
 
 Lucy. What have you to say? 
 
 AIR VIII. Dzimz Caro. 
 
 QuUAVER. Dearest charmer ! 
 Will you then bid me tell 
 What you discern so well, 
 By my expiring sighs, 
 My doting eyes, 
 My doting eyes? 
 Look through the instructive grové, 
 Each object prompts to love; 
 See how the turtles play; 
 Each object prompts to love: 
 All nature tells you what I’d say. 
 
 Lucy. O charming! delightful ! 
 QUAVER. May I hope you’ll grant—— 
 Lucy. Another song, and I’ll do any thing. 
 
 QuUAVER. Dearest creature, 
 Pride of nature! 
 All your glances 
 Give me trances. 
 Dearest, &c. 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 19 
 
 Iucy. Oh, I melt, I faint, I swoon, I die! 
 QUAVER. May I hope you’ll be mine? 
 Lucy. Will you charm me so every day? 
 QUAVER. And every night too, my angel. 
 Enter COUPEE. 
 COUPEE. Heyday! what do I see? my mistress in another 
 
 man’s arms? Sir, will you do me the favour to tell me 
 what business you have with that lady? 
 
 QUAVER. Pray,’ sir, be so good as to tell me what 
 business you have to ask? 
 
 OUPER, oir! 
 
 QUAVER. Sir! 
 
 COUPEE. Sir, this lady is my mistress. 
 
 QUAVER. I beg to be excused for that, sir. 
 
 COUPEE. Sir! 
 
 QUAVER. Sir! 
 AIR IX. Of all the simple, &e. 
 
 COUPEE. Excuse me, sir; zounds, what d’ ye mean? 
 I hope you don’t give me the lie. 
 
 QUAVER. Sir, you mistake me quite and clean; 
 Indeed, good sir, not I. 
 
 COUPEE. Zounds, sir, if you had, I’d been mad: 
 But I’m very glad that you don’t. 
 
 QUAVER. Do you challenge me, sir? 
 
 CouPEE. Not I, indeed, sir. 
 
 QUAVER. Indeed, sir, I’m very glad on’t. 
 
 I beseech 
 
 Lucy. Pray, gentlemen, what’s the matter? 
 you, speak to me, one of you. 
 
 COUPEE. Have I not reason? Did I not find you in 
 his arms? 
 QUAVER. And have I not reason? Did he not say you 
 
 was his mistress, to my face? 
 
20 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 AIR X. Molly Mog. 
 
 Lucy. Did mortal e’er see two such fools? 
 For nothing they’re going to fight ; 
 I begin to find men are but tools, 
 And both with a whisper I'll bite. 
 With you I am ready to go, sir; 
 I’ll give t’other fool a rebuff. [ Zo Coupee. 
 Stay you but a fortnight, or so, sir, 
 I warrant I’ll grant you enough. [Zo Quaver. 
 
 QUAVER. Damnation! 
 COUPEE. Hell and confusion! [7hey draw; Lucy runs out. 
 
 Einter BLISTER. 
 
 BLISTER. For Heaven’s sake, gentlemen, what’s the matter ? 
 I profess I am afraid you are both disordered. Pray, sir, 
 give me leave to feel your pulse: I wish you are not 
 light-headed ! 
 
 COUPEE, What is it to you, sir, what I am? 
 
 QUAVER. How dare you interfere between gentlemen, sirrah ? 
 COUPEE. I have a great mind to break my sword about 
 your head, you dog! 
 
 QUAVER. I have a great mind to run you through the 
 body, you rascal! 
 
 COUPEE. Do you know who we are? 
 
 QUAVER. Ay, ay, do you know whom you have to do 
 with? 
 
 BLISTER. Dear gentlemen; pray, gentlemen.——I wish I 
 had nothing to do with you: I meant no harm. 
 
 COUPEE. So much the worse, sirrah; so much the 
 worse, 
 
 QUAVER. Do you know what it is to anger gentlemen? 
 
 Enter GOODWILL. 
 
 GOODWILL. Heyday! what! are you fencing here, gentle- 
 men ? 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 21 
 
 BLISTER. Fencing, quotha? They have almost fenced me 
 out of my senses, I am sure. 
 
 CoupPEE. I shall take another time. 
 
 QUAVER. And so shall I. 
 
 GOODWILL. I hope there is no anger between you! You 
 are nearer relations than you imagine to each other.—Mr. 
 Quaver, you was sent out of England young; and you, 
 Mr. Coupee, have lived all your life-time in London; but I 
 assure you, you are cousin-Germans. Let me introduce you 
 to each other. 
 
 COUPEE. Dear cousin Quaver. 
 
 QUAVER. Dear cousin Coupee. 
 
 BLISTER. It’s but a blow and a kiss with these sparks, 
 I find. 
 
 CourEE. I thought there was something about him I 
 could not hurt. 
 
 GOODWILL. Here is another relation, too, whom you do 
 not know. This is Mr. Blister, son to your uncle Blister, 
 the apothecary. 
 
 COUPEE. I hope you will excuse our ignorance. 
 
 BLISTER. Yes, cousin, with all my heart, since there is 
 no harm come on’t; but if you will take my advice, you 
 shall both immediately lose some blood, and I will order 
 each of you a gentle purge. 
 
 Enter WORMWOOD. 
 
 WORMWOOD. Your servant, cousin Goodwill. How do you 
 do, Master Coupee? How do you do, Master Blister? The 
 roads are very dirty ; but I obey your summons, you see. 
 
 GOODWILL. Mr. Quaver, this is your cousin Wormwood, 
 the attorney. 
 
 WoRMwoopD. I am very glad to see you, sir. I suppose 
 by so many of our relations being assembled, this is a 
 family law-suit I am come upon. I shall be glad to have 
 my instructions as soon as possible; for I must carry 
 away some of your neighbours’ goods with executions by 
 and by. 
 
22 AN OLD MAN TAUGAT WISDOM 
 
 GOODWILL. I sent for you on the account of no law-suit 
 this time. In short, I have resolved to dispose of my daughter 
 to one of my relations: if you like her, cousin Wormwood, 
 with ten thousand pounds, and you should happen to be 
 her choice—— 
 
 BLISTER. That’s impossible; for she has promised me 
 already. 
 
 COUPEE. And me. 
 
 QUAVER. And me. 
 
 WorRMWOOD. How! has she promised three of you? Why 
 then the two that miss her will have very good actions 
 against him that has her. 
 
 GOODWILL. Her own choice must determine ; and if that 
 fall on you, Mr. Blister, I must insist on your leaving off 
 your trade, and living here with me. 
 
 BLISTER. No, sir, I cannot consent to leave off my trade. 
 
 GOODWILL. Pray, gentlemen, is not the request reasonable. 
 
 ALL. Oh, certainly, certainly. 
 
 COUPEE. Ten thousand pounds to an apothecary, indeed! 
 
 QUAVER. Not leave off his trade! 
 
 CouPEE. If I had been an apothecary, I believe I should 
 not have made many words. 
 
 GOODWILL. I dare swear you will not, cousin, if she 
 should make choice of you. 
 
 COUPEE. There is some difference though between us: 
 mine is a genteel profession, and I shall not leave it off on 
 any account, 
 
 GOODWILL. I'll be judged by Mr. Quaver here, who has 
 been abroad and seen the world. 
 
 QUAVER. Very reasonable, very reasonable—This man, I 
 see, has excellent sense, and can distinguish between arts 
 and sciences. 
 
 GOODWILL. I am confident it would not be easy to 
 prevail on you to continue the ridiculous art of teaching 
 people to sing. 
 
 QUAVER. Ridiculous art of teaching to sing! Do you 
 call music an art, which is the noblest of all sciences? I 
 thought you a man of sense, but I find—— 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGAT WISDOM 23 
 
 COUPEE. And I find too. 
 
 BLISTER. And so do I. 
 
 WORMWOOD. Well, it is surprising that men should be 
 such fools, that they should hesitate at leaving off their 
 professions for ten thousand pounds. 
 
 GOODWILL. Cousin Wormwood, you will leave off your 
 practice, I am sure. 
 
 WorMWwoopD. Indeed, sir, but I will not. I hope you 
 don’t put me upon a footing with fiddlers and dancing- 
 masters. No man need be ashamed of marrying his daughter 
 to a practitioner of the law. What would you do without 
 lawyers? Who’d know his own property ? 
 
 BLISTER. Or without physicians? Who’d know when he 
 was well? 
 
 COUPEE. If it was not for dancing-masters, men might 
 as well walk upon their heads as their heels. 
 
 QUAVER. And if it was not for singing-masters, they 
 might as well have been all born dumb. 
 
 GOODWILL. Ha! confusion! what do I see! my daughter 
 in the hands of that fellow! 
 
 Enter LUCY and MR. THOMAS. 
 
 Lucy. Pray, papa, give me your blessing: I hope you 
 won't be angry with me, but I am married to Mr. Thomas. 
 
 GOODWILL. Oh, Lucy! Lucy! is this the return you make 
 to my fatherly fondness ? 
 
 Lucy. Dear papa, forgive me, I won't do so any more.— 
 Indeed I should have been perjured if I had not had him.— 
 And I had not had him neither, but that he met me when 
 I was frightened, and did not know what I did. 
 
 GOODWILL. To marry a footman! 
 
 Mr. THomMAsS. Why, lookye, sir, I am a footman, ’tis 
 true, but I have a good acquaintance in life. I have kept 
 very good company at the hazard-table; and when I have 
 other clothes on, and money in my pocket, they will be 
 very glad to see me again. 
 
 WorRMWOOD. Harkye, Mr. Goodwill, your daughter is an 
 heiress. I’ll put you in a way to prosecute this fellow. 
 
24 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 BLISTER. Did you not promise me, madam? 
 
 COUPEE. Ay, did not you promise me, madam? 
 
 QUAVER. And me too? 
 
 Lucy. You have none of you any reason to complain; 
 if I did promise you all, I promised him first. 
 
 WorMWOOD. Lookye, gentlemen, if any of you _ will 
 employ me, I’ll undertake we shall recover part of her 
 fortune. 
 
 QUAVER. If you had given your daughter a good 
 education, and let her learn music, it would have put softer 
 things into her head. 
 
 BLISTER. This comes of your contempt of physic. If 
 she had been kept in a diet, with a little gentle bleeding, 
 and purging, and vomiting, and blistering, this had never 
 happened. 
 
 WoORMWOOD. You should have sent her to town a term 
 or two, and taken lodgings for her near the Temple, that 
 she might have conversed with the young gentlemen of the 
 law, and seen the world. 
 
 AIR XI. Bush of Boon. 
 
 Lucy. Oh, dear papa! don’t look so grum; 
 
 Forgive me, and be good: 
 
 For though he’s not so great as some, 
 He still is flesh and blood. 
 
 What though he’s not so fine as beaus 
 In gold and silver gay ; 
 
 Yet he, perhaps, without their clothes, 
 May have more charms than they. 
 
 Mr. THOMAS. Your daughter has married a man of some 
 learning, and one who has seen a little of the world, and 
 who by his love to her, and obedience to you, will try to 
 deserve your favours. As for my having worn a livery, let 
 not that grieve you; as I have lived in a great family, I 
 have seen that no one is respected for what he is, but for 
 what he has; the world pays no regard at present to any 
 
AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 25 
 
 thing but money; and if my own industry should add to 
 your fortune, so as to entitle any of my _ posterity to 
 grandeur, it will be no reason against making my son, or 
 grandson, a lord, that his father, or grandfather, was a 
 footman. 
 
 GOODWILL. Ha! thou talkst like a pretty sensible fellow, 
 and I don’t know whether my daughter has not made a 
 better choice than she could have done among her booby 
 relations. I shall suspend my judgment at present, and 
 pass it hereafter, according to your behaviour. 
 
 Mr. THOMAS. I will try to deserve it should be in 
 my favour. 
 
 WoRMwooD. I hope, cousin, you don’t expect I should 
 lose my time. I expect six and eightpence for my 
 journey. 
 
 GOODWILL. Thy profession, I see, has made a knave of 
 whom nature meant a fool. Well, I am now convinced 
 tis less difficult to raise a fortune than to find one worthy 
 to inherit it. 
 
 AIR XII. The Yorkshire ballad. 
 
 BLISTER. Had your daughter been physick’d well, sir, as 
 she ought, 
 With bleeding, and blist’ring, and vomit and draught, 
 This footman had never been once in her thought, 
 With his Down, down, &c. 
 
 COUPEE. Had pretty Miss been at a dancing-school 
 bred, 
 Had her feet but been taught the right manner to tread, 
 Gad’s curse! ’twould have put better things in her head, 
 Than his Down, down, &c. 
 
 QUAVER. Had she learnt like fine ladies, instead of her 
 prayers, 
 To languish and die at Italian soft airs, 
 A footman had never thus tickled her ears, 
 With his Down, down, &c. 
 VOL. X; E 
 
26 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM 
 
 Lucy. You may physic, and music, and 
 enhance, 
 In one I have got them all three by good chance, 
 My doctor he’ll be, and he’ll teach me to dance, 
 With his Down, down, &c. 
 
 And though soft Italians the ladies control, 
 
 He swears he can charm a fine lady, by Gole! 
 
 More than an Italian can do for his soul, 
 With a Down, down, &c. 
 
 My fate, then, spectators, hangs on your decree ; 
 
 I have brought kind papa here at last to agree ; 
 
 If you’ll pardon the poet, he will pardon me, 
 With my Down, down, &c. 
 
 Let not a poor farce then nice critics pursue, 
 But like honest-hearted good-natured men do, 
 
 dancing 
 
 And clap to please us, who have sweat to please you, 
 
 With our Down, down, &c. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Let not a poor farce then, &c. 
 
AIR 
 
 hog 
 ° 
 
 9D or Any DP 
 
 te bee) Re rE SONGS. 
 
 DO YOU, PAPA, BUT FIND A COACH 
 
 WHEN HE IN A COACH CAN BE CARRIED 
 
 IN WOMEN WE BEAUTY OR WIT MAY ADMIRE 
 AH, BE NOT ANGRY, GOOD DEAR SIR 
 
 AH, SIR, I GUESS. 
 
 LA ! WHAT SWINGING LIES SOME PEOPLE WILL TELL 
 O PRESS ME NOT, SIR, TO BE WIFE. . 
 DEAREST CHARMER 
 
 EXCUSE ME, SIR ; ZOUNDS, WHAT D’ YE MEAN? 
 DID MORTAL E’ER SEE TWO SUCH FOOLS?. 
 
 OH, DEAR PAPA! DON’T LOOK SO GRUM 
 
 HAD YOUR DAUGHTER BEEN PHYSICK’D WELL, SIR, AS SHE 
 OUGHT 
 
 PAGE 
 
a (a: 
 
 4 “as 2 ual, 
 . jhe ¢@ . aioe 
 
 8 re h ic a 
 
 A : a , * ve 
 a vg 5 : = 
 re o r e : . 
 7 ri ry 
 a he 
 
 | THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT 
 
 THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS, 
 
 aC OLE DNS 
 
 _ FIRST ACTED IN 1734. 
 
 “ Tfelix habitum temporis hujus habe.”—Oviv. 
 
OPH ise GhAc lr 
 
 Ba oREES, DUKE OF. MARLBOROUGH 
 
 My Lorp,—The unhappy fate which these scenes have met 
 with may to some make my presumption in offering them to 
 your protection appear extravagant; but distress puts on a 
 different face in your Grace’s eye, with whom I know it will 
 plead in their favour, that though they do not merit so great 
 a patron, they at least want him. 
 
 To join the torrent of success, to smile with fortune, and 
 applaud with the world, are within the limits of an inferior 
 name, and narrower capacity. It has been the glory of a 
 Duke of Marlborough to support the falling, to protect the 
 distressed, to raise a sinking cause, and (I will venture on 
 the expression) to direct Fortune, instead of being directed 
 by her. 
 
 But these are laurels, my Lord, which will to latest ages 
 flourish in the historian, and the epic poet. Comedy looks 
 no farther than private life, where we see you acting with 
 the same spirit of humanity that fired your noble ancestor 
 in public. Poverty has imposed chains on mankind equal 
 with tyranny; and your Grace has shown as great an eager- 
 ness to deliver men from the former, as your illustrious 
 srandfather did to rescue them from the latter. 
 
 Those who are happier than myself in your intimacy will 
 celebrate your other virtues; the fame of your humanity, my 
 Lord, reaches at a distance, and it is a virtue which never 
 
32 DEDICATION 
 
 reigns alone; nay, which seldom enters into a breast that is 
 not rich in all other. 
 
 I am sure I give a convincing proof in how high a 
 degree I am _ persuaded you possess this virtue, when I 
 hope your pardon for this presumption. But I will trespass 
 no farther on it, than to assure you that I am with great 
 
 respect, 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Grace’s most obedient, 
 Most devoted humble Servant, 
 HENRY FIELDING. 
 
 BUCKINGHAM STREET, Fedbruary 12. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 THE cruel usage this poor play hath met with, may justly 
 surprise the Author, who in his whole life never did an 
 injury to any one person living. What could incense a 
 number of people to attack it with such an inveterate 
 prejudice, is not easy to determine; for prejudice must be 
 allowed, be the play good or bad, when it is condemned 
 unheard. 
 
 _ I have heard that there are some young gentlemen about 
 this town who make a jest of damning plays —— but did 
 they seriously consider the cruelty they are guilty of by such 
 a practice, I believe it would prevent them. Every man who 
 produces a play on the stage must propose to himself some 
 acquisition either of pleasure, reputation, or profit, in its 
 success: for though perhaps he may receive some pleasure 
 from the first indulgence of the itch of scribbling, yet the 
 labour and trouble he must undergo before his play comes 
 on the stage, must set the prospect of some future reward 
 before him, or I believe he would decline the undertaking. 
 If pleasure or reputation be the reward he proposes, it is 
 sure an inexcusable barbarity in any uninjured or unprovoked 
 person to defeat the happiness of another: but if his views 
 be of the last kind, if he be so unfortunate to depend on 
 the success of his labours for his bread, he must be an 
 inhuman creature, indeed, who would out of sport and 
 VOL. X. F 
 
34 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 wantonness prevent a man from getting a livelihood in an 
 honest and inoffensive way, and make a jest of starving him 
 
 . and his family. 
 
 Authors, whose works have been rejected at the theatres, 
 are of all persons, they say, the most inveterate; but of all 
 persons, I am the last they should attack, as I have often 
 endeavoured to procure the success of others, but never 
 assisted at the condemnation of any one. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. QUIN. 
 
 BOLD is th’ attempt in this nice-judging age, 
 
 To try at fame, by pleasing on the stage. 
 
 So eager to condemn as you are grown, 
 
 Writing seems war declared against the town. 
 Which ever way the Poet seeks applause, 
 
 The Critic’s ready still to damn his cause. 
 
 If for new characters he hunts abroad, 
 
 And boldly deviates from the beaten road, 
 
 In monsters then unnatural he deals; 
 
 If they are known and common, then he steals. 
 If wit he aims at, you the traps can show; 
 
 If serious, he is dull; if humorous, low. 
 
 Some would maintain one laugh throughout a play, 
 Some would be grave, and bear fine things away. 
 How is it possible at once to please 
 
 Tastes so directly opposite as these? 
 
 Nor be offended with us if we fear, 
 
 From us——some seek not entertainment here. 
 ’Tis not the Poet’s wit affords the jest, 
 
 But who can catcall, hiss, or whistle best! 
 
 Can then another’s anguish give you joy? 
 
 Or is it such a triumph to destroy? 
 
 We, like the fabled frogs, consider thus : 
 
 This may be sport to you, but it is death to us. 
 
36 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 If any base ill-nature we disclose, 
 
 If private characters these scenes expose, 
 
 Then we expect—for then we merit foes. 
 
 But if our strokes be general and nice, 
 
 If tenderly we laugh you out of vice, 
 
 Do not your native entertainments leave ; 
 
 Let us, at least, our share of smiles receive, 
 Nor, while you censure us, keep all your boons 
 For soft ITALIAN airs, and FRENCH buffoons. 
 
“ 
 
 . 
 
 <'hs 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONA. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 MR IMONDISH es. Alene: oie ee 
 ME GAVLOVE.. (cresms eee ee 
 CAPTAIN SPARK . . 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER .. . 
 COLONELGRABFYLER | a) oe. meee 
 
 . - WOMEN. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER .. 
 MRS.SRAFFLER= 9s eee 
 CUARINDAD 52985 02. oo ae 
 
 SCENE.—LOonNDOoN. 
 
 . Mrs. Heron. 
 
 Mr. Quin. — 
 Mr. W. Mills. 
 Mr. Cibber. 
 Mr. Griffin. 
 Mr. Harper. 
 
 Mrs. Butler. 
 
 Miss Holliday. Be. 
 
Pak UNIVERSAL GALLANT 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS. 
 
 0 Gd Fo 
 SCENE I—MR. MONDISH’S Apartment. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH, with a letter in his hund, speaking to a 
 SERVANT. | 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Here, carry this letter to Mrs. Raffler. 
 
 SERVANT. Must I bring an answer, sir? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Yes, sir, if you receive any [ Exit 
 Servant.| And now let me read thee again, thou picture of 
 womankind, | Reads. 
 
 “SIR,—I suppose you will be surprised that a woman, 
 who hath been guilty of so imprudent a passion, should so 
 suddenly and calmly reclaim it—but I am at length happily 
 convinced, that you are the falsest of mankind. Be assured, 
 it is not in your power to persuade me any longer to the 
 contrary—wherefore I desire that henceforth all familiarity 
 may cease between us.—And as you know me sensible how 
 good a friend you are to Mrs. Raffler, you may easily 
 
40 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 believe the fewest visits in the world, at this house, will be 
 welcome to me. Farewell for ever.” 
 
 This coldness is not the resentment of an incensed mistress, 
 but the slight of an indifferent one.—I am supplanted by 
 some other in her favour.——Rare woman, faith! the sex 
 grow so purely inconstant, that a gallant will shortly be as 
 little able to keep a woman to himself as a husband. 
 
 Enter another SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, Colonel Raffler has sent to know whether 
 you are at home. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Yes, yes,——his visit is opportune enough. 
 I may likely learn from him who this successful rival is, by 
 knowing who has visited his wife most lately; nay, or by 
 finding who is his chief favourite-——for he is one of 
 those wise men, to whose friendship you must have his 
 wife’s recommendation; and so far from being jealous of 
 your lying with her, that he is always suspicious you don’t 
 like her. 
 
 Enter COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 Dear Colonel, good-morrow. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, you’re a fine gentleman; a very 
 fine gentleman, indeed! when we had sent after you all 
 over the town, not to leave your bottle for a party at 
 quadrille with the ladies you have a rare reputation among 
 ‘em, I assure you; there is an irreconcilable quarrel with 
 my wife. I have strict orders never to mention your name 
 to her, 
 
 Mr. MOoONDISH. Ha, ha, ha! that is pleasant enough, 
 Colonel; your wife’s orders to you, who have the most 
 obedient wife in Christendom. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Yes, I thank Heaven, I am master 
 of my own house. 
 
 Mr. MoOnpIsSH. Then I hope you will lay your commands 
 on her to forgive me. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Well, well, I don’t know but I may, 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 41 
 
 since you ask it——I am glad I have brought you to that. 
 ——I believe I have made up a hundred quarrels between 
 you, and could never bring you to it before. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And yet I had reason on my side; had 
 you been with us yourself, you would not have left us for 
 cards. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. No, I hate ’em of all things in the 
 world——tthat ’’s half my quarrel to you, for I was forced to 
 supply your place. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I pity you heartily. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, and with my wife. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. True, a wife often makes one’s pleasure 
 distasteful! what is in itself disagreeable she must make 
 very damnable indeed. But I wonder you, who are master 
 of your own house, Colonel, don’t banish cards out of it, 
 since you dislike ’em so much. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, that I have attempted to do, 
 but then it puts my wife so plaguily out of humour, and 
 that I can’t bear——besides, Mr. Mondish, let me tell you 
 a matrimonial secret—Let a man be never so much the 
 master of his house, if his wife be continually in an ill 
 humour, he leads but an uneasy life in’t. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. But methinks so good a lady as yours 
 should now and then give in to the sentiments of her 
 husband. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, no one readier; but then, you 
 know, she can’t help her temper: and if she complies against 
 her will, you know it is the more obliging in her; and then 
 you know, if her complaisance makes her unhappy, and out 
 of humour, and in the vapours, a man must be the greatest 
 of brutes to persist Besides, my wife is the most unfor- 
 tunate person in the world: for though she loves me of all 
 things, and knows that seeing her in the vapours makes me 
 miserable, yet I never denied her any one thing in the 
 world but, slap, it immediately threw her into ’em——If it 
 was not for those cursed vapours we should be the happiest 
 couple living. 
 
 Mr. MonpIsH. Nay, faith, I believe you are. 
 
 VOL. X. G 
 
42 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Truly, I believe you may; at least 
 we have such a picture of the contrary before our eyes. 
 
 Mr. MonpDIsH. Who, Sir Simon, and his lady? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. ° Ay, Sir Simon; call him any thing 
 but my brother, he’s not a-kin to me, I am sure: for next 
 to mine, he has the best wife in the world; and yet he 
 never suffers her to have an easy hour from his cursed 
 jealousy. I intend to part families, for there is no possi- 
 bility of living together any longer He affronted a 
 gentleman t’other day, for taking up his lady’s glove; and 
 it was no longer ago than yesterday that my wife and she 
 were gone only to an auction (where, by the bye, they did 
 not go to throw away their money neither, for they bought 
 nothing), when this cursed brother of mine finds ’em out, 
 exposes ’em both, and forced ’em away home My house 
 is an arrant garrison in time of war, no one enters or goes 
 out, without being searched; and if a laced coat passes 
 by the window, his eye is never off him, till he is out of 
 the sstreet. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir Simon Raffler, sir. 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, the devil! I’ll be gone. 
 Mr. MONDISH. No, Colonel, that’s unkind. 
 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER. 
 
 Sir Simon, your most obedient servant. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish, good-morrow! Oh, 
 brother, are you here? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. How do you, brother? I hope your 
 lady ’s well this morning ? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Must you always ask impertinent 
 questions? A husband is a proper person indeed to inquire 
 of about his wife——If you ask your own, when you see 
 her next, she will inform you, for I suppose they are 
 gadding together. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Sir Simon, you may behave to your 
 
LAE DIPPERENT HUSBANDS 43 
 
 own lady as you please; but I desire you not to reflect 
 on mine. | 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And you may let your wife behave 
 as she pleases ; but I desire she may be no pattern to mine. 
 I think one enough in a family. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. One! I don’t know what you mean. 
 I don’t understand you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Oh, dear gentlemen, let me beg there 
 may be none of this misunderstanding in my house. You 
 are both too hot, indeed. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I am appeased——-—But let me tell 
 you, brother—-—— 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Dear Colonel, no more.—Well, Sir Simon, 
 what news have you in town? 
 
 StR SIMON RAFFLER. Nothing but cuckoldom, sir—— 
 cuckoldom every where. Women run away from _ their 
 husbands——Acctions brought in Westminster Hall. I ex- 
 pect, shortly, to see it made an article in the newspapers, 
 and “Cuckolds since our last list” as regularly inserted as 
 bankrupts are now. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh lud, oh lud! poor man! poor 
 man! You make me sick, brother, indeed you do. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And you’ll make me mad, brother, 
 indeed you will. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Come, come, gentlemen, let me reconcile 
 this thing between you——Colonel, you know the excessive 
 jealousy of Sir Simon’s temper, and I wonder a man of 
 your excellent sense will think it worth your while te 
 
 argue with him. [Aszde to Colonel Raffler, 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Mondish is certainly a fellow of the 
 best sense in the world. [A szde. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Sir Simon, you know the colonel’s easy 
 temper so well, that I am surprised one of your good 
 understanding will reason with a man who will defend 
 his wife’s running about this town every day. 
 
 [Aszde to Sir Simon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. This man has a most excellent 
 understanding. [A szde. 
 
Ad THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Come, come, gentlemen, shake hands and 
 be friends, and let us have no more animosities, 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. With all my heart. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. And mine.—And now, gentlemen, 
 we are amongst ourselves, I believe I have my honour, I 
 am sure of it, I don’t suspect I have it not, but I think 
 it ought to be valued. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Doubtless, doubtless, Sir Simon. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. I am not one of those jealous 
 people that are afraid of every wind that blows. A woman 
 may sit by a man once at a play, without any design, and 
 once a year may go to court, or an assembly, nay, and may 
 speak to one of her husband’s he-friends there: if he be a 
 relation, indeed, I should like it better. But why all those 
 courtesies to every fellow she knows? Why always running 
 to that church where the youngest parson is? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why fond of operas, masquerades ? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I almost swoon at the name. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I shall, I’m sure, if I stay any 
 longer——so your servant. ; [ Axe. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Then that cursed rendezvous of the sexes, 
 which are called auctions. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I thank Heaven there are none 
 to-day ; I have searched all the advertisements. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. But there are shops, shops, Sir Simon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I wish they were shut up with all 
 my heart! especially those brothels the milliners’ shops, in 
 which cuckoldom is the chief trade that is carried on. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Heyday! is the colonel gone? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Iam glad of it, for truly I take 
 no pleasure in his company. Mr. Mondish, you are a man 
 of honour, and my friend, and as you are intimate in the 
 family, must, I dare swear, have observed with concern the 
 multitude of idle young fellows that swarm at our house. 
 There is one particularly, who almost lives there continually, 
 and has, no doubt, behaved before this like a thorough fine 
 gentleman, and a man of gallantry. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Who is he, pray ? 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 45 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, a fellow who is never out of 
 lace and embroidery—a tall, strapping, well-looking, ill-looking, 
 rascal! whom I would as soon admit into my family as a 
 wolf into a sheep-fold. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What is his name? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Gaylove, I think they call him—— 
 my blood runs cold when I think of him. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Sir Simon, you need be under no. appre- 
 hension: for my Lady Raffler is a woman of that prudence 
 and discretion— 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, sir: but very prudent and 
 discreet women have made very odd monsters of their 
 husbands. I had rather trust to my own prudence than 
 hers, I thank you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Was I married to that woman, I should 
 be the most contented man alive; for, on my honour! I 
 think she surpasses the rest of womankind as much in 
 virtue as beauty. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Ha! what! 
 
 Mr. MONpDISH. Nay more, in my opinion—for, to tell 
 you a truth (which I know you will excuse me for), I do 
 not think her so handsome as the rest of the world 
 think her. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nor I, neither—I am glad to hear 
 you dont——I began to be in a heat——But, dear Mondish, 
 though my wife be, as you say, a virtuous woman, and I 
 know she is, I’m sure of it; and was never jealous of her 
 in my life: yet I take virtue to be that sort of gold in a 
 wife, which the less it is tried, the brighter it shines; 
 besides, you know there is a trouble in resisting tempta- 
 tion, and I am willing to spare my wife all the trouble 
 I can. 
 
 Enter a SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, Captain Spark to wait on you. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Who is he, pray? 
 
 Mr. MOoNDISH. A relation of mine, a courtier, and so 
 fine a gentleman, that (if you will believe him) he has had 
 all the fine women in town. 
 
46 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN SPARK. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Dear cousin Mondish, your very humble 
 servant, I only call to ask you how you do—for I cant 
 stay ten minutes with you—-——I have just left some ladies, 
 whom I have promised to meet in the park Harkye. 
 
 [ Whespers Mondish. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I hope my wife is not one of 
 °em——A very impudent-looking fellow, this courtier, and has, 
 I warrant, as many cuckolds in the city, as that has debtors 
 at court. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. The devil take me if it is not the 
 very woman! but pray take her, I dangled after her long 
 enough too. You must know the last time I saw her was 
 at an assembly. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. That is another name for a 
 bawdy-house. [Aszde. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. And there I piqued her most con- 
 foundedly, so that she vowed she’d never speak to me 
 again; and indeed she kept her word, till yesterday I met 
 her at an auction—there was another lady with her at 
 first she put on an air of indifference. O ho! thinks I, are 
 you at that sport? I’ll fit you, I warrant. So, sir, I goes 
 up to the other lady, who happened to be her sister, and an 
 intimate acquaintance of mine—But I ask pardon, this is a 
 dull entertainment to you, sir. [Zo Sir Simon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Far from it, sir; but I beg I may 
 not be thought impertinent, if I ask whether this lady was 
 short or tall? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. A short woman, sir. ' 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Then I am safe. [Aszde.] 
 perhaps some people think her tall. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, sir; I know several who think 
 hereso, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am on the rack. [Aszde.]|——Sir, 
 I ask ten thousand pardons; but was she a brown or a 
 fair woman? 
 
 But 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 47 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Oh, sir! no harm——She was a brown 
 woman, sir. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. Rather inclining to fair. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, a good deal inclining to fair. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am undone! if I was to ask 
 her name, I should hear my own I will go tear her 
 eyes out——Mr. Mondish, your servant! your servant! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Be not in such a hurry, Sir Simon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am in a great hurry, sir, your 
 humble servant ! [ Axez. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Pr’ythee, dear coz, what queer fellow 
 is that? Gad, I began to think he suspected me with some 
 relation of his. 
 
 Mr. MoNnpIsH. Faith, probable enough——for he would 
 suspect a more unlikely man than you. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ha, ha! George, I believe I am sus- 
 pected in town——I believe there are women—-—I say no 
 more, but I believe there are women, I say no more. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And upon my soul, I believe thou canst 
 say no more on thy own knowledge. [A side. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Here, here, you must not ask to see 
 the name. [Pulls out several letters.) May I be curst if 
 this be not from a woman of the first distinction——Nay, 
 if he is here, I must put it up again. 
 
 Enter MR. GAYLOVE. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Good-morrow, George! Ha! Monsieur 
 L’Spark! 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. My dear Gaylove, how long hast thou 
 been in town? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. About a fortnight, sir. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Mondish, this is the best friend I have 
 in the world; if it had not been for him, I had died 
 of the spleen in country quarters—I made his house 
 my own. | 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Upon my honour he did, and so entirely, 
 that if he had not been ordered away, I believe I should 
 shortly have given it him. 
 
48 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Thou art a pleasant fellow! but pr’ythee 
 how do all the girls? How do Miss Flirt, and Miss 
 Flareit, Miss Caper, Miss Lisp, and my dear Jenny 
 Thump-floor ? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. All at your service, sir; but methinks 
 you should have asked after your dear Clarinda. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. O! ay, Clarinda! how-does she do? 
 Upon my soul I was fond of that wench; but she grew so 
 fond again, that the world began to take notice of us, and 
 yet if ever any thing passed between us, at least any thing 
 that ought not, may I be——But what signifies swearing 
 Come, I know you are a suspicious rogue. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Far from it—I have always defended you 
 both. For as I am confident she would not grant any thing 
 dishonourable, so I am confident thou wouldst not take it. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And if you will be evidence for the 
 lady, I will for the gentleman. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Your servant, your servant, my dear 
 friends; you have made me a compliment at a cheap rate; 
 I shall not risk your consciences; yet in my sense of the 
 word dishonourable, you might swear it; for I positively 
 think nothing dishonourable can pass between man and 
 woman. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Excellent doctrine indeed! 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I am not of your opinion: for I think 
 it very dishonourable in a fine gentleman to solicit favours 
 from a lady, and refuse accepting ‘em when she would 
 grant ’em. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. O! a sad dog! ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Unless it be not in his power to accept 
 ‘em, Gaylove. The bravest fellow may be beaten, you know, 
 without loss of honour. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Well, well; you may suspect what you 
 please—You poor devils that never had any thing above 
 a sempstress, make such a rout about the reputation of a 
 woman a little above the ordinary rank; you make as much 
 noise in town about a man’s having a woman of quality, as 
 they would in the country if one had run away with a 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 49 
 
 justice of peace’s eldest daughter—Now, to: me women of 
 quality are like other women. 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Thou knowest no difference, I dare swear. 
 
 Enter a SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, my Lady Fop-hunter’s coach is at the 
 door. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. She has sent it for me; I am to call 
 on her at Lady Sightly’s—damn her! I wish she had forgot 
 the appointment—Gaylove, will you go with me? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. No, excuse me. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Well, gentlemen, I hope you _ will 
 excuse me too—so, I’m your very humble servant. [ Axe. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I wish thou hadst been here sooner, I 
 have had some rare diversion this morning: here have been 
 Sir Simon and the colonel, and have quarrelled about their 
 wives. But what is better still, the noble captain just now 
 departed hath sent Sir Simon away fully persuaded that 
 he has an affair with his wife. 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE, Then we shall have it in the afternoon 
 at Mrs. Raffler’s tea-table. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I think you live there, Gaylove. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I have pretty much lately; for to let 
 you into a secret, George, I have a mistress there. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What! has the captain infected you, that 
 you are so open-hearted? or is this a particular mark of 
 your confidence in me? 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Neither. It is impossible it should be a 
 secret long, and I am not ashamed of having an honour- 
 able passion for a woman, from which I hope to reap 
 better fruits than the captain usually proposes from his 
 amours. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I rather fear thou wilt find worse. These 
 sort of gentlemen are the only persons who engage with 
 women without danger. The reputation of an amour is 
 what they propose, and what they generally effect: for, as 
 they indulge their vanity at the price of all that is dear to 
 
 VOL. -X. H 
 
50 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, Ok, 
 
 a woman, the world is good-natured enough to make one 
 person ridiculously happy, at the expense of making another 
 seriously miserable. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Hang ’em! I believe they screen more 
 reputations than they hurt——I fancy women, by an affected 
 intimacy with these fellows, have diverted the world from 
 discovering a good substantial amour in another place. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Do you think so? then I would advise 
 you to introduce my kinsman here to Mrs. Raffler. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Are there reputations there, then, that 
 want cloaks? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Nay, pr’ythee tell me seriously, for the 
 deuce take me, if these two years’ retirement hath not made 
 me such a stranger to the town—— 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Then, seriously, I think there is no cloak 
 wanted ; for a fond, credulous husband is the best cloak in 
 the world. And if a man will put his horns in his pocket, 
 none will ever pick his pocket of ’em——If he will be so 
 good as to be very easy under being a cuckold, the good- 
 natured world will suffer his wife to be easy under making 
 him one. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. A _ word to the wise, George—But, 
 faith! thou hast informed me of what I did not suspect 
 before. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. The wise do not want a word to inform 
 them of what they knew before. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. What dost thou mean? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Then in a word, my close friend, this 
 mighty secret, which you have discovered to me, I knew 
 some time before. Nay, and I can tell you another thing— 
 the world knows it. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Let ‘em know it. I am so fapeitge 
 being ashamed of my passion, that I’m vain of my 
 choice. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ha, ha, ha! this is excellent in a fellow 
 of thy sense! JI shall begin shortly to look on the captain 
 as no extraordinary character——Vain of your choice! Ha, 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 51 
 
 ha, ha! now am I vain of my good nature——for I could so 
 reduce that vanity of yours! 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. I suppose thou art prepared with some 
 cool lecture of modern economy. I know thee to be one 
 of those who are afraid to be happy out of the road of 
 right wisdom: I tell thee, George, let the world say what 
 they will, there is more true happiness in the folly of love 
 than in all the wisdom of philosophy. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. It is the fashion of the world to laugh 
 at a man who owns his passion, and thou art a true follower 
 of the world. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Thou art a follower of the world, I am 
 sure. You must be modest, indeed, to be ashamed of your 
 passion, since you have such multitudes to keep you in 
 countenance. 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. So much the better. Rivals keep a man’s 
 passion up; it gives continual new pleasure in the arms of a 
 mistress to think half the coxcombs in the town are sighing 
 for what you are in possession of. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, faith, and the gallant has a pleasure 
 sometimes to think a husband is in possession of what he is 
 weary of. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. How the happy man triumphs in his 
 heart, when he sees his woman walking through a crowd of 
 fellows in the mall, or a drawing-room, some sighing, some 
 ogling; all envying him: and retiring immediately to toast 
 her at the next tavern. 
 
 Mr. MonpIsH. When he wishes himself, as heartily as 
 they do themselves, with her, which perhaps some of them 
 are in their turn. And I would not have you too sure that 
 may not be your case. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Pugh! you have heard Spark talk of 
 her, I suppose; or heard her talked of for Spark——TI should 
 be no more jealous of her with him, than with one of her 
 own sex. Now, in my opinion, a squirrel is a more danger- 
 ous rival than a beau; for he is more liable to share her 
 heart, and—— 
 
52 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why, this is a good credulous marriage- 
 able opinion, and would sit well on a husband. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Well! and I see no terrors in that name. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Nor I neither. I think it a good harm- 
 less name. Besides, the colonel is a rare instance of the 
 contrary. If a man can be happy in marriage, I dare swear 
 he is: his wife is young, handsome, witty, and constant—— 
 in his opinion. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. And that is the same as if she were so 
 in reality; for, if a man be happy in his own opinion, I 
 see little reason why he should trouble himself about the 
 world’s. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Or suppose she were inconstant, if she 
 is fond of you while you are with her, why should you 
 like her the less? I don’t see why he is not as selfish who 
 would love by himself, as he who would drink by himself. 
 Sure he is a nice and a dull sot, who quarrels with his 
 wine, because another drinks out of the same cask. Nay, 
 perhaps, it were better to have two or three companions 
 in both, and would prevent the glass coming round 
 too fast. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Thou art in a strange whimsical humour 
 to-day. I fancy something has disturbed you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. No, faith! though something has happened 
 which might have disturbed another—I have been discarded 
 this morning. Here’s my discharge, do you know the 
 
 hand? [Geveng the letter. 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Hum——“I suppose you will be sur- 
 prised——-woman——imprudent—-—a passion——convinced— 
 
 falsest of mankind——” 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. His countenance does not alter—He 
 does not know her hand, sure. [A szde. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. [Reading.] “Friend you are to—Mrs. 
 Raffler—the devil.” 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What think you now? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Think! that thou art a happy man. 
 
 MR. MONDISH. I hope, then, you will not interfere with 
 my happiness. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 53 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Not I, upon my honour. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Thou art an _ obliging, good-natured 
 fellow; and now I will wait on you where you please to 
 dinner. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I have a short visit to make, but will 
 meet you any where at three. 
 
 Mr. MonpIsH. At the Key and Garter, if you please. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I will be there, adieu. [ Exit. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. This cool reception of my letter ill 
 agrees with the warm _ professions he made before. 
 Nor did he show a sufficient surprise——she certainly had 
 acquainted him with it: it is natural to suppose, her fear, 
 that I might discover it to him, might set her on trying 
 to be beforehand. And yet this behaviour in Gaylove is 
 not agreeable to his nature, which I know to be rather 
 too open. I will find the bottom of this out—I will see 
 her in the afternoon myself—damn her! I was weary of 
 the affair, and she has found out the only way to renew 
 my eagerness—the whole pleasure of life is pursuit : 
 
 Our game though we are eager to embrace, 
 The pleasure’s always over with the chase. 
 
 (0 Og i Oy 
 SCENE I.—Sir Stmon’s House. 
 Enter LADY RAFFLER, avd MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Never tell me, sister, it is notorious 
 that a woman of my virtue, and discretion, and prudence, 
 should be eternally tormented with the suspicions of a 
 jealous-pated husband. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I own it, but I only propose to you 
 the best method to quiet them. You cannot alter his 
 
54 THE GNIVERSAL GALLANT ; Ok, 
 
 nature, and if you would condescend to flatter it a little, 
 you would make your life much easier. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I flatter it! I assure you, I sha’n’t. If 
 my virtue be not clear enough of itself, I shall use no 
 art to make it so.—Must I give a husband an account of 
 all my words and actions? must I satisfy his groundless 
 fears ? I am no such poor-spirited wretch; and I solemnly 
 declare, if I knew any one thing that would make him 
 more jealous than another I would do it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Then you would do wrong, my dear, 
 and only revenge your husband’s jealousy on yourself. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sister, sister, don’t preach up any of 
 your maxims to me. If the colonel was of Sir Simon’s 
 temper, you would lead a worse life than I do. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Indeed, you are mistaken; if my husband 
 was as jealous and as cunning as the devil, I would 
 engage to make an arrant ass of him. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. You would make another sort of a beast 
 of him. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I don’t tell you that. But if I should he 
 had better be so than suspect it; his horns would hurt 
 him less on his forehead than in his eyes. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I wonder you can talk such stuff to me, 
 I can’t bear to hear it; the very name of whore makes 
 me swoon; if any set of words could ever raise the devil, 
 that single one would do more than all. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Dear sister, don’t be so outrageously 
 virtuous. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. It would be well for you if the colonel 
 had a little of Sir Simon’s temper. I can’t help telling 
 you there are some actions of your life which I am far 
 from approving. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Come, don’t be censorious. I never - 
 refused giving my husband an account of any of my 
 actions, when he desired it; and that is more than you » 
 can say. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. My actions give an account of them- 
 selves; I am not afraid of the world’s looking into ’em. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 55 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Take my word for it, child, pure nature 
 won't do, the world will easily see your faults, but your 
 virtues must be shown artfully, or they will not be 
 discovered. Art goes beyond nature; and a woman who 
 has only virtue in her face will pass much better through 
 the world than she who has it only in her heart. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I don’t know what you mean, madam. 
 I am sure my conduct has been always careful of appear- 
 ances; but as for the suspicions of my husband, I despise ; 
 and neither can nor will give myself any trouble about ’em. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Soh! here he comes, and I suppose we 
 shall have the usual dialogue. 
 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Your servant, ladies! why, you are 
 at home early to-day. What, could you find no diversions 
 in town? is there no opera-rehearsal, no auctions, no mall? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. No, none; besides, my sister .had a 
 mind to be at home. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. You need not have said that, my 
 dear, I should not have suspected you. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I think I seldom give you reason of 
 suspecting my fondness for my own house, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, nor of any thing else. I am 
 not jealous of you, my dear. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. It would give me no uneasiness if you 
 was. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am not jealous even of Captain 
 Spark—— | 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Captain Spark! who is he? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Though he is a very pretty gentle- 
 man, and is very agreeable company. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I long to see him mightily. Won’t you 
 invite him hither, my dear? 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. Why should I invite him, when 
 you can meet him at an auction as well ?—Besides, it seems 
 he is not proper company for me, or you would not have 
 
56 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 shuffled him away yesterday when I came. You need not 
 have taken such care to hide him, I should not have been 
 jealous of him, my dear. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. This must be some strange chimera of 
 his own: no such person was with us, [A sede. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. No, my dear, I know you would not, 
 though he is a very pretty. fellow. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. The devil take all such pretty 
 fellows! with all my heart and soul. [A szde. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Don’t you know, sister, he is the most 
 witty, most entertaining creature in the world? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Think whom so? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Oh, the captain,—captain,—what’s his 
 name? 
 
 SIk SIMON RAFFLER. Captain Spark, madam. I’ll assist 
 you. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Ay, Captain Spark. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I know no Captain Spark, nor was any 
 such person with us yesterday. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Don’t believe her, my dear. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, my dear, I shall not, I assure 
 you. But do you think this right, my dear? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What right? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Why, being particular with an idle, 
 rake-helly young fellow. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sir Simon, I shall not have my company 
 prescribed to me by any one. I will keep what company I 
 please, I shall answer to the world for my actions. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, madam, I am to answer to 
 the world for your actions too—I am most concerned to see 
 that you act right, since I must bear the greater part of 
 the shame if you don't. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sir, this is a usage I can’t bear, nor I 
 won't bear. Trouble not me with your base, groundless sus- 
 picions: I believe the whole world is sensible how unworthy 
 you are of a woman of my virtue; but, henceforth, when- 
 ever any of these chimeras are raised in your head, I shall 
 leave you to lay them at your leisure. [ Avet. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 57 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Is not this intolerable? is not this 
 insufferable ? this is the comfortable state that a man is wished 
 joy of by his friends; and yet no man wishes a man joy of 
 being condemned, or of getting the plague. But when a 
 man is married, “Give you joy, sir,’ cries one fool; “I wish 
 you joy,” says another ; and thus the wretch is ushered into 
 the galleys with the same triumph as he could be exalted 
 with to the empire of the Great Mogul. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. You yourself make it so, brother; if you 
 had less jealousy in your temper, or Lady Raffler more 
 complaisance, you might be very happy—You torment your- 
 self with groundless fears, and she depends on her own 
 innocence, and will not quiet them. This was the case 
 just now: for whatever put this Captain Spark into your 
 head, I will take my oath she spoke to no such man at 
 the auction. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. You are a trusty confidante, I find 
 —but I had it from his own mouth. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. What had you from his own mouth? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What! why, that my wife was a 
 tall woman. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Ha, ha, ha! a very good reason to be 
 jealous, indeed. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, madam, and that she was a 
 fair woman. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Well, and—Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Lookye, sister, if he had told me 
 this at first, I should not have regarded it; but I pumpt it 
 out of him. He is a very close fellow, and proper to be 
 trusted with a secret, I can tell you; for he told me just 
 the contrary; but truth will out, sister; besides, did you 
 not hear my wife confess it? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. That was only in revenge, to plague 
 you. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. A very charitable geod sort of 
 lady, truly. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I wish she was of my temper, brother, 
 and would give you satisfaction in every thing—For my part, 
 
 Cay: AN. I 
 
58 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 I own, if I was your wife, your jealousy would give me no 
 pain, and I should take a pleasure in quieting it: I should 
 never be uneasy at your inquiring into any of my actions 
 —I should rather take it for a proof of your love, and be 
 the fonder of you for it. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, madam, but I do not desire 
 my wife should be like you, neither. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Why so, brother? what do you dislike 
 in me? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Truly, madam, that rendezvous of 
 fellows you continually keep at your house, and which, if 
 your husband was of my mind—— 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. He would be jealous of, I suppose? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Particularly that tall fellow, who 
 breakfasts here, dines here, sups here, and I believe lies here, 
 or will lie here very shortly. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Hold, brother, I desire you would not 
 grow scurrilous: no wonder my sister can’t bear with this 
 cursed temper of yours. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What can a married woman mean 
 by an intimacy with any other but her husband? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. What’s that to you, brother? who made 
 you the inquisitor of my actions? Do you think to call me 
 to an account, as you do your wife? Oh! if I was married 
 to such a jealous—If I did not give him enough of his 
 jealousy in one week, if I did not make him heartily weary 
 on ’t—— 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh rare! this is the woman 
 that would take a pleasure in satisfying her husband’s 
 doubts. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Lookye, Sir Simon, your temper is so 
 intolerable, that you are the by-word of every one; the 
 whole town compassionates my sister’s case, and if I was 
 she, if a virtuous woman could not content you, you should 
 have your content another way—If you would have an 
 account of every thing I did, I would do something worth 
 giving you an account of. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I believe it, I easily believe it. It 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 59 
 
 ‘is very plain who is my wife’s counsellor—But I shall take 
 care to get some better advice ; for I will not be a cuckold 
 if I can help it, madam. 
 
 Enter CLARINDA. © 
 
 CLARINDA. There’s my poor Lady Raffler within in the 
 most terrible way———She has taken a whole bottle of harts- 
 horn to keep up her spirits. It has thrown me into the 
 vapours to see her in such a condition, and she won't tell 
 me what’s the matter with her. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Can you have lived a fortnight in the 
 house, and want to know it? Sir Simon has abused her 
 in the most barbarous manner. You are a wicked man. 
 
 CLARINDA. I am sure she is one of the best women 
 in the world. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Any one but a brute might be happy 
 with such a wife. 
 
 CLARINDA. He that can’t, I am sure can be happy with 
 no woman. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Oh that I had but a jealous husband 
 for one month! 
 
 CLARINDA. Heaven forbid I should ever have one. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. So the enemy is reinforced, and 
 bravery can hold out no longer. 
 
 CLARINDA. Dear uncle, you shall go and_ comfort her 
 and ask her pardon. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. She is too good if she forgives such base 
 suspicions. 
 
 CLARINDA. I am sure she never gave you any reason for 
 them. J don’t believe she would do any thing to bring 
 her conduct into question for the world. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. She is too cautious. If I was in her 
 case, I’d make the house too hot for him. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. So it is already. Who’s there? 
 bring my chariot this instant, or if that be not ready, 
 get me a chair, get me any thing that will convey 
 me away. 
 
60 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Madam, Mr. Gaylove desires to know if you 
 are at home. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Yes, I shall be glad to see him. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Heaven be praised, my wife is not 
 in a condition to see company. pers i” 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Here’s a picture of matrimony for you, 
 dear Clarinda: what say you now to a coach and six, with 
 such a husband ? 
 
 CLARINDA. That I had rather walk on foot all the days 
 of my life. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. What difference is there between Mr. 
 Gaylove’s temper, and your uncle’s! how happy would a 
 woman be with him! 
 
 CLARINDA. I am sure of that—Men often appear before 
 marriage. different creatures from what they are after it 
 Besides, there is something in him so——something so—In 
 short, something in him I don’t like, and of all women in 
 the world I shall never envy Mrs. Gaylove. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. That’s a lie, I am sure. [Aszde.] Nay, 
 the man is agreeable enough, he is genteel. 
 
 CLARINDA. I don’t think so. 
 
 MrS. RAFFLER. He has a great deal of wit. 
 
 CLARINDA. Then he has wisdom enough to keep it to 
 himself. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. And the best-natured creature in the 
 world. 
 
 CLARINDA. It is very good-natured in you to think 
 him so, 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Ha, ha, ha! Indeed and so it would. 
 For I have been only telling you the opinion of the world. 
 In my own, he has none of these qualities: and I wonder 
 how the world came ever to give them to him. 
 
 CLARINDA. So do I, if he does not deserve them ; for 
 the world seldom errs on that side the question. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. And yet it does in him. For to me he 
 is the most disagreeable creature on earth. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 61 
 
 CLARINDA. Well, I cannot be of your opinion—there is 
 somewhat in his countenance, when he smiles, so extremely 
 good-humoured; I love dearly to see him smile, and you 
 know he’s always a_ smiling and his eyes laugh so 
 comically, and have so much sweetness in them. Then he 
 is the most entertaining creature upon earth, and I have 
 heard some very good-natured actions of his too. The 
 world, I dare swear, does not think one whit better of him 
 than he deserves. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Oh, say you so, madam? 
 
 Einter MR. GAYLOVE azd MR. MONDISH. 
 
 Oh! here he is—Are you there too? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Ladies; your servant—To find Mrs. 
 Raffler at home, and without company at this high visiting 
 season, is so surprising —— 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Lard, I suppose you think us like those 
 country ladies you have lately conversed with, who never 
 owe a visit at the week’s end to any of their husbands’ 
 tenants’ wives——Do you think we have nothing else to do 
 in this sweet town, but to ride about the streets to see if 
 the knockers of the people’s doors are fast >——Indeed you 
 have here and there a country-gentlewoman (her husband 
 being sent up to parliament for the sake of his country, 
 and the destruction of his family) who drives regularly 
 round the town to see the streets, and her acquaintance and 
 relations, that she may know when she may be sure of 
 meeting some one to curtsy to at the drawing-room. And 
 once a week very charitably gives her horses rest at the 
 expense of her wax candles; when she sits in her own 
 dining-room, chair-woman of a committee of fools, to criticise 
 on fashions, and register the weather. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. But, I think, it is a pity so good a 
 custom is left off; if it were only for the better propagation 
 of scandal. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. What signifies scandal, when no one 
 is ashamed of doing what they have a mind to? 
 
62 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Yes, there is some pleasure in spreading 
 it, when it is not true. For though no one is ashamed 
 of doing what they have a mind to, they may be ashamed 
 of being supposed to do what they have no mind to. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I know very few people who are 
 ashamed of any thing. 
 
 Mr. MonpiIsH. I believe, madam, none of your ac- 
 quaintance have any reason for that passion. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Are you sure of that? 
 
 Mr. MONpDIsSH. None who have at present that honour 
 at least——-For I have that good opinion of you, that 
 such a discovery would soon banish them from it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. That, I believe, you have seen a very 
 late instance of. 
 
 CLARINDA. Well, since you are so solicitous about the 
 song, if you will go with me to the spinnet, you shall 
 hear it. My playing, madam, I am sure, is not worth 
 your hearing. But since this creature will not let me be 
 at quiet—— 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Lard, child, I believe you do not want 
 so much entreaty. I think one can never be at quiet for 
 you, and your music. 
 
 CLARINDA. Madam, I ask your pardon. Come, Mr. 
 Gaylove. | Rxeunt. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I received a letter from you this morning, 
 madam, but of a nature so different from some I have 
 had from you, that I could wish your hand had been 
 counterfeited. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. To save you the trouble of a long 
 speech, I sent you a letter, and the last I ever intend to 
 send you; since I find it has not the effect I desired, which 
 was to prevent my ever seeing your face again. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. So cruel a banishment, so sudden, and 
 so unexpected, ought surely to have some reasons given 
 for it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Ask your own heart, that can suggest 
 "em to you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. My heart is conscious of no other than 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 63 
 
 what is too often a reason to your sex for exercising all 
 manner of tyranny over us: too much fondness 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Fondness! impudence! to pretend fond- 
 ness to a woman, after a week’s neglect——Did I not meet 
 you at an assembly, where you made me a bow as distant 
 as if we had been scarce acquainted, or rather, as if we 
 were weary of our acquaintance? 
 
 Mr. MONpDISH. Was not that hundred-eyed monster of 
 jealousy, Sir Simon, with you? Do you object my care of 
 your reputation to want of fondness ? 
 
 Pies ARFLER, Lhe old excuse for indifference. I 
 wonder men have not contrived to make it scandalous for 
 their wives to be seen with ’em, that they might have an 
 excuse to them too. ‘Tis likely indeed that you should 
 have more care of my reputation than I myself. It was not 
 the jealousy of my husband, but my rival you was aware 
 of; and yet you was not so tender of her reputation but 
 that I discovered her. 
 
 Mr. MonpDIsH. Excellent justice! for since I am to be 
 punished for your falsehood, it is but just I should be con- 
 victed of it. My sweet! what would I give to believe what 
 you are endeavouring to persuade me !——-Come, I will assist 
 you with all my force of credulity ; for was your opinion of 
 my falsehood real, I would give you such convincing proofs 
 to the contrary—But your love to another is no more a 
 secret to me than it is that I owe to that your slights, 
 your letter, and your cruel, unjust accusation. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Insupportable insolence! A husband may 
 Mesceartitie to be jealous; our love is his due—but a 
 wretch who owes his happiness to our free gift 
 
 Mr. MonnpisH. Faith, I think otherwise. Love to a 
 husband is a tradesman’s debt, the law gives him the security 
 of your person for it; but love to a gallant is a debt of 
 honour, which every gentlewoman is obliged to pay—It would 
 be a treasure indeed finely bestowed on such a husband as 
 yours. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I am henceforth resolved to give it to 
 no other. I am so much obliged to his good opinion, | 
 
64 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 should hate myself if I did not try to deserve it—and by 
 thinking me honest, he shall keep me so. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. He must know less than I who is so 
 imposed on. But you shall not keep my rival a secret 
 from me, be assured you shall not—I’ll haunt you with that 
 constant assiduity, you shall not speak to a man without 
 my knowledge——You shall find that the jealousy of twenty 
 husbands is not equal to that of one abused gallant. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Villain! was it not you that ruined me, 
 that deceived me, that robbed me of my virtue ? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. How have I robbed you? How deceived 
 you? Have I not paid you the price of your virtue, eternal 
 constancy? Have I not met your passion still with fresh 
 desires? Has not each stolen meeting been a scene of joy, 
 which eager bridegrooms might envy? What have I done 
 to disoblige you; or what has another done to oblige you 
 more? Have I been outbid in fondness? Has some fresh 
 lover burnt with warmer passion? Has some beau dressed 
 himself into your heart, or some wit talked himself into it? 
 Be generous, and confess what has ruined me in that dear 
 bosom, and do not cruelly throw it on a poor harmless 
 husband. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Good manners should oblige you to 
 mention him with more civility to me. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And after what has passed between us, 
 I think you should mention him to me with less. Besides, 
 I think you have sometimes been of my opinion. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Women, you know, are subject to change, 
 and I may think better of him, as well as worse of you. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. This is trifling with my passion, the 
 cruellest insult you can put upon it—-—But I will find out 
 my rival, and will be revenged. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Revenged !—Ha! ha! 
 
 Enter COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 Mr. MONDIsif. Death and torments! 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Heyday! What, are they acting a 
 tragedy ? 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 65 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. And how will you be revenged, sweet 
 sir, if you should find him out——or why should you desire 
 it? The man acts like a man, and does by you as you 
 have done by another. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. This usage would justify any thing. My 
 own honour secures me, madam. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I hope you would not tell my husband 
 ——but he would not believe it if you did. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Harkye, madam, the town will—— 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Hold, hold, I must interpose——If 
 you will quarrel, let it be at a distance——What will I not 
 believe? Ill tell you what I believe; that you are in the 
 wrong. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Ay, ay, you will take his part, to be 
 sure. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish is a friend of mine, 
 and it is strange that you are eternally quarrelling with all 
 my friends. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I desire then, sir, you would keep your 
 friends to yourself, for I shall not endure their impertinence ; 
 
 so I’ll leave you together——But I must tell your friend 
 one thing before I go, that I desire I may never see his 
 face again—— pee aes 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. All this a man must bear that is 
 married. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, and a great deal more than this 
 too. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, it is true——and yet have a 
 good wife——I have the best wife in the world, but women 
 have humours. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Pox take their humours! let their husbands 
 bear ‘em. Must we pay the price of another’s folly ?——In 
 short, Colonel, I am the most unfit person in the world for 
 that gentle office you have assigned me, of entertaining your 
 lady in your absence. Besides, I’ll tell you a secret——lIt 
 is impossible to be very intimate and well with a woman, 
 without making love to her. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Well; and why don’t you make love 
 
 AO i, S K 
 
66 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 to her? Ha, ha! make love to her, indeed! she’d love you 
 I believe, she’d give you enough of making love. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why, do you think no one has made 
 love to her, then? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I think nothing; I am sure no one 
 ever has, for I am sure if they had she would have told 
 me, Perhaps that’s a secret you don’t know, that she never 
 kept one secret from me in her life. I am certain, if it 
 were possible for her to make me a cuckold, she would tell 
 me-on’t; and it is an excellent thing to havevsmenma 
 security that one is not one——dear Mondish do——make 
 love to my wife, I beseech you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Excuse me, dear Colonel——but I ’ll do 
 as well, I’ll recommend one to you that shall. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, who is he? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What think you of Mr. Gaylove? Besides, 
 I believe it will please your lady better. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ha, ha, ha! I could die of laughing ; 
 ha, ha, ha! this is the man now that knows the world, and 
 mankind, and womankind. You have happened to name 
 the very man whom she detests of all men breathing. She 
 told me so this very morning. 
 
 Mr. Monpisu. Then I am satisfied. Damnation and 
 hell! Now can I scarce forbear telling this fellow he is a 
 cuckold to his face——’sdeath I have hit of a way. [Aszde.] 
 Harkye, Colonel, you have put a very pleasant conceit into 
 my head. I think I have heard you say that you have great 
 pleasure in seeing the disdain your lady shows to all man- 
 kind Now I have the same pleasure——suppose therefore 
 it was possible to work up Gaylove to make his addresses 
 to her, and you and I could convey ourselves where we 
 might see her treat him as he deserves. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I like it vastly: how I shall hug 
 myself all the while. JI know exactly how she will behave 
 to him. I shall certainly die with pleasure; let me tell you, 
 my dear sir, let me tell you, there is a great deal of pride 
 in having a virtuous wife. 
 
 Mr. MonopisuH. If brilliants were not scarce they would 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 67 
 
 not be valuable: and virtue in a wife perhaps may be valued 
 for the same reason. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. But do you think he can be brought 
 to it? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I warrant him, he has vanity enough 
 to be easily persuaded that a woman may be fond of 
 him, and gallantry enough not to let her fondness be 
 thrown away. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I am charmed with the contrivance. 
 But he must never know that I knew any thing of the 
 matter. I sha’n’t know how to behave to him if he should. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. You may learn from half your acquaint- 
 ance. How many husbands do we see caressing men, whose 
 intrigues with their wives they must be blinder than dark- 
 ness itself not to see! It is a civil communicative age we 
 live in, Colonel. And it is no more a breach of friendship 
 to make use of your wife than of your chariot. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. It is a_ devilish cuckolding age, 
 that’s the truth on’t, and, Heaven be praised, I am out of 
 fashion. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, there’s the glory——wealth, power, 
 every thing is known by comparison——were all women 
 virtuous, you would not taste half of your blessing. The 
 joy, the pride, the triumph, is to see 
 
 The ills a neighbour in a wife endures, 
 And have a wife as good and chaste as yours. 
 
68 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 ACAWITT. 
 SCENE I.—A Sévreet. 
 Mr. MOnNDISH, MR. GAYLOVE. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. And art thou really in earnest? and art 
 thou perfectly. sure she has this passion for me? 
 
 Mr. MONpDISH. Thou art blind thyself, or thou must have 
 discovered it; all her looks, words, actions, betray it. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Thou art a nice observer, George, and 
 perhaps in this case, your own passion may heighten your 
 suspicion. I know thy temper is inclined to jealousy. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Far from it; I never doubt the affections 
 of a woman while she is kind, nor ever think any more of 
 ‘em when she grows otherwise. Women undoubtedly are 
 blessings to us, if we do not ourselves make ’em otherwise. 
 I have just love enough to assist ’em in giving me pleasure, 
 but not to put it in their power to give me pain; and I 
 could with as much ease see thee in the arms of Mrs. 
 Raffler, as of any woman in town. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Wouldst thou? she’s young, handsome, 
 and witty, and faith! I could almost as soon wish myself 
 there. ’Tis true, I have an honourable engagement; but a 
 man’s having settled his whole estate should not prevent his 
 being charitable, George. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Especially when what he bestows does 
 not hurt his estate. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Very true; therefore, if I was sure the 
 lady was in necessity, I don’t know how far my good nature 
 might carry me, for the devil take me if I am not one of 
 the best-natured creatures in the world. 
 
 Mr. MonpisuH. I think I am acting a very good-natured 
 part too; a man is obliged in honour to provide for a cast 
 mistress, but I do more, I provide for a mistress who has 
 cast me off. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 69 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I begin to suspect thou hast some design 
 of making me an instrument in your reconciliation; I don’t 
 see how my addresses can be of any use to you; but if 
 they can, they are at your service. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I thank you with all my heart; they 
 serve me at least, so far, as to discover whether you are my 
 innocent rival, or whether I am to seek for him elsewhere : 
 besides, if you are really the person, and don’t care to be 
 charitable, as you call it, by playing Captain Spark with her, 
 you may pique her back again to me, 
 
 MR GAYLOVE:: Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mr. MONDIsH. Pr’ythee, what dost thou laugh at? 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. To see so cool a lover as thou art, who 
 cares for a woman no longer than she is kind, take such 
 pains to get her again, after she has jilted you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Pshaw! that——I——well—— 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. You are merry, sir—-—But I would not 
 have you think that I have any love for her She has 
 hurt my pride; ’tis that, and not my love that I want to 
 cure Damn her! if I had her but in my power; could I 
 but triumph over her, I should have the end of my desires ; 
 and then, if her husband, or the town, or the devil had her, 
 it would give me no pain. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I dare swear thou wilt use thy power very 
 gently. I shall sup there this evening, and if I have an 
 opportunity with her, I’ll do thee all the service I can, 
 though I can’t promise to behave exactly up to the character 
 of Captain Spark, if she should be very kind. 
 
 Mr. Monpisu. Well, make use of your victory as you 
 please. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. But methinks you take a _ preposterous 
 way. Would it not be better to alarm her with another 
 mistress ? 
 
 Mr. MONpDISsH. That, perhaps, I intend too. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I have overstayed my time with you,— 
 besides, I see one coming for whose company I have no 
 great relish——So, your servant. [ Axiz. 
 
70 THE ONIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Whom? O, Sir Simon! I'll avoid 
 him too. 
 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish, Mr. Mondish—is there 
 any thing frightful in me, that you run away from me? | 
 fancy my horns are out, and people think I shall butt at 
 "em As. for that handsome gentleman, who sneaked 
 off so prettily, I shall not go after him; and I wish I 
 may have seen the last of him, with all my heart Is. 
 he an acquaintance of yours, pray? for I saw you speak 
 to him. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, Sir Simon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am sorry for it; I am sorry you 
 keep such company. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. How so, Sir Simon? he’s a man of 
 honour, I hope. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, a man of very nice honour, I 
 dare answer for him, and one who lies with every man’s 
 wife he comes near. | 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Indeed I fear he has been guilty of some 
 small offences that way. ; 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Small offences! and yet to break 
 open a house, or rob on the highway are great offences. A 
 man that robs me of five shillings is a rogue, and to be 
 hanged ; but he that robs me of my wife is a fine gentleman, 
 and a man of honour. 
 
 Mr. MOoNpDISH. -The laws should be severer on these 
 occasions. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. The laws should give us more 
 power over our wives. If a man was to carry his treasure 
 about openly among thieves, I believe the laws would be 
 very little security to him. | 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And as to prevent robbing, they have 
 put down all night-houses, and other places of rendezvous ; 
 so to prevent cuckoldom we should put down all assemblies, 
 balls, operas, plays,—in short, all the public places. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Ay, ay, public places, as they call 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 7a 
 
 ‘em, are intended only to give people an opportunity of 
 getting acquainted, and appointing to meet in private places. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. An assembly, Sir Simon, is an exchange 
 for cuckoldom, where the traders meet, and make their 
 bargains, and then adjourn to a private room to sign 
 and seal, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish, I know you are my 
 friend, there has been a long acquaintance and friendship 
 between our families, I shall tell you, therefore, what I 
 would not tell any other living. I have not the least jealousy 
 in my temper, but I have a wife that would make the 
 devil jealous —— Oh, here comes the man I have been 
 looking after. 
 
 Mr. MONDIsSH. Sir Simon, your humble servant. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nay, but stay a moment. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I have business of consequence, and can’t 
 possibly—Your humble servant. [ Axi. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Well, your servant. 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN SPARK. 
 
 What in the name of mischief is he reading? A letter 
 from my wife, I suppose. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Sir, your most humble servant—— I 
 think I had the honour of seeing you at my cousin Mondish’s 
 this morning. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, sir,—and I should be glad to 
 have the honour of seeing you hanged this afternoon. 
 
 [ Aszde. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Pray, sir, what’s o'clock? because I 
 have an engagement at six. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, sir, it wants considerably of 
 that; but perhaps your engagement is with a lady, and that 
 makes the time longer. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Why, faith! to be sincere with you, it 
 is; but I beg you would not mention that to any body; 
 though, if you should, as long as you don’t know her name, 
 there’s no reputation hurt. 
 
fe: THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT ; OR, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I suppose, Captain, it is she whom 
 you met at the auction. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. How the devil came you to guess 
 that? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Well, but I have guessed right? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I am not obliged to tell—but this I 
 will tell you, sir, you have a very good knack at guess- 
 ing. And yet I will show you her Christian name, and lay 
 you a wager you don’t find out her surname. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Anne, the devil! It is not my 
 wife’s hand, but it is her name. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Hold, sir, that is not fair. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Let me but see the two first 
 letters of her surname. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. To oblige you, you shall——but if you 
 should guess afterwards, you are a man of honour. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Sir, I am _ satisfied——I am the 
 happiest man in the world——dear Captain, I give you ten 
 thousand thanks. You have quieted my curiosity. I 
 thought, by your description this morning, you had meant 
 another lady. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Whom did you think? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Really I thought the lady’s name 
 was Raffler whom you described. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Mrs. Raffler, indeed—ha, ha! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Why, do you know Mrs. Raffler ? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Know her, ay, who the devil does not 
 know her? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What, what, what do you know 
 ofihert 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Pugh, know of her! ha, ha! Lard help 
 you, know of her indeed——and with a grave face, as if 
 you had never heard any thing of us two, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. My brother is an arrant downright 
 cuckold. I never was better pleased with any news in 
 my life. : 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Is she a relation of yours, that you are 
 so anxious? 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 73 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, sir, no; no relation of mine, 
 upon my honour. I have some acquaintance with a lady of 
 her name, one Lady Raffler. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ay, that’s a good one too. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What, do you know my Lady 
 Raffler ? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, I think I do. Ha, ha, ha !—faith, 
 I remember that woman, a very fine woman; nay, she’s 
 well enough still, I can’t help saying I like her better than 
 her sister. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I suppose you have had them 
 both. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Who, I? ha, ha, ha! no, no, neither of 
 ‘em; you are the most suspicious person, though I believe 
 the world has talked pretty freely. But, ha, ha! the world, 
 you know, is a censorious world, and yet, pox take the 
 women! they owe more discoveries to their own imprudence. 
 I never had a woman fond of me in my life that was able 
 to conceal it; if I had had her, it might have been a secret 
 for me. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Well, sir, it is no secret, I assure 
 you—(ten thousand devils take ’em both!) [Aszde. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I defy any one to say he ever heard 
 me brag of my amours, and yet I have had a few. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And you have had Lady Raffler 
 then? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. No, that’s too much to own. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Not at all; no one is ashamed to 
 own their amours now fine gentlemen talk of women of 
 quality in the same manner as of their laundresses, Besides, 
 it is known already, you may own it, especially to me; for 
 it shall go no farther, I assure you. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Well then, in confidence that you are a 
 man of honour, I will own it to you; yes, yes, I have, I 
 have had her. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Would the devil had had you! 
 Now if I had the spirit of a worm, I would beat this fellow 
 
 to death; but I think I have spirit enough to beat my 
 18) Pee. L 
 
74 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 wife. She shall pay for all; and that immediately. Your 
 servant. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I hope you won’t discover a word, since 
 I place such confidence in you. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. Never fear me, sir—I am much 
 beholden to your confidence, I am very much beholden to 
 you. Cuckolds! horns! daggers! fire and furies! [ Exit. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. The gentleman seems in a_ passion. 
 Now don’t I know what in the world to do with myself— 
 hum, hum, I hear Clarinda’s in town, I’ll go try if I can't 
 find her out. If I follow her but one fortnight here, the 
 world will give me her for ever. [ Eee. 
 
 Scene changes to SIR SIMON RAFFLER’S /fouse. 
 Enter MR. GAYLOVE, CLARINDA. 
 
 CLARINDA. And so you have told Captain Spark I am 
 in town; I am very much obliged to you. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. It shows you, at least, 1 am not of Sir 
 Simon’s temper, not inclined to jealousy. 
 
 CLARINDA. No, people are never jealous of what’s 
 indifferent to them. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Faith, I have no notion of being so at 
 all; for if there can be no jealousy without fondness, I am 
 sure I could never be fond of any woman who would give 
 me reason to be jealous. 
 
 CLARINDA. Yes, but some men are jealous without 
 reason. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. And some men are fond without any 
 reason. The lover who can be the one, gives you shrewd 
 cause of suspicion that he may afterwards prove the other. 
 
 CLARINDA. Well, then, I think I may suspect you will 
 one day or other prove the most jealous husband in the 
 universe. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I’ll suffer you to speak what you don’t 
 think of yourself, since you just now spoke what you don’t 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 75 
 
 think of me; at least, what, if I was assured you did think 
 of me, I should be the most miserable creature breathing. 
 CLARINDA. Hum, that may be my case too, I’m afraid. 
 [A szde. 
 MR. GAYLOVE. I hope my actions hitherto have convinced 
 you of the contrary; but if they have not, I desire no 
 greater happiness than to complete your conviction by an 
 undeniable one—nor do I see any reason, if indifference be 
 not on your side, why you any longer deny the opportunity 
 of giving it you. 
 CLARINDA. I see you have a mind to divert yourself. 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Oh, Clarinda! Diversion is too poor a 
 word for my desires, they aim at such a height of happiness, 
 such transcendent joys, yet none but what this dear breast 
 should be a partaker of. 
 
 Enter LADY RAFFLER, azd MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Heyday! what, are you at romps, good 
 people? I desire none of these games may be carried on 
 in my house—If you have been bred up in the country to 
 suffer these. indecent familiarities, I desire you would leave 
 ‘em off, now you are under my roof. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I hope, madam, I shall under no roof 
 offer any thing which this lady may not justifiably suffer. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Give me leave, sir, to be judge what 
 she ought to suffer. There’s no good ever comes of romping 
 and palming: I never gave my hand to any man without 
 a glove except Sir Simon. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I wonder, Gaylove, how you can _ bear 
 girls’ company. Your wit is thrown away upon ’em; but 
 all you creatures are so fond of green fruit. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. So, I think she has given me my cue. 
 
 [Aszde. 
 
 CLARINDA. Lard, madam, I know some girls are as good 
 company as any women in England. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Indeed, Mrs. Pert, are you attempting to 
 show your wit? 
 
76 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. She shows her bravery, madam, in 
 attacking the very woman of her sex that has the most. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I fancy, then, she has more bravery than 
 you have, sir. 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Gad, I am afraid so too. [Aszde. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Fie, fie, that a man, celebrated for his 
 wit, should put his wit to a girl. 
 
 CLARINDA. I am no such girl, madam; I don’t see why 
 a man should not put his wit to a girl as well as to any 
 one; as contemptuously as you speak of girls, I have 
 known some girls that have wit enough to be too hard 
 for most men. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Upon my word, madam, you seem to 
 come on finely ; I don’t know but you may be a very good 
 match for him. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Upon my word, if I mistake not, you 
 come both very finely on——(Well, the forwardness of some 
 women !) [Aszde. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Lookye, sir, I am too generous to 
 insult a man who already appears to have been vanquished ; 
 but if you dare meet me another time this will give you 
 instructions where I am to be found. 
 
 [Aside. Giving him a letter. 
 
 CLARINDA. I am astonished at her impudence !——I 
 cant bear it, to take him away from me before my face 
 ——I hate him too. He might be rude to her; he must 
 be sure it would have pleased me. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I desire the conversation may be more 
 general—here ’s such whispering! Sister, I am_ surprised 
 at you. This particularity with a young fellow is very 
 indecent. 
 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Your servant, ladies, your very 
 humble servant. What, but one poor gentleman amongst 
 you all? And he too of our own family, for I think he 
 does us the honour of making this house his own. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS | 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I have indeed, sir, lately done myself 
 that honour. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, sir, you are too obliging—you 
 are too complaisant indeed—you misplace the obligation. 
 We are infinitely beholden to you, that you will take up 
 with such entertainment as this poor house can afford— 
 And I assure you you are very welcome to every thing in 
 it—Every thing. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Sir, I know not how to return this 
 favour; but I assure you there is that in it that will make 
 me the happiest of mankind. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. That’s my wife, I suppose——I 
 shall have him ask her of me in a very little time; and 
 he is a very civil fellow if he does——for most of the 
 rascals about this town take our wives without asking us. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I hope, my dear, you are in a better 
 humour than when you went out to-day. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, my dear, I am in a pure 
 good humour: I am quite satisfied in my mind. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. Whispers MR. GAYLOVE. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Mr. Mondish, say you? 
 
 SERVANT. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Mr. Gaylove, you sup here, I hope ? 
 
 Mr. GALLOVE. There’s no fear, madam, of my failing so 
 agreeable an engagement. [ Exez. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, my dear, I am so happy, so 
 easy, so satisfied, the colonel himself does not go beyond 
 me. I have not the least doubt or jealousy, and if I was 
 to see you and your sister in two hackney-coaches with 
 each a young fellow, I should think no more harm than 
 I do now. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Indeed, my dear, I shall never give you 
 the trial. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Indeed I believe thee, my dear ; 
 thou art too prudent. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. How happy shall I be if this change in 
 
73 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 your temper continues! But, pray what has wrought it so 
 suddenly ? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What satisfies every reasonable 
 man—I am convinced, I have found it out. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What, my dear? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Why, my dear, that I am a very 
 honest, sober, fashionable gentleman, very fit to have a 
 handsome wife, and to keep civil company. And that you 
 are a very fine, fashionable, good-humoured lady, fit to be 
 married to a good honest husband, and mighty proper for 
 any company whatsoever. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. This begins to have an ill aspect. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I don't understand you. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nor Captain Spark neither, I dare 
 
 swear. 
 LADY RAFFLER. What do you tell me of Captain Spark 
 
 for ? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. You don’t know him, I warrant you. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Perhaps I do; what then? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nay, it is but grateful in you not 
 to deny your acquaintance with a gentleman who is so fond 
 of owning an acquaintance with you. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I hope I am acquainted with no gentleman 
 who is ashamed of owning it. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Lookye, madam, he has told me 
 all that ever passed between you. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Indeed! then he has a much better 
 memory than I have, for he has told you more than I 
 remember. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Brother, this is some cursed suspicion of 
 yours; she has no such acquaintance, I am confident; if 
 she had, I must have known it. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. There is no occasion for your denying 
 it, sister; I think Captain Spark a very civil, well-behaved 
 man, and I shall converse with him, in spite of any jealous 
 husband in England. (Though I never saw this fellow in 
 my life, I am resolved not to deny his acquaintance, were 
 I to be hanged for it.) [A sede. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 79 
 
 CLARINDA. If all persons have my opinion of him, I 
 think there is not more innocent company upon earth. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, ho, you are acquainted with 
 him too, and I dare swear, if I had asked him, he has had 
 you too. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. In short, Sir Simon, you are a monster, 
 to abuse the best of wives thus! the town shall ring of 
 you for it. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And Westminster Hall shall ring 
 too, take my word for it. 
 
 kinter COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. How now? What’s the matter? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. The matter! the matter, my dear, is that 
 Sir Simon is a brute, and has abused my poor sister for 
 her intimacy with a man whom she never saw. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. Nor you never saw neither! 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Never to my knowledge, as I hope to 
 be saved. 
 
 StR SIMON RAFFLER. You never saw Captain Spark? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. No, never. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Who gives you an authority to 
 inquire, pray ? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. The care of your honour, sir,—— 
 nay, don’t look stern at me, sir, for we are both—— 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. What? what are we both? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Captain Spark’s very humble 
 servants——a couple of useful persons which no _ fine 
 gentleman should be without. | 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Who is this Captain Spark, sister? 
 do you know him? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Lookye, brother, since you ask me, I 
 will do that to satisfy you which he never should have 
 extorted from me. Upon my honour I do not know him. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Nor I, upon mine. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Now are not you ashamed of your- 
 self? Can you ever look the world in the face again, if 
 
80 THE UUNIVERSAL GALLANT ;3"OR, 
 
 this were known in it? If you was not my own brother, 
 I should know how to deal with you, for your suspicions 
 of my wife. However, I insist on it, you immediately ask 
 her pardon, and if you have any honour, you will do the 
 same to your own. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I ask their pardon. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, are you not fully convinced of 
 being in the wrong? Have they not both solemnly attested 
 that they know no such person? 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Ladies, Captain Spark’s below. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Who? who? who? [Very eagerly. 
 SERVANT. Captain Spark. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Tol, lol, lol; brother, your servant 
 Ladies, your servant——I ask pardon, I ask a thousand 
 pardons——tol, lol, lol; I believe I am at this moment 
 the merriest cuckold in the universe. 
 
 CLARINDA. Pray desire the captain to walk in. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Now, brother, I am a jealous-pated 
 fool; I suppose I am in the wrong, I am convicted; they 
 don’t know him. If a woman was to tell me the sun shone 
 at noon-day, I would not believe it. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Well, here’s a gentleman come to 
 wait upon my niece, and what of that? 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN SPARK. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. ’Tis he, ’tis he! tol, lol, lol. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Miss Clarinda, your most obedient 
 servant. Ladies, your most humble servant.—Oh, sir, I did 
 not expect to meet you here. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, I believe you did not. [Aszde. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. If I had known you had been in town 
 sooner, madam, I should have done myself the honour 
 before. 
 
 CLARINDA. And now, perhaps, this visit is not to me, 
 but to the ladies. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 81 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Really, madam, these ladies I have not 
 the honour to be acquainted with. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, your servant, brother, I ask your 
 pardon—who is convicted now? 
 
 _Lapy RAFFLER. Unless at an auction, captain; I have 
 seen you there. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Madam, you do me too much honour ; 
 yes, madam, I have indeed had the happiness—though the 
 devil take me if I know when or where. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, I thought they would know 
 one another by and by. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I think you laid out a great deal o’ 
 money that morning, captain—You bid for almost every 
 thing. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, madam, I am a pretty good 
 customer to ’em generally. Either I have a damned short 
 memory, or this lady wants a good one. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I think, captain, I ought to be affronted 
 you don’t remember me too, for I was at the same place 
 with my sister. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Madam, I ask ten thousand pardons. 
 Your most obedient servant, madam. MHarkye, sir, will you 
 be so good as to tell me what these ladies’ names are, for 
 I have positively forgot. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am surprised at that, sir; why, 
 sir, that is my good lady, my Lady Raffler—for your favours 
 to whom, I am very much obliged to you; and the other 
 sir, is Mrs. Raffler, wife to that gentleman, who is as much 
 obliged to you for your civilities to her. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Soh, I’m in a fine way, faith—Oh, 
 curse on my lying tongue! If I get well out of this amour, 
 I will never have another as long as I live. 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. Lookye, sir, as for me, I’m an 
 honest, sober citizen, and shall take my revenge another 
 way ; but my brother here is a fighting man, and will return 
 your favour as fighting men generally do return favours, 
 by cutting your throat. Harkye, brother, you don’t deserve 
 it of me, yet I must let you know that this gentleman 
 
 Wola xX, M 
 
82 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 assured me to-day that he had done you the favour with 
 your wife. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. With me! 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. What favour? 
 
 Str SIMON RAFFLER. The favour, the only favour which 
 fine gentlemen do such sort of people as us; but be not 
 dejected, brother, I am your fellow-sufferer, he has had my 
 wife too, he confessed it to my face. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Not I, upon my soul, sir—a_ likely 
 thing I should say that I had an amour with a woman 
 that I never saw before, to my knowledge! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And have you the assurance to 
 deny to my face—— 
 
 CaPTAIN SPARK. I think, sir, your assurance is greater, 
 to assert a thing to my face which I never said! I never 
 named either of the ladies in my life. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What, sir! did you not mention 
 Mrs. Raffler’s name? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Mrs. Raffler! Oh, then it is out—What 
 a confusion had the mistake of a name like to have occa- 
 sioned! Ladies, I am under the greatest concern that I 
 should be even the innocent occasion of the least uneasiness 
 to you. But I believe, sir, I shall end yours, when I have 
 put myself to the blush, by confessing that it was only a 
 Dutch lady of pleasure, whom I knew in Amsterdam, that 
 caused your jealousy. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What! and did not you name my 
 Lady Raffler too? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, sometimes she is called Mrs. Raffler, 
 and sometimes my Lady Raffler. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. An impudent jade! ha, ha, ha! Ay, 
 it’s common enough with ’em to have several names and 
 titles—-Come, come, brother, all you have to do is to ask 
 pardon of the gentleman and your wife and mine—Are not 
 you asham’d to put all the company into this confusion, 
 because there is a woman of the town who wears the same 
 name with your own wife? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. A man has some reason for 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 83 
 
 confusion, though, let me tell you, when a gentleman who 
 does not know him tells him to his face that he has lain 
 with a woman who wears the same name with his wife. 
 And I think he may be excused if he thinks she wears 
 the same clothes too. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Sir, I am very sorry any thing of 
 this nature should happen. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Oh, sir, things of this nature are so 
 usual with me, I beg no apology. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Please Heaven! I’ll make a voyage 
 to Holland, and search all the bawdy-houses in Amsterdam 
 but I will find out whether there be such a woman 
 or no. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Come, brother, ask the gentleman’s 
 pardon—I am ashamed of you. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Well, sir, (I don’t know how to do 
 it,) if I have injured you, I ask your pardon; and yet I can’t 
 help thinking still, it was my Lady Raffler you mentioned, 
 and I believe you spoke truth too. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Sir, I can easily forgive you suspecting 
 me to be the happiest person upon earth; if you have this 
 lady’s pardon, you have mine. 
 
 StR SIMON RAFFLER. What, is the rascal making love to 
 her before my face? But I won't give him an opportunity 
 of cutting my throat before her; for I would not willingly 
 give her so much pleasure. 
 
 CLARINDA. I believe, madam, the captain will make a 
 fourth at quadrille. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. You honour me too much, madam ; but 
 if you will bear with a very bad player—— 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Though I hate cards, I will play with 
 him, if it be only to torment my husband. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. This is opportune enough—I will set ’em 
 together, and shall soon get some one to hold my cards, 
 while I go to a better appointment. Come, if you will 
 follow me, I’ll conduct you to the cards. [Exeunt. 
 
S7 ets THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Manent SIR SIMON RAFFLER azd COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. This is mighty pretty, mighty fine, 
 truly. This is a rare country, and a rare age we live in, 
 where a man is obliged to put his horns in his pocket, 
 whether he will or no. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Fie upon you, brother, fie upon you! 
 For you, who have one of the most virtuous women in the 
 world to your wife, to be thus tormenting yourself and her, 
 your friends and every one, with those groundless suspicions, 
 such unheard-of jealousies ! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Sir, you injure me, if you call me 
 jealous; I have not a grain of jealousy within me. I am 
 not indeed so foolishly blind as you are. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. And you injure me, if you think I 
 am not jealous: I am all over jealousy, and if there was 
 but the least occasion to show it—— 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Occasion! why is not your wife at 
 this very instant at cards with a young fellow? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Well, sir, and is not your wife with 
 her? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Sore against my will, I assure you 
 what, I suppose you are one of those wise men who 
 think one woman is a guard upon another——Now, it is my 
 opinion, that a plurality of women only tend to the making 
 a plurality of cuckolds. Thieves, indeed, discover one another, 
 because the discoverer often saves his life by it; but women 
 do not save their reputation after the same manner, and 
 therefore every woman keeps her neighbours’ secret, in order 
 to have her own kept. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Pshaw, sir! I don’t rely upon this, 
 nor that, nor t’other, I rely upon my wife’s virtue. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Why truly, sir, that is not relying 
 upon this, nor that, nor t’other, for it is relying upon 
 nothing at all. | 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. How, sir, don’t you think my wife 
 virtuous ?—Now, sir, to show you to your confusion, what an 
 excellent creature this is: I gave her leave once to go to a 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 85 
 
 masquerade, and followed her thither myself, where, though 
 I knew her dress, I did not find her,—and where do you 
 think she was? where do you think this good creature was? 
 but at supper in private with the poor female relation of 
 hers, who keeps a milliner’s shop at St. James’s. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. O lud! O lud! O lud! and 
 are you, brother, really wise enough to think she was there? 
 Or if she was there, do you think she was alone with this 
 poor female relation? who is a relation of mine too, I thank 
 Heaven, and is, I dare swear, as useful a woman as any in 
 the parish of St. James’s. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Brother, you are——! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What am I, brother? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. I can bear this no longer. You are 
 —I need not tell you, you know what you are 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And I know what you are too, 
 you are a cuckold, and so am I, I dare swear. Notwith- 
 standing this evasion of the captain’s, however, it shall not 
 rest so If I am what I think, I will make an ample dis- 
 covery of it; though if I was to find them in one another's 
 arms, the poor husband would always be found in the 
 wrong. 
 
 AC be lVi 
 SCENE I.—SIR SIMON RAFFLER’S House. 
 Mr. MONDISH, COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ha, ha, ha! This is excellent, this 
 is delightful; and so the poor dog fell into the trap at 
 once, and is absolutely persuaded my wife is fond of him. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. That he is, I’ll be answerable for him. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. How purely she’ll use him, I would 
 not be in his coat for a considerable sum; my only fear is 
 that she’ll do him a mischief. Lord! Lord! how far the 
 vanity of young men will carry them, Methinks, too, he is 
 
86 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 not acting the handsomest part by me all this while. I think 
 I ought to cut his throat seriously. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Oh, fie, Colonel, don’t think of any thing 
 of that nature; you know we have drawn him into it, and 
 really Mrs. Raffler is so fine a woman, that such a tempta- 
 tion is not easily resisted. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. That’s true, that’s true, she is a 
 fine woman, a very fine woman, I am not a little vain 
 of her. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. And so chaste, so constant, and so 
 virtuous a woman, Colonel. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. They are blessings, indeed, very 
 great blessings! I beg this thing may be kept a severe 
 secret. For I should never be able to look her in the 
 face again, if she should discover it; she would never 
 forgive me. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. For my own sake, Colonel, you may 
 depend upon my keeping it a secret. [Looks on his watch.| 
 Ay, it is now the hour of appointment, so, if you will, we 
 will go round the other way to the closet. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. With all my heart; I can’t help 
 hugging myself with the thought. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. You will see more people hugged beside 
 yourself, I believe. This is not the most generous action 
 that I am about, but she has piqued my pride, and whatever 
 be the consequence, I am resolved to be revenged of her. 
 
 [| Exeunt. 
 
 Scene changes to another Apartment in SIR SIMON RAFFLER’s 
 House. 
 
 Enter MR. GAYLOVE. 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. How happy would some men think them- 
 selves to have so agreeable an engagement upon their 
 hands! but the deuce take me if I have any great stomach 
 tu it; and considering I have another mistress in the house, 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 37 
 
 I think it is bravely done, Yet I could not find in my 
 heart to refuse the invitation. Well, what pleasure women 
 find in denying I can’t imagine; for the devil take me if 
 ever I could deny a fine woman in my life. 
 
 Enter MRS.. RAFFLER. 
 
 Oh, here she comes; now hang me if I know what to say. 
 Whether I shall address her at a distance, or boldly fall 
 on at once. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. So, sir, you are punctual to the appoint- 
 
 - ment, 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Faith, madam, I have a strange oddity in 
 my temper that inclines me to be extremely eager after 
 happiness. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. If you had proposed any such happiness 
 in my conversation, I believe you know you might have 
 had it oftener. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. You wrong me, if you impute my fear 
 of disobliging you to want of passion. By those dear eyes, 
 by that dear hand, and all those thousand joys which you 
 can bestow 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Hold, sir, what do you mean? I am 
 afraid you think otherwise of this assignation than it was 
 meant. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I think nothing, but that I am the 
 happiest of my sex, and you the most charming and 
 best-natured of yours. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Come, sir, this is no way of showing 
 your wit. I invited you to make a trial of that which is 
 seldom shown in compliments; those are foreign to our 
 purpose. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I think so too, and therefore without any 
 further compliment, my dear lovely angel 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Lud, what do you mean? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I mean, madam, to take immediate 
 possession of all the raptures which this lovely person can 
 give me. 
 
88 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. O Heavens! you will not make any bad 
 use of the confidence I have reposed in you; if you offer 
 any thing rude, I will never trust myself along with you 
 
 again. 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Then I must make the best of this 
 opportunity. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I’ll die before I’ll consent. I ’II—— 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I must trust to your good nature. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER at the door. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sister, sister! what, have you locked 
 yourself in? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Let me go.—Oh, my dear, is it you? I 
 have ordered this vile lock to be mended—the bolt is so 
 apt to fall down of its own accord.—Is your pool out? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. No, sister, no; I came to see what was 
 the matter with you—I was afraid you was ill, that you 
 left us——-But I see you have company with you. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I was just coming back to you, but—— 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I cannot be of opinion that that is an 
 original picture of Hannibal Carraccio. I ask pardon for 
 differing from you-—-—Oh, is your ladyship there? pray, 
 which opinion are you of? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Don’t apply to me, sir; I am no judge 
 of pictures. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Most gracious connoisseurs are shy of 
 owning their skill; but if your ladyship pleases to observe, 
 there is not that boldness, There is, indeed, a great deal 
 of the master——and I never saw more spirit in a copy 
 But alas, there is so much difference between a copy and 
 an original—I hope your ladyship will excuse the freedom 
 Daneke: 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. My sister will excuse your freedom, and 
 that is full as well. 
 
 MR. RAFFLER. Come, my dear, will you return to the 
 card-table ? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I wish this gentleman—would be so 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 89 
 
 kind to hold my cards a few minutes, I have a word or 
 two to speak with you. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. You will have a bad deputy, madam, but 
 I will do the best I can. [ Exzt. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sister, I am ashamed of you, to be 
 locked up alone with a young fellow. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Lard, child, can I help it, if the bolt 
 falls down of its own accord? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. But you was not looking at pictures 
 before I came into the room; I saw you closer together, I 
 saw you in his arms, and heard you cry out—This I'll 
 swear— 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Well, and can I help this?—I own he 
 was a little frolicsome, and offered to kiss me, that’s all. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. All! monstrous! that’s all! if an odious 
 fellow was to offer to kiss me, I’d tear his eyes out. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Yes, and so would I, if it was an 
 odious fellow. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. The honour of a woman is a very nice 
 thing, and the least breath sullies it. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. So it seems, indeed, if it be to be hurt 
 by a kiss. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. The man to whom you give that, will 
 venture to take more. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Well, and it’s time enough to cry out, 
 you know, when he does venture to take more. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I don’t like jesting with serious things. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. What, is a kiss a serious thing, then? 
 now, on my conscience, you are fonder of it than I am. I 
 believe, my dear, you are very confident I could do nothing 
 contrary to the rules of honour; but I hate being solicitous 
 about trifles. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Sister, it behoves a garrison to take 
 care of its out-works: for my part, I am resolved to stand 
 buff at the first entrance; nor will I ever give an inch of 
 ground to an assailant. And let me tell you that the 
 woman and the soldier, who do not defend the first pass, 
 will never defend the last. 
 
 Wiis. oN 
 
90 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Well, well, good dear, military sister, 
 pray defend yourself, and do not come to my assistance till 
 you are called. I thank Heaven, I have no such governor 
 as yours: I should fancy myself besieged indeed, had I a 
 continual alarm ringing in my ears.—I have taken a strict 
 resolution to be virtuous, as long as my husband thinks me 
 so. It is a complaisance I owe to his opinion; but you 
 may value yourself upon your virtue as much as you please. 
 Sir Simon every day tells you, you have none; and how 
 can she be a good wife who is continually giving the lie 
 to her husband ? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Why will you thus rally on a subject 
 I think so serious? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. And why will you be so serious on a 
 subject I think so ridiculous ?—but if you don’t like my 
 raillery, let us go back to our cards, and that will stop 
 both our mouths. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I wish any odious fellow durst kiss me! 
 
 | Lxeunt. 
 
 finter COLONEL RAFFLER, MR. MONDISH. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Now, Mr. Mondish, now ; what think 
 you now? am not I the happiest man in the world in 
 a wife? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, faith are you; so happy, that was I 
 possessed of the same talent for happiness, I would marry 
 to-morrow. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, why don’t you, you will have 
 just such a wife as mine, to be sure; oh, they are very 
 plenty—ay, ay, very plenty: you can’t miss of just such 
 another: they grow in every garden about town. 
 
 Mr. MoOnpISsH. I believe they grow in most houses about 
 town. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh—ay, ay, ay,—here was one here 
 just now; my Lady Raffler is just such another, a damned, 
 infamous, suspicious prude, every whit as bad as_ her 
 husband. If you had not held me, Mondish, I am afraid I 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS QI 
 
 could scarce have kept my hands off from her.—But hold, 
 hold ; there is one thing which shall go down in my pocket- 
 book—“‘T have taken a strict resolution to be virtuous as long 
 as my husband thinks me so.”—Then thou shalt be virtuous 
 till doomsday, my sweet angel——here is a woman for you— 
 who puts her virtue into her husband’s keeping——Oh, 
 Mondish! if that Lady Raffler had not come in—— 
 
 MR. MONDISH. Ay, if she had not come in, Colonel—— 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. She would have handled him, we 
 should have seen him handled, we should have seen 
 handling ; Mondish, we should have seen handling. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Indeed, I believe we should. Deuce take 
 the interruption. [A szde. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. But, what an age do we live in 
 though, sincerely, Mr. Mondish! why, we shall have our 
 Wives ravished shortly in the middle of the streets: an im- 
 pudent, saucy rascal; and when she told him that she would 
 a out —— 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. That he should not believe her—But then 
 her art, Colonel, in giving in to his evasion about the 
 pictures—Methinks, there was something so generous in her 
 sudden forgiveness; something so nobly serene, in her re- 
 solving herself so soon from a most abandoned fright into a 
 perfect tranquillity. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, now, that is your highest sort 
 of virtue, that is as high as virtue can go. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why should not calm virtue be admired 
 in a woman, as well as calm courage in a general, Colonel? 
 Your lady is a perfect heroine, she laid about her most 
 furiously during the attack: but the moment the foe retired, 
 became all gentle and mild again. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. But come, as all things are safe, we 
 will go, my dear Mondish, and drink my wife’s health in 
 one bottle of Burgundy—Ah, she’s an excellent woman ! 
 
 [Eaxeunt. 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER, with a letter. 
 
 Sir SIMON RAFFLER. Here it is—the plot is so well laid 
 now, that unless fortune conspire with a thousand devils 
 
92 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 against me, I shall discover myself to be a rank cuckold. 
 Have I not watched her with as much care as ever miser 
 did his gold? and yet I am, I am an arrant, downright—a 
 —as any little sneaking courtier or subaltern officer in the 
 kingdom; and what an unhappy rascal am I, that have 
 not been able to find it out——not to convict her fairly in 
 ten long years marriage! If I could but discover it, it 
 were some satisfaction———Well, this letter will I send to 
 Captain Spark——no hand was ever better counterfeited—if 
 he had never so many quires of her writing, he will 
 not be able to find any difference. If after all this I 
 should not discover her, I must be the most miserable dog 
 that ever wore horns. | Fee 
 
 Entey LADY RAFFLER azvd CLARINDA. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I tell you, niece, you have suffered too 
 great freedoms from Mr. Gaylove, I can’t bear those mon- 
 strous indecorums which the young women of this age give 
 in to: the first time a woman’s hand should be touched is 
 in the church. 
 
 CLARINDA. Lud, madam, I can’t conceive any harm in 
 letting any one touch my hand. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Yes, madam, but I can. Besides, I 
 think I caught you in one anothers arms. I hope you 
 conceive some harm in that. 
 
 CLARINDA. I can confide in Mr. Gaylove’s honour, and 
 if his passion hurried him— 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. His passion! what passion? he has 
 never declared any honourable passion for you to your 
 uncle. 
 
 CLARINDA. No, I should have hated him if he had. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Give me leave to tell you, miss, that is 
 the proper way of applying to you. Then, if his circum- 
 stances were found convenient, Sir Simon would have 
 mentioned it to you; and so it would have come properly. 
 A woman of any prudence and decency gives her consent 
 to her relations, not to her husband. For it should be still 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 93 
 
 supposed that you endure matrimony to be dutiful to them 
 only. I hope you would not appear to have any fondness 
 for a fellow. 
 
 CLARINDA. I hope I should have fondness for a fellow I 
 would make a husband of. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Child, you shock me! 
 
 CLARINDA. Why, pray, madam, had you no fondness for 
 Sir Simon? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. No, I defy the world to say it. 
 
 CLARINDA, How came you to marry him then? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Out of obedience to my father; he 
 thought it a proper match. 
 
 CLARINDA. And ought not a woman to be fond of a man 
 after she is married to him? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. No, she ought to have friendship and 
 esteem, but no fondness, it is a nauseous word, and I detest 
 it. A woman must have vile inclinations before she can 
 bring herself to think of it. 
 
 CLARINDA. Now, I am resolved never to marry any man 
 whom I have not these vile inclinations for. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. O, monstrous! 
 
 CLARINDA. Whom I do not love to such distraction as 
 to place my whole happiness in pleasing him, to which I 
 would give my thoughts up so entirely, that on my ever 
 losing that power, I should become indifferent to every 
 thing else. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Infamous! I desire you would prepare 
 to return into the country immediately. For I will not live 
 in the house with you any longer: but I will inform you of 
 one thing, that the man you have placed this violent affection 
 on, is a villain, and has designs on your aunt. 
 
 CLARINDA. What, on your ladyship? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. On me! on me! me!—I wish I could 
 see the man that dared——-I thank Heaven, the awe of my 
 virtue has still protected me. 
 
 CLARINDA. I ask your pardon, madam, on the good 
 Colonel’s lady then That there have been designs between 
 them, I am not ignorant, though I am not quite so confident 
 
94 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 they are on his side——and to say the truth, my aunt is an 
 agreeable woman, and I don’t expect a man of- his years to 
 be proof against all temptations. But pray, whom do you 
 mean? for I——lud, who I am defending I know not— 
 somebody—who is it that your ladyship means, for I am sure 
 I should not know him by the marks you set on him? 
 
 LaDy RAFFLER. Oh! madam, you seem to want no 
 marks, I think; but if you have a mind to hear his name, 
 tis Gaylove. 
 
 CLARINDA. Mr. Gaylove! 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Mr. Gaylove! yes, Mr. Gaylove——I’ll 
 repeat it to you to oblige you. 
 
 CLARINDA. What’s Mr. Gaylove to me? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. That you know best——I believe he is, 
 or will be to you, what he should not be. 
 
 CLARINDA. If I had any affection for him, I should 
 neither be afraid of his designs upon me, nor jealous of his 
 designs on any other. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Look ye, child, you may deny your 
 affection for him, if you please; nay, I commend you for it. 
 It is an affection you may well be ashamed of. 
 
 CLARINDA. According to your ladyship’s opinion, we 
 ought to be ashamed of all affection—but really if one 
 might be indulged in any, I think Mr. Gaylove might keep 
 it in countenance as well as another. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. It is easy enough to keep you in coun- 
 tenance, you don’t seem to be easily put out of it. [Gaylove 
 laughs within.) Oh, that’s his laugh He’s coming, I am 
 I’ll get out of the way——Niece, I would have you 
 
 sure 
 prepare yourself for returning into the country —— If you 
 will ruin yourself, I’ll not be witness to it——nor will I 
 
 ever live in the house with a woman that can own herself 
 capable of being fond of a fellow. 
 
 CLARINDA. Then let me go as soon as I will, I find I am 
 not like to lose much good company. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 95 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN SPARK, MR. GAYLOVE, MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. No, that’s too much, Gaylove, too 
 much——I hope you don’t believe him, madam,——pr’ythee, 
 hang it, this is past a jest. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Upon my word, I think so, especially 
 with regard to the reputation of the ladies. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, madam, that’s it — upon their 
 account, methinks he should forbear——Deuce take me, you 
 will force me to be serious. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Nay, pr’ythee, don’t affect concealing what 
 is publicly known. Miss Clarinda here shall be my evidence, 
 whether at his last quarters he was not talked of for the 
 whole place. 
 
 CLARINDA. He was an universal contagion, not one woman 
 escaped. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. This is a conviction, Captain. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Gaylove, this is your doing now——all 
 might have been a secret in town, but for you —— country 
 towns, madam, are censorious; I don’t deny indeed but that 
 they had some reason; but when they say all, they mistake, 
 they do indeed—and yet perhaps it was my own fault that 
 I had not all. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I think it is too hard, indeed, to insist 
 on all. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Well, but confess now, how many—— 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Well, then, I will confess two dozen. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER avd MRS. RAFFLER. Two dozen! 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. That’s pretty fair, and thou art an honest 
 fellow. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. He is so happy a one, that I wonder he 
 escapes being destroyed by the men as a monopolizer. 
 
 CLARINDA. No, I think the men are obliged to him, for 
 he has found out more beauties for ’em than I ever heard 
 of there. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Pray, let’s turn the discourse. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I am trifling with this fool, when I might 
 employ my time better — Miss Clarinda, you know you 
 
96 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 was interrupted to-day. You promised me the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 CLARINDA. I am a strict observer of a promise. Aunt, 
 you are not fond of music, I won’t invite you to so dull an 
 entertainment. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I think I am in a humour to hear it—— 
 at least I am not in a humour to leave you alone altogether. 
 
 [Lacunt. 
 
 Enter Servant with a letter, whispers Captain Spark. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ladies, I’l] follow in the twinkling of 
 an eye—What’s here? a woman’s hand, by Jupiter /—— 
 
 some damned milliner’s dun or other,——though I think it 
 will pass for an assignation well enough with the ladies that 
 are just gone——Ha! Raffler! ‘“Sir—as Sir Simon will be 
 abroad this evening, I shall have an opportunity of seeing 
 you alone.”——hum——“ if you please, therefore, it shall be 
 in the dining-room at nine there is a couch will hold us 
 both."——-The devil there is——“ The company will be all 
 
 assembled in the parlour, and you will be very safe with 
 your humble servant, Mary Raffler.” Pooh! Pox, what shall 
 I do? I would not give a farthing for her Ha! cant I 
 contrive to be surprised together? That ridiculous dog, 
 Mondish, sups here If I could but convince him of this 
 amour, he will believe all I ever told him——now if he 
 could but see this letter some way without my showing it 
 him—Egad, I’ll find him out, and drop it before him. By 
 good luck here he is. 
 
 Einter MR. MONDISH. 
 Mr. MONDISH. So, I have made one man extremely 
 
 happy——the Colonel is most nobly intoxicated with wine 
 and his wife. This bottle of Burgundy has a little elevated 
 me too——now if I could but find my dear inconstant 
 
 alone——Ha, Spark! what the devil art thou dodging after 
 here? In quest of some amour or other, I know thee 
 to be—— 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 97 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. What do you know me to be? I 
 know thou art a damned incredulous fellow, and think’st 
 every woman virtuous that puts a grave face upon the 
 matter———Now, George, take my word for it, every woman 
 in England is to be had. 
 
 MR. MONDISH. What, hast thou had them all then, that 
 I must take thy word for it? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ha, ha, ha! Thou wilt kill me with 
 laughter. 
 
 Mr. MONpDIsSH. Then I must leave you to die by 
 yourself. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Nay, but dear George—harkye, but 
 stay [Draws Mr. Mondish over the letter. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I am in haste——besides, I keep you 
 from some intrigue or other. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I might perhaps have visited my 
 Lady Loller——but damn her! I believe e’en you know I 
 
 am almost tired of her——besides, I have a mind to stay 
 with you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. But I positively neither can nor will stay 
 with you. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. The devil is in it, if he has not seen 
 it by this time. Well, if you have a desire to leave me, 
 I’ll disappoint you, for I’ll leave you, so your servant. 
 
 [| Axit. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. A letter dropt! To Captain Spark—— 
 the rogue counterfeits a woman’s hand exceeding well. 
 But he could not counterfeit her hand so exactly without 
 having seen letters from her——-Why then may not this be 
 from her? Is she not a woman, a prude ?—the devil can 
 say no more. 
 
 Enter MR. GAYLOVE. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Mondish, your servant, where have you 
 bestowed yourself this afternoon? 
 
 Mr. MOonpisH. Where I fancy I fared better than you 
 —I have been entertained with Burgundy and the Colonel— 
 while you have been loitering with Sir Simon and the ladies. 
 
 VOL, X. O 
 
98 LHE UNIVERSAL GALLANT3-OR, 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Faith, I’m afraid thou art in the right 
 on’t; for to say truth, I grew weary of their company, and 
 have left the gallant Mr. Spark to entertain them. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Well, what success in your amour? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Oh, success that would make humility 
 vain——Success that has made me think thy happiness not 
 so extraordinary——In a word, had not my Lady Raffler 
 come in, and raised the siege, I believe I should have been 
 able, before now, to have given thee a pretty good account 
 of the citadel——Pox take all virtuous women for me! they 
 are of no other use, but to spoil others’ sport. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Yes, faith! such virtuous women as her 
 ladyship will sometimes condescend to make sport as well 
 as spoil it—There, read that, and then give me thy opinion, 
 if thou think’st there is one such woman in the world as 
 thou hast mentioned. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. To Captain Spark Sir Simon——abroad 
 this evening ——In the dining-room——vcouch will hold 
 us both——Ha, ha! The captain improves Safe with. 
 your humble servant——Mary Raffler——Well said, my 
 little Spark——Now, from this moment shall I have a 
 great opinion of thee——thou art a genius a hero 
 ——to forge a letter from a woman, and drop it in her own 
 house——there is more impudence thrown away on this 
 fellow than would have made six court pages and as 
 many attorneys——he is an errant walking contagion on 
 women’s reputations, and was sent into the world as a 
 judgment on the sex. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. By all that’s infamous, ’tis her own hand! 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. By all that is not infamous, I would 
 scarce have believed my own eyes, had they seen her 
 write it! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Excellent! thou art as incredulous as the 
 Colonel. What, I suppose you have heard her rail against 
 
 wicked women——and declaim in praise of chastity—-—does 
 a good sermon from the pulpit persuade thee that a 
 parson is a saint?——or a charge from the bench that the 
 
 judge is incorrupt ?——if thou wilt believe in professions, 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 99 
 
 thou wilt find scarce one fool that is not wise, one rogue 
 that is not honest, one courtier that is not fit to make-a 
 friend, or one whore that is not fit to make a wife. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. But common-sense would preserve her 
 from an affair with a- fellow, who, she is sure, will publish 
 it to the whole world. 
 
 Mr. Monpisu. I am not sure of that——-perhaps she 
 does not know his character, or if she does, she may think 
 herself safe in the world’s knowing it—besides, if he is 
 believed in his bragging of his amours, I know no man 
 breathing so likely to debauch the whole sex——for amours 
 increase with a man of pleasure, as money does with a man 
 of business; and women are most ready to trust their 
 reputations, as we our cash, with him that has most 
 business, 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. It is most natural to suppose he best 
 understands his business. But still this letter of Lady 
 Raffler’s staggers me. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Are you so concerned for her reputation ? 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Hum! I should at least wish well to a 
 family I intend to take a wife out of. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. A wife out of? 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. Why are you surprised? did I not tell 
 you this morning, I had a mistress in the house? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Yes——but they are two things, I 
 think ; Heaven forbid we should be obliged to take a 
 wife out of every house in this town, wherein we have 
 had a mistress. 
 
 MR. GAYLOVE. You, I think, George, take good care to 
 make that impossible, by making mistresses of other men’s 
 wives. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why, it is my opinion that in our com- 
 merce with the other sex, it will be pretty difficult to avoid 
 either making mistresses of other men’s wives, or wives of 
 other men’s mistresses, so I choose the former. But when 
 am I to wish you joy, friend? Methinks I long to see thee 
 wedded—I am as impatient on thy behalf, as if I was 
 principally concerned myself. 
 
100 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I see thou are planting the battery of 
 railing, so I shall run off before you can hit me. [ Axct. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. We shall be able to hit your wife, I hope 
 and that will do as well Here’s another friend’s wife 
 will shortly want to be provided for; if my friends marry 
 so fast, I shall be obliged to be deficient in a very main 
 point of friendship, and leave them their wives on their own 
 hands. I think my suspicions relating to Mrs. Raffler are 
 now fully cleared up on his side, and fully fixed on hers. 
 
 Enter MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 Your most humble servant, madam! he is but just gone, 
 
 MRS, RAFFLER. Who gone? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Mr. Gaylove. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. What’s Mr. Gaylove to me? 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Nothing, he is a very good judge of pictures. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Ha! What do you mean? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Nothing. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. I will know. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. You cannot know more of me than you 
 do already, nor I of you and I hope shortly your. 
 knowledge will be as comprehensive in another branch of 
 your favourite science. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I don’t understand you. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. “I cannot be of opinion that that is an 
 original picture of Hannibal Carraccio; for if you please to 
 observe, there is not that boldness; there is, indeed, a great 
 deal of the master, and I never saw more spirit in a copy: 
 but, alas! there is so much difference between a copy and an 
 original——”’ ) 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I believe the Colonel bought it as an 
 original. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. The Colonel may be deceived—I wish I 
 knew no more than one instance of it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Gaylove must be a villain, and have 
 discovered me. [A side. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. It may be, perhaps, some people’s interest 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS Io! 
 
 to wish all persons as easily deceived as the Colonel; what 
 pity ‘tis, a gallant should not be as blind as a husband! 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish, I will not bear this: it 
 would be foolish to dissemble understanding you any longer : 
 be as blind or as watchful as you will, it is equal to me 
 I will be no slave to your jealousy, for if I have 
 more gallants, be assured I will have but one husband. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Spoken so bravely, that I am at least 
 in love with your spirit still; and to convince you I have 
 that affection and no other, deal sincerely with me, and I 
 will be so far from troubling you any longer with my own 
 passion that I will assist you in the pursuit of another. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Then to deal sincerely with you——Lud, 
 it is a terrible hard thing to do. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ay, come struggle a little, a woman must 
 undergo some trouble to be delivered of truth. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Then to deal sincerely with you, I am 
 in love with another. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. With Gaylove—I’ll assist you—out with it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Well, ay, perhaps—but now I must 
 insist on truth from you, how came you to suspect him ?— 
 and who put the picture into your head ? 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. I'll tell you some other time. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Resolve me this only, was it he? 
 
 Mr. MonpDIsH. No, upon my honour. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Then it must have been my sister! 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Ha!—— 
 
 MRs. RAFFLER. Nay, don’t hesitate, it is vain to deny it. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I do not deny it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Now may the united curses of age, 
 disease, ugliness, vain desire, and infamy overtake her! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. It works rarely. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Revenge, revenge! Mr. Mondish, my 
 reputation is in your hands—I know you to be a man of 
 honour, and am easy——but to have it in the power of a 
 woman, must be an eternal rack. We know one another 
 too well to be easy, when we are in one another's power 
 against her tongue there is no safeguard. 
 
102 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Yes, one. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. What! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. To have her reputation in your power. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. That is impossible to hope——She will 
 take care of her reputation— for it is on that alone she 
 supports her pride, her malice, her ill-nature: these have 
 raised her a train of watchful enemies that would catch her 
 at the first trip—but she has neither warmth nor generosity 
 enough to make it. Oh! I know her too well—She will 
 keep her virtue, if it be only to enable” her tamepeses 
 continual plague to her husband. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Well, whatever difficulty there be in the 
 attempt, I have resolution enough under your conduct to 
 begin—Perhaps I am of an opinion which you may excuse, 
 that no woman’s virtue is proof against the attacks of a 
 resolute lover. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. But her fear, her self-love, her coldness, 
 and her vanity may. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I can give you more substantial reasons 
 for our hope than you imagine—but may I depend upon 
 your assistance ? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. If I fail you, may my husband be 
 jealous of me, or may I lose the power or inclination to 
 give him cause! 
 
 Mr. MONDISH.. That’s nobly, generously said; and now, 
 methinks, you and I appear like man and wife to each 
 other—at least it would be better for the world, if they all 
 acted as wise a part—and instead of lying, and whining, 
 and canting with virtue and constancy, instead of fatiguing 
 an irrecoverable dying passion with jealousies and upbraid- 
 ings, kindly let it depart from one breast, to be happy in 
 another. 
 
 Thus the good mother of the savage brood, 
 Whose breasts no more afford her infants food, 
 Leads them abroad, and teaches them to roam, 
 For what no longer they can find at home. 
 [EL xeunt. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 103 
 
 AG lave 
 SCENE I.—A Chamber. 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER and COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I desire but this trial! if I do not 
 convince you I have reason for my jealousy, I will be con- 
 tented all my life after to wear my horns in my pocket, 
 and be as happy and submissive a husband as any within 
 the sound of Bow bell. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. A good reasonable penalty you will 
 undergo truly, to be the happy husband of a virtuous 
 wife. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And perhaps penalty enough too— 
 if it was so: a virtuous wife may have it in her power to 
 play very odd tricks with her husband. A virtuous woman 
 may contradict him; may tease him, may expose him, nay, 
 ruin him; and such virtuous wives, as some people have, 
 may cuckold him into the bargain. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Well, on condition, that if your 
 suspicions be found to. be groundless, you never presume to 
 suspect her or my wife hereafter, but suffer them peaceably 
 to enjoy their innocent freedoms, and on condition that 
 you give me leave to laugh at you one whole hour, I am 
 content to do what you desire. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Ay, ay, any thing if my suspicions 
 be found true, brother. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why then, brother, you will find 
 yourself to be a cuckold, and may laugh at me twenty 
 hours if you will. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I think you will be a little con- 
 founded. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Faith! brother, you are a _ very 
 unhappy fellow, faith! you are. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Why so, pray? 
 
104, LHEONIVERSAISCALLANI. § Ok, 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. To marry a wife that you have not 
 been able to find any fault in, in ten years time——If you 
 had good luck in your choice, you might have been a 
 cuckold in half the time, you might indeed. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Well, it is your time to laugh now, 
 and I will indulge you. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. But suppose, brother, it should be 
 as you say, suppose you should find out what you have a 
 desire to find, don’t you think you are entirely indebted to 
 yourself? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I don't understand you. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, to your own suspicions, can a 
 wife give so good a reason for going astray, as the sus- 
 picions of her husband? They are a terrible thing; and 
 my own wife has told me, she could not have answered for 
 herself with a suspicious husband. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. But it wants now a little more 
 than a quarter of eight; so pray away to the closet; 
 we shall have the rascal before his time else, and be 
 disappointed. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. So I find you suspect the amour to 
 be but of a short date. [Lxeunt. 
 
 Enter LADY RAFFLER and MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Lud, sister, you are grown as great a 
 plague to me as my husband. I know not whether he 
 teases me more for doing what I should not, than you for 
 doing what I should. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. A woman never acts as she should, but 
 when she acts against her husband. He is a prince who is 
 ever endeavouring to grow absolute, and it should be our 
 constant endeavour to restrain him. You are a member of 
 the commonwealth of women, and when you give way to 
 your husband, you betray the liberty of your sex. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. You are always for turning every thing 
 into ridicule: but I am not that poor-spirited creature you 
 would represent me: nor did I ever give way to my husband 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 105 
 
 in any one thing in my life, contrary to my own opinion. 
 I would not have you think I do not resent his suspicions 
 of me, and I defy you to say I ever submitted to any 
 method of quieting "em—All that I am solicitous about is, 
 not to give the world an opportunity of suspecting me. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. But as the world is a witness of his 
 suspecting you, were I in your case, I should think my 
 honour engaged to let the world be witness of my revenge. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Then the world would condemn me, as 
 it now does him——-Had I a mind to be as ludicrous as you, 
 I might tell you, that the woman who parts with her virtue 
 makes her husband absolute, and betrays the liberty of her 
 sex. Sister, sister, believe me, it is in the power of one 
 honest woman to be a greater plague to her husband than 
 all the vile vicious creatures upon earth. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Give me your hand, my dear, for I find 
 we are agreed upon the main point, that is, enmity to a 
 husband. I proceed now to the second point, which every 
 good woman ought to consider, namely, the rewarding a 
 deserving gallant. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. That is a subject on which I am afraid 
 we shall eternally differ. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. I hope we shall, my dear; that is, I 
 hope we shall never desire to reward the same. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I desire we may never discourse more 
 on this head; for I shall be inclined to say things which 
 you will not like; and, as I fear they will be of no service 
 to you, I desire to avoid it. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Oh, yes, they will be of great service to 
 me, they will make me laugh immoderately. Come, confess 
 honestly——-I know you suspect me with Gaylove. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. If you put me to it I cannot call 
 your conduct unquestionable. If I should suspect, it would 
 not be without reason. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Nay, if you allow reason, I have reasons 
 to suspect you with not half so pretty a fellow. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Me! I defy you——pure virtue will 
 confront suspicion. 
 
 VOL... X. 5 
 
106 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Pure virtue seems to have a pretty good 
 front, indeed. Let us try the cause fairly between us: you 
 found me and a young fellow alone together, and very 
 comical things may happen, I own, between a man and a 
 woman alone together. But when a lady sends an assigna- 
 tion to a gentleman to meet her in the dark on a couch: 
 then, if nothing comical happens to pure virtue, they must 
 be a comical couple indeed. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. You are such a laughing, giggling crea- 
 ture, I don’t know what you drive at. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Read that—and I believe it will explain 
 what both of us drive at Now I shall see how far a 
 prude can carry it—Not one blush yet; I find blushing is 
 one of the things which pure virtue can’t do. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I am amazed and confounded! Where 
 had you this? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. From a very good friend of yours, in 
 whose hands your reputation will be safer than in the 
 captain’s, where you placed it. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What, do you then believe—— 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Nothing but my own eyes. You will not 
 deny it is your own hand? 
 
 LaDy RAFFLER. Some devil has counterfeited it. I 
 beseech you tell me how you came by it? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Mondish gave it me. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Then he writ it. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Nay, the captain, by what I hear of 
 him, is a more likely person to have counterfeited it. But 
 it is well done, and sure whoever did it, must have seen 
 your writing. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I'll reach all the depths of hell but 
 I’ll find it out. Have I for this had a guard upon every 
 look, word, and action of my life; for this shunned even 
 speaking to any woman in public of the least doubtful 
 character? for this been all my life the forwardest to 
 censure the imprudence of others?—have I defended my 
 reputation in the face of the sun, to have it thus undermined 
 in the dark ? 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 107 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Most women’s reputations are undermined 
 in the dark—You see, child, how foolish it is to take so 
 much care about what is so easily lost; at least, I hope 
 you will learn to take care of no one’s reputation but 
 your own. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. It wants but little of the appointed 
 hour; sister, will you go with me? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Oh! no, two to one will not be fair— 
 If you had appointed him to have brought his second, 
 indeed—— 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I see you are _ incorrigible But I 
 will go find my niece, or my brother, or Sir Simon himself: 
 I will raise the world, and the dead, and the devil, but I 
 will find out the bottom of this affair. [ Axct. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Hugh! what a terrible combustion is 
 pure virtue in! Now will I convey myself, if possible, into 
 the closet-——-and be an humble spectator of the battle. 
 Well, a virtuous wife is a most precious jewel——but if all 
 jewels were as easily counterfeited, he would be an egregious 
 ass who would venture to lay out his money in them. [£72vz. 
 
 Scene changes to another Room in SIR SIMON RAFFLER’S 
 flouse. 
 
 Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER, 22 Women’s Clothes. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. My evidence is posted, the colonel 
 is in the closet, and can overhear all——The time of ap- 
 pointment draws near. I am strangely pleased with my 
 stratagem. If I can but counterfeit my wife’s voice as 
 well as I have her hand, I may defy him to discover me; 
 for there is not a glimpse of light—I am as much delighted 
 as any young whore-master can be in expectation of meeting 
 another man’s wife. And yet I am afraid I shall not dis- 
 cover myself to be what I fear, neither; and if I should 
 not I will hang myself incontinently. Oh! thou damned 
 couch! thou art not ten years old, and yet what cuckoldom 
 
108 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 hast thou been witness of——I will be revenged on thee ; 
 for I will burn thee this evening in triumph, please Heaven! 
 —Hush hush, here he comes. [Lees on a couch. 
 
 Enter MR. MONDISH. 
 
 Mr. MonpDIsH. This is the field of battle. If I know any 
 thing of the captain, he will not be in haste—and if she 
 comes here before him, I think she will not have the im- 
 pudence to deny any favour to one who knows as much 
 as I do. It is as dark as hell! let a prudé) alone 
 contriving a proper place for an assignation——-Poor Sir 
 Simon, faith! thou hast more cause for thy jealousy than 
 I imagined. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Ay, or than I imagined either 
 I am over head and ears in it—I am the arrantest cuckold 
 
 in town. [A sede. 
 Mr. MONDISH. ’Sdeath! I shall never be able to find 
 this couch out——sure it used to be somewhere hereabouts. 
 
 It has been the scene of my happiness too often for me 
 to forget it. } 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh! it has——Oh! thou damned 
 villain! I wish thou couldst feel torments, that I might be 
 an age in burning thee. [A sede. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Ha! I hear a door open—it is a woman’s 
 tread. I know the dear, dear trip of a soft foot. 
 
 Enter MRS. RAFFLER, who falls into MR. MONDISH’S arms. 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. In the name of goodness, who are you? 
 
 Mr. MoONpDISsSH. An evil spirit. I find you are used to 
 meet them in the dark, by your readiness in speaking 
 tome ni. 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Here will be rare caterwauling. 
 
 [Aszde. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What do you do here? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Trouble not yourself about that, I will 
 not spoil your sport. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 109 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. But tell me, have you seen your sister? 
 
 MRS, RAFFLER. Yes. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Well, and how? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Oh, she raves like a princess in a 
 tragedy, and swears that some devil has contrived it. 
 
 Mr. MONpDISsH. Then she persists in her innocence? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. Yes, and will after conviction—nay, even 
 after execution. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. A very hardened criminal indeed—but 
 pray what is your opinion of my success? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Oh! thou wicked seducer! it would be 
 hard indeed that I should think you not able to succeed, 
 after such a one as you have described the captain to be, 
 when you prevailed on my innocent heart, and triumphed 
 over what I imagined an impregnable fortress. 
 
 Mr. MonpIsH. And was I really thy first seducer? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. By Heavens! the only one that ever has 
 yet injured my husband. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What do I hear? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Why do I not still enjoy that happiness 
 singly? What have I done to forfeit one grain of your 
 esteem ? 
 
 MRS. RAFFLER. To your fresh game, sportsman; and I 
 wish you a good chase. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Whither are you going? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Concern not yourself with me: your new 
 mistress will soon be with you. [A xct. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. This is better than my hopes! 
 This is killing two birds with one stone. My brother will 
 be rewarded for the pains he takes on my account—Ha! 
 there’s a light—I think I shall be secure behind the couch. 
 
 Enter LADY RAFFLER wth a Candle. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I think there is some plot laid against 
 me, the whole family are run out of the house, But virtue 
 will protect her adherents. Ha! who’s that? 
 
110 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, Ok, 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Be not startled, madam; it is one from 
 whom you have nothing to fear. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I know not that, sir; I shall always 
 think I have just reason to fear one who lurks privately 
 about in dark corners. Persons who have no ill design 
 never seek hiding places: but, however, you are the person 
 I desired to meet. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. That would make me happy indeed! 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Whence, sir, had you that letter, which 
 you this day gave my sister, and which was signed with 
 my name? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. The letter, madam ? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Yes, sir, the letter! with that odious 
 assignation which I detest the apprehension of—my reputa- 
 tion shall be cleared, and I will know the author of this 
 infamous forgery, whatever be the consequence! ; 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Be mistress of yourself, madam, and be 
 assured nothing in my power shall be ever left undone to 
 vindicate your reputation, or detect any calumny against it. 
 The letter was dropt by the person to whom it was directed, 
 dropt on purpose that I should take it up; which I did, 
 and delivered it to your sister. Indeed I even then sus- 
 pected it a forgery. I thought I knew my Lady Raffler 
 too well, to fear her capable of placing her affections 
 unworthily. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. And you know no more? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I do not, upon my honour. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Well, sir, whatever care you shall take 
 of my reputation, Sir Simon shall thank you for it. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Alas! madam, could I have any merit 
 in such a service, I should hope to have another rewarder 
 than the very last person on whom I would confer an 
 obligation. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. How, sir? 
 
 Mr. MONpDISsH. I ask pardon, madam, I know how 
 tender the subject is to your ears; yet I hope the excess 
 of tenderness which I have for you will plead. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Tenderness for me? [Angry. 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS IT 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. For your reputation, madam. 
 
 [She looks pleased. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. That, I think, I may suffer. 
 
 Mr. MonpDIsH. Pardon me, madam, if that tenderness 
 which I have for————your reputation, madam, will not 
 permit me to be easy while I see it lavished on a man so 
 worthless, so ungrateful, so insensible—And yet, madam, can 
 even you, the best, the most reserved of wives, can you deny 
 but that his jealousy is plain to you and to the whole 
 world? Could he show more had he married one of the 
 wanton coquets, who encourage every man who addresses 
 "em, nay, who are continually throwing out their lures for 
 men who do not? MHad he married one of these, nay, had 
 he married a common avowed prostitute—— 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Hold, you shock me. 
 
 Mr. MonpbiIsH. And I shall shock myself. But the 
 wounds must be laid open to be cured. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What can I do? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Hate him. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. That, I think, virtue will allow me to do. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Justice commands you to do it: nay, 
 more, it commands you to revenge, you ought for example 
 sake——pardon me, madam, if the love I have for you 
 I should rather say, if the friendship I have contracted 
 for your virtue carries me too far: but I will undertake to 
 prove, that it is not only meritorious to fulfil his suspicions, 
 but it would be criminal not to do it. Virtue requires it, 
 the virtue you adore, you possess, requires it; it is not you, 
 it is your virtue he injures; that demands a justification, 
 that obliges you 
 
 LADY KRAFFLER. To hate him, to despise him, that’ a 
 virtuous woman may do. 
 
 Mr. MONpDISH. Oh! I admire, I adore a virtuous woman. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Virtue is her greatest jewel. 
 
 Mr. MOonNDISsH. Oh, ’tis a nice, and tender thing, it will 
 not bear suspicion; she would be a poor creature indeed 
 who could bear to have her virtue suspected without revenge. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What can she do? 
 
Tz THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Every thing: part with it. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Ha! 
 
 Mr. MONpDISH. Not from her heart——I hope you don't 
 think I mean that; but true virtue is no more concerned 
 in punishing a husband, than true mercy in punishing a 
 criminal. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. But Ihave the comfort to think he is 
 sufficiently punished in the torments of his own mind. Oh, 
 I should be the most miserable creature alive, if I could 
 but even suspect he had an easy moment. Mr. Mondish, it 
 would be ridiculous to affect hiding from you, who are so 
 intimate in the family, my knowledge of his base, unjust 
 suspicions; nor would I have you think me so poor-spirited 
 a wretch not to hate and despise him for them. How 
 unjust they are the whole world can evidence: for no 
 woman upon earth could be more delicate in her conduct. 
 Therefore, for Heaven’s sake, assist me in the discovery of 
 this letter. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. I could not, I am sure, suspect you of 
 so indiscreet a passion, though your hand is excellently 
 forged. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. It must be by some one who has seen 
 it, sure it could not be my sister. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Was it not Sir Simon himself? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Ha! it cannot be, he could not be such 
 a. villain. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. If he were, I think you ought not to 
 forgive him. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Could I but prove it—— 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. If I prove it for you——what shall be 
 my reward? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. The greatest——the consciousness of 
 doing good. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. What good shall I do in discovering the 
 criminal, unless you will punish him? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I will do all in my power to punish 
 him, and to reward you. : 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Your power is infinite, as is almost the 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 113 
 
 happiness I now taste. O my fair injured creature, hadst 
 thou been the lot of one who had truly known the value 
 of virtue—— [K7essing her hand. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Let me go; if you would preserve my 
 good opinion of you If you have a regard for me, show 
 it in immediately vindicating my reputation. 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. I’ll find out Sir Simon; if he be the 
 forger, I shall get it out of him—-—One earnest more. 
 
 [Kessing her hand. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Away! we shall be overseen, and then 
 I shall hate you for ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Heaven be praised, they are parted 
 this time. I was afraid it would have come to action. 
 Why, if a husband had a hundred thousand eyes, he would 
 have use for them all. A wife is a garrison without walls, 
 while we are running to the defence of one quarter, she is 
 taken at another. But what a rogue is this fellow, who not 
 only attempts to cuckold his friend, but has the impudence 
 to insist on it as a meritorious action! The dog would 
 persuade her that virtue obliges her to it. Why, what a 
 number of ways are there by which a man may be made a 
 cuckold! One goes to work with his purse, and buys my 
 wife ; a second brings his title, he is a lord, forsooth, and has 
 a patent to cuckold all mankind. A third shows a garter, 
 a fourth a riband, a fifth a laced coat. One rascal has a 
 smooth face, another a smooth tongue; another makes 
 smooth verses: this sings, that dances; one wheedles, another 
 flatters ; one applies to her ambition, another to her avarice, 
 another to her vanity, another to her folly. This tickles her 
 eyes, that her ears, another——in short, all her five senses, 
 and five thousand follies have their addressers. And that 
 she may be safe on no side, here’s a rascal comes and 
 applies himself to the very thing that should defend her, 
 and tries to make a bawd of her very virtue. He has 
 the impudence to tell her, that she cant be a woman 
 of virtue without cuckolding her husband——Hark! I hear 
 a noise!—The captain, I suppose, or somebody else after 
 my wife. 
 
 VOL. X. Q 
 
114 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN SPARK. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK: I am sure Mondish took up the letter, 
 and it is now a full quarter of an hour after the time 
 appointed. I know him so well, that I could lay a wager 
 he is listening somewhere hereabouts. Madam, madam! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. That is the rascal’s voice 
 it you, Captain? tread softly for Heaven’s sake. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, and I wish I may tread surely 
 too; for it is as dark as hell. Where are you, madam? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Here, sir, here on the couch. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Quite punctual to the place of assigna- 
 tion, I find. Where the devil can Mondish be? |Aside. 
 There, madam, there, I am safe now, I thank you I 
 don’t know, madam, how to thank you enough, for that 
 kind note your ladyship was so good as to send me, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. O Lard! sir. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I assure you, madam, I think myself 
 the happiest of mankind. JI am, madam, upon my honour, 
 so in my own opinion. Pray, madam, was not your lady- 
 ship at the last ridotto? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, sir 
 
 Is 
 
 I find he has had her 
 
 till he is weary of her. ° [| Aside. 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I think you are a great lover of country 
 dancing. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, I think it will do very well, 
 when one can have nothing else to entertain one. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Very true, madam; quadrille is very 
 much before it, in my opinion. | 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. You and I have seen better enter- 
 tainments than that, before now. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Oh, yes, yes, madam—I am very fond 
 of the entertainments at the New-house. I never go there 
 for anything else. Pray, which is your ladyship’s favourite? 
 Most ladies are fond of Perseus and Andromeda (What 
 the devil is become of Mondish?) [Aszde.] But I think the 
 operas are so far beyond all those things——Do you go to 
 the drawing-room to-night, Lady Raffler? 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 115 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I hope to pass my time better 
 with you, as I have done. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I should be proud to make one of a 
 party at quadrille; but, upon my honour, I am the most 
 unfortunate person in the world, for I am engaged. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Engaged! 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I know what you think now——TIf one 
 does but name an engagement, to be sure—IJ protest, one 
 would think there was but one sort of engagement in the 
 world——and I don’t know how it comes to my share to be 
 always suspected. To be sure, I have had some affairs in 
 my life; that I don’t deny, that I believe every one knows 
 —and therefore I am not obliged to deny—— 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. But you was not obliged to confess 
 it to Sir Simon to-day. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Yes, ha! ha! The mistake of a name 
 had like to have occasioned some confusion; I am _ heartily 
 sorry for it, upon my word. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And was it not me that you meant? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. You are pleased to rally. You know 
 it was impossible I should confess what never happened. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What, did nothing ever pass 
 between us? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Either you have a mind to be merry 
 with your humble servant, or I shall begin to suspect there 
 is some likeness of mine happier than myself. For your 
 ladyship and sister were both pleased to mention something 
 about an auction; and I never care to contradict a lady. 
 Upon my soul, compliments aside, I never had the honour to 
 see your face till this afternoon ! } 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. How, how! did you never see my 
 wife till this afternoon ? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Your wife! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Lord! I’m delirious, I think, I 
 know not what I say. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. I hope you are not subject to fits. I 
 shall be frightened out of my senses. For Heaven’s sake, 
 let me call somebody——Lights! lights there!—Help! help! 
 
116 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT, OR, 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Hush! consider my reputation. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. You had better lose your reputation 
 than your life. Lights! lights!-—Help there! my lady faints. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. What shall I do? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Will nobody hear? Help! help! 
 
 Enter MR. MONDISH aud LADY RAFFLER, with a light. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What’s the matter here? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. For Heaven’s sake bring some lights 
 hither, somebody! my poor Lady Raffler is fallen into 
 a fit. 
 
 Mr. MoOnpDISsH. My Lady Raffler! 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. What can this mean? 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ha! bless me, madam, are you there? 
 then who the devil is this? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Sir Simon! 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Why, there’s no masquerade to-night. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. It has happened just as I feared. 
 There’s some damned planet which attends all husbands, and 
 will never let them be in the right. [ A szde. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Monster! how have you the assurance 
 to look in my injured face? 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Death and hell! I hope he did not 
 overhear what passed between me and his wife. [Aszde. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. What injury have I done you, my 
 dear ? 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Can you ask it? Have you not laid a 
 plot against my reputation? Have you not counterfeited 
 my hand? Did you not write this letter? look at it. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, my dear, no. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. How came it sealed then with this seal ? 
 which was only in your possession. Oh, I have no name 
 bad enough. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Come, come, Sir Simon, confess all; it is 
 the only amends you can make your lady. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Oh, sir, if you will endeavour to 
 get it out of me, it will be in vain to deny 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 117 
 
 Enter COLONEL RAFFLER. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, indeed will it, for I will be 
 evidence against you. Why sure, you would not attempt to 
 hold out any longer. If she forgives you, you have the most 
 merciful, as well as the most virtuous wife in the world. 
 Come, come, in the first place, ask your wife’s pardon for 
 having ever suspected her; for having counterfeited an 
 assignation from her, and being the occasion of the confusion 
 which she is at present in. In the second place, ask this 
 gentleman’s pardon for having ever suspected him. In the 
 next place—— 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Hold, hold, brother, not so fast. 
 I own myself in the wrong; and, sir, I ask your pardon, I 
 do with all my heart. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. That is sufficient, sir: though I don’t 
 know your offence. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And, my dear, I ask your pardon. 
 I am convinced of your virtue, I am indeed. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. But what amends can you make me for 
 your wicked jealousy? Do you think it is nothing for me, 
 who have ever abhorred the very name, even the very 
 thought of wantonness, to have had my name traduced ? 
 What devil could tempt you to write an assignation in my 
 name to this gentleman? : 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Ha! 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Even so, faith! Servet this was the lady 
 who writ to you, ha, ha! 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. How, sir? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Nay, sir, don't put on your angry 
 face, good brother soldier. I do not perceive your expecta- 
 tions have been at all disappointed; and my brother seemed 
 as proper to carry on the amour with you, as his wife——for 
 in the method you proceeded you would scarce ever have 
 found out the difference. 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Sir, I don’t understand—— 
 
 Mr. MonpisH. Nay, nay, no passion; here is nothing 
 but raillery, no harm meant. 
 
118 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, 
 
 CAPTAIN SPARK. Is not there? Oh, ’tis very well if 
 there is not. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, what a ridiculous figure do 
 you make here—ha, ha, ha! You know I am to have my 
 fill of laughing. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nay, nay, I have more reason to 
 laugh than you. For if I am convinced of my wife’s virtue, 
 I think you may be convinced—— 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Of what? Come, I’ll bring up my 
 corps de reserve, and put all your suspicions to flight at 
 once. Come forth, my dear, come forth, and with the 
 brightness of thy virtue dispel those clouds that would 
 
 eclipse it. 
 
 Enter MRS. RAFFLER. 
 
 I desire you would throw yourself at this gentleman’s feet, 
 and give him a thousand thanks for the hand he has had 
 in your affair. | 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. He would have had a hand in 
 my affair, I thank him. Yes, I am damnably obliged to him, 
 indeed. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Yes, sir, that you are—for he knew 
 you were listening, sir. And all that love which you over- 
 heard him make to your wife, sir, was intended to convince 
 you of her virtue, sir; it was a plot laid between my wife 
 and him. Was it not, my dear? 
 
 Mrs. RAFFLER. Yes, indeed was it. 
 
 Mr. MonDISH. Though I am afraid this lady will find 
 some difficulty to forgive me, I am obliged to own the 
 truth. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I can pardon any thing where the 
 intention was good; though, I confess, I do not like 
 such jests, 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Come, come, you shall like ’em, and 
 pardon ’em too; and you shall thank him for them. And 
 then, sir, you shall ask my pardon. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. For what? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, for being the occasion of my 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 119 
 
 wife’s imagining me as jealous-pated a fool as yourself: for 
 you must know, sir, that she imagined that I was in the 
 closet with the same design, with which you disguised 
 yourself in that pretty masquerade habit. Perhaps, though, 
 you did not guess that she knew I was in the closet all 
 the time. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. No, upon my word. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh! you did not—But that she did 
 happen to know, sir; and so did this gentleman too——Mr. 
 Mondish, you are a wag to put your friend into a sweat: 
 but it was kindly meant, and I thank you for it with all 
 my heart. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And so do I too—for having 
 given me warning to keep my wife out of your clutches. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Gentlemen, your humble servant. If I 
 have served my friends, the action carries its reward with 
 it. [Zo Mrs. Raffler aszde.] Excellent creature! I am now 
 more in love with your wit, than I ever was with your 
 beauty. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. And are you really, brother, wise 
 enough to believe such a notable story as this? and are you 
 thoroughly convinced ? 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, are not you convinced? 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Yes, brother, I am. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh! it is well. 
 
 SiR SIMON RAFFLER. That you are an arrant English 
 cuckold, and our friend an arrant rascal! [A side. 
 
 Enter MR. GAYLOVE azd CLARINDA. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Your servant, good people! 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Oh! niece, where have you _ been, 
 pray? 
 
 CLARINDA. Nay, that I'll give you a twelvemonth to 
 suess. | 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. Indeed, miss, it would have become you 
 better to have told us before you went. 
 
120 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT: OR, 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. The resolution was too sudden, madam; 
 we scarce knew ourselves till we put it in execution: but 
 your niece, madam, has been in very good company, for we 
 have been at the opera. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. You do well, madam, to make good use 
 of your time; for, please Heaven, you shall go into the 
 country next week. 
 
 CLARINDA. That, madam, you and I both must ask this 
 gentleman’s leave for. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. Upon my word, madam, I have the 
 honour to be this lady’s protector, and shall take care 
 henceforward she shall require no leave but her own, for 
 any of her actions To-morrow, madam, she has promised 
 to make me the happiest of men, in calling her mine 
 for ever. 
 
 LADY RAFFLER. I am glad her indiscretion is come to 
 no worse an end. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. But, methinks, sir, as my niece is 
 under my protection, you should have asked my consent. 
 For now I do not know whether I will give it you or no 
 —(I am sure I do not much care to have you in the | 
 family.) [A szde. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Indeed, sir, but you shall give it 
 him, and so shall your lady, and so shall my wife, and 
 so will I. Mr. Gaylove, I think the family is much 
 honoured by your alliance. Adod! the girl is happy in 
 her choice. 
 
 Mr. GAYLOVE. I am infinitely obliged to your good 
 opinion, Colonel. 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Be not dismayed—this will only put back 
 your affair a little, you must only stand out the first game 
 of the pool, that’s all. 
 
 COLONEL RAFFLER. Come, come, gentlemen and ladies, 
 I hear the bell ring to supper; let us all go down stairs, 
 and be as merry as——as wit and good humour can make 
 us, I can’t help saying my blood ran a little cold at one 
 time, but I now defy appearances, and am convinced that 
 jealousy is the foolishest thing in the world; and that 
 
THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS 121 
 
 it is not in the power of mankind to hurt me with 
 my wife. 
 
 SIR SIMON RAFFLER. That captain’s likeness sticks still 
 in my stomach: if I was sure there was nothing in that, I 
 think I should be a little easy: but that is not to be hoped. 
 I am convinced now, that I am a cuckold, and shall find 
 it out. | 
 
 Mr. MONDISH. Sir Simon, here, shall be the merriest of 
 us all, Believe me, knight, if it be the last day of your 
 jealousy, it is the first of your happiness :— 
 
 You husbands grow from these examples wise, 
 View your wives’ conduct still with partial eyes. 
 If your opinions err, they better stray 
 
 In the good Colonel’s than Sir Simon’s way. 
 
 At ease still sleeps the credulous husband’s breast ; 
 Spite of his wife, within himself he’s blest. 
 
 The jealous their own miseries create, 
 
 And make themselves the very thing they hate. 
 
 VOL. X. R 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. HERON. 
 
 THE Play being done, according to our laws, 
 
 I come to plead with you our Author’s cause. 
 
 As for our smart gallants, I know they ’ll say, 
 
 “Damn him! There’s one sad character in’s Play.” 
 What! on a couch, alone, and in the dark! 
 
 Ladies, there’s no such fellow as this SPARK. 
 
 What can he mean in such an age as this is, 
 
 When scarce a beau but keeps a brace of misses ? 
 They keep! why, gentlemen, perhaps, ’tis true, 
 
 So do our sweet Italian singers too. 
 
 What can one think of all the beaus in town, 
 
 When with the ladies such gallants go down? 
 
 Th’ Italian dames, should this report grow common, 
 Will surely pity us poor Englishwomen. 
 
 By the vast sums we pay them for their strains, 
 
 They ll think, perhaps, we don’t abound in brains ? 
 But should they hear their singers turn gallants ; 
 Beaus, faith! they ‘ll think brains not your only wants. 
 ——Now for the wits—but they so nice are grown, 
 French only with their palates will go down. 
 
 French plays applause have, like French dishes, got 
 Only because you understand them not. 
 
 Happy Old England, in those glorious days, 
 
 When good plain English food and sense could please : 
 When men were dressed like men, nor curled their hair, 
 Instead of charming, to out-charm the fair. 
 
EPILOGUE 123 
 
 They knew by manly means soft hearts to move, 
 
 Nor asked an eunuch’s voice to melt their nymphs to love, 
 ——Ladies, ’tis yours to reinstate that age, 
 
 Do you assist the satire of the stage! 
 
 Teach foreign mimics by a generous scorn, 
 
 You're not ashamed of being Britons born ; 
 
 Make it to your eternal honour known, 
 
 That men must bear your frowns, whenever shown 
 
 That they prefer all countries to their own. 
 
BeArS OFUsTN 
 A DRAMATIC SATIRE ON THE TIMES: 
 ni _ BEING 
 THE REHEARSAL OF TWO PLAYS, 
 VIZ. A COMEDY 
 
 CALLED 
 
 TshIS, VAC Al OM PaO aa 
 
 AND A TRAGEDY, 
 
 CALLED 
 
 o FIRST ACTED IN APRIL, 1736. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF COMMON-SENSE. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 TRAPWIT Mr. Roberts. 
 
 RAPWIT, iat ss | vr. Roberts 
 FUSTIAN, Mr, Lacy. 
 DUE tA GTILIC Swe et) ee ee, 8s ny WY. Machen. 
 
 Several Players and Prompter. 
 PERSONS IN THE COMEDY. 
 LORD PLACE, Mrs. Charke. 
 COLONEL PROMISE, Mr. Freeman. 
 Ssanuidates sais. 
 
 SIR HENRY FOX-CHASE, | lees Topham. 
 SQUIRE TANKARD, Mr. Smith. 
 SMP en I a, Mr. Jones. 
 
 Aldermen, Voters, &c. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 MMeeVIAYORESS «6 «2 6 2's « « « » «. Mrs. Egerton. 
 Miss MAYORESS . . ....-. +. . + . Miss J. Jones. 
 SEMEL Cele ec tsi i se ye Wn Mess Burgess. 
 
 Servants, Mob, &-c. 
 
 PERSONS IN THE TRAGEDY. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE ..... .. .-. . Mrs. Egerton. 
 OUREN IGNORANCE . .. ....-.. « « Mr, Strensham. 
 FIREBRAND, PriestoftheSun ..... . -.- Mm. Roberts. 
 
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 128 | DRAMATIS PERSONA 
 
 ON Pe a IR GN 
 PHYSIC 8 SW nik honey oe en ee nee a 
 
 GHOST OF TRAGEDY... 5 4 4-2 0 an pe ee 
 GHOST OF COMEDY 30.5 503 4 on Gyulep ee) = 
 THIRD GHOST... 4: ... - «4 a. » S07 
 HARLEQUIN 4%. 40) SG oe ey eee 
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 Attendants on Ignorance. Maids of Honour, &c. 
 
 SCENE.—THE PLAY-HOUSE. 
 
PASQUIN 
 
 JeGAe AG 
 SCENE I.—The Play-house. 
 Enter several PLAYERS. 
 
 1 PLAYER. When does the rehearsal begin? 
 
 2 PLAYER. I suppose we shall hardly rehearse the 
 comedy this morning; for the Author was arrested as he 
 was going home from King’s coffee-house; and, as I heard, 
 it was for upwards of four pound; I suppose he will hardly 
 get bail. 
 
 I PLAYER. Where’s the tragedy-author then? I have a 
 long part in both, and it’s past ten o'clock. 
 
 WOMAN PLAYER. Ay, I have a part in both too; I wish 
 any one else had them, for they are not seven lengths put 
 together. I think it is very hard a woman of my standing 
 should have a short part put upon her. I suppose Mrs 
 Merit will have all our principal parts now, but I am re- 
 solved I’ll advertise against her: I’ll let the town know 
 how I am injured. 
 
 I PLAYER. Oh! here comes our tragedy-poet. 
 
 Enter FUSTIAN, 
 FUSTIAN. Gentlemen, your servant; ladies, yours. I 
 should have been here sooner, but I have been obliged, at 
 VOL. X. S 
 
130 PASQUIN 
 
 their own requests, to wait upon some half-dozen persons of 
 the first quality with tickets: upon my soul I have been 
 chid for putting off my play so long: I hope you are all 
 quite perfect; for the town will positively stay for it no 
 longer. I think I may very well put upon the bills, At the 
 particular desire of several ladies of quality, the first night. 
 
 Enter PROMPTER. 
 
 PROMPTER. Mr. Fustian, we must defer the rehearsal of 
 your tragedy, for the gentleman who plays the first ghost is 
 not yet up; and when he is, he has got such a churchyard 
 cough, he will not be heard to the middle of the pit. 
 
 I PLAYER. I wish you could cut the ghost out, sir; for 
 I am terribly afraid he’ll be damned if you don’t. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Cut him out, sir! He is one of the most 
 considerable persons in the play. 
 
 PROMPTER. Then, sir, you must give the part to some- 
 body else ; for the present is so lame he can hardly walk the 
 Stage. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Then he shall be. carried; for no maniam 
 England can act a ghost like him: sir, he was born a 
 ghost ; he was made for the part, and the part writ for him. 
 
 PROMPTER. Well, sir, then we hope you will give us leave 
 to rehearse the comedy first. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ay, ay, you may rehearse it first, if you 
 please, and act it first too: if it keeps mine back above 
 three nights, I am mistaken. I don’t know what friends the 
 
 author may have——but if ever such stuff, such damned, 
 incoherent, senseless stuff, was ever brought on any stage—if 
 the audience suffer it to go through three acts——-Oh! he’s 
 here. 
 
 Einter TRAPWIT, 
 
 Dear Mr. Trapwit! your most humble servant, sir; I read 
 your comedy over last night, and a most excellent one it is; 
 if it runs as long as it deserves, you will engross the whole 
 season to yourself. 
 
€ 
 to 
 PASQUIN 131 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, I am glad it met with your approbation, 
 as there is no man whose taste and judgment I have a 
 better opinion of. But pray, sir, why don’t they proceed to 
 the rehearsal of your tragedy? I assure you, sir, I had much 
 difficulty to get hither so early. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Yes, faith, I believe you had. [A sede. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, your comedy is to be rehearsed first. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Excuse me, sir, I know the deference due _to 
 tragedy better. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, I would not have you think I give up 
 the cause of tragedy; but my ghost being ill, sir, cannot 
 get up without danger, and I would not risk the life of 
 my ghost on any account. 
 
 TRAPWIT. You are in the right on’t, sir; for a ghost is 
 the soul of tragedy. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ay, sir, I think it is not amiss to remind people 
 of those things which they are, now-a-days, too apt to dis- 
 believe ; besides, we have lately had an act against witches, 
 and I don’t question but shortly we shall have one 
 against ghosts. But come, Mr. Trapwit, as we are for this 
 once to give the precedence to comedy, e’en let us begin. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, ay, with all my heart. Come, come, 
 where’s the gentleman who speaks the prologue? This 
 prologue, Mr. Fustian, was given me by a friend, who does 
 not care to own it till he tries whether it succeeds or no. 
 
 Enter PLAYER for the Prologue. 
 
 Come, sir, make a very low bow to the audience; and show 
 as much concern as possible in your looks. 
 
 PROLOGUE: 
 
 As crafty lawyers, to acquire applause, 
 
 Try various arts to get a doubtful cause ; 
 
 Or, as a dancing-master in a jig, 
 
 With various steps instructs the dancing prig; 
 Or as a doctor writes you different bills ; 
 
132 PASQUIN 
 
 Or as a quack prescribes you different pills: 
 
 Or as a fiddler plays more tunes than one; 
 
 Or as a baker bakes more bread than brown, 
 
 Or as a tumbler tumbles up and down, 
 
 So does our Author, rummaging his brain, 
 
 By various methods try to entertain ; ) 
 
 Brings a strange group of characters before you, 
 And shows you here at once\both Whig and Tory ; 
 Or court and country party you may call ’em: 
 
 But \without fear and favour he will maul ’em. | 
 
 To you, then, mighty sages of the pit—— a 
 
 TRAPWIT. Oh! dear sir, seem a little more affected, I 
 beseech you; advance to the front of the stage, make a 
 low bow, lay your hand upon your heart, fetch a deep sigh, 
 and pull out your handkerchief ; 
 
 To you, then, mighty sages of the pit—— 
 
 PROLOGUE. To you, then, mighty sages of the pit, 
 Our Author humbly does his cause submit. 
 He tries to please Oh! take it not amiss: 
 And though it should be dull, oh! do not hiss; 
 Laugh—if you can—if you cannot laugh——weep: 
 When you can wake no longer——fall asleep. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Very well! very well, sir! You have affected 
 me, I am sure. 
 
 FUSTIAN. And so he will the audience, I Il) answer 
 for ’em. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Oh, sir, you’re too good-natured——but, sir, I 
 do assure you I had writ a much better prologue of my 
 own; but, as this came gratis, have reserved it for my next 
 play ; a prologue saved is a prologue got, brother Fustian. 
 But come, where are your actors? Is Mr. Mayor and the 
 Alderman at the table? 
 
 PROMPTER. Yes, sir, but they want wine, and we can 
 get none from the quaker’s cellar without ready money. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Rat him! can’t he trust till the third night? 
 
PASQUIN 133 
 
 ——Here, take sixpence, and fetch two pots of porter, put 
 it into bottles, and it will do for wine well enough. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ay, faith, and the wine will be as good as the 
 wit, I’ll answer for it. [Aszde. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Mr. Fustian, you’ll observe I do not begin 
 this play like most of our modern comedies, with three or 
 four gentlemen who are brought on only to talk wit; for, 
 to tell you the truth, sir, I have very little, if any, wit in 
 this play: no, sir, this is a play consisting of humour, nature, 
 and simplicity ; it is written, sir, in the exact and true spirit 
 of Moliere: and this I will say for it, that except about a 
 dozen, or a score, or so, there is not one impure joke in it. 
 But come, clear the stage, and draw back the scene: Mr. 
 Fustian, if you please to sit down by me. 
 
 MAYOR and ALDERMAN adiscovered. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sit, who are these characters ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, they are Mr. Mayor of the town and his 
 brethren, consulting about the election. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Are they all of a side, sir? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, sir, as yet; for you must know, sir, that 
 all the men in this borough are very sensible people, and 
 have no party principles for which they cannot give a good 
 reason; Mr. Mayor, you begin the play. 
 
 MAyor. Gentlemen, I have summoned you together to 
 consider of proper representatives for this borough: you 
 know the candidates on the court side are my Lord Place 
 and Colonel Promise; the country candidates are Sir Henry 
 Fox-chase and Squire Tankard; all worthy gentlemen, 
 and I wish with all my heart we could choose them 
 all four. 
 
 I ALDERMAN. But since we cannot, Mr. Mayor, I think 
 we should stand by our neighbours; gentlemen whose 
 honesty we are witnesses of, and whose estates in our own 
 neighbourhood render ’em not liable to be bribed. 
 
 FUSTIAN. This gentleman, Mr. Trapwit, does not seem so 
 unbiassed in his principles as you represented him, 
 
134 PASQUIN 
 
 TRAPWIT. Pugh, sir, you must have one fool in a play; 
 besides, I only writ him to set off the rest. 
 
 Mayor. Mr. Alderman, you have a narrow way of think- 
 ing; honesty is not confined to a county; a man that lives 
 an hundred miles off may be as honest as him who lives but 
 three. 
 
 ALL: ~AYy,/ay;- ay, ay: [Shaking their heads. 
 
 MAyorR. Besides, gentlemen, are we not more obliged to 
 a foreigner for the favours he does us, than to one of our 
 own neighbours who has obligations to us; I believe, gentle- 
 men, there is not one of us who does not eat and drink with 
 Sir Harry at least twenty times in a twelvemonth ; now, for 
 my part, I never saw or heard of either my lord or the 
 Colonel till within this fortnight ; and yet they are as obliging, 
 and civil, and familiar, as if we had been born and bred 
 together. 
 
 I ALDERMAN. Nay, they are very civil, well-bred men, 
 that is the truth on’t; but won't they bring a standing 
 army upon us? 
 
 Mayor. Mr. Alderman, you are deceived; the country 
 party will bring a standing army upon us; whereas if we 
 choose my Lord and the Colonel, we sha’n’t have a soldier 
 in town. But, mum, here are my Lord and the Colonel. 
 
 Enter LORD PLACE aud COLONEL PROMISE. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Gentlemen, your most humble servant ; 
 I have brought the Colonel to take a morning’s whet 
 with you. 
 
 Mayor. Your Lordship and the Colonel do us great 
 honour; pray, my Lord, be pleased to sit down; pray, 
 Colonel, be pleased to sit. More wine here! 
 
 FUSTIAN. I wish, Mr. Trapwit, your actors don’t get 
 drunk in the first act. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Dear sir, don’t interrupt the rehearsal. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Gentlemen, prosperity to the corporation. 
 
 _ FUSTIAN. Sir, I am a well-wisher to the corporation, and, 
 if you please, will pledge his lordship: success to your 
 comedy, Mr. Trapwit. [| Drinks. 
 
PASQUIN 135 
 
 TRAPWIT. Give me a glass—Sir, here’s to your tragedy. 
 —Now, pray, no more interruption; for this scene is one 
 continual joke, and if you open your lips in it, you will 
 break the thread of the Jest. 
 
 Mayor. My Lord, we are sensible of your great power 
 to serve this corporation; and we do not doubt but we shall 
 feel the effect on ’t. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Gentlemen, you may depend on me; I 
 shall do all in my power. I shall do you some services 
 which are not proper at present to mention to you; in the 
 mean time, Mr. Mayor, give me leave to squeeze you by the 
 hand, in assurance of my sincerity. 
 
 TRAPWIT. You, Mr. that act my Lord, bribe a little more 
 openly, if you please, or the audience will lose that joke, 
 and it is one of the strongest in my whole play. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Sir, I cannot possibly do it better at the 
 table. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Then get all up, and come forward to the 
 front of the stage. Now you gentlemen that act the Mayor 
 and Aldermen, range yourselves in a line; and you, my 
 Lord, and the Colonel, come- to one end and bribe away 
 with right and left. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Is this wit, Mr. Trapwit? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, sir, it is wit; and such wit as will run 
 all over the kingdom. 
 
 FUSTIAN. But, methinks Colonel Promise, as you call 
 him, is but ill-named; for he is a man of very few words. 
 
 TRAPWIT. You'll be of another opinion before the play 
 is over; at present his hands are too full of business; and 
 you may remember, sir, I before told you this is none of 
 your plays wherein much is said and nothing done, 
 Gentlemen, are you all bribed? 
 
 OMNES. Yes, sir. 
 
 TRAPWIT. -Then my Lord, and the Colonel, you must go 
 off, and make room for the other candidates to come on 
 and bribe too. [Exeunt Lord Place azd Colonel Promise. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Is there nothing but bribery in this play of 
 yours, Mr. Trapwit? 
 
136 PASQUIN 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, this play is an exact representation of 
 nature; I hope the audience will date the time of action 
 before the bill of bribery and corruption took place; and 
 then I believe it may go down; but now, Mr. Fustian, I 
 shall show you the art of a writer, which is, to diversify 
 his matter, and do the same thing several ways. You 
 must know, sir, I distinguish bribery into two kinds; the 
 direct and the indirect: the first you have seen already; and 
 now, sir, I shall give you a small specimen of the other. 
 Prompter, call Sir Harry and the Squire. But, gentlemen, 
 what are you doing? How often shall I tell you that the 
 moment the candidates are gone out you are to retire to 
 the table, and drink and look wise; you, Mr. Mayor, ought 
 to look very wise. [Aszde. 
 
 FUSTIAN. You’ll take care he shall talk foolish enough, 
 I warrant you. 
 
 MAyor. Come, here’s a round to my Lord and the 
 Colonel’s health ; a Place, and a Promise, I say; they may 
 talk of pride of courtiers, but I am sure I never hadwa 
 civiller squeeze by the hand in my life. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, you have squeezed that out pretty well: 
 but show the gold at those words, sir, if you please. 
 
 Mayor. I have none. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Pray, Mr. Prompter, take care to get some 
 counters against it is acted. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ha, ha, ha! upon my word the courtiers have 
 topped their part; the actor has out-done the author; this 
 bribing with an empty hand is quite in the character of a 
 courtier. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Come, enter Sir Harry, and the Squire. Where 
 are they? 
 
 I PLAYER. Sir, Mr. Soundwell has been regularly 
 summoned, but he has refused to act the part. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Has he been writ to? 
 
 I PLAYER. Yes, sir, and here’s his answer. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Let both the letters be produced before the 
 audience. Pray, Mr. Prompter, who shall we have to act 
 the part? 
 
PASQUIN 137 
 
 I PLAYER. Sir, I liked the part so well, that I have 
 studied it in hope of some time playing it. 
 
 TRAPWIT. You are an exceeding pretty young fellow, and 
 I am very glad of the exchange. 
 
 Str Harry. Hallo, hark, forwards; hark, honest Ned, 
 good-morrow to you; how dost, master Mayor? What, 
 you are driving it about merrily, this morning? Come, 
 come, sit down; the Squire and I will take a pot with 
 you. Come, Mr. Mayor, here’s liberty and property, and 
 excise. 
 
 Mayor. Sir Harry, your health. 
 
 SIR HARRY. :;What, won't you pledge me? Won’t you 
 drink, no excise? 
 
 Mayor. I don’t love party healths, Sir Harry. 
 
 ALL ALDERMEN. No, no, no party healths, no party 
 healths. 
 
 SIR HARRY. Say ye so, gentlemen? I begin to smoke 
 you; your pulses have been felt I perceive: and will you 
 be bribed to sell your country? Where do you think these 
 courtiers get the money they bribe you with, but from 
 yourselves? Do you think a man, who will give a bribe, 
 wont take one? If you would be served faithfully, you 
 must choose faithfully; and give your vote on no considera- 
 tion but merit; for my part, I would as soon suborn an 
 evidence at an assize, as vote at an election. 
 
 Mayor. I do believe you, Sir Harry. 
 
 SiR HARRY. Mr. Mayor, I hope you received those three 
 bucks I sent you, and that they were good. 
 
 Mayor. Sir Harry, I thank you for them; but ’tis so 
 long since I ate them, that I have forgot the taste. 
 
 SIR HARRY. We'll try to revive it; I’ll order you three 
 more to-morrow morning. 
 
 Mayor. You will surfeit us with venison. You will 
 indeed ; for it is a dry meat, Sir Harry; a very dry meat. 
 
 SiR HARRY. We'll find a way to moisten it, I’ll warrant 
 you, if there be any wine in town; Mr. Alderman Stitch, 
 your bill is too reasonable, you certainly must lose by it: 
 send me in half a dozen more great-coats, pray ; my servants 
 
 Wee OK, gt 
 
138 PASQUIN 
 
 are the dirtiest dogs! Mr. Damask, I believe you are afraid 
 to trust me, by those few yards of silk you sent my wife 
 she likes the pattern so extremely, she is resolved to 
 hang her rooms with it——pray let me have a hundred yards 
 of it; I shall want more of you. Mr. Timber——and you 
 Mr. Iron, I shall get into your books too—— 
 
 FUSTIAN. Would not that getting into books have been 
 more in the character of a courtier, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Go on, go on, sir. 
 
 SiR HARRY. That gentleman interrupts one so——Oh, 
 now I remember——Mr. Timber, and you Mr. Iron, I shall 
 get into your books too; though if I do, I assure you 
 I won’t continue in them long. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Now, sir, would it have been more in the 
 character of a courtier? But you are like all our modern 
 critics, who damn a man before they have heard a man out; 
 when if they would but stay till the joke came—— 
 
 FUSTIAN. They would stay to hear your last words, I 
 believe— [A sede. 
 
 SIR HARRY. For you must know, gentlemen, that I 
 intend to pull down my old house, and build a new one. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Pray, gentlemen, observe all to start at the 
 word house. Sir Harry, that last speech again, pray. 
 
 SIR HARRY. For you, &c.——Mr. Mayor, I must have all 
 my bricks of you. 
 
 Mayor. And do you intend to rebuild your house, Sir 
 Harry? 
 
 SIR HARRY. Positively. 
 
 MAYOR. Gentlemen, methinks Sir Harry’s toast stands 
 still; will nobody drink liberty and property, and no 
 excise ? [Zhey all drink and huzza. 
 
 SIR HARRY. Give me thy hand, Mayor. I hate bribery 
 and corruption: if this corporation will not suffer itself to 
 be bribed, there shall not be a poor man in it. 
 
 Mayor. And he that will, deserves to be poor; for my 
 part, the world should not bribe me to vote against my 
 conscience. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Do you take that joke, sir? 
 
PASQUIN 139 
 
 FUSTIAN. No, faith, sir. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Why, how can a man vote against his 
 conscience who has no conscience at all? 
 
 1 ALDERMAN. Come, gentlemen, here’s a Fox-chase, and 
 a Tankard! 
 
 OMNES. A Fox-chase and a Tankard! MHuzza! 
 
 SiR HARRY. Come, let’s have one turn in the market- 
 place, and then we’ll to dinner. 
 
 MAyor. Let’s fill the air with our repeated cries 
 
 Of liberty and property, and no excise. 
 [Laeunt Mayor and Aldermen. 
 
 TRAPWIT. How do you like that couplet, sir? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Oh! very fine, sir. 
 
 TRAPWIT. This is the end of the first act, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I cannot but observe, Mr. Trapwit, how nicely 
 you have opposed Squire Tankard to Colonel Promise ; 
 neither of whom have yet uttered one syllable. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Why, you would not have every man a speaker, 
 would you? One of a side is sufficient; and let me tell 
 you, sir, one is full enough to utter all that the party has 
 to say for itself. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Methinks, sir, you should let the audience know 
 they can speak, if it were but an ay or a vo. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, the audience must know that already; for 
 if they could not say ay and xo, they would not be qualified 
 for candidates. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Oh! your humble servant, I am answered: but 
 pray, sir, what is the action of this play? 
 
 TRAPWIT. The action, sir? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Yes, sir, the fable, the design? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Oh! you ask who is to be married! Why, sir, 
 I have a marriage; I hope you think I understand the laws 
 of comedy better than to write without marrying somebody. 
 
 FUSTIAN. But is that the main design to which every 
 thing conduces? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Faith, sir, I can’t for the soul of me see how 
 what has hitherto passed can conduce at all to that end. 
 
140 PASQUIN 
 
 TRAPWIT. You can’t; indeed, I believe you can't: for 
 that is the whole plot of my play: and do you think I am 
 like your shallow writers of comedy, who publish the banns 
 of marriage between all the couples in their play in the 
 first act? No, sir, I defy you to guess my couple till the 
 thing is done, slap, all at once; and that too by an incident 
 arising from the main business of the play, and to which 
 every thing conduces. 
 
 FUSTIAN. That will, indent surprise me. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, you are not the first man my writings 
 have surprised——-But what’s become of all our players? 
 Here, who begins the second act? Prompter! 
 
 Enter 1 PLAYER. 
 
 I PLAYER. Sir, the Prompter and most of the players are 
 drinking tea in the Green-room. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Mr. Fustian, shall we drink a dish of tea with 
 them? Come, sir, as you have a part in my play, you shall 
 drink a dish with us. 
 
 I PLAYER. Sir, I dare not go into the Green-room; my 
 salary is not high enough: I shall be forfeited if I go in 
 there. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Pshaw, come along; your sister has merit 
 enough for herself, and you too; if they forfeit you, I'll 
 warrant she'll take it off again. 
 
 ACT II.—SCENE I. 
 
 Enter TRAPWIT, FUSTIAN, PROMPTER, LORD PLACE, MRS. 
 MAYORESS azd MISS MAYORESS, 
 
 TRAPWIT. I am afraid, Mr. Fustian, you have hitherto 
 suspected that I was a dabbler in low comedy; now, sir, 
 you shall see some scenes of politeness and fine conversa- 
 tion amongst the ladies. Come, my lord, come, begin. 
 
PASQUIN 141 
 
 LorD PLACE. Pray, Mrs. Mayoress, what do you think 
 this lace cost a yard? 
 
 FUSTIAN. A very pretty beginning of a polite conversation, 
 truly. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, in this play, I keep exactly up to nature; 
 nor is there any thing said in this scene that I have not 
 heard come out of the mouths of the finest people of the 
 age. Sir, this scene has cost me ten shillings in chair-hire, 
 to keep the best company, as it is called. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. Indeed, my lord, I cannot guess it at 
 less than ten pounds a yard. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Pray, madam, was you at the last ridotto? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ridotto! the devil! a country mayoress at a 
 ridotto! Sure, that is out of character, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, a conversation of this nature cannot be 
 carried on without these helps; besides, sir, this country 
 mayoress, as you call her, may be allowed to know some- 
 thing of the town; for you must know, sir, that she has 
 been woman to a woman of quality. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I am glad to hear that. 
 
 Mrs. MAYoRESS. Oh! my lord! mention not those dear 
 ridottos to me, who have been confined these twelve months 
 in the country; where we have no entertainment, but a 
 set of hideous, strolling players; nor have I seen any one 
 human creature, till your lordship came to town. Heaven 
 send us a controverted election, then I shall go to that dear 
 delightful place once more. 
 
 Miss MAYORESS. Yes, mamma, and then we shall see 
 Faribelly, the strange man-woman that they say is with 
 child; and the fine pictures of Merlin’s cave at the play- 
 houses; and the rope-dancing and the tumbling. 
 
 FUSTIAN. By Miss’s taste I believe she has been bred up 
 under a woman of quality too. 
 
 LORD PLACE. I cannot but with pleasure observe, madam, 
 the polite taste Miss shows in her choice of entertainments ; 
 I dare swear she will be much admired in the beau monde, 
 and I don’t question but will be soon taken into keeping 
 by some man of quality. 
 
142 PASQUIN 
 
 Miss MAYORESS. Keeping, my lord! 
 
 LorD PLace. Ay, that surprise looks well enough in 
 one so young, that does not know the world; but, Miss, 
 every one now keeps, and is kept; there are no such 
 things as marriages now-a-days, unless merely Smithfield 
 contracts, and that for the support of families; but then 
 the husband and wife both take into keeping within a 
 fortnight. 
 
 Mrs. Mayoress. My lord, I would have my girl act like - 
 other young ladies; but she does not know any men of 
 quality, who shall introduce her to ’em. 
 
 LORD PLACE. That, madam, must be your part; you 
 must take a house, and see company; in a little while you 
 may keep an assembly, and play at cards as high as you 
 can; and almost all the money that is won must be put 
 into the box, which you must call, payimg for the cards; 
 though it is indeed paying for your candles, your clothes, 
 your lodgings, and in short every thing you have. I 
 know some persons who make a very considerable figure 
 in town, whose whole estate lies in their card-box. 
 
 Mrs. Mayoress. And have I been so long contented 
 to be the wife of a poor country tradesman, when I 
 might have had all this happiness! 
 
 FUSTIAN. How comes this lady, Mr. Trapwit, considering 
 her education, to be so ignorant of all these things? 
 
 TRAPWIT. ’Gad, that’s true; I had forgot her education, 
 faith, when I writ that speech; it’s a fault I sometimes fall 
 into——a man ought to have the memory of a devil to 
 remember every little thing; but come, go on, go on—I’ll 
 alter it by and by. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Indeed, madam, it is a miserable state 
 of life; I hope we shall have no such people as trades- 
 men shortly; I can’t see any use they are of; if I am 
 chose, I’ll bring in a bill to extirpate all trade out of 
 the nation. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Yes, my lord, that will do very well 
 amongst people of quality, who don’t want money. . 
 
 FUSTIAN. Again! Sure Mrs. Mayoress knows very 
 
PASQUIN 143 
 
 little of people of quality, considering she has lived amongst 
 them. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Lord, sir, you are so troublesome —— then she 
 has not lived amongst people of quality, she has lived 
 where I please, but suppose we should suppose she had 
 been woman to a lady of quality, may we not also suppose 
 she was turned away in a fortnight, and then what could 
 she know, sir ? Go on, go on. 
 
 LORD PLACE. A-lack-a-day, madam, when I mention 
 trade, I only mean low, dull, mechanic trade; such as the 
 Canaille practise; there are several trades reputable enough, 
 which people of fashion may practise; such are gaming, 
 intriguing, voting, and running in debt. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Come, enter a servant, and whisper my lord. 
 [Enter a Servant.| Pray, sir, mind your cue of entrance. 
 
 [EZait Servant. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Ladies, a particular affair obliges me to 
 lose so good company——I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 | Axiz. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. He is a prodigious fine gentleman. 
 
 Miss MAyoreEss. But must I go into keeping, mamma? 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. Child, you must do what’s in fashion. 
 
 Miss Mayoress. But I have heard that’s a naughty 
 thing. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. That can’t be, if your betters do it; 
 people are punished for doing naughty things; but people 
 of quality are never punished; therefore they never do any 
 naughty things. 
 
 FUSTIAN. An admirable syllogism, and quite in character. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Pshaw, dear sir, don’t trouble me with cha- 
 racter; it’s a good thing; and if it’s a good thing, what 
 signifies who says it ?—-—-Come, enter the mayor, drunk, 
 
 Enter MAYOR. 
 
 Mayor. Liberty and property, and no excise, wife. 
 Mrs. MAyoress. Ah! filthy beast, come not near me. 
 
144 PASQUIN 
 
 Mayor. But I will though; I am for liberty and 
 property; I’ll vote for no courtiers, wife. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS, Indeed, but you shall, sir. 
 
 Miss MaAyoress, I hope you won’t vote for a nasty 
 stinking tory, papa. 
 
 Mayor. What a pox! are you for the courtiers too? 
 
 Miss MAyoRESS. Yes, I hope I am a friend to my 
 country; I am not for bringing in the pope. 
 
 Mayor. No, nor I an’t for a standing army. 
 
 Mrs. MAYoRESS, But I am for a standing army, sir; a 
 standing army is a good thing: you pretend to be afraid of 
 your liberties and your properties——You are afraid of your 
 wives and daughters: I love to see soldiers in the town; 
 and you may say what you will, I know the town loses 
 nothing by ’em. 
 
 Mayor. The women don’t, I believe. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress, And I’ll have you know, the women’s 
 wants shall be considered, as well as yours. I think my 
 lord and the colonel do you too much honour in offering to 
 represent such a set of clownish, dirty, beggarly animals 
 ——Ah! I wish we women were to choose. 
 
 Mayor. Ay, we should have a fine set of members then, 
 indeed. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Yes, sir, you would have none but 
 pretty gentlemen——there should not be one man in the 
 House of Commons without a laced coat. 
 
 Miss Mayoress. O la! what a delicate, fine, charming 
 sight that would be! Well, I like a laced coat; and if 
 ever I am taken into keeping, it shall be by a man in a 
 laced coat. 
 
 Mayor. What’s that you say, Minx? What’s that you 
 say? 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. What’s that to you, sir? 
 
 Mayor. Why, madam, must I not speak to my own 
 daughter ? 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. You have the greater obligation to 
 me, sir, if she is: I am (sure, if I had thought you 
 would have endeavoured to ruin your family, I would 
 
PASQUIN 145 
 
 have seen you hanged before you should have had any 
 by me. 
 
 Mayor. I ruin my family! 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. Yes, I have been making your fortune 
 for you with my lord; I have got a place for you, but you 
 won't accept on’t. 
 
 Miss MAYoRESS. You shall accept on’t. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. You shall vote for my lord and the 
 colonel. 
 
 Miss MAyYORESS, They are the finest men—— 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. The prettiest men—— 
 
 Miss MAyoreEss. The sweetest men—— 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. And you shall vote for them. 
 
 Mayor. I won’t be bribed—— 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. A place is no bribe——ask the parson 
 of the parish if a place is a bribe. 
 
 Mayor. What is the place? 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress, I don’t know what the place is; nor my 
 lord does not know what it is; but it is a great swinging 
 place. 
 
 Mayor. I will have the place first, I won’t take a bribe. 
 I will have the place first; liberty and property! Ill have 
 the place first. [Lxtt, 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Come, my dear, follow me; I’ll see, 
 whether he shall vote according to his conscience, or mine. 
 
 Ill teach mankind, while policy they boast, 
 They bear the name of power, we rule the roast. 
 
 TRAPWIT. There ends act the second. [Zxeunt Mrs. Mayoress 
 and Miss.| Mr. Fustian, I inculcate a particular moral at 
 the end of every act; and therefore might have put a 
 particular motto before every one, as the author of Cesar 
 in Egypt has done; thus, sir, my first act sweetly sings, 
 Bribe all, bribe all; and the second: gives you to under- 
 stand that we are all under petticoat government; and my 
 third will but you shall see——-Enter my Lord Place, 
 Colonel Promise, and several Voters. My Lord, you begin 
 the third act. 
 
 VOL. X. U 
 
146 PASQUIN 
 
 Enter LORD PLACE, COLONEL PROMISE, aud several 
 Voters. 
 
 LorD PLACE. Gentlemen, be assured, I will take care of 
 you all; you shall all be provided for as fast as possible ; 
 the customs and the excise afford a great number of places. 
 
 I VOTER. Could not your lordship provide for me at 
 court ? 
 
 LorRD PLACE. Nothing easier, what sort of a place would 
 you like? | 
 
 1 VOTER. Is not there a sort of employment, sir, 
 called ——beef-eating >—If your lordship please to make me 
 a beef-eater.——I would have a place fitted for my capacity. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Sir, I will be sure to remember you. 
 
 2 VOTER. My Lord, I should like a place at court too; 
 I don’t much care what it is, provided I wear fine clothes 
 and have something to do in the kitchen or the cellar; I 
 own I should like the cellar, for I am a devilish lover 
 of sack, 
 
 LORD PLACE. Sack, say you? Odso, you shall be poet- 
 laureat. 
 
 2 VOTER. Poet! no, my Lord, I am no poet, I can’t make 
 verses. 
 
 LoRD PLACE. No matter for that,——you’ll be able to 
 make odes. 
 
 2 VOTER. Odes, my Lord! what are those? 
 
 LORD PLACE. Faith, sir, I can’t tell well what they are; 
 but I know you may be qualified for the place without 
 being a poet. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Now, my Lord, do you file off, and talk apart 
 with your people ; and let the colonel advance. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ay, faith, I think it is high time for the 
 colonel to be heard. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. Depend upon it, sir; I’ll serve you. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Upon my word the colonel begins very well ; 
 but has not that been said already ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, and if I was to bring a hundred courtiers 
 into my play, they should all say it——-none of them do it. 
 
PASQUIN 147 
 
 3 VOTER. An’'t please your honour, I have read in a 
 book called Fog’s Journal, that your honour’s men are to 
 be made of wax; now, sir, I have served my time to 
 a wax-work maker, and desire to make your honour’s 
 regiment. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. Sir, you may depend on me. 
 
 3 VOTER. Are your officers to be made of wax too, sir? 
 because I would prepare a finer sort for them. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. No, none but the chaplain. 
 
 3 VOTER. O! I have a most delicate piece of black wax 
 for him. 
 
 TRAPWIT. You see, sir, the colonel can speak when 
 military affairs are on the carpet; hitherto, Mr. Fustian, the 
 play has gone on in great tranquillity; now you shall see a 
 scene of a more turbulent nature. Come, enter the mob of 
 both sides, and cudgel one another off the stage. Colonel, 
 as your business is not to fight at present, I beg you 
 would go off before the battle comes on; you, and your 
 brother candidate, come into the middle of the stage, you 
 voters range yourselves under your several leaders. [The 
 Mob attempt to break in.| Pray, gentlemen, keep _ back; 
 mind, the colonel’s going off is the cue for the battle to 
 enter. Now, my Lord, and the Colonel, you are at the 
 head of your parties——but hold, hold, hold, you beef-eater, 
 go you behind my lord, if you please; and you soldier- 
 maker, come you behind the colonel: now, gentlemen, 
 speak. 
 
 LORD PLACE avd COLONEL PROMISE. Gentlemen, we’ll 
 serve you. 
 
 [My Lord and the Colonel file off at different 
 doors, the parties following. 
 
 Enter Mob on each side of the stage, crying out promtscuously, 
 Down with the Rump, No Courtiers! No Jacobites! Down 
 with the Pope! No Excise! a Place and a Promise! a 
 Fox-chase and a Tankard! At last they fall together by 
 the ears, and cudgel one another off the stage. 
 
148 PASQUIN 
 
 Enter SIR HARRY, SQUIRE TANKARD, aud MAYOR. 
 
 SIR Harry. Bravely done, my boys, bravely done! faith, 
 our party has got the day. 
 
 Mayor. Ay, Sir Harry, at dry blows we always come off 
 well; if we could but disband the army, I warrant we 
 carried all our points. But faith, sir, I have fought a hard 
 battle on your account; the other side have secured my 
 wife; my lord has promised her a place, but I am not to 
 be gulled in that manner: I may be taken, like the fish in 
 the water, by a bait; but not, like the dog in the water, 
 by a shadow. 
 
 StR HarryY. I know you are an honest man and love 
 your country. 
 
 Mayor. Faith, that I do, Sir Harry, as well as any 
 man; if my country will but let me live by it, that’s all 
 I desire. 
 
 FuSTIAN. Mr. Mayor seems to have got himself sober 
 very suddenly. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, so would you too, I believe, if you had 
 been scolded at by your wife as long as he has; but if 
 you think that is not reason enough, he may be drunk 
 still, for any reason I see to the contrary: pray, sir, act 
 this scene as if you was drunk. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Nay, I must confess, I think it quite out of 
 character for the mayor to be once sober during the whole 
 election. 
 
 SQUIRE TANKARD. [Drunk.] A man that won't get 
 drunk for his country is a rascal. 
 
 MAyor. So he is, noble Squire; there’s no honesty in a 
 man that won’t be drunk——a man that won’t drink is an 
 enemy to the trade of the nation. 
 
 SIR HARRY. Those were glorious days when honest 
 English hospitality flourished; when a country gentleman 
 could afford to make his neighbours drunk, before your 
 damned French fashions were brought over; why, Mr. 
 Mayor, would you think it? there are many of these 
 courtiers who have six starved footmen behind a coach, and 
 
PASQUIN 149 
 
 not half a hogshead of wine in their house; why, how do 
 you think all the money is spent? 
 
 Mayor. Faith, I can’t tell. 
 
 SIR HARRY. Why, in houses, pictures, lace, embroidery, 
 knick-knacks, Italian singers, and French tumblers ; and those 
 who vote for them will never get a dinner of them after 
 the election is over. 
 
 Mayor. But there is a thought comes often into my 
 head, which is this: if these courtiers be turned out, who 
 shall succeed them ? 
 
 SIR HARRY. Who? why we! 
 
 SQUIRE TANKARD. Ay, we! 
 
 SIR HARRY. And then we may provide for our friends. 
 I love my country, but I don’t know why I may not get 
 something by it as well as another; at least to reimburse 
 me.—And I do assure you, though I have not bribed a 
 single vote, my election will stand me in a good five 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 SQUIRE TANKARD. Ay, and so will mine me,—but if 
 ever we should get uppermost, Sir Harry, I insist upon 
 immediately paying off the debts of the nation. 
 
 SiR Harry. Mr. Tankard, that shall be done with all 
 convenient speed. 
 
 SQUIRE TANKARD. I'll have no delay in it, sir. 
 
 Mayor. There spoke the spirit of a true Englishman: 
 ah! I love to hear the squire speak, he will be a great 
 honour to his country in foreign parts. 
 
 SiR HARRY. Our friends stay for us at the tavern; we'll 
 go and talk more over a bottle. 
 
 SQUIRE TANKARD. With all my heart; but I will pay 
 off the debts of the nation. 
 
 Mayor. Come to the tavern then :— 
 
 There while brisk wine improves our conversation, 
 We at our pleasure will reform the nation. 
 
 TRAPWIT. There ends act the third. 
 [Exeunt Sir Harry, Squire Tankard, and Mayor. 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, what’s the moral of this act? 
 
150 | PASQUIN 
 
 TRAPWIT. And you really don’t know? 
 
 FUSTIAN. No, really. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Then I really will not tell you; but come, 
 sir, since you cannot find that out, I’ll try whether you can 
 find out the plot; for now it is just going to begin to 
 open, it will require a very close attention, I assure you; 
 and the devil take me if I give you any assistance. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Is not the fourth act a little too late to open 
 the plot, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, ‘tis an error on the right side; I have 
 known a plot open in the first act, and the audience, and 
 the poet too, forget it before the third was over; now, 
 sir, I am not willing to burden either the audience’s 
 memory, or my own; for they may forget all that is 
 hitherto past, and know full as much of the plot as if they 
 remembered it. 
 
 PROMPTER. Call Mr. Mayor, Mrs. Mayoress, and Miss. 
 
 Enter MAYOR, MRS. MAYORESS, avzd MISS MAYORESS. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. O! have I found you at last, sir? I 
 have been hunting for you this hour. 
 
 Mayor. Faith, my dear, I wish you had four me 
 sooner, I have been drinking to the good old cause with 
 Sir Harry and the squire; you would have been heartily 
 welcome to all the company. 
 
 Mrs. MAyorRESS. Sir, I shall keep no such company; I 
 shall converse with no clowns, or country squires. 
 
 Miss MAyorEssS. My mamma will converse with no 
 Jacobites. 
 
 MAvyor. But, my dear, I have some news for you; I 
 have got a place for myself now. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. O, ho! then you will vote for my lord 
 at last? 
 
 Mayor. No, my dear, Sir Harry is to give me a place. 
 
 Mrs. MAvyoreEss. A place in his dog kennel ? 
 
 Mayor. No, ’tis such a one as you never could have got 
 me from my lord; I am to be made an ambassador. 
 
PASQUIN 15% 
 
 Mrs. Mayoress. What, is Sir Harry going to change 
 sides then, that he is to have all this interest ? 
 
 Mayor. No, but the sides are going to be changed; and 
 Sir Harry is to be I don’t know what to call him, not 
 I some very great man; and as soon as he is a very 
 great man, I am to be made an ambassador of. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoRESS. Made an ass of! Will you never learn 
 of me, that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush? 
 
 Mayor. Yes, but I can’t find that you had the bird in 
 hand ; if that had been the case, I don’t know what I might 
 have done; but I am sure any man’s promise is as good as 
 a courtier’s. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Lookye, Mr. Ambassador that is to be; 
 will you vote as I would have you, or no? I am weary of 
 arguing with a fool any longer; so, sir, I tell you, you must 
 vote for my lord and the colonel, or I’ll make the house 
 too hot to hold you; I’ll see whether my poor family is to 
 be ruined because you have whims. 
 
 Miss MAyoreEss. I know he is a Jacobite in his heart. 
 
 Mrs. MAyorEss. What signifies what he is in his heart; 
 have not a hundred, whom every body knows to be as great 
 Jacobites as he, acted like very good whigs? What has a 
 man’s heart to do with his lips? I don’t trouble my head 
 with what he thinks, I only desire him to vote. 
 
 Miss MAYORESS, I am sure mamma is a very reasonable 
 woman. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Yes, I am too reasonable a woman, and 
 have used gentle methods too long; but I’ll try others. 
 
 [Goes to a corner of the stage, and takes a stick. 
 
 Mayor. Nay, then, liberty and property, and no excise! 
 
 [Runs off. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. I'll excise you, you villain ! 
 
 [Runs after him. 
 
 Miss MAyorRESS. Hey ho! I wish somebody were here 
 now; would the man that I love best in the world were 
 here, that I might use him like a dog! 
 
 FUSTIAN. Is not that a very odd wish, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. No, sir; don’t all the young ladies in plays 
 
152 PASQUIN 
 
 use all their lovers so? Should we not lose half the best 
 scenes in our comedies else? 
 
 PROMPTER. Pray, gentlemen, don’t disturb the rehearsal 
 so; where is this servant? [mdzer Servant.| Why don’t you 
 mind your cue? 
 
 SERVANT. O, ay, dog’s my cue. Madam, here’s Miss 
 Stitch, the tailor’s daughter, come to wait on you. 
 
 Miss MAyoreEss, Show her in.—What can the impertinent 
 flirt want with me? She knows I hate her too, for being 
 of the other party: however, I ‘ll be as civil to her as 
 Py cam. 
 
 Enter Miss STITCH. 
 
 Dear miss! your servant; this is an unexpected favour. 
 
 Miss STITCH. I am sure, madam, you have no reason to 
 say so; for though we are of different parties, I have always 
 coveted your acquaintance. (I can’t see why people may not 
 keep their principles to themselves.) [A sede, 
 
 Miss MAYORESS. Pray, miss, sit down. Well, have you 
 any news in town? 
 
 Miss ST1TcH. I don’t know, my dear; for I have not 
 been out these three days; and I have been employed all 
 that time in reading one of the craftsmen: ’tis a very pretty 
 one; I have almost got it by heart. 
 
 Miss MAyoRESS. [Aszde.] Saucy flirt! she might have 
 spared that to me, when she knows that I hate the paper. 
 
 Miss STITCH. But I ask your pardon, my dear, I know 
 you never read it. 
 
 Miss MAyorEss. No, madam, I have enough to do to 
 read the Daily Gazetteer. My father has six of ’em sent 
 him every week, for nothing; they are very pretty papers, 
 and I wish you would read them, miss. 
 
 Miss STITCH. Fie upon you! how can you read what’s 
 writ by an old woman? 
 
 Miss MAYORESS. An old woman, miss? 
 
 Miss STITCH. Yes, miss, by Mrs. Osborne.—Nay, it is in 
 vain to deny it to me. 
 
PASQUIN 153 
 
 Miss Mayoress. I desire, madam, we may discourse 
 no longer on this subject; for we shall never agree 
 on it. 
 
 Miss STITCH. Well, then, pray let me ask you seriously 
 —are you thoroughly satisfied with this peace? 
 
 Miss MAvorEss. Yes, madam, and I think you ought to 
 be so too. 
 
 Miss STITCH. I should like it well enough, if I were 
 sure the Queen of Spain was to be trusted. 
 
 Miss MAYoREss. [zszug.] Pray, miss, none of your in- 
 Sinuations against the Queen of Spain. 
 
 Miss STITCH. Don’t be in a passion, madam. 
 
 Miss MAYoRESS. Yes, madam, but I will be in a passion, 
 when the interest of my country is at stake. 
 
 Miss STITCH. [zszzg.] Perhaps, madam, I have a heart 
 as warm in the interest of my country as you can have; 
 though I pay money for the papers I read, and that’s 
 more than you can say. 
 
 Miss MAYORESS. Miss, miss, my papers are paid for too 
 by somebody, though I don’t pay for them; I don’t suppose 
 the Old Woman, as you call her, sends ’em about at her 
 own expense; but I’d have you to know, miss, I value my 
 money as little as you in my country’s cause; and rather 
 than have no army, I would part with every farthing of 
 these sixteen shillings to maintain it. 
 
 Miss Stitcu. And if my sweetheart was to vote for the 
 colonel, though I like this fan of all the fans I ever saw in 
 my life, I would tear it al] to pieces, because it was his 
 Valentine’s gift to me——Oh! heavens! I have torn my fan! 
 I would not have torn my fan for the world! Oh! my 
 poor dear fan!—I wish all parties were at the devil, for I 
 am sure I shall never get a fan by them, 
 
 Miss MaAyoress. Notwithstanding all you have said, 
 madam, I should be a brute not to pity you under this 
 calamity ; comfort yourself, child, I have a fan the exact 
 fellow to it; if you will bring your sweetheart over to vote 
 for the colonel, you shall have it. 
 
 Miss ST1itcH. And can I sell my country for a fan ?— 
 
 VOL. X. x 
 
154 PASQUIN 
 
 What’s my country to me? I shall never get a fan by 
 it—And will you give it me for nothing? 
 
 Miss Mayoress. I’ll make you a free present of it. 
 
 Miss StitcH. I am ashamed of your conquest, but I'll 
 take the fan. 
 
 Miss MAyoress. And now, my dear, we’ll go and drink 
 a dish of tea together. 
 
 And let all parties blame me if they can, 
 Who’re bribed by honours trifling as a fan. 
 | Exeunt Misses. 
 
 TRAPWIT. There ends act the fourth. If you want to 
 know the moral of this, the devil must be in you. Faith, 
 this incident of the fan struck me so strongly, that I was 
 once going to call this comedy by the name of the Fan, 
 But, come, now for act the fifth. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, the player who is to begin it is just 
 stepped aside on some business; he begs you would stay a 
 few minutes for him. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Come, Fustian, you and I will step into the 
 Green-room, and chat with the actresses meanwhile. 
 
 FUSTIAN. But don't you think these girls improper 
 persons to talk of parties? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, I assure you it is not out of nature: 
 And I have often heard these affairs canvassed by men, 
 who had not one whit more understanding than these girls. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III—SCENE I. 
 Enter TRAPWIT, FUSTIAN and SNEERWELL. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Fie upon’t, fie upon’t, make no excuses. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Consider, sir, I am my own enemy. 
 
 TRAPWIT. I do consider that you might have passed 
 your time, perhaps, here as well as in another place. 
 
PASQUIN 155 
 
 SNEERWELL. But I hope I have not transgressed much— 
 
 TRAPWIT. All’s over, sir; all’s over; you might as well 
 have stayed away entirely; the fifth act’s beginning, and 
 the plot’s at an end. 
 
 SNEERWELL. What’s the plot at an end before the fifth 
 act is begun? 
 
 TRAPWIT. No, no, no, no, I don’t mean at an end,—— 
 but we are so far advanced in it, that it will be impossible 
 for you to comprehend or understand any thing of it. 
 
 FUSTIAN. You have too mean an opinion of Mr. Sneerwell’s 
 capacity ; I’ll engage he shall understand as much of it as 
 I, who have heard the other four. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Sir, I can’t help your want of understanding or 
 apprehension ; ‘tis not my fault if you cannot take a_ hint, 
 sir; would you have a catastrophe in every act? Oons and 
 the devil, have not I promised you, you should know all 
 by and by but you are so impatient. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I think you have no reason to complain of my 
 want of patience; Mr. Sneerwell, be easy; ‘tis but one short 
 act before my tragedy begins; and that I hope will make 
 you amends for what you are to undergo before it. Trapwit, 
 I wish you would begin. 
 
 TRAPWIT. I wish so too. Come, Prompter! are the 
 members in their chairs? 
 
 PROMPTER. Yes, sir. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Then carry them over the stage; but hold, 
 hold, hold! where is the woman to strew the flowers? [The 
 members are carricd over the stage.| MUolloa, mob, holloa, 
 holloa! Ooons, Mr. Prompter, you must get more mob to 
 holloa, or these gentlemen will never be believed to have 
 had the majority. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, I can get no more mob, all the rest of 
 the mob are gone to St. James’s Park to see the show. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Trapwit, who are these gentlemen 
 in the chairs? | 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, sir, this is your staying away so long; if 
 you had been here the first four acts, you would have known 
 who they were. 
 
156 PASQUIN 
 
 FUSTIAN. Dear Sneerwell, ask him no more questions; if 
 you inquire into every absurdity you see, we shall have no 
 tragedy to-day. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Come, Mr. Mayor and Mrs. Mayoress. 
 
 Enter MAYOR and MRS. MAYORESS. 
 
 Mayor. So, now you have undone yourself your own 
 way; you have made me vote against my conscience and 
 interest too, and now I have lost both parties. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. How have you lost both parties ? 
 
 Mayor. Why, my lord will never remember my voting 
 for him, now he has lost the day; and Sir Harry, who 
 has won it, will never forgive my voting against him: let 
 which side will be uppermost, I shall have no place till the 
 next election. | 
 
 Mrs. Mayoress. It will be your own fault then, sir; 
 for you have it now in your power to oblige my lord more 
 than ever; go and return my lord and the colonel as duly 
 elected, and I warrant you I do your business with him 
 vet: 
 
 MAYOR. Return ’em, my dear? Why there was a 
 majority of two or three score against ’em. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. A fig for a majority of two or three score! 
 If there had been a majority of as many hundred, you’ll 
 never be called to an account for returning them; and when 
 you have returned ’em, you’ll have done all in your power: 
 How can you expect that great men should do any thing to 
 serve you, if you stick at any thing to serve them? 
 
 MAyor. My conscience boggles at this thing——but yet 
 it is impossible I should ever get any thing by the other 
 side. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Ay, let that satisfy your conscience, that 
 it is the only way to get any thing. 
 
 Mayor. ‘Truly, I think it has. 
 
 SNEERWELL. I think, Mr. Trapwit, interest would be a 
 better word there than conscience. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, interest, or conscience, they are words of 
 
PASQUIN 157 
 
 the same meaning; but I think conscience rather the politer 
 of the two, and most used at court. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Besides, it will do a service to your town, 
 for half of them must be carried to London at the candidate’s 
 expense; and I dare swear there is not one of them, what- 
 ever side he votes of, but would be glad to put the candidate 
 to as much expense as he can in an honest way. 
 
 [4ait Mayor. 
 
 Linter MISS MAYORESS, crying. 
 
 Miss MAyorEss. Oh, mamma, I have grieved myself to 
 death at the court party’s losing the day; for if the others 
 should have a majority in the house, what would become of 
 us? alas, we should not go to London! 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Dry up your tears, my dear, all will be 
 well; your father shall return my lord and the colonel: and 
 we shall have a controverted election, and we will go to 
 London, my dear. 
 
 Miss MAyorEss. Shall we go to London? then I am 
 easy; but if we had stayed here, I should have broke my 
 heart for the love of my country——Since my father returns 
 them, I hope justice will find some friends above, where 
 people have sense enough to know the right side from the 
 left ; however, happen what will, there is some consolation 
 in going to London. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. But I hope you have considered well 
 what my lord told you; that you will not scruple going into 
 keeping: perhaps you will have it in your power to serve 
 your family, and it would be a great sin not to do all you 
 can for your family. 
 
 Miss MavoreEss. I have dreamt of nothing but coaches 
 and six, and balls, and treats, and shows, and masquerades 
 ever since. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Dreamt, sir, why, I thought the time of your 
 comedy had been confined to the same day, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. No, sir, it is not; but suppose it was, might 
 she not have taken an afternoon’s nap? 
 
 SNEERWELL. Ay, or dreamt waking, as several people do. 
 
158 PASQUIN 
 
 Enter LORD PLACE and COLONEL PROMISE. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Madam, I am come to take my leave of 
 you; I am very sensible of my many obligations to you, 
 and shall remember them till the next election, when I will 
 wait on you again; nay, I don’t question but we shall carry 
 our point yet, though they have given us the trouble of 
 a petition. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Ho, no, my lord, you are not yet 
 reduced to that; I have prevailed on my husband to return 
 you and the colonel. 
 
 LORD PLACE.: To return us, madam‘? 
 
 Mrs. MaAyoress. Yes, my lord, as duly elected; and 
 when we have returned you so, it will be your own fault if 
 you don’t prove yourself so. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Madam, this news has so transported my 
 spirits, that I fear some ill effect, unless you instantly give 
 me a dram. 
 
 Mrs. MAyoress. If your lordship please to walk with 
 me into my closet, Ill equip your lordship. [ Avet, 
 
 TRAPWIT. How do you like that dram, sir? 
 
 SNEERWELL. Oh! most excellent! 
 
 FUSTIAN. I can’t say so, unless I tasted it. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Faith, sir, if it had not been for that dram, 
 my play had been at an end. 
 
 FUSTIAN. The devil take the dram with all my heart! 
 
 TRAPWIT. Now, Mr. Fustian, the plot which has hitherto 
 been only carried on by hints, and opened itself like the 
 infant spring by small and imperceptible degrees to the 
 audience, will display itself, like a ripe matron, in its full 
 summers bloom; and cannot, I think, fail with its attractive 
 charms, like a loadstone, to catch the admiration of every 
 one like a trap, and raise an applause like thunder, till it 
 makes the whole house like a hurricane. I must desire a 
 strict silence through this whole scene. Colonel, stand you 
 still on this side of the stage; and, miss, do you stand on 
 the opposite.—There, now look at each other. 
 
 [A long silence here. 
 
PASQUIN 159 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, Mr. Trapwit, is nobody ever to speak 
 again ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Oh! the devil! You have interrupted the 
 scene; after all my precautions the scene’s destroyed ; the 
 best scene of silence that ever was penned by man. Come, 
 come, you may speak now; you may speak as fast as you 
 please. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. Madam, the army is very much 
 obliged to you for the zeal you show for it: me it has made 
 your slave for ever; nor can I ever think of being happy 
 unless you consent to marry me. 
 
 Miss Mayoress. Ha! and can you be so generous to 
 forgive all my ill-usage of you? 
 
 FUSTIAN. What ill-usage, Mr. Trapwit? For if I mistake 
 not, this is the first time these lovers spoke to one another. 
 
 TRAPWIT. What ill-usage, sir? A great deal, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. When, sir? Where, sir ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Why, behind the scenes, sir. What, would you 
 have every thing brought upon the stage? I intend to bring 
 ours to the dignity of the French stage; and I have 
 Horace’s advice on my side; we have many things both 
 said and done in our comedies which might be better per- 
 formed behind the scenes: the French, you know, banish all 
 cruelty from the stage; and I don’t see why we should 
 bring on a lady in ours, practising all manner of cruelty 
 upon her lover: besides, sir, we do not only produce it, but 
 encourage it; for I could name you some comedies, if I 
 would, where a woman is brought in for four acts together, 
 behaving to a worthy man in a manner for which she almost 
 deserves to be hanged; and in the fifth, forsooth, she is 
 rewarded with him for a husband: now, sir, as I know this 
 hits some tastes, and am willing to oblige all, I have given 
 every lady a latitude of thinking mine has behaved in 
 whatever manner she would have her. | 
 
 SNEERWELL. Well said, my little Trap: but pray let 
 us have the scene. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Go on, miss, if you please. 
 
 Miss MaAyoress. I have struggled with myself to put 
 
160 PASQUIN 
 
 you to so many trials of your constancy ; nay, perhaps have 
 indulged myself a little too far in the innocent liberties of 
 abusing you, tormenting you, coquetting, lying, and jilting ; 
 which, as you are so good to forgive, I do faithfully promise 
 to make you all the amends in my power, by making you 
 a good wife. 
 
 TRAPWIT. That single promise, sir, is more than any of 
 my brother authors had ever the grace to put into the 
 mouth of any of their fine ladies yet: so that the hero of a 
 comedy is left in a much worse condition than the villain 
 of a tragedy, and I would choose rather to be hanged with 
 the one, than married with the other. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Faith, Trapwit, without a jest, thou art in 
 the right on’t. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Go on, go on, dear sir, go on. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. And can you be so generous, so great, 
 so good? Oh! load not thus my heart with obligations, lest 
 it sink beneath its burden: Oh! could I live a hundred 
 thousand years, I never could repay the bounty of that last 
 speech. Oh! my paradise! 
 
 Eternal honey drops from off your tongue! 
 And when you spoke, then Farinelli sung! 
 
 TRAPWIT. Open your arms, miss, if you please; remember 
 you are no coquet now; how pretty this looks, don’t it? 
 [Mimecking her.| Let me have one of your best embraces, I 
 desire; do it once more, pray——There, there, that’s pretty 
 well; you must practise this behind the scenes. 
 
 [Axeunt Miss Mayoress and Colonel Promise. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Are they gone to practise, now, Mr. Trapwit ? 
 
 TRAPWIT, You’re a joker, Mr. Sneerwell: you’re a joker. 
 
 Linter LORD PLACE, MAYOR, aud MRS. MAYORESS. 
 
 LORD PLACE. I return you my hearty thanks, Mr. Mayor, 
 for this return! and, in return of the favour, I will certainly 
 do you a very good turn very shortly. 
 
PASQUIN 161 
 
 FUSTIAN. I wish the audience don’t do you an ill turn, 
 Mr. Trapwit, for that last speech. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Yes, faith, I think I: would cut out a turn 
 or two. 
 
 MAPWIT. Sir, I'l sooner cut off an ear or two; sit, 
 that’s the very best thing in the whole play——Come, enter 
 the Colonel and Miss——married. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Upon my word, they have been very 
 expeditious. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, sir; the parson understands his business, 
 he has plyed several years at the Fleet. 
 
 Enter COLONEL PROMISE aud MISS MAYoRESS. [7hey kneel. 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE azd Miss MAYORESS. Sir, and madam, 
 your blessing. 
 
 MAYOR avd MRS. MAYORESS. Ha! 
 
 COLONEL PROMISE. Your daughter, sir and madam, has 
 made me the happiest of mankind. 
 
 Mrs. MAYORESS. Colonel, you know you might have had 
 my consent; why did you choose to marry without it? 
 However, I give you both my blessing. 
 
 Mayor. And so do I. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Then call my brother candidates, we will 
 spend this night in feast and merriment. 
 
 FUSTIAN. What has made these two parties so suddenly 
 friends, Mr. Trapwit? 
 
 TRAPWIT. What, why the marriage, sir; the usual 
 reconciler at the end of a comedy. I would not have 
 concluded without every person on the stage for the world. 
 
 LORD PLACE. Well, Colonel, I see you are setting out for 
 life, and so I wish you a good journey. 
 
 And you, gallants, from what you have seen to-night, 
 If you are wrong, may set your judgments right ; 
 Nor like our misses, about bribing quarrel, 
 
 When better herring is in neither barrel. 
 
 [Manent Fustian, Trapwit, azd Sneerwell. 
 TRAPWIT. Thus ends my play, sir. 
 
 VOL. x ys 
 
162 PASQUIN 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, Mr. Trapwit, how has the former part 
 conduced to this marriage? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Why, sir, do you think the colonel would ever 
 have had her, but on the prospect her father has on this 
 election ? 
 
 SNEERWELL. Ay, or to strengthen his interest with the 
 returning officer. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Ay, sir, I was just going to say so. 
 
 SNEERWELL. But where’s your epilogue? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Faith, sir, I can’t tell what I shall “‘domigneae 
 epilogue. 
 
 SNEERWELL. What! have you writ none? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Yes, faith, I have writ one, but—— 
 
 SNEERWELL. But what? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Faith, sir, I can get no one to speak it; the 
 actresses are so damned difficult to please——-When first I 
 writ it they would not speak it, because there were not 
 double entendres enough in it; upon which IJ went to Mr. 
 Watts’s, and borrowed all his plays; went home, read over 
 all the epilogues, and crammed it as full as possible; and 
 now, forsooth, it has too many in it. Oons, I think we 
 must get a pair of scales, and weigh out a sufficient quantity 
 of that same—— 
 
 FUSTIAN. Come, come, Mr. Trapwit, clear the stage, if 
 you please. 
 
 TRAPWIT. With all my heart; for I have overstayed my 
 time already; I am to read my play to-day to six different 
 companies of quality. 
 
 FUSTIAN. You'll stay and see the tragedy rehearsed, I 
 hope? 
 
 TRAPWIT. Faith, sir, it is my great misfortune that I 
 can't; I deny myself a great pleasure, but cannot possibly 
 stay—-—to hear such damned stuff as I know it must be. 
 
 [A sede. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Nay, dear Trapwit, you shall not go 
 Consider, your advice may be of some service to Mr. 
 Fustian; besides, he has stayed the rehearsal of your 
 
 ERY 
 
PASQUIN 163 
 
 FUSTIAN. Yes, I have——and kept myself awake with 
 much difficulty. [Aszde. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Nay, nay, you know I can’t refuse you—— 
 though I shall certainly fall asleep in the first act. [Aside. 
 
 SNEERWELL. If you’ll let me know who your people of 
 quality are, I'll endeavour to bring you off. 
 
 RAPWIT. No, no, hang me if I tell you, ha, ha, 
 ha! I know you too well——But pr’ythee, now, tell me, 
 Fustian, how dost thou like my play? dost think it will 
 do? 
 
 FUSTIAN. ‘Tis my opinion it will. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Give me a guinea, and I’ll give you a crown 
 a night as long as it runs, 
 
 SNEERWELL. That’s laying against yourself, Mr. Trapwit. 
 
 TRAPWIT. I love a hedge, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Before the rehearsal begins, gentlemen, I must 
 beg your opinion of my dedication; you know, a dedication 
 is generally a bill drawn for value therein contained; which 
 value is a set of nauseous fulsome compliments, which my 
 soul abhors and scorns; for I mortally hate flattery, and 
 therefore have carefully avoided it. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Yes, faith, a dedication without flattery will 
 be worth the seeing. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Well, sir, you shall see it. Read it, dear 
 Trapwit; I hate to read my own works. 
 
 TRAPWIT. [Xeads.| “My Lord, at a time when nonsense, 
 dulness, lewdness, and all manner of profaneness and im- 
 morality are daily practised on the stage, I have prevailed 
 on my modesty to offer to your lordship’s protection a piece, 
 which, if it has no merit to recommend it, has at least no 
 demerit to disgrace it; nor do I question at this, when every 
 one else is dull, you will be pleased to find one exception 
 to the number. 
 
 “T cannot indeed help assuming to myself some little 
 merit from the applause which the town has so universally 
 conferred upon me.——” 
 
 FUSTIAN. That, you know, Mr. Sneerwell, may be omitted, 
 if it should meet with any ill-natured opposition; for which 
 
164 PASQUIN 
 
 reason I shall not print off my dedication till after the play 
 is acted. 
 
 TRAPWIT. [Reads.] “I might here indulge myself with a 
 delineation of your lordship’s character: but as I abhor the 
 least imputation of flattery, and as I am certain your lord- 
 ship is the only person in this nation that does not love to 
 hear your praises, I shall be silent only this give me 
 leave to say, That you have more wit, sense, learning, 
 honour, and humanity, than all mankind put together; and 
 your person comprehends in it every thing that is beautiful ; 
 your air is every thing that is graceful, your look every 
 thing that is majestic, and your mind is a storehouse where 
 every virtue and every perfection are lodged; to pass by 
 your generosity, which is so great, so glorious, so diffusive, 
 that like the sun it eclipses and makes stars of all your 
 other virtues——I could say more 
 
 SNEERWELL. Faith, sir, that’s more than’ I -could——- 
 
 TRAPWIT. “ But shall commit a violence upon myself, and 
 conclude with assuring your lordship, that I am, my lord, 
 your lordship’s most obedient, most devoted, most obsequious, 
 and most obliged humble servant.” 
 
 FUSTIAN. There you see it, sir, concise, and not fulsome. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Very true, sir, if you had said less it would 
 not have done. 
 
 FusTIAN. No, I think less would have been downright 
 rude, considering it was a person of the first quality. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pr’ythee, Trapwit, let’s see yours. 
 
 TRAPWIT. I have none, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. How, sir, no dedication ? 
 
 TRAPWIT. No, sir, for I have dedicated so many plays, 
 and received nothing for them, that I am resolved to trust 
 no more; I’ll let no more flattery go out of my shop 
 without being paid beforehand. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, flattery is so cheap, and every man of 
 quality keeps so many flatterers about him, that egad, our 
 trade is quite spoiled; but if I am not paid for this dedica- 
 tion, the next I write will be a satirical one; if they won't 
 pry me for opening my mouth, I’ll make them pay me for 
 
PASQUIN ree 
 
 shutting it. But since you have been so kind, gentlemen, to 
 like my dedication, I’ll venture to let you see my prologue. 
 Sir, I beg the favour of you to repeat the prologue, if you 
 are perfect in it. [Zo a Player. 
 PLAYER. Sir, I’ll do it to the best of my power. 
 FUSTIAN. This prologue was writ by my friend. 
 
 PROLOGUE: 
 
 When death’s sharp scythe has mowed the hero down, 
 The Muse again awakes him to renown; 
 She tells proud Fate that all her darts are vain, 
 And bids the hero live, and strut about again: 
 Nor is she only able to restore, 
 But she can make what ne’er was made before: 
 Can search the realms of Fancy, and create 
 What never came into the brain of Fate. 
 Forth from these realms, to entertain to-night, 
 She brings imaginary kings and queens to light, 
 Bids Common Sense in person mount the stage, 
 And Harlequin to storm in tragic rage. 
 Britons, attend; and decent reverence show 
 To her, who made th’ Athenian bosoms glow ; 
 Whom the undaunted Romans could revere, 
 And who in Shakespeare’s time was worshipped here ; 
 If none of these can her success presage, 
 Your hearts at least a wonder may engage: 
 Oh! love her like her sister monsters of the age. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Faith, sir, your friend has writ a very fine 
 prologue. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Do you think so? Why then, sir, I must 
 assure you, that friend is no other than myself. But come, 
 now for the tragedy. Gentlemen, I must desire you all to 
 clear the stage, for I have several scenes which I could 
 wish it as big again for. 
 
166 PASQUIN 
 
 2 PLAYER enters, and whispers ‘TRAPWIT. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Sir, a gentlewoman desires to speak to you. 
 
 TRAPWIT. Is she in a chair? 
 
 2 PLAYER. No, sir, she is in a riding-hood, and says she 
 has brought you a clean shirt. [| katt Player 
 
 TRAPWIT. I’ll come to her——Mr. Fustian, you must 
 excuse me a moment; a lady of quality hath sent to take 
 some boxes. [Ave Trapwit. 
 
 PROMPTER. Common-sense, sir, desires to speak with you 
 in the Green-room. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I’ll wait upon her. 
 
 SNEERWELL. You ought, for it is the first message, I 
 believe, you ever received from her. [A szde. 
 
 [Exeunt Fustian and Sneerwell. 
 
 Enter a DANCER. 
 
 DANCER. Lookye, Mr. Prompter, I expect to dance first 
 goddess; I will not dance under Miss Minuet; I am 
 sure I show more to the audience than any lady upon 
 the stage. 
 
 PROMPTER. Madam, it is not my business, 
 
 DANCER. I don’t know whose business it is; but I think 
 the town ought to be the judges of a dancer’s merit; I am 
 sure they are on my side; and if I am _ not used better, 
 I’ll go to France; for now we have got all their dancers 
 away, perhaps they may be glad of some of ours. 
 
 PROMPTER. Heyday, what’s the matter? [A xotse within. 
 
 Enter PLAYER. 
 
 PLAYER. The author and Common Sense are quarrelling 
 in the Green-room. 
 
 PROMPTER. Nay, then that’s better worth seeing than 
 any thing in the play. [Aai¢ Prompter. 
 
 DANCER. Hang this play, and all plays; the dancers are 
 the only people that support the house; if it were not for 
 us, they might act their Shakespeare to empty benches. 
 
PASQUIN 167 
 
 ACT IV.—SCENE I. 
 Enter FUSTIAN and SNEERWELL. 
 
 FUSTIAN. These little things, Mr. Sneerwell, will some- 
 times happen. Indeed, a poet undergoes a great deal before 
 he comes to his third night; first with the muses, who are 
 humorous ladies, and must be attended; for if they take 
 it into their head at any time to go abroad and leave you, 
 you will pump your brain in vain: then, sir, with the master 
 of a play-house to get it acted, whom you generally follow 
 a quarter of a year before you know whether he will receive 
 it or no; and then, perhaps, he tells you it won’t do, and 
 returns it you again, reserving the subject, and perhaps 
 the name, which he brings out in his next pantomime; but 
 if he should receive the play, then you must attend again 
 to get it writ out into parts, and rehearsed. Well, sir, at 
 last, the rehearsals begin; then, sir, begins another scene of 
 trouble with the actors, some of whom don’t like their 
 parts, and all are continually plaguing you with alterations: 
 at length, after having waded through all these difficulties, 
 his play appears on the stage, where one man hisses out of 
 resentment to the author; a second out of dislike to the 
 house: a third out of dislike to the actor; a fourth out of 
 dislike to the play; a fifth for the joke sake; a sixth to 
 keep all the rest in company. Enemies abuse him, friends 
 give him up, the play is damned, and the author goes to 
 the devil: so ends the farce. 
 
 SNEERWELL. The tragedy, rather, I think, Mr. Fustian. 
 But what’s become of Trapwit? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Gone off, I suppose; I knew he would not 
 stay ; he is so taken up with his own performances that he 
 has no time to attend any others. But come, Prompter, 
 will the tragedy never begin? 
 
168 PASQUIN 
 
 Enter PROMPTER. 
 
 PROMPTER. Yes, sir, they are all ready; come, draw up 
 the curtain. 
 
 FIREBRAND, LAW, axd PHYSIC discovered. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Fustian, who are these personages? 
 FUSTIAN. That in the middle, sir, is Firebrand, priest of 
 the Sun; he on the right represents Law, and he on the 
 left Physic. 
 FIREBRAND. Avert these omens, ye auspicious stars! 
 FUSTIAN. What omens? where the devil is the thunder 
 and lightning? 
 PROMPTER. Why don’t you let go the thunder there, 
 and flash your rosin? [Thunder and Lightning. 
 FUSTIAN. Now, sir, begin, if you please. I desire, sir, 
 you will get a larger thunderbowl, and two pennyworth 
 more of lightning against the representation. Now, sir, if 
 you please. 
 FIREBRAND. Avert these omens, ye auspicious stars! 
 Oh Law! oh Physic! As last even late 
 I offered sacred incense in the temple, 
 The temple shook: strange prodigies appeared : 
 A cat in boots did dance a rigadoon, 
 While a huge dog played on the violin ; 
 And, whilst I trembling at the altar stood, 
 Voices were heard i th’ air, and seemed to say, 
 Awake, my drowsy sons, and sleep no more: 
 They must mean something! 
 Law. Certainly they must 
 We have our omens too! The other day 
 A mighty deluge swam into our hall, 
 As if it meant to wash away the law: 
 Lawyers were forced to ride on porters’ shoulders: 
 One, O prodigious omen! tumbled down, 
 And he and all his briefs were soused together. 
 
PASQUIN 169 
 
 Now, if I durst my sentiments declare, 
 I think it is not hard to guess the meaning. 
 FIREBRAND. Speak boldly; by the powers I serve, I 
 swear 
 You speak in safety, even though you speak 
 Against the gods, provided that you speak 
 Not against priests. 
 LAW. What then can the powers 
 Mean by these omens, but to rouse us up 
 From the lethargic sway of Common-sense? 
 And well they urge, for while that drowsy queen 
 Maintains her empire, what becomes of us? 
 Puysic. My Lord of Law, you speak my sentiments ; 
 For though I wear the mask of loyalty, 
 And outward show a reverence to the queen, 
 Yet in my heart I hate her: yes, by Heaven! 
 She stops my proud ambition, keeps me down 
 When I would soar upon an eagle’s wing, 
 And thence look down and dose the world below. 
 LAW. Thou know’st, my Lord of Physic, I had long 
 Been privileged by custom immemorial, 
 In tongues unknown, or rather none at all, 
 My edicts to deliver through the land; 
 When this proud queen, this Common-sense, abridged 
 My power, and made me understood by all. 
 PHysic. My Lord, there goes a rumour through the 
 court, 
 That you descended from a family 
 Related to the queen; Reason is said 
 T’ have been the mighty founder of your house. 
 LAW. Perhaps so; but we have raised ourselves so high 
 And shook this founder from us off so far, 
 We hardly deign to own from whence we came. 
 FIREBRAND. My Lords of Law and Physic, I have 
 heard, 
 With perfect approbation, all you’ve said; 
 And since I know you men of noble spirit, 
 And fit to undertake a glorious cause, 
 mt 
 
 NN 
 
170 PASQUIN 
 
 I will divulge myself: know, through this mask, 
 Which to impose on vulgar minds I wear, 
 I am an enemy to Common-sense ; 
 But this not for ambition’s earthly cause, 
 But to enlarge the worship of the Sun: 
 To give his priests a just degree of power, 
 And more than half the profits of the land. 
 Oh! my good Lord of Law, wouldst thou assist, 
 In spite of Common-sense it may be done. 
 LAW. Propose the method. 
 FIREBRAND. Here, survey this list. 
 In it you’ll find a certain set of names, 
 Whom well I know sure friends to Common-sense ; 
 These it must be our care to represent 
 The greatest enemies to the gods and her. 
 But hush, the queen approaches. 
 
 Enter QUEEN COMMON-SENSE, attended by two Maids of 
 Honour. 
 
 FUSTIAN. What! but two maids of honour? 
 PROMPTER. Sir, a Jew carried off the other, but I shall 
 be able to pick up some more against the play is acted. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. My Lord of Law, I sent for 
 you this morning; 
 I have a strange petition given to me;. 
 Two men, it seems, have lately been at law 
 For an estate, which both of them have lost, 
 And their attorneys now divide between them. 
 Law. Madam, these things will happen in the law. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Will they, my lord? then better 
 we had none: , 
 But I have also heard a sweet bird sing, 
 That men unable to discharge their debts 
 At a short warning, being sued for them, 
 Have, with both power and will their debts to pay, 
 Lain all their lives in prison for their costs. 
 
PASQUIN 171 
 
 LAw. That may perhaps be some poor person’s case, 
 Too mean to entertain your royal ear. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. My lord, while I am queen I 
 shall not think 
 One man too mean, or poor to be redressed ; 
 Moreover, lord, 1 am informed your laws 
 Are grown so large, and daily yet increase, 
 That the great age of old Methusalem 
 Would scarce suffice to read your statutes out. 
 FIREBRAND. Madam, a more important cause demands 
 Your royal care; strange omens have appeared, 
 Sights have been seen, and voices have been heard, 
 The gods are angry, and must be appeased ; 
 Nor do I know to that a readier way 
 Than by beginning to appease their priests, 
 Who groan for power, and cry out after honour. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. The gods, indeed, have reason 
 for their anger, 
 And sacrifices shall be offered to them; 
 But would you make ’em welcome; Priest, be meek, 
 Be charitable, kind, nor dare affront 
 The Sun you worship, while yourselves prevent 
 That happiness to men you ask of him. 
 
 Enter an OFFICER. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. What means this hasty message 
 in your looks? 
 OFFICER. Forgive me, madam, if my tongue declares 
 News for your sake, which most my heart abhors ; 
 Queen Ignorance is landed in your realm, 
 With a vast power from Italy and France 
 Of singers, fiddlers, tumblers, and rope-dancers, 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Order our army instantly to 
 get 
 Themselves in readiness ; ourself will head ’em. 
 My lords, you are concerned as well as we, 
 
172 PASQUIN 
 
 T’ oppose this foreign force, and we expect 
 You join us with your utmost levies straight. 
 Go, Priest, and drive all frightful omens hence ; 
 To fright the vulgar they are your pretence, 
 But sure the gods will side with Common-sense. 
 [Exit cum suts. 
 FIREBRAND, They know their interest better; or at 
 least 
 Their priests do for ’em, and themselves. O! lords, 
 This Queen of Ignorance, whom you have heard 
 Just now described in such a horrid form, 
 Is the most gentle, and most pious queen ; 
 So fearful of the gods, that she believes 
 Whate’er their priests affirm. And by the Sun, 
 Faith. is no, faith, fit: fall shortaoipthar 
 I’d be infallible; and that, I know, 
 Will ne’er be granted me by Common-sense: 
 Wherefore I do disclaim her, and will join 
 The cause of Ignorance. And now, my lords, 
 Each to his post—-—The rostrum I ascend; 
 My Lord of Law, you to your courts repair ; 
 And you, my good Lord Physic, to the queen ; 
 Handle her pulse, potion and pill her well. 
 _ Puysic. Oh! my good lord, had I her royal ear, 
 Would she but take the counsel I would give, 
 You’d need no foreign power to overthrow her: 
 Yes, by the gods! I would with one small pill 
 Unhinge her soul, and tear it from her body; 
 But, to my art and me a deadly foe, 
 She has averred, ay, in the public court, 
 That Water Gruel is the best physician: 
 For which, when she’s forgiven by the college, 
 Or when we own the sway of Common-sense, 
 May we be forced to take our own prescriptions. 
 FIREBRAND, My Lord of Physic, I applaud thy spirit 
 Yes, by the Sun, my heart laughs loud within me, 
 To see how easily the world’s deceived ; 
 To see this Common-sense thus antl down 
 
PASQUIN 173 
 
 By men, whom all the cheated nations own 
 To be the strongest pillars of her throne. 
 [Exeunt Firebrand, Law, and Physic. 
 
 FUSTIAN. ‘Thus ends the first act, sir. 
 
 SNEERWELL. This tragedy of yours, Mr. Fustian, I observe 
 to be emblematical; do you think it will be understood by 
 the audience? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, I cannot answer for the audience; though 
 I think the panegyric intended by it is very plain, and very 
 seasonable, 
 
 SNEERWELL. What panegyric? 
 
 FUSTIAN. On our clergy, sir, at least the best of them, 
 to show the difference between a heathen and a Christian 
 priest. And as I have touched only on generals, I hope I 
 shall not be thought to bring any thing improper on the 
 stage, which I would carefully avoid. 
 
 SNEERWELL. But is not your satire on law and physic 
 somewhat too general ? 
 
 FUSTIAN. What is said here cannot hurt either an honest 
 lawyer, or a good physician; and such may be, nay, I know 
 such are: if the opposites to these are the most general, I 
 cannot help that; as for the professors themselves, I have 
 no great reason to be their friend, for they once joined in 
 a particular conspiracy against me. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Ay, how so? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Why, an apothecary brought me in a long bill, 
 and a lawyer made me pay it. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Ha, ha, ha! a conspiracy, indeed. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Now, sir, for my second act; my tragedy 
 consists but of three. 
 
 SNEERWELL. I thought that had been immethodical in 
 tragedy. 
 
 FUSTIAN. That may be; but I spun it out as long as I 
 could keep Common-sense alive; ay, or even her ghost 
 Come, begin the second act. 
 
174 PASQUIN 
 
 The Scene draws, and discovers QUEEN COMMON-SENSE 
 asleep. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, sir, who’s that upon the couch there? 
 
 FUSTIAN. I thought you had known her better, sir; that’s 
 Common-sense asleep. 
 
 SNEERWELL. I should rather have expected her at the 
 head of her army. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Very likely, but you do not understand the 
 practical rules of writing as well as I do; the first and 
 greatest of which is protraction, or the art of spinning, with- 
 out which the matter of a play would lose the chief 
 property of all other matter, namely, extension; and no 
 play, sir, could possibly last longer than half an hour. I 
 perceive, Mr. Sneerwell, you are one of those who would 
 have no character brought on, but what is necessary to the 
 business of the play—Nor I neither——But the business 
 of the play, as I take it, is to divert, and therefore every 
 character that diverts is necessary to the business of the 
 play. 
 
 SNEERWELL. But how will the audience be brought. to 
 conceive any probable reason for this sleep? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Why, sir, she has been meditating on the 
 present general peace of Europe, till by too intense an 
 application, being not able thoroughly to comprehend it, 
 she was overpowered, and fell fast asleep. Come, ring up 
 the first ghost. [Ghost a@rzses.] You know that ghost ? 
 
 SNEERWELL. Upon my word, sir, I can’t recollect any 
 acquaintance with him. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I am surprised at that, for you must have 
 seen him often: that’s the ghost of Tragedy, sir; he has 
 walked all the stages of London several years; but why 
 are not you flowered? What the devil is become of the 
 barber ? 
 
 GHOST. Sir, he’s gone to Drury Lane play-house to 
 shave the Sultan in the new entertainment. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Come, Mr. Ghost, pray begin. 
 
PASQUIN 175 
 
 GHOST. From the dark regions of the realms below, 
 The ghost of Tragedy has ridden post ; 
 To tell thee, Common-sense, a thousand things, 
 Which do import thee nearly to attend: [Cock crows. 
 But ha! the cursed cock has warned me hence ; 
 I did set out too late, and therefore must 
 Leave all my business to some other time. [Ghost descends. 
 SNEERWELL. I presume this is a character necessary to 
 divert; for I can see no great business he has fulfilled. 
 FUSTIAN. Where’s the second ghost? 
 SNEERWELL. I thought the cock had crowed. 
 FUSTIAN. Yes, but the second ghost need not be sup- 
 posed to have heard it. Pray, Mr. Prompter, observe, the 
 moment the first ghost descends, the second is to rise: they 
 
 are like the twin stars in that. | Second Ghost rises. 
 2 GHOST. Awake, great Common-sense, and sleep no 
 more. 
 
 Look to thyself; for then, when I was slain, 
 Thyself was struck at: think not to survive 
 My murder long; for while thou art on earth, 
 The convocation will not meet again. 
 
 The lawyers cannot rob men of their rights: 
 Physicians cannot dose away their souls: 
 
 A courtier’s promise will not be believed ; 
 
 Nor broken citizens again be trusted. 
 
 A thousand newspapers cannot subsist 
 
 In which there is not any news at all. 
 Play-houses cannot flourish, while they dare 
 
 To nonsense give an entertainment’s name, 
 Shakespeare, and Johnson, Dryden, Lee, and Row, 
 Thou wilt not bear to yield to Sadler’s Wells ; 
 Thou wilt not suffer men of wit to starve, 
 And fools, for only being fools, to thrive ; 
 
 Thou wilt not suffer eunuchs to be hired, 
 
 At a vast price, to be impertinent. [Zhzrd Ghost rises. 
 3 GHOST. Dear Ghost, the cock has crowed; you cannot 
 get 
 
 Under the ground a mile before ’tis day. 
 
176 PASQUIN 
 
 2 GHOST. Your humble servant then, I cannot stay. 
 [Ghost descends. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Thunder and lightning! thunder and lightning! 
 Pray don’t forget this when it is acted. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Fustian, why must a ghost always 
 rise in a storm of thunder and lightning? for I have read 
 much of that doctrine, and don’t find any mention of such 
 ornaments. 
 
 FUSTIAN. That may be, but they are very necessary: 
 they are indeed properly the paraphernalia of a ghost. 
 
 SNEERWELL. But, pray, whose ghost was that? 
 
 FuSTIAN. Whose should it be, but Comedy’s! I thought 
 when you had been told the other was Tragedy, you would 
 have wanted no intimation who this was. Come, Common- 
 sense, you are to awake and rub your eyes. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. [Waking.] Who’s there ?— 
 
 Enter MAID OF HONOUR. 
 
 Did you not hear or see some wondrous thing? 
 Map. No, may it please your majesty, I did not. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. I was a-dreamed I overheard a 
 chost. 
 MAID. In the next room I closely did attend, 
 And had a ghost been here I must have heard him. 
 
 Enter FIREBRAND. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Priest of the Sun, you come 
 most opportune, 
 
 For here has been a dreadful apparition: 
 As I lay sleeping on my couch, methought 
 I saw a ghost. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Then I suppose she sleeps with her eyes 
 open ? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Why, you would not have Common-sense see 
 a ghost, unless in her sleep, I hope. 
 
 FIREBRAND. And if such toleration 
 
PASQUIN 177 
 
 Be suffered, as at present you maintain, 
 Shortly your court will be a court of ghosts. 
 Make a huge fire and burn all unbelievers, 
 Ghosts will be hanged ere venture near a fire. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Men cannot force belief upon 
 themselves. 
 And shall I then by torture force it on them? 
 FIREBRAND. The Sun will have it so. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. How do I know that? 
 FIREBRAND. Why I, his priest infallible, have told you. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. How do I know you are 
 infallible ? 
 FIREBRAND. Ha! do you doubt it? nay, if you doubt 
 that, 
 I will prove nothing but my zeal inspires me, 
 And I will tell you, madam, you yourself 
 Are a most deadly enemy to the Sun, 
 And all his priests have greatest cause to wish 
 You had been never born, 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Ha! sayst thou, Priest ? 
 Then know, I honour and adore the Sun! 
 And when I see his light, and feel his warmth, 
 I glow with flaming gratitude toward him; 
 But know, I never will adore a priest, 
 Who wears pride’s face beneath religion’s mask, 
 And makes a pick-lock of his piety 
 To steal away the liberty of mankind. 
 But while I live, Ill never give thee power. 
 FIREBRAND. Madam, our power is not derived from you, 
 Nor any one: ’twas sent us in a box 
 From the great Sun himself, and carriage paid: 
 Phaeton brought it when he overturned 
 The chariot of the Sun into the sea. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE, Show me the instrument, and 
 let me read it. 
 FIREBRAND. Madam, you cannot read it, for being thrown 
 Into the sea, the water has so damaged it, 
 That none but priests could ever read it since. 
 VOL. X. A A 
 
178 PASQUIN 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. And do you think I can believe 
 this tale? 
 FIREBRAND. I order you to believe it, and you must. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Proud and imperious man, I 
 can’t believe it, 
 Religion, law and physic, were designed 
 By Heaven the greatest blessings on mankind ; 
 But priests and lawyers and physicians made 
 These general goods to each a private trade ; 
 With each they rob, with each they fill their purses, 
 And turn our benefits into our curses. { Eved, 
 FUSTIAN. Law and Physic. Where’s Law? 
 
 Enter PHYSIC, 
 
 Puysic, Sir, Law, going without the play-house passage 
 was taken up by a lord chief-justice’s warrant.’ 
 
 FIREBRAND. Then we must go on without him, 
 
 FUSTIAN. No, no, stay a moment; I must get somebody 
 else to rehearse the part. Pox take all warrants for me! 
 if I had known this before, I would have satirized the law 
 ten times more than I have. 
 
 ACT’ V.SCENE 7 
 
 Enter FUSTIAN, SNEERWELL, PROMPTER, FIREBRAND, LAW, 
 and PHYSIC, 
 
 FUSTIAN. I am glad you have made your escape; but I 
 hope you will make the matter up before the day of action: 
 come, Mr. Firebrand, now if you please go on; the moment 
 Common-sense goes off the stage, Law and Physic enter. 
 
 FIREBRAND. Oh! my good Lords of Physic and of Law, 
 Had you been sooner here you would have heard 
 
PASQUIN 179 
 
 The haughty Queen of Common-sense throw out 
 Abuses on us all. 
 LAW. I am not now 
 To learn the hatred which she bears to me. 
 No more of that for now the warlike Queen 
 Of Ignorance, attended with a train 
 Of foreigners, all foes to Common-sense, 
 Arrives at Covent-Garden; and we ought 
 To join her instantly with all our force. 
 At Temple-Bar some regiments parade, 
 The colonels, Clifford, Thaves, and Furnival, 
 Through Holborn lead their powers to Drury-Lane, 
 Attorneys all completely armed in brass ; 
 These, bailiffs and their followers will join; 
 With justices, and constables, and watchmen. 
 Puysic. In Warwick-Lane my powers expect me now, 
 A hundred chariots with a chief in each, 
 Well-famed for slaughter, in his hand he bears 
 A feathered dart, that seldom errs in flight. 
 Next march a band of choice apothecaries, 
 Each armed with deadly pill; a regiment 
 Of surgeons terrible maintain the rear, 
 All ready first to kill, and then dissect. 
 FIREBRAND. My Lords, you merit greatly of the queen, 
 And Ignorance shall well repay your deeds ; 
 For I foretell, that by her influence, 
 Men shall be brought (what scarce can be believed), 
 To bribe you with large fees to their undoing. 
 Success attend your glorious enterprise ; 
 I’ll go and beg it earnest of the Sun: 
 I, by my office, am from fight debarred, 
 But I’ll be with you ere the booty’s shared. 
 [Lxeunt Firebrand, Law, and Physic. 
 FUSTIAN. Now, Mr. Sneerwell, we shall begin my third 
 and last act; and I believe I may defy all the poets who 
 have ever writ, or ever will write, to produce its equal: it 
 is, sir, so crammed with drums and trumpets, thunder and 
 lightning, battles and ghosts, that I believe the audience will 
 
180 PASQUIN 
 
 want no entertainment after it: it is as full of show as 
 Merlin’s cave itself, and for wit——no rope-dancing or 
 tumbling can come near it. Come, begin. 
 
 [A ridiculous march is played. 
 
 Enter QUEEN IGNORANCE, attended with SINGERS, FIDDLERS, 
 ROPE-DANCERS, TUMBLERS, &e. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Here fix our standard; what is this 
 place called? 
 1 ATTENDANT. Great madam, Covent-Garden is its name. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE, Ha! then methinks we have ven- 
 tured too far, 
 Too near those theatres where Common-sense 
 Maintains her garrisons of mighty force; 
 Who, should they sally on us ere we’re joined 
 By Law and Physic, may offend us much. 
 [Drum beats within. 
 But ha! what means this drum? 
 I ATTENDANT. It beats a parley, not a point of war. 
 
 Enter HARLEQUIN. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. To you, great Queen of Ignorance, I come 
 Ambassador from the two theatres, 
 Who both congratulate you on your arrival; 
 And to convince you with what hearty meaning 
 They sue for your alliance, they have sent 
 Their choicest treasure here as hostages, 
 To be detained till you are well convinced 
 They ’re not less foes to Common-sense than you. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE, Where are the hostages? 
 HARLEQUIN. Madam, I have brought 
 A catalogue, and all therein shall be 
 Delivered to your order; but consider, 
 Oh mighty Queen! they offer you their all ; 
 And gladly, for the least of these would give 
 Their poets and their actors in exchange, 
 
PASQUIN 181 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE, Read the catalogue. 
 HARLEQUIN. [eads.]| A tall man, and a tall woman, 
 hired at a vast price. 
 
 A strong man exceeding dear. 
 
 Two dogs that walk on their hind legs only, and personate 
 human creatures so well, they might be mistaken 
 for them. 
 
 A human creature that personates a dog so well, that he 
 might almost be taken for one, 
 
 Two human cats. 
 
 A most curious set of puppies. 
 
 A pair of pigeons. 
 
 A set of rope-dancers and tumblers from Sadler’s-wells. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Enough, enough; and is it possible 
 
 That they can hold alliance with my friends 
 
 Of Sadler’s-wells? then are they foes indeed 
 
 To Common-sense, and I’m indebted to ’em. 
 
 Take back their hostages, for they may need ’em; 
 
 And take this play, and bid ’em forthwith act it; 
 
 There is not in it either head or tail. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Madam, they will most gratefully receive it. 
 
 The character you give would recommend it, 
 
 Though it had come from a less powerful hand. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. The Modish Couple is its name; 
 myself 
 
 Stood gossip to it, and I will support 
 
 This play against the town. 
 
 1 ATTENDANT. Madam, the Queen 
 
 Of Common-sense advances with her powers. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Draw up my men, I’ll meet her as 
 I ought ; 
 This day shall end the long dispute between us. 
 
 Enter QUEEN COMMON-SENSE with a DRUMMER, 
 
 FUSTIAN, Heyday! where’s Common-sense’s army ? 
 PROMPTER. Sir, I have sent all over the town, and could 
 
182 PASQUIN 
 
 not get one soldier for her, except that poor drummer who 
 was lately turned out of an Irish regiment. 
 
 DRUMMER. Upon my shoul but I have been a drummer 
 these twenty years, master, and have seen no wars yet; 
 and I was willing to learn a little of my trade before 
 I died. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Hush, sirrah, don’t you be witty ; that is not 
 in your part. 
 
 DRUMMER. I don’t know what is in my part, sir; but I 
 desire to have something in it; for I have been tired of 
 doing nothing a great while. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Silence. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. What is the reason, madam, 
 that you bring these hostile arms into my peaceful realm ? 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. To ease your subjects from that dire 
 
 oppression. 
 They groan beneath, which longer to support 
 Unable, they invited my redress, 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. And can my subjects then com- 
 plain of wrong? 
 Base and ungrateful! what is their complaint ? 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. They say you do impose a tax of 
 thought 
 Upon their minds, which they’re too weak to bear. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Wouldst thou from thinking 
 
 then absolve mankind ? 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. I would, for thinking only makes 
 
 men wretched ; 
 And happiness is still the lot of fools. 
 Why should a wise man wish to think, when thought 
 Still hurts his pride? in spite of all his art, 
 Malicious fortune, by a lucky train 
 Of accidents, shall still defeat his schemes, 
 And set the greatest blunderer above him. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Urgest thou that against me, 
 which thyself 
 Has been the wicked cause of? Which thy power, 
 Thy artifice, thy favourites have done? 
 
PASQUIN 183 
 
 Could Common-sense bear universal sway, 
 No fool could ever possibly be great. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE, What is this folly, which you try 
 to paint 
 In colours so detestable and black? 
 Is’t not the general gift of fate to men? 
 And though some few may boast superior sense, 
 Are they not called odd fellows by the rest? 
 In any science, if this sense peep forth, 
 Show men the truth, and strive to turn their steps 
 From ways wherein their gross forefathers erred, 
 Is not the general cry against them straight ? 
 
 SNEERWELL. This Ignorance, Mr. Fustian, seems to know 
 a great deal. | 
 
 FUSTIAN. Yes, sir, she knows what she has seen so often ; 
 but you find she mistakes the cause, and Common-sense can 
 never beat it into her. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Sense is the parent still of fear; the 
 
 fox, 
 Wise beast, who knows the treachery of men, 
 Flies their society, and skulks in woods, 
 While the poor goose in happiness and ease, 
 Fearless grows fat within its narrow coop, 
 And thinks the hand that feeds it is its friend. 
 Then yield thee, Common-sense, nor rashly dare 
 Try a vain combat with superior force. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Know, queen, I never will give 
 up the cause 
 Of all these followers: when at the head 
 Of all these heroes I resign my right, 
 May my curst name be blotted from the earth. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Methinks, Common-sense, though, ought to 
 give it up, when she has no more to defend it. 
 
 FUSTIAN. It does indeed look a little odd at present; but 
 I’ll get her an army strong enough against it’s acted. Come, 
 go on. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Then thus I hurl defiance at thy 
 head. Draw all your swords. 
 
184 PASQUIN 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. And, gentlemen, draw yours. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Fall on, have at thy heart! [4 jfighi. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. And have at thine. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Oh, fie upon ’t, fie upon’t, I never saw a worse 
 battle in all my life upon any stage. Pray, gentlemen, come 
 some of you over to the other side. 
 
 SNEERWELL. These are Swiss soldiers, I perceive, Mr. 
 Fustian; they care not which side they fight of. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Now, begin again, if you please, and fight 
 away; pray fight as if you were in earnest, gentlemen. 
 [They fight.| Oons, Mr. Prompter, I fancy you hired these 
 soldiers out of the trained-bands, they are afraid to fight 
 even in jest. [Zhey fight again.| There, there, pretty well. 
 I think, Mr. Sneerwell, we have made a shift to make out 
 a good sort of a battle at last. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Indeed I cannot say I ever saw a better. 
 
 FUSTIAN. You don’t seem, Mr. Sneerwell, to relish this 
 battle greatly. 
 
 SNEERWELL. I cannot profess myself the greatest admirer 
 of this part of tragedy; and I own my imagination can 
 better conceive the idea of a battle from a skilful relation 
 of it, than from such a representation; for my mind is not 
 able to enlarge the stage into a vast plain, nor multiply half 
 a score into several thousands. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Oh! your humble servant! but if we write to 
 please you, and half a dozen others, who will pay the 
 charges of the house? Sir, if the audience” qwilliine 
 contented with a battle or two, instead of all the raree-fine 
 shows exhibited to them in what they call entertainments—— 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Fustian, how came they to give 
 the name of entertainments to their pantomimical farces? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Faith, sir, out of their peculiar modesty: 
 intimating that after the audience have been tired with the 
 dull works of Shakespeare, Jonson, Vanbrugh, and others, 
 they are to be entertained with one of these pantomimes, of 
 which the master of the play-house, two or three painters, 
 and half a score dancing-masters are the compilers: what 
 these entertainments are, I need not inform you who have 
 
PASQUIN 185 
 
 seen ’em; but I have often wondered how it was possible 
 for any creature of human understanding, after having been 
 diverted for three hours with the productions of a great 
 genius, to sit for three more, and see a set of people 
 running about the stage after one another, without speaking 
 one syllable; and playing several juggling tricks, which are 
 done at Fawks’s after a much better manner; and for this, 
 sir, the town does not only pay additional prices, but loses 
 several fine parts of their best authors, which are cut out 
 to make room for the said farces. 
 
 SNEERWELL. ’Tis very true, and I have heard a hundred 
 say the same thing, who never failed being present at them. 
 
 FusTIAN. And while that happens, they will force any 
 entertainment upon the town they please, in spite of its 
 teeth. [Ghost of Common-sense rvises.| Oons, and the devil, 
 madam: what’s the meaning of this? You have left out a 
 scene ; was ever such an absurdity, as for your ghost to 
 appear before you are killed ! 
 
 most. I ask pardon; sir, in the hurry of the battle I 
 forgot to come and kill myself. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Well, let me wipe the flour off your face then ; 
 ana) now if jyou please rehearse the scene; take care 
 you don’t make this mistake any more though; for it 
 would inevitably damn the play, if you should. Go to 
 the corner of the scene, and come in as if you had lost 
 the battle. | 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Behold the ghost of Common- 
 sense appears. 
 
 FUSTIAN. ’Sdeath, madam, I tell you, you are no ghost, 
 you are not killed. 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Deserted and forlorn, where shall 
 I fly? The battle’s lost, and so are all my friends. 
 
 Enter a POET. 
 
 PoET. Madam, not so, still have you one friend left. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Why, what art thou? 
 PoET. Madam, I am a poet. 
 
 VCE hs B B 
 
186 PASQUIN 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Whoever thou art, if thou’rt a 
 friend to misery, 
 Know Common-sense disclaims thee. 
 PoET. I have been damned 
 Because I was your foe, and yet I still 
 Courted your friendship with my utmost art. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Fool, thou wert damned because 
 thou didst’ pretend 
 Thyself my friend: for hadst thou boldly dared 
 Like Hurlothrumbo, to deny me quite; 
 Or like an opera or pantomime, 
 Professed the cause of Ignorance in public, 
 Thou mightst have met with thy desired success ; 
 But men ‘can’t ‘bear even <a (pretence to me: 
 PoET. Then take a ticket for my benefit night. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE, I will do more, for Common- 
 sense will stay 
 Quite from your house, so may you not be damned. 
 PoET. Ha! Sayst thou? By my soul a better play 
 Ne’er came upon a stage; but since you dare 
 Contemn me thus, I’ll dedicate my play 
 To Ignorance, and call her Common-sense: 
 Yes, I will dress her in your pomp, and swear 
 That Ignorance knows more than all the world. [| Aare 
 
 Enter FIREBRAND. 
 
 FIREBRAND. Thanks to the Sun~ for this@idecmen 
 encounter. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE., Oh! Priest, all’s lost; our forces 
 are o’erthrown. 
 Some gasping lie, but most are run away. 
 FIREBRAND. I knew it all before, and told you too 
 The Sun has long been out of humour with you. 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Dost thou then lay upon the 
 Sun the faults 
 Of all those cowards, who forsook my cause? 
 FIREBRAND. Those cowards all were most religious men. 
 And I beseech thee, Sun, to shine upon them. 
 
PASQUIN 187 
 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE, Oh impudence, and darst thou 
 to my face? 
 FIREBRAND., Yes, I dare more——the Sun presents you 
 this, [Stabs her. 
 Which I his faithful messenger deliver, 
 QUEEN COMMON-SENSE. Oh! Traitor, thou hast murdered 
 Common-sense. 
 Farewell, vain world! to Ignorance I give thee. 
 Her leaden sceptre shall henceforward rule. 
 Now, Priest, indulge thy wild ambitious thoughts, 
 Men shall embrace thy schemes, till thou hast drawn 
 All worship from the Sun upon thyself: 
 is Henceforth all things shall topsy-turvy turn ; 
 Physic shall kill, and Law enslave the ponte 
 Cits shall turn beaus, and taste Italian songs, 
 While courtiers are stock-jobbing in the city. 
 Places, requiring learning and great parts, 
 Henceforth shall all be hustled in a hat, 
 And drawn by men deficient in them both. 
 Statesmen——but oh! cold death will let me say 
 No more and you must guess et cetera. [ Dees. 
 FIREBRAND. She’s gone, but ha! it may beseem me ill 
 T’ appear her murderer; Ill therefore lay 
 This dagger by her side, and that will be 
 Sufficient evidence, with a little money, 
 To make the coroner's inquest find self-murder. 
 I’ll preach her funeral sermon, and deplore 
 Her loss with tears, praise her with all my art; 
 Good Ignorance will still believe it all. [ Exct. 
 
 Enter QUEEN IGNORANCE, Gc. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. Beat a retreat, the day is now 
 our own, 
 
 The powers of Common-sense are all destroyed; 
 
 Those that remain are fled away with her. 
 
 I wish, Mr. Fustian, this speech be common sense. 
 SNEERWELL. How the devil should it, when she’s dead? 
 FUSTIAN. One would think so, when a cavil is made 
 
188 | PASQUIN 
 
 against the best thing in the whole play; and I would 
 willingly part with any thing else but those two lines. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Behold! where weltering in her blood she 
 
 lies—— 
 I wish, sir, you would cut out that line, or alter it if 
 you please. 
 
 FUSTIAN. That’s another line that I won’t part with; I 
 would consent to cut out any thing but the chief beauties of 
 my play. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Behold the bloody dagger by her side, 
 With which she did the deed. 
 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. ’Twas nobly done! 
 
 I envy her her exit, and will pay 
 All honours to her dust.——bBear hence her body, 
 And let her lie in state in Goodman’s Fields. 
 
 Enter MESSENGER. 
 
 MESSENGER. Madam, I come an envoy from Crane Court. 
 The great society that there assemble 
 Congratulate your victory, and request 
 That firm alliance henceforth may subsist 
 Between your Majesty’s society 
 Of Grub Street and themselves: They rather beg 
 That they may be united both in one. 
 They also hope your Majesty’s acceptance 
 Of certain curiosities, which in 
 That hamper are contained; wherein you’ll find 
 A horse’s tail, which has a hundred hairs 
 More than are usual in it; and a tooth 
 Of elephant, full half an inch too long; 
 With turnpike ticket like an ancient coin. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. We gratefully accept their bounteous 
 gifts ; 
 And order they be kept with proper care, 
 Till we do build a place most fit to hold 
 These precious toys: Tell your society 
 We ever did esteem them of great worth, 
 And our firm friends: and tell ’em ’tis our pleasure 
 
PASQUIN 189 
 
 They do prepare to dance a\jig before us. [Haz¢t Messenger. 
 My Lords of Law and Physic, you shall find 
 
 I will not be ungrateful for your service: 
 
 To you, good Harlequin, and your allies, 
 
 And you, Squeekaronelly, I will be 
 
 A most propitious queen——But ha! [Music under the stage. 
 What hideous music, or what yell is this? 
 
 Sure ‘tis the ghost of some poor opera tune. 
 
 SNEERWELL. The ghost of a tune, Mr. Fustian? 
 
 FUSTIAN. Ay, sir, did you never hear one before? I 
 had once a mind to have brought the apparition of music 
 in person upon the stage, in the shape of an English opera. 
 Come, Mr. Ghost of the tune, if you please to appear in 
 the sound of soft music, and let the ghost of Common- 
 sense rise to it. [Gost of Common-sense rzses to soft music. 
 
 GHOST. Behold! the ghost of Common-sense appears, 
 Caitiffs avaunt, or I will sweep you off, 
 
 And clean the land from such infernal vermin. 
 QUEEN IGNORANCE. A ghost! a ghost! a ghost! haste, 
 scamper off, 
 My friends; we’ve killed the body, and I know 
 The ghost will have no mercy upon us. 
 
 OMNES. A ghost! a ghost! a ghost! [Run off. 
 
 GHOST. The coast is clear, and to her native realms 
 Pale Ignorance with all her host is fled ; 
 
 Whence she will never dare invade us more. 
 
 Here, though a ghost, I will my power maintain, 
 
 And all the friends of Ignorance shall find 
 
 My ghost, at least, they cannot banish hence. 
 
 And all henceforth, who murder Common-sense, 
 
 Learn from these scenes that though success you boast, 
 You shall at last be haunted with her ghost. 
 
 SNEERWELL. I am glad you make Common-sense get 
 the better at last; I was under terrible apprehensions for 
 your moral. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Faith, sir, this is almost the only play where 
 she has got the better lately. But now for my epilogue ; 
 if you please to begin, madam. 
 
a= 
 
 EPIEOGUE 
 
 GHOST. The play once done, the Epilogue, by rule, 
 Should come and turn it all to ridicule; 
 Should tell the ladies that the tragic bards, 
 Who prate of virtue and her vast rewards, 
 Are all in jest, and only fools should heed ’em ; 
 For all wise women flock to Mother Needham. 
 This is the method Epilogues pursue, 
 
 _ But we to-night in every thing are new. 
 
 Our Author then in jest throughout the play, 
 Now begs a serious word or two to say. 
 
 Banish all childish entertainments hence ; 
 
 Let all that boast your favour have pretence, 
 If not to sparkling wit, at least to sense. 
 
 With soft Italian notes indulge your ear, 
 
 But let those singers, who are bought so dear, 
 Learn to be civil for their cheer at least ; 
 
 Nor use like beggars those who give the feast. 
 And though while Music for herself may carve, 
 Poor Poetry, her sister-art, must starve ; 
 
 Starve her, at least, with show of approbation, 
 Nor slight her, while you search the whole creation, 
 For all the tumbling-scum of every nation. 
 
 Can the whole world in science match our soil? 
 Have they a LOCKE, a NEWTON, or a BOYLE? 
 Or dare the greatest genius of their stage, 
 
 With SHAKESPEARE, or immortal BEN engage? 
 
 Content with nature’s bounty, do not crave 
 The little which to other lands she gave ; 
 
 - Nor like the cock a barley-corn prefer 
 
 To all the jewels which you owe to her. 
 
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 1 ShD HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 key FOR THE YEAR 1736. 
 aS ACTED AT THE 
 NEW THEATRE IN THE HAYMARKET. 
 
 FIRST ACTED IN MAY, 1737. 
 
fee ha lOr GHEE DEDICATION: 
 
 AS no man hath a more stern and inflexible hatred to 
 flattery than myself, it hath been usual with me to send 
 most of my performances into the world without the ornament 
 of those epistolary prefaces commonly called Dedications; a 
 custom, however, highly censured by my _ bookseller, who 
 affirms it a most unchristian practice: a patron is, says he, 
 a kind of godfather to a book, and a good author ought 
 as carefully to provide a patron to his works as a good 
 parent should a godfather to his children: he carries this 
 very far, and draws several resemblances between those two 
 offices (for having, in the course of his trade with dramatic 
 writers, purchased, at a moderate computation, the fee-simple 
 of one hundred thousand similes, he is perhaps the most 
 expert in their application, and most capable of showing 
 likenesses, in things utterly unlike, of any man _ living), 
 What, says he, does more service to a book, or raises 
 curiosity in the reader, equal with——-Dedicated to his Grace 
 the Duke of——, or the Right Honourable the Earl of——, in 
 an advertisement? I think the patron here may properly be 
 said Zo give a name to the book—and if he gives a present 
 also, what doth he less than a godfather? which present, if 
 the author applies to his own use, what doth he other than 
 the parent? He proceeds to show how a bookseller is a kind 
 of dry-nurse to our works, with other instances which I 
 shall omit, having already said enough to prove the exact 
 analogy between children and books, and of the method of 
 providing for each; which, I think, affords a_ sufficient 
 precedent for throwing the following piece on the public, 
 it having been usual for several very prudent parents to 
 act by their children in the same manner. 
 
 lis. x. CG 
 
MeCN TION TO: THE PRUBLIC 
 
 I HOPE you will pardon the presumption of this Dedication, 
 since I really did not know in what manner to apply for 
 your leave; and since I expect no present in return; (the 
 reason, I conceive, which first introduced the ceremony of 
 asking leave among Dedicators:) for surely it is somewhat 
 absurd to ask a man leave to flatter him; and he must be 
 a very impudent or simple fellow, or both, who will give it. 
 Asking leave to dedicate, therefore, is asking whether you 
 will pay for your Dedication, and in that sense I believe 
 it understood by both authors and patrons. 
 
 But farther, the very candid reception which you have 
 given these pieces, pleads my excuse. The least civility to 
 an author or his works hath been held, time immemorial, a 
 just title to a Dedication, which is perhaps no.more than 
 an honest return of flattery, and in this light 1 am certain 
 no one ever had so great (I may call it) an obligation as 
 myself, seeing that you have honoured this my performance 
 with your presence every night of its exhibition, where you 
 have never failed showing the greatest delight and appro- 
 bation; nor am I less obliged to you for those eulogiums 
 which you have been heard in all places to——but hold, I 
 am afraid this is an ingenious way which authors have 
 discovered to convey inward flattery to themselves, while 
 outwardly they address it to their patron: wherefore I shall 
 be silent on this head, having more reasons to give why I 
 chose you to patronise these pieces: and 
 
 First, The design with which they are writ; for though all 
 dramatic entertainments are properly calculated for the public, 
 
 a 
 
196 DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC 
 
 yet these, I may affirm, more particularly belong to you: as 
 your diversion is not merely intended by them, their design 
 being to convey some hints, which may, if you please, be of 
 infinite service in the present state of that theatrical world 
 whereof they treat, and which is, I think, at present so far 
 from flourishing as one could wish, that I have with concern 
 observed some steps lately taken, and others too justly ap- 
 prehended, that may much endanger the constitution of the 
 British theatre: for though Mr. be a very worthy man 
 and my very good friend, I cannot help thinking his manner 
 of proceeding somewhat too arbitrary, and his method of 
 buying actors at exorbitant prices to be of very ill conse- 
 quence: for the town must reimburse him these expenses, 
 on which account those advanced prices so much complained 
 of must be always continued; which, though the’ people in 
 their present flourishing state of trade and riches may very 
 well pay, yet in worse times (if such can be supposed) I am 
 afraid they may fall too heavy, the consequence of which I 
 need not mention. Moreover, should any great genius produce 
 a piece of most exquisite contrivance, and which would be 
 highly relished by the public, though perhaps not agreeable 
 to his own taste or private interest; if he should buy off 
 the chief actors, such play, however excellent, must be un- 
 avoidably sunk, and the public lose all the benefit thereof. 
 Not to trouble the reader with more inconveniences arising 
 from this Avgumentum Argentarium, many of which are 
 obvious enough——lI shall only observe, that corruption has 
 the same influence on all societies, all bodies, which it hath 
 on corporeal bodies, where we see it always produce an 
 entire destruction and total change; for which reason, who- 
 ever attempteth to introduce corruption into any community 
 doth much the same thing, and ought to be treated in 
 much the same manner with him who poisoneth a fountain, 
 in order to disperse a contagion, which he is sure every one 
 will drink of. 
 
 The last excuse I shall make for this presumption is the 
 necessity I have of so potent a patron to defend me from 
 the iniquitous surmises of a certain anonymous dialogous 
 
DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC 197 
 
 author, who, in the Gazetteer of the 17th instant, has 
 represented the Historical Register as aiming, in conjunction 
 with the Miller of Mansfield, the overthrow of the m—— 
 If this suggestion had been inserted in the Craftsman or 
 Common-sense, or any of those papers which nobody reads, 
 it might have passed unanswered; but as it appears in a 
 paper of so general a reception as the Gazetteer, which lies 
 in the window of almost every post-house in England, it 
 behoves me, I think, in the most serious manner, to vindicate 
 myself from aspersions of so evil a tendency to my future 
 prospects. And here I must observe, that had not mankind 
 been either very blind or very dishonest, I need not have 
 publicly informed them that the Register is a ministerial 
 pamphlet, calculated to infuse into the minds of the people 
 a great opinion of their ministry, and thereby procure an 
 employment for the Author, who has been often promised 
 one, whenever he would write on that side. And first, 
 
 Can any thing be plainer than the first stanza of 
 the ode? 
 
 This is a day,! in days of yore, 
 Our fathers never saw before ; 
 
 This is a day ’tis one to ten, 
 Our sons will never see again. 
 
 Plainly intimating that such times as these never were seen 
 before, nor will ever be seen again; for which the present 
 age are certainly obliged to their ministry. 
 
 What can be meant by the scene of politicians, but to 
 ridicule the absurd and inadequate notions persons among 
 us, who have not the honour to know ’em, have of the 
 ministry and their measures, nay, I have put some sentiments 
 into the mouths of these characters which I was a little 
 apprehensive were too low even for a conversation at an 
 ale-house I hope the Gazetteer will not find any resem- 
 blance here, as I hope he will not make such a compliment 
 to any m——, as to suppose that such persons have been 
 ever capable of the assurance of aiming at being at the head 
 
 1 For day in the first and third line, you may read man if you please. 
 
198 DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC 
 
 of a great people, or to any nation, as to suspect ’em 
 contentedly living under such an administration. 
 
 The eagerness which these gentlemen express at applying 
 all manner of evil characters to their patrons brings to my 
 mind a story I have somewhere read: As two gentlemen 
 were walking the street together, the one said to the other 
 upon spying the figure of an ass hung out—Bob, Bob, look 
 yonder, some impudent rascal has hung out your picture on 
 a sign-post: the grave companion, who had the misfortune 
 to be extremely short-sighted, fell into a violent rage, and 
 calling for the master of the house, threatened to prosecute 
 him for exposing his features in that public manner: the 
 poor landlord, as you may well conceive, was extremely 
 astonished, and denied the fact; upon which the witty 
 spark, who had just mentioned the resemblance, appeals to 
 the mob now assembled together, who soon smoked the jest, 
 and agreed with him that the sign was the exact picture of 
 the gentleman: at last a good-natured man, taking compassion 
 of the poor figure, whom he saw the jest of the multitude, 
 whispered in his ear; Sir, 1 see your eyes are bad, and that 
 your friend is a rascal, and imposes on you; the sign hung 
 out is the sign of an ass, nor will your picture be here 
 unless you draw it yourself. 
 
 But I ask pardon for troubling the reader with an 
 impertinent story, which can be applied only in the 
 above-mentioned instance to my present subject. 
 
 I proceed in my defence to the scene of the patriots; a 
 scene which I thought would have made my fortune, seeing 
 that the favourite scheme of turning patriotism into a jest 
 is so industriously pursued, and I will challenge all the 
 ministerial advocates to show me, in the whole bundle of 
 their writings, one passage where false patriotism (for I 
 suppose they have not the impudence to mean any other) 
 is set in a more contemptible and odious light than in the 
 aforesaid scene. I hope too it will be remarked, that the 
 politicians are represented as a set of blundering blockheads 
 rather deserving pity than abhorrence, whereas the others 
 are represented as a set of cunning, self-interested fellows, 
 
PePICAntIGN JO LHE PUBLIC 199 
 
 who for a little paltry bribe would give up the liberties and 
 properties of their country. Here is the danger, here is the 
 rock on which our constitution must, if ever it does, split. 
 The liberties of a people have been subdued by the conquest 
 of valour and force, and have been betrayed by the subtle 
 and dexterous arts of refined policy, but these are rare in- 
 stances ; for geniuses of this kind are not the growth of every 
 age, whereas, if a general corruption be once introduced, 
 and those who should be the guardians and bulwarks of our 
 liberty, once find, or think they find, an interest in giving 
 it up, no great capacity will be required to destroy it: on 
 the contrary, the meanest, lowest, dirtiest fellow, if such a 
 one should ever have the assurance in future ages to mimic 
 power, and brow-beat his betters, will be as able, as Machiavel 
 himself could have been, to root out the liberties of the 
 bravest people. 
 
 But I am aware I shall be asked, Who is this Quidam, 
 that turns the patriots into ridicule, and bribes them out 
 of their honesty? Who but the devil could act such a part? 
 Is not this the light wherein he is every where described 
 in Scripture, and the writings of our best divines! Gold hath 
 been always his favourite bait wherewith he fisheth for 
 sinners; and his laughing at the poor wretches he seduceth 
 is as diabolical an attribute as any. Indeed it is so plain 
 who is meant by this Quidam, that he who maketh any 
 wrong application thereof, might as well mistake the name 
 of Thomas for John, or old Nick for old Bob. 
 
 I think I have said enough to assure every impartial 
 person of my innocence, against all malicious insinuations ; 
 and farther to convince them that I am a ministerial writer, 
 (an honour I am highly ambitious of attaining) I shall pro- 
 ceed now to obviate an opinion entertained by too many, 
 that a certain person is sometimes the author, often the 
 corrector of the press, and always the patron, of the 
 Gazetteer. To show the folly of this supposition, I shall 
 only insist, that all persons, though they should not afford 
 him any extraordinary genius, nor any (the least) taste in 
 polite literature, will grant me this datum, that the said 
 
200 DE DIGALION A ONL LAU BIL 
 
 certain person is a man of an ordinary capacity and a 
 moderate share of common-sense: which if allowed, I think 
 it will follow that it is impossible he should either write or 
 countenance a paper written, not only without thé least 
 glimmering of genius, the least pretension to taste, but in 
 direct opposition to all common-sense whatever. 
 
 If any one should ask me, How then is it carried on? I 
 shall only answer with my politicians, I cannot tell, unless 
 by the assistance of the old gentleman, just before mentioned, 
 who would, I think, alone protect or patronise, as I think, 
 indeed, he is the only person who could invent some of the 
 schemes avowed in that paper; which, if it does not imme- 
 diately disappear, I do intend shortly to attempt conjuring 
 it down, intending to publish a paper in defence of the 
 m y against the wicked, malicious, and sly insinuations 
 conveyed in the said paper. 
 
 You will excuse a digression so necessary to take off 
 surmises which may prove so prejudicial to my fortune; 
 which, however, if I should not be able to accomplish, I 
 hope you will make me some amends for what I suffer by 
 endeavouring your entertainment. The very great indulgence 
 you have shown my performances at the little theatre, these 
 two last years, has encouraged me to the proposal of a 
 subscription for carrying on that theatre, for beautifying and 
 enlarging it, and procuring a better company of actors. If 
 you think proper to subscribe to these proposals, I assure 
 you no labour shall be spared on my side, to entertain 
 you in a cheaper and better manner than seems to be the 
 intention of any other. If nature hath given me any talents 
 at ridiculing vice and imposture, I shall not be indolent, 
 nor afraid of exerting them, while the liberty of the press 
 and stage subsists, that is to say, while we have any liberty 
 left among us. I am, to the public, 
 
 A most sincere Friend, 
 
 And devoted Servant. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON. 
 
 MEDLEY . 
 SOURWIT. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. 
 
 GROUND-IVY 
 
 HEN, the Auctioneer 
 
 MEN. 
 
 APOLLO’S BASTARD SON . 
 
 PISTOL 
 QUIDAM . 
 
 POLITICIANS 
 
 PATRIOTS 
 
 BANTER . 
 DANGLE . 
 
 MRS. SCREEN , 
 MRS. BARTER. 
 
 LADIES 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Prompter, Actors, &c. 
 
 Mr. Roberts. 
 Mr. Lacey, 
 
 Mr. Ward, 
 Mr. Jones. 
 Mrs. Charke. 
 Mr. Blakes. 
 Mr, Davis. 
 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Jones. 
 
 Mr. Topping. 
 Mr. Woodburn. 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Machen. 
 Mr. Topping. 
 Mr. Machen. 
 Mr. Pullen. 
 Mr. Woodburn. 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Lowther. 
 
 Mrs. Haywood. 
 Miss Kawer. 
 Mrs. Charke. 
 Mrs. Haywood. 
 Mrs. Lacey. 
 Miss Jones. 
 
(igwu 
 
 Mis TORICAL REGISTER 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1736. 
 
 PCL J) 
 SCENE I—TZzhe Play-house. 
 Enter several PLAYERS. 
 
 I PLAYER. Mr. Emphasis, good-morrow; you are early 
 at the rehearsal this morning. 
 
 EMPHASIS. Why, faith, Jack, our beer and beef sat but 
 ill on my stomach, so I got up to try if I could not walk 
 it off. 
 
 I PLAYER. I wish I had any thing in my stomach to 
 walk off; if matters do not get better with us shortly, my 
 teeth will forget their office. 
 
 2 PLAYER. These are poor times, indeed, not like the 
 days of Pasquin. 
 
 I PLAYER. Oh! name ’em not! those were glorious days 
 indeed, the days of beef and punch; my friends, when come 
 there such again? 
 
 2 PLAYER. Who knows what this new author may 
 produce? Faith, I like my part very well. 
 
204 THE HISTORICALAREGISTER 
 
 I PLAYER. Nay, if variety will please the town, I am sure 
 there is enough of it; but I could wish, methinks, the 
 satire had been a little stronger, a little plainer. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Now I think it is plain enough. 
 
 1 PLAYER. Hum! Ay, it is intelligible; but I would 
 have it downright; ’gad, I fancy I could write a thing to 
 succeed myself. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Ay; pry’thee, what subject wouldst thou 
 write on? 
 
 I PLAYER. Why no subject at all, sir; but I would have 
 a humming deal of satire, and I would repeat in every page, 
 that courtiers are cheats and don’t pay their debts, that 
 lawyers are rogues, physicians blockheads, soldiers cowards, 
 and ministers—— 
 
 2 PLAYER. What, what. ssiry 
 
 I PLAYER. Nay, I’ll only name ’em, that’s enough to set 
 the audience a hooting. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Zounds, sir, here is wit enough for a whole 
 play in one speech. 
 
 I PLAYER. For one play! why, sir, it’s all I have 
 extracted out of above a dozen. 
 
 2 PLAYER. Who have we here? 
 
 I PLAYER. Some gentlemen, I suppose, come to hear the 
 rehearsal. 
 
 Enter SOURWIT and LORD DAPPER. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Pray, gentlemen, don’t you rehearse the 
 Historical Register this morning? 
 
 I PLAYER. Sir, we expect the author every minute. 
 
 SOURWIT. What is this Historical Register? is it a 
 tragedy, or a comedy? 
 
 I PLAYER. Upon my word, sir, I can’t tell. 
 
 SOURWIT. Then I suppose you have no part in it? 
 
 I PLAYER. Yes, sir, I have several; but——O, here is 
 the author himself, I suppose he can tell, sir. 
 
 SOURWIT. Faith, sir, that’s more than I suppose. 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 205 
 
 Enter MEDLEY. 
 
 MEDLEY. My lord, your most obedient servant; this is 
 a very great and unexpected favour indeed, my lord. Mr. 
 Sourwit, I kiss your hands; I am very glad to see you 
 here. 
 
 SouRWIT. That’s more than you may be by and by, 
 perhaps. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. We are come to attend your rehearsal, 
 sir; pray, when will it begin? 
 
 MEDLEY. This very instant, my lord: gentlemen, I beg 
 you would be all ready, and let the Prompter bring me some 
 copies for these gentlemen. 
 
 SouRWwIT. Mr. Medley, you know I am a plain speaker, 
 so you will excuse any liberties I take. 
 
 MEDLEY. Dear sir, you can’t oblige me more. 
 
 SOURWIT.. Then, I must tell you, sir, I am a little 
 staggered at the name of your piece; doubtless, sir, you 
 know the rules of writing, and I can’t guess how you can 
 bring the actions of a whole year into the circumference of 
 four and twenty hours. 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, I have several answers to make to your 
 objection; in the first place, my piece is not of a nature 
 confined to any rules, as being avowedly irregular, but if it 
 was otherwise, I think I could quote you precedents of plays 
 that neglect them; besides, sir, if I comprise the whole 
 actions of the year in half an hour, will you blame me, or 
 those who have done so little in that time? My Register 
 is not to be filled like those of vulgar news-writers, with 
 trash for want of news; and, therefore, if I say little 
 or nothing, you may thank those who have done little 
 or nothing. 
 
 Enter PROMPTER wth books. 
 
 Oh, here are my _ books, 
 
 SOURWIT. In print, already, Mr. Medley? 
 
 MEDLEY. Yes, sir, it is the safest way, for if a man stays 
 till he is damned, it is possible he never may get into print 
 
206 THE AISFORICAL REGISTER 
 
 at all; the town is capricious, for which reason always print 
 as fast as you write, that if they damn your play, they may 
 not damn your copy too. 
 
 SouRWIT. Well, sir, and pray what is your design, your 
 plot ? 
 
 MEDLEY. Why, sir, I have several plots, some pretty 
 deep, and some but shallow. 
 
 SouRWIT. I hope, sir, they all conduce to the main 
 design. 
 
 MEDLEY. Yes, sir, they do. 
 
 SOURWIT. Pray, sir, what is that? 
 
 MEDLEY. To divert the town and bring full houses. 
 
 SOURWIT. Pshaw! you misunderstand me, I mean what 
 is your moral, your, your, your—— 
 
 MEDLEY. Oh! sir, I comprehend you——Why, sir, my 
 design is to ridicule the vicious and foolish customs of the 
 age, and that in a fair manner, without fear, favour, or ill- 
 nature, and without scurrility, ill-manners, or common-place; 
 I hope to expose the reigning follies in such a manner, that 
 men shall laugh themselves out of them before they feel 
 that they are touched. 
 
 SOURWIT. But what thread or connection can you have 
 in this history ? For instance, how is your political connected 
 with your theatrical ? 
 
 MEDLEY. O very easily——-When my politics come to a 
 farce, they very naturally lead me to the play-house, where, 
 let me tell you, there are some politicians too, where there 
 is lying, flattering, dissembling, promising, deceiving, and 
 undermining, as well as in any court in Christendom. 
 
 Enter a PLAYER. 
 
 PLAYER. Won't you begin your rehearsal, sir? 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, ay, with all my heart; is the music ready 
 for the prologue? 
 
 SOURWIT. Music for the prologue! 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, sir, I intend to have every thing new. I 
 had rather be the author of my own dulness, than the 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 207 
 
 publisher of other men’s wit; and really, Mr. Sourwit, the 
 subjects for prologues are utterly exhausted: I think the 
 general method has been either to frighten the audience 
 with the author’s reputation, or to flatter them to give their 
 applause, or to beseech them to it, and that in a manner 
 that will serve for every play alike: now, sir, my prologue 
 will serve for no play but my own, and to that I think 
 nothing can be better adapted; for as mine is the history 
 of the year, what can be a properer prologue than an Ode 
 to the New Year? 
 
 Sourwit. An Ode to the New Year? 
 
 MEDLEY. Yes, sir, an Ode to the New Year———Come, 
 begin, begin. 
 
 Enter PROMPTER. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, the prologue is ready. 
 
 SOURWIT. Dear Medley, let me hear you read it; possibly 
 it may be sung so fine, I may not understand a word of it. 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, you can’t oblige me more. 
 
 eee LIGa IN TGV OY CLAIR, 
 
 This is a day, in days of yore, 
 Our fathers never saw before: 
 This is a day, ’tis one to ten, 
 Our sons will never see again. 
 
 Then sing the day, 
 
 And sing the song, 
 
 And thus be merry 
 
 All day long. 
 
 This is the day, 
 
 And that’s the night, 
 
 When the sun shall be gay, 
 And the moon shall be bright. 
 The sun shall rise, 
 
 All in the skies ; 
 
208 THE TUSTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 The moon shall go, 
 
 All down below. 
 Then sing the day, 
 And sing the song, 
 And thus be merry 
 All day long. 
 
 Ay, ay, come on, and sing it away. 
 
 Enter Singers, who sing the Ode. 
 
 MEDLEY. There, sir; there’s the very quintessence and 
 cream of all the odes I have seen for several years last 
 past. 
 
 SOURWIT. Ay, sir, I thought you would not be the 
 publisher of another man’s wit? 
 
 MEDLEY. No more I an’, sir; for the devil of any wit 
 did I ever see in any of them. 
 
 SOURWIT. Oh! your most humble servant, sir. 
 
 MEDLEY. Yours, sir, yours; now for my play. Prompter, 
 are the politicians all ready at the table? 
 
 PROMPTER. I’ll go and see, sir. [ Exct. 
 
 MEDLEY. My first scene, Mr. Sourwit, lies in the island 
 of Corsica, being at present the chief scene of politics of 
 all Europe. 
 
 Enter PROMPTER, 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, they are ready. 
 MEDLEY. ‘Then draw the scene, and discover them. 
 
 Scene draws and discovers five POLITICIANS sitting at a table. 
 
 SOURWIT. Here’s a mistake in the print, Mr. Medley. I 
 observe the second politician is the first person who speaks. 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, my first and greatest politician never speaks 
 at all, he is a very deep man, by which you will observe, I 
 convey this moral, that the chief art of a politician is to 
 keep a secret, 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 209 
 
 SouRWIT. To keep his politics a secret I suppose you 
 mean, 
 
 MEDLEY. Come, sir, begin. 
 
 2 POLITICIAN. Is King Theodore returned yet ? 
 
 3 POLITICIAN. No, 
 
 2 POLITICIAN. When will he return? 
 
 3: POLITICIAN. I cannot tell. 
 
 SOURWIT. This politician seems to me to know very little 
 of the matter. 
 
 MEDLEY. Zounds, sir, would you have him a prophet as 
 well as a politician? You see, sir, he knows what’s past, 
 and that’s all he ought to know; ’sblood, sir, would it be 
 in the character of a politician to make him a conjurer? 
 Go on, gentlemen: pray, sir, don’t interrupt their debates, 
 for they are of great consequence. 
 
 2 POLITICIAN, These mighty preparations of the Turks 
 are certainly designed against some place or other; now, 
 the question is what place they are designed against? And 
 that is a question which I cannot answer. 
 
 3 POLITICIAN. But it behoves us to be upon our guard. 
 
 4 POLITICIAN. It does, and the reason is, because we 
 know nothing of the matter. 
 
 BerOUITICIAN, ‘You say right, it is easy for a man to 
 guard against dangers which he knows of; but to guard 
 against dangers which nobody knows of requires a very 
 great politician. 
 
 MEDLEY. Now, sir, I suppose you think that nobody 
 knows any thing. 
 
 SOURWIT. Faith, sir, it appears so. 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, sir, but there is one who knows, that little 
 gentleman, yonder in the chair, who says nothing, knows it all. 
 
 SOURWIT. But how do you intend to convey this know- 
 ledge to the audience? 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, they can read it in his looks; ’sblood, sir, 
 must not a politician be thought a wise man without his 
 giving instances of his wisdom? 
 
 5 POLITICIAN, Hang foreign affairs, let us apply ourselves 
 to money. 
 
 VOL. X, EE 
 
210 THE AISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 OMNES. Ay, ay, ay. 
 
 MEDLEY. Gentlemen, that over again—and be sure to 
 snatch hastily at the money; you’re pretty . politicians 
 truly. 
 
 5 POLITICIAN. Hang foreign affairs, let us apply ourselves 
 to money. 
 
 OMNES. Ay, ay, ay. 
 
 2 POLITICIAN. All we have to consider relating to money 
 is how we shall get it. 
 
 3 POLITICIAN. I think we ought first to consider whether 
 there is any to be got, which, if there be, I do readily agree 
 that the next question is how to come at it. 
 
 OMNES. Hum. 
 
 SOURWIT. Pray, sir, what are these gentlemen in Corsica? 
 
 MEDLEY. Why, sir, they are the ablest heads in the 
 kingdom, and consequently the greatest men; for you may 
 be sure all well-regulated governments, as I represent this 
 of Corsica to be, will employ in their greatest posts men 
 of the greatest capacity. : 
 
 2 POLITICIAN. I have considered the matter, and I find 
 it must be by a tax. | to 
 
 3 POLITICIAN. I thought of that, and was considering 
 what was not taxed already. 
 
 2 POLITICIAN. Learning ; suppose we put a tax upon 
 learning. 
 
 3 POLITICIAN. Learning, it is true, is a useless commodity, 
 but I think we had better lay it on ignorance; for learning 
 being the property but of a very few, and those poor ones 
 too, I am afraid we can get little among them; whereas 
 ignorance will take in most of the great fortunes in the 
 kingdom, 
 
 OMNES. Ay, ay, ay. [Exeunt Politicians. 
 _SOURWIT. Faith, it’s very generous in these gentlemen 
 to tax themselves so readily. 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, and very wise too, to prevent the people’s 
 grumbling, and they will have it all among themselves, 
 
 SOURWIT. But what is become of the politicians? 
 
 MEDLEY. They are gone, sir, they’re gone; they have 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 . 211 
 
 finished the business they met about, which was to agree 
 on a tax; that being done—they are gone to raise it; and 
 this, sir, is the full account of the whole history of Europe, 
 as far as we know of it, comprised in one scene. 
 
 SouRwWIT. The devil it is! Why, you have not mentioned 
 one word of France, or Spain, or the Emperor. 
 
 prep LEY. No,; sir, I turn*those over to the next year, 
 by which time we may possibly know something what they 
 are about; at present our advices are so very uncertain, I 
 know not what to depend on; but come, sir, now you shall 
 have a council of ladies. 
 
 SOURWIT. Does this scene lie in Corsica too? 
 
 MEDLEY. No, no, this lies in London——You know, sir, 
 it would not have been quite so proper to have brought 
 English politicians (of the male kind I mean) on the stage, 
 because our politics are not quite so famous: but in female 
 politicians, to the honour of my country-women I say it, I 
 believe no country can excel us; come, draw the scene and 
 discover the ladies. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, they are not here; one of them is prac- 
 tising above stairs with a dancing-master, and I can’t get 
 her down. 
 
 MEDLEY. I'll fetch ’em, I warrant you. © [ae 
 
 SouRWIT. Well, my lord, what does your lordship think 
 of what you have seen? 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Faith, sir, I] did not observe it; but it’s 
 damned stuff, I am sure. 
 
 SOURWIT. I think so, and I hope your lordship will not 
 encourage it. They are such men as your lordship, who 
 must reform the age ; if persons of your exquisite and refined 
 taste will give a sanction to politer entertainments, the town 
 will soon be ashamed at what they do now. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Really this is a very bad house. 
 
 SOURWIT. It is not indeed so large as the others, but 
 I think one hears better in it. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Pox of hearing, one can’t see one’s 
 self I mean; here are no looking-glasses. I love Lincoln’s 
 Inn Fields for that reason better than any house in town. 
 
212 THE AISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 SOURWIT. Very true, my lord; but I wish your lordship 
 would think it worth your consideration, as the morals of 
 a people depend, as has been so often and well proved, 
 entirely on their public diversions, it would be of great con- 
 sequence that those of the sublimest kind should meet with 
 your lordship’s and the rest of the nobility’s countenance. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Mr. Sourwit, I am always ready to give 
 my countenance to any thing of that kind, which might 
 bring the best company together; for as one does not go 
 to see the play but the company, I think that’s chiefly to be 
 considered: and therefore I am always ready to countenance 
 good plays. 
 
 SOURWIT. No one isa better judge what is so than your 
 lordship. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Not I, indeed, Mr. Sourwit——but as I 
 am one half of the play in the Green-room talking to the 
 actresses, and the other half in the boxes talking to the 
 women of quality, I have an opportunity of seeing some- 
 thing of the play, and perhaps may be as good a judge as 
 another. 
 
 Enter MEDLEY. 
 
 MEDLEY. My lord, the ladies cannot begin yet, if your 
 lordship will honour me in the Green-room, there you will 
 find it pleasanter than upon this cold stage. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. With all my heart——Come, Mr. Sourwit. 
 
 SOURWIT. I attend your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 PROMPTER. Thou art a sweet judge of plays, indeed! 
 and yet it is in the power of such sparks as these to damn 
 an honest fellow, both in his profit and reputation! [ Exzz, 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 213 
 
 ACT II.—SCENE I. 
 Enter MEDLEY, LORD DAPPER, SOURWIT, avd PROMPTER. 
 
 MEDLEY. Come, draw the scene, and discover the ladies 
 in council; pray, my lord, sit. 
 
 The scene draws and discovers four Ladies. 
 
 SOURWIT. What are these ladies assembled about? 
 MEDLEY. Affairs of great importance, as you will see—— 
 
 Please to begin, all of you. [Zhe Ladies all speak together. 
 ' ALL LADIES. Was you at the opera, madam, last night ? 
 
 2 LaDy. Who can miss an opera while Farinello stays? 
 
 3 LabDy. Sure he’s the charmingest: creature. 
 
 4 LADY. He’s every thing in the world one could wish. 
 
 1 LaDy. Almost every thing one could wish. 
 
 2 LADY. They say there’s a lady in the city has a child 
 by him. 
 
 AAC LADIES. Ha,-ha, ha! 
 
 1 LADY. Well, it must be charming to have a child by 
 him. 
 
 3 LApy. Madam, I met a lady in a visit the other day 
 with three. 
 
 ALL LADIES. All Farinello’s? 
 
 3 Lapy. All Farinello’s, all in wax. 
 
 1 LaDy. O Gemini! Who makes them? I’Il send and 
 bespeak half a dozen to-morrow morning. 
 
 2 Lapy. I’ll have as many as I can cram into a coach 
 with me. 
 
 SourwIT. Mr. Medley, sir, is this history? this must be 
 invention. 
 
 MEDLEY. Upon my word, sir, it’s fact, and I take it 
 to be the most extraordinary accident that has happened 
 in the whole year, and as well worth recording. Faith, 
 sir, let me tell you, I take it to be ominous, for if we go on 
 to improve in luxury, effeminacy and debauchery, as we 
 
214 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 have done lately, the next age, for aught I know, may be 
 more like the children of squeaking Italians than hardy 
 Britons. 
 
 ALL LaApDIESs. Don’t interrupt us, dear sir. 
 
 I LADY. What mighty pretty company they must be. 
 
 2 LADY. Oh, the prettiest company in the world. 
 
 3 Lapy. If one could but teach them to sing like their 
 father. 
 
 4 LaDy. I am afraid my husband won’t let me keep 
 them, for he hates I should be fond of any thing but 
 himself, 
 
 ALL LADIES. O the unreasonable creature ! 
 
 1 Lapy. If my husband was to make any objection to 
 my having ’em, I’d run away from him, and take the dear 
 babies with me. 
 
 MEDLEY. Come, enter beau Dangle, 
 
 Enter DANGLE, 
 
 DANGLE. Fie upon it, Ladies, what are you doing here? 
 Why are not you at the auction? Mr. Hen has been in the 
 pulpit this half hour. 
 
 1 Lapy. Oh, dear Mr. Hen, I ask his pardon, I never 
 miss him. 
 
 2 LADY. What’s to be sold to-day ? 
 
 I LADY, Oh, I never mind that; there will be “allmtne 
 world there. 
 
 DANGLE. You'll find it almost impossible to get in. 
 
 ALL LADIES. Oh! I shall be quite miserable if I don’t 
 get in. 
 
 DANGLE. Then you must not lose a moment. 
 
 ALL LADIES, O! not a moment for the world. 
 
 [Exeunt Ladies, 
 
 MEDLEY. There, they are gone. 
 
 SOURWIT. I am glad on’'t with all my heart. 
 
 LorD DAPPER. Upon my word, Mr. Medley, that last is 
 an exceeding good scene, and full of a great deal of 
 politeness, good sense, and philosophy, 
 
FPORPLHE, YEAR 1736 215 
 
 MEDLEY. It’s nature, my lord, it’s nature. 
 
 SouRWIT. Faith, sir, the ladies are much obliged to you. 
 
 MEDLEY. Faith, sir, it’s more than I desire such ladies, 
 as I represent here, should be; as for the nobler part of the 
 sex, for whom I have the greatest honour, their characters 
 can be no better set off, than by ridiculing that light, trifling, 
 giddy-headed crew, who are a scandal to their own sex, and 
 a curse on ours. 
 
 PROMPTER. Gentlemen, you must make room, for the 
 curtain must be let down, to prepare the auction-room. 
 
 MEDLEY. My lord, I believe you will be best before the 
 curtain, for we have but little room behind, and a great 
 deal to do. 
 
 SOURWIT. Upon my word, Mr. Medley, I must ask you 
 the same question which one of your ladies did just now; 
 what do you intend to sell at this auction, the whole stock 
 -in trade of some milliner or mercer who has left off 
 business ? 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, I intend to sell such things as were never 
 sold in any auction before, nor ever will again: I can 
 assure you, Mr. Sourwit, this scene, which I look on as 
 the best in the whole performance, will require a very deep 
 attention; sir, if you should take one pinch of snuff 
 during the whole scene, you- will lose a joke by it, 
 and yet they lie pretty deep too, and may escape obser- 
 vation from a moderate understanding, unless very closely 
 attended to. 
 
 SouRWIT. I hope, however, they don’t lie as deep as the 
 dumb gentleman’s politics did in the first act; if so, nothing 
 but an inspired understanding can come at ’em. 
 
 MEDLEY, Sir, this scene is writ in allegory; and though 
 I have endeavoured to make it as plain as_ possible, 
 yet all allegory will require a strict attention to be 
 understood, sir. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, every thing is ready. 
 
 MEDLEY. Then draw up the curtain—— Come, enter Mrs, 
 Screen and Mrs, Barter. 
 
216 THE HISTORICALAEREGISTER 
 
 THEA UGE Ng 
 
 SCENE—Ax Auction Room, a Pulpit and Forms placed, 
 and several people walking about, some seated near the 
 
 Fulpit. 
 
 Enter MRS. SCREEN and MRS. BARTER. 
 
 MkS, SCREEN. Dear Mrs. Barter! 
 
 Mrs. BARTER. Dear madam, you are early to-day? 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. Oh, if one does not get near the pulpit, 
 one does nothing, and I intend to buy a great deal to-day. 
 I believe I shall buy the whole auction, at least if things 
 go cheap ; you won't bid against me? 
 
 Mrs. BARTER. You know I never bid for any thing. 
 
 Enter BANTER and DANGLE. 
 
 BANTER. That’s true, Mrs. Barter, I’ll be your evidence. 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. Are you come? now I suppose we shall 
 have fine bidding; I don’t expect to buy cheaper than at 
 a shop. 
 
 BANTER. That’s unkind, Mrs. Screen, you know I never 
 bid against you: it would be cruel to bid against a lady 
 who frequents auctions only with a design one day or 
 other to make one great auction of her own. No, no, I 
 will not prevent the filling your warehouse; I assure you, 
 I bid against no haberdashers of all wares. 
 
 MRS. BARTER. You are a mighty civil person, truly. 
 
 BANTER. You need not take up the cudgels, madam, who 
 are of no more consequence at an auction than a mayor at 
 a sessions; you only come here, where you have nothing 
 to do, to show people you have nothing to do any where 
 else. 
 
 Mrs. BARTER. I don’t come to say rude things to all 
 the world as you do. 
 
 BANTER. No, the world may thank Heaven, that did not 
 give you wit enough to do that. 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 217 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. Let him alone, he will have his jest. 
 
 MRS. BARTER. You don’t think I mind him, I hope; but 
 pray, sir, of what great use is your friend Mr. Dangle 
 here ? 
 
 BANTER. Oh, he is of very great use to all women of 
 understanding. 
 
 DANGLE. Ay, of what use am I, pray? 
 
 BANTER. To keep ’em at home, that they may not hear 
 the silly things you say to ’em. 
 
 MRS. SCREEN. I hope, Mr. Banter, you will not banish 
 all people from places where they are of no consequence ; 
 you will allow ’em to go to an assembly, or a masquerade, 
 without either playing, dancing, or intriguing; you will let 
 people go to an opera without any ear, to a play without 
 any taste, and to a church without any religion? 
 
 Enter MR. HEN, Auctioneer (bowing). 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. Oh! dear Mr. Hen, I am glad you are 
 come, you are horrible late to-day. 
 
 HEN. Madam, I am just mounting the pulpit; I hope 
 you like the catalogue, ladies? 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. There are some good things here, if you 
 are not too dilatory with your hammer. 
 
 BANTER. Boy, give me a catalogue? 
 
 HEN. [Ju the pulpit.| I dare swear, gentlemen and ladies, 
 this auction will give general satisfaction; it is the first of 
 its kind which I ever had the honour to exhibit, and I 
 believe I may challenge the world to produce some of the 
 curiosities which this choice cabinet contains: A catalogue 
 of curiosities, which were collected by the indefatigable pains 
 of that celebrated virtuoso, Peter Humdrum, Esq., which 
 will be sold by auction by Christopher Hen, on Monday, the 
 21st day of March, beginning at Lot 1. Gentlemen and 
 ladies, this is Lot 1. A most curious remnant of Political 
 Honesty. Who puts it up, gentlemen? It will make you a 
 very good cloak, you see it’s both sides alike, so you may 
 
 VOL. X. Boek 
 
218 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 turn it as often as you will——Come, five pounds for this 
 curious remnant: I assure you several great men have made 
 their birthday suits out of the same piece——It will wear 
 for ever, and never be the worse for wearing——-Five pounds 
 is bid —— nobody more than five pounds for this curious 
 piece of Political Honesty, five pounds, no more [Anocks | 
 Lord Both-Sides. . Lot’ 2. A most delicate piece of 
 Patriotism, gentlemen. Who bids? ten pounds for this piece 
 of Patriotism ? 
 
 I COURTIER. I would not wear it for a thousand pounds. 
 
 HEN. Sir, I assure you, several gentlemen at court have 
 worn the same; it’s quite a different thing within to what 
 it is without. 
 
 I COURTIER. Sir, it is prohibited goods, I sha’n’t run the 
 risk of being brought into Westminster Hall for wearing it. 
 
 HEN. You take it for the Old Patriotism, whereas it 
 is indeed like that in nothing but the cut; but alas! sir, 
 there is a great difference in the stuff——But, sir, I don't 
 propose this for a town-suit, this is only proper for the 
 country ; consider, gentlemen, what a figure this will make 
 at an election——-Come, five pounds——One guinea put 
 Patriotism by. 
 
 BANTER. Ay, put it by, one day or other it may be in 
 fashion. | 
 
 HEN. Lot 3. Three grains of Modesty: Come, ladies, 
 consider how scarce this valuable commodity is. 
 
 MrS. SCREEN. Yes, and out of fashion too, Mr. Hen. 
 
 HEN. I ask your pardon, madam, it is true French, I 
 assure you, and never changes colour on any account—— 
 Half a crown for all this Modesty——-Is there not one lady 
 in the room who wants any Modesty ? 
 
 I LADY. Pray, sir, what is it? for I can’t see it at this 
 distance. 
 
 HEN. It cannot be seen at any distance, madam, but it 
 is a beautiful powder which makes a fine wash for the 
 complexion. 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. I thought you said it was true French, 
 and would not change the colour of the skin? 
 
FOR THE VEAR 1736 219 
 
 HEN. No, it will not, madam; but it serves mighty well 
 to blush behind a fan with, or to wear under a lady’s 
 mask at a masquerade——What, nobody bid——Well, lay 
 Modesty aside——Lot 4. One bottle of Courage formerly 
 in the possession of Lieutenant-Colonel Ezekiel Pipkin, citizen, 
 alderman and tallow-chandler——What, is there no officer of 
 the trained-bands here? Or it will serve an officer of the 
 army as well in time of peace, nay, even in war, gentlemen ; 
 it will serve all of you who sell out. 
 
 1 OFFICER. Is the bottle whole? is there no crack in it? 
 
 HEN. None, sir, I assure you; though it has been in 
 many engagements in Tothill Fields; nay, it has served a 
 campaign or two in Hyde Park, since the alderman’s death 
 ——it will never waste while you stay at home, but it 
 evaporates immediately if carried abroad. 
 
 I OFFICER. Damn me, J don’t want it; but a man can’t 
 have too much Courage——Three shillings for it. 
 
 HEN. Three shillings are bid for this bottle of Courage. 
 
 I BEAU. Four. 
 
 BANTER. What do you bid for Courage for? 
 
 1 BEAU. Not for myself, but I have a commission to 
 buy it for a lady. 
 
 1 OFFICER. Five. 
 
 HEN. Five shillings, five shillings for all this Courage ; 
 nobody more than five shillings? [mocks] your name, sir? 
 
 I OFFICER. Mackdonald O’Thunder. 
 
 HEN. Lot 5, and Lot 6. All the Wit lately belonging 
 to Mr. Hugh Pantomime, composer of entertainments for 
 the play-houses, and Mr. William Goosequil, composer of 
 political papers in defence of a ministry; shall I put up 
 these together ? 
 
 BANTER. Ay, it is a pity to part them. Where are they? 
 
 HEN. Sir, in the next room, where any gentleman may 
 see them, but they are too heavy to bring in; there are 
 near three hundred volumes in folio. 
 
 BANTER. Put them by, who the devil would bid for them 
 unless he was the manager of some house or other? The 
 town has paid enough for their works already. 
 
220 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 HEN. Lot 7. A very clear Conscience, which has been 
 worn by a judge and a bishop. 
 
 Mrs. SCREEN. Is it as clean as if it was new? 
 
 HEN. Yes, no dirt will stick to it, and pray observe how 
 capacious it is; it has one particular quality; put as much 
 as you will into it, it is never full; come, gentlemen, 
 don’t be afraid to bid for this, for whoever has it will never 
 be poor. 
 
 BEAU. One shilling for it. 
 
 HEN. O fie, sir, I am sure you want it, for if you had 
 any Conscience, you would put it up at more than that: 
 come, fifty pound for this Conscience. 
 
 BANTER. Ill give fifty pound to get rid of my Con- 
 science, with all my heart. 
 
 HEN. Well, gentlemen, I see you are resolved not to 
 bid for it, so I’ll lay it by: come, Lot 8, a very consider- 
 able quantity of Interest at Court; come, a hundred pound 
 for this Interest at Court. 
 
 OMNES. For me, Mr. Hen! 
 
 HEN. A hundred pound is bid in a hundred places, 
 gentlemen. 
 
 BEAU. Two hundred pound. 
 
 HEN. Two hundred pound, two hundred and fifty, three 
 hundred pound, three hundred and fifty, four hundred, five 
 hundred, six hundred, a thousand; a thousand pound is 
 bid, gentlemen; nobody more than a thousand pounds for 
 this Interest at Court? nobody more than one thousand? 
 [Anocks| Mr. Littlewit. 
 
 BANTER. Damn me, I know a shop where I can buy it 
 for less, 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Egad, you took me in, Mr. Medley, I 
 could not help bidding for it. 
 
 MEDLEY. It’s a sure sign it’s nature, my lord, and I 
 should not be surprised to see the whole audience stand up 
 and bid for it too. 
 
 HEN. All the Cardinal Virtues, Lot 9. Come, gentlemen, 
 put in these Cardinal Virtues. 
 
 GENTLEMAN, Eighteen pence. 
 
MOR THE YEAR 1736 ol 
 
 HEN. Eighteen pence is bid for these Cardinal Virtues ; 
 nobody more than eighteen pence? Eighteen pence for all 
 these Cardinal Virtues, nobody more? All these Virtues, 
 gentlemen, are going for eighteen pence; perhaps there is 
 not so much more Virtue in the world, as here is, and 
 all going for eighteen pence: [£zocks] your name, sir? 
 
 GENTLEMAN. Sir, here’s a mistake; I thought you had 
 said a Cardinal’s Virtues; ’sblood, sir, I thought to have 
 bought a pennyworth ; here’s Temperance and Chastity, and 
 a pack of stuff that I would not give three farthings for. 
 
 HEN. Well, lay ‘em ‘by: Lot 10, and Lot I1, a .great 
 deal of Wit, and a little Common-sense. 
 
 BANTER. Why do you put up these together? they have 
 no relation to each other. 
 
 HEN. Well, the Sense by itself then: Lot Io, a little 
 Common-sense——I assure you, gentlemen, this is a very 
 valuable commodity ; come, who puts it in? 
 
 MEDLEY. You observe, as valuable as it is, nobody bids. 
 I take this, if I may speak in the style of a great writer, 
 to be a most emphatical silence; you see, Mr. Sourwit, no 
 one speaks against this lot, and the reason nobody bids for 
 it, is because every one thinks he has it. 
 
 ieee ay it by, Ill keep it myself: Lot 12. 
 
 [Drum beats. 
 
 SOURWIT. Heyday! What’s to be done now, Mr. 
 Medley ? 
 
 MEDLEY. Now, sir, the sport begins. 
 
 Enter a GENTLEMAN /aughing. [Huzza within. 
 
 BANTER. What’s the matter? 
 
 GENTLEMAN. There’s a sight without would kill all man- 
 kind with laughing: Pistol is run mad, and thinks himself 
 a great man, and he’s marching through the streets with a 
 drum and fiddles. 
 
 BANTER. Please heaven, I’ll go and see this sight. 
 
 [ Ext. 
 
 OMNES. And so will I. [ Exeunt. 
 
222 THE FAISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 HEN. Nay, if every one else goes, I don’t know why I 
 should: stay behind. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Mr. Sourwit, we’ll go too. 
 
 MEDLEY. If your lordship will have but a little patience 
 till the scene be changed, you shall see him on the stage. 
 
 SOURWIT. Is not this jest a little over-acted ? 
 
 MEDLEY. I warrant, we don’t over-act him half so much 
 as he does his parts; though ’tis not so much his acting 
 capacity which I intend to exhibit as his ministerial. 
 
 SouRWIT. His ministerial ! 
 
 MEDLEY. Yes, sir; you may remember I told you before 
 my rehearsal that there was a strict resemblance between the 
 states political and theatrical; there is a ministry in the 
 latter as well as the former; and I believe as weak a 
 ministry as any poor kingdom could ever boast of; parts 
 are given in the latter to actors, with much the same regard 
 to capacity, as places in the former have sometimes been, 
 in former ages I mean; and though the public damn both, 
 yet while they both receive their pay, they laugh at the public 
 behind the scenes; and if one considers the plays that 
 come from one part, and the writings from the other, one 
 would be apt to think the same authors were retained in 
 both. But come, change the scene into the street, and then 
 enter Pistol cum suis———Hitherto, Mr. Sourwit, as we have 
 had only to do with inferior characters, such as beaus and 
 tailors, and so forth, we have dealt in the prosaic; now we 
 are going to introduce a more considerable person, our 
 muse will rise in her style: now, sir, for a taste of the 
 sublime. Come, enter Pistol. [Drum beats, and Fiddles play. 
 
 Enter PISTOL and Mob. 
 
 PISTOL. Associates, brethren, countrymen, and friends, 
 Partakers with us in this glorious enterprise, 
 Which for our consort we have undertaken ; 
 It grieves us much, yes, by the gods it does! 
 That we whose great ability and parts 
 Have raised us to this pinnacle of power, 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 
 
 i) 
 ty 
 Oo 
 
 Entitling us prime minister theatrical ; 
 
 That we should with an upstart of the stage 
 
 Contend successless on our consort’s side; 
 
 But though by just hereditary right 
 
 We claim a lawless power, yet for some reasons, 
 
 Which to ourself we keep as yet concealed ; 
 
 Thus to the public deign we to appeal: 
 
 Behold how humbly the great Pistol kneels. 
 
 Say then, Oh Town, is it your royal will 
 
 That my great consort represent the part 
 
 Of Polly Peachum in the Beggar’s Opera? [Mob fess. 
 Thanks to the town, that hiss speaks their assent ; 
 
 Such was the hiss that spoke the great applause 
 
 Our mighty father met with, when he brought 
 
 His riddle on the stage; such was the hiss 
 
 Welcomed his Cesar to th’ Egyptian shore; 
 
 Such was the hiss in which great John should have expired : 
 
 But, wherefore do I try in vain to number 
 
 Those glorious hisses, which from age to age 
 
 Our family has borne triumphant from the stage ? 
 
 MEDLEY. Get thee gone for the prettiest hero that ever 
 was shown on any stage. [EAxzt Pistol. 
 
 SOURWIT. Short and sweet, faith; what, are we to have 
 no more of him? | 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, ay, sir: he’s only gone to take a little 
 breath. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. If you please, sir, in the mean time, 
 we'll go take a little fire, for ’tis confounded cold upon 
 the stage. 
 
 MEDLEY. I wait upon your lordship: stop the rehearsal 
 a few moments, we’ll be back again instantly. [Exeunt. 
 
THE HISTORICAL AEG S31 fie 
 
 tS 
 iS) 
 aS 
 
 ACT III.—SCENE I. 
 Enter MEDLEY, SOURWIT, azad LORD DAPPER. 
 
 MEDLEY. Now, my lord, for my modern Apollo: come, 
 make all things ready, and draw the scene as soon as 
 you can. 
 
 SOURWIT. Modern, why modern? You common-place 
 satirists are always endeavouring to persuade us that the age 
 we live in is worse than any other has been, whereas man- 
 kind have differed very little since the world began ; for one 
 age has been as bad as another. 
 
 MEDLEY. Mr. Sourwit, I do not deny that men have been 
 always bad enough; vice and folly are not the invention of 
 our age: but I will maintain, that what I intend to ridicule 
 in the following scene is the whole and sole production and 
 invention of some people now living; and faith, let me tell 
 you, though perhaps the public may not be the better for it, 
 it is an invention exceeding all the discoveries of every 
 philosopher or mathematician from the beginning of the 
 world to this day. 
 
 SOURWIT. Ay, pray, what is it? 
 
 MEDLEY. Why, sir, it is a discovery, lately found out, 
 that a man of great parts, learning, and virtue, is fit for no 
 employment whatever; that an estate renders a man unfit to 
 be trusted; that being a blockhead is a qualification for 
 business ; that honesty is the only sort of folly for which a 
 man ought to be utterly neglected and contemned. And— 
 But here is the inventor himself. 
 
 Scene draws, and discovers APOLLO in a great chair, 
 surrounded by Attendants. 
 
 Come, bring him forward, that the audience may see and 
 hear him: you must know, sir, this is a bastard of Apollo, 
 begotten on that beautiful nymph Moria, who sold oranges 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 225 
 
 to Thespis’s company, or rather cartload, of comedians: and, 
 being a great favourite of his father’s, the old gentleman 
 settled upon him the entire direction of all our play-houses 
 and poetical performances whatever. 
 
 APOLLO. Prompter. 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir. 
 
 APOLLO. Is there any thing to be done? 
 
 PROMPTER. Yes, sir, this play to be cast. 
 
 APOLLO. Give it me. The life and death of King John, 
 written by Shakespeare: who can act the king? 
 
 PROMPTER. Pistol, sir, he loves to act it behind the 
 scenes. 
 
 APOLLO. Here are a parcel of English lords. 
 
 PROMPTER. Their parts are but of little consequence; I 
 will take care to cast them. 
 
 APOLLO. Do; but be sure you give them to actors who 
 will mind their cues — Faulconbridge — What sort of a 
 character is he? 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, he is a warrior, my cousin here will do 
 him very well. 
 
 I PLAYER. I do a warrior! I never learnt to fence. 
 
 APOLLO. No matter, you will have no occasion to fight ; 
 can you look fierce, and speak well ? 
 
 I PLAYER. Boh! 
 
 APOLLO. I would not desire a better warrior in the 
 house than yourself. Robert Faulconbridge What is 
 this Robert ? 
 
 PROMPTER. Really, sir, I don’t well know what he is, his 
 chief desire seems to be for land, I think; he is no very 
 considerable character, anybody may do him well enough; or 
 if you leave him quite out, the play will be little the worse 
 for it. 
 
 APOLLO. Well, I’ll leave it to you Peter of Pomfret, 
 a prophet——have you anybody that looks like a prophet? 
 
 PROMPTER. I have one that looks like a fool. 
 
 APpoLLo. He’ll do—Philip of France? 
 
 PROMPTER. I have cast all the French parts except the 
 ambassador. 
 
 VOL. X. GG 
 
226 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 APOLLO. Who shall do it? His part is but short; have 
 you never a good genteel figure, and one that can dance? 
 For, as the English are the politest people in Europe, it 
 will be mighty proper that the ambassador should be able 
 at his arrival to entertain them with a jig or two. 
 
 PROMPTER. Truly, sir, here are abundance of dancing- 
 masters in the house, who do little or nothing for their 
 money. 
 
 APOLLO. Give it to one of them: see that he has a little 
 drollery though in him; for Shakespeare seems to have 
 intended him as a ridiculous character, and only to make 
 the audience laugh. 
 
 SOURWIT. What’s that, sir? Do you affirm that Shakespeare 
 intended the ambassador Chatilion a ridiculous character ? 
 
 MEDLEY. No, sir, I don’t. 
 
 SOURWIT. Oh, sir, your humble servant, then I misunder- 
 stood you; I thought I had heard him say so. 
 
 MEDLEY. Yes, sir, but I shall not stand to all he says. 
 
 SOURWIT. But, sir, you should not put a wrong sentiment 
 into the mouth of the god of wit. 
 
 MEDLEY. I tell you he is the god only of modern wit, 
 and he has a very just right to be god of most of the 
 modern wits that I know; of some who are liked for their 
 wit; of some who are preferred for their wit; of some who 
 live by their wit; of those ingenious gentlemen who damn 
 plays, and those who write them too, perhaps. Here comes 
 one of his votaries; come, enter, enter — Enter Mr. 
 Ground-Ivy. 
 
 Enter GROUND-IVY. 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. What are you doing here? 
 
 APOLLO. I am casting the parts in the tragedy of King 
 John. 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. Then you are casting the parts in a tragedy 
 that won’t do. 
 
 APOLLO. How, sir? Was it not written by Shakespeare, 
 and was not Shakespeare one of the greatest geniuses that 
 ever lived ? 
 
FOR THE VEAR 1736 227 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. No, sir. Shakespeare was a pretty fellow, 
 and said some things which only want a little of my 
 licking to do well enough; King John, as now writ, will not 
 do But a word in your ear, I will make him do. 
 
 APOLLO. How? 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. By alteration, sir: it was a maxim of mine, 
 when I was at the head of theatrical affairs, that no play, 
 though ever so good, would do without alteration —— For 
 instance, in the play before us, the bastard Faulconbridge is 
 a most effeminate character, for which reason I would cut 
 him out, and put all his sentiments in the mouth of Con- 
 stance, who is so much properer to speak to them——Let 
 me tell you, Mr. Apollo, propriety of character, dignity of 
 diction, and emphasis of sentiment, are the things I chiefly 
 consider on these occasions. 
 
 PROMPTER. I am only afraid as Shakespeare is so popular 
 an author, and you, asking your pardon, so unpopular—— 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. Damn me, I’ll write to the town and 
 desire them to be civil, and that in so modest a manner, 
 that an army of Cossacks shall be melted: I’ll tell them 
 that no actors are equal to me, and no authors ever were 
 superior: and how do you think I can insinuate that in a 
 modest manner ? 
 
 PROMPTER. Nay, faith, I can’t tell. 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. Why, I'll tell them that the former only 
 tread on my heels, and that the greatest among the latter 
 have been damned as well as myself; and after that, what 
 do you~ think of your popularity? I can tell you, Mr. 
 Prompter, I have seen things carried in the house against 
 the voice of the people before to-day. 
 
 APOLLO. Let them hiss, let them hiss, and grumble as 
 much as they please, as long as we get their money. 
 
 MEDLEY. There, sir, is the sentiment of a great man, and 
 worthy to come from the great Apollo himself. 
 
 SOURWIT. He’s worthy his sire, indeed, to think of this 
 gentleman for altering Shakespeare. 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, I will maintain this gentleman as proper as 
 any man in the kingdom for the business. 
 
228 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 SouRWIT. Indeed! 
 
 MEDLEY. Ay, sir, for as Shakespeare is already good 
 enough for people of taste, he must be altered to the 
 palates of those who have none; and if you will grant 
 that, who can be properer to alter him for the worse ? 
 But if you are so zealous in old Shakespeare’s cause, perhaps 
 you may find by and by all this come to nothing——Now 
 for Pistol. 
 
 PISTOL enters, and overturns his Father. 
 
 GROUND-Ivy. Pox on’t, the boy treads close on my heels 
 in a literal sense. 
 
 PISTOL. Your pardon, sir, why will you not obey 
 Your son’s advice, and give him still his way ? 
 
 For you, and all who will oppose his force, 
 Must be o’erthrown in this triumphant course. 
 
 SOURWIT. I hope, sir, your Pistol is not intended to 
 burlesque Shakespeare. 
 
 MEDLEY. No, sir, I have too great an honour for Shake- 
 speare to think of burlesquing him, and to be sure of not 
 burlesquing him, I will never attempt to alter him for fear 
 of burlesquing him by accident, as perhaps some others 
 have done. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Pistol is the young captain. 
 
 MEDLEY. My lord, Pistol is every insignificant fellow in 
 town, who fancies himself of great consequence, and is of 
 none; he is my Lord Pistol, Captain Pistol, Counsellor 
 Pistol, Alderman Pistol, Beau Pistol, and——and——Odso! 
 what was I going to say? Come, go on. 
 
 APOLLO. Prompter, take care that all things well go on. 
 We will retire, my friend, and read King John. [Lxeunt. 
 
 SOURWIT. To what purpose, sir, was Mr. Pistol 
 introduced ? 
 
 MEDLEY. To no purpose at all, sir; it’s all in character, 
 sir, and plainly shows of what mighty consequence he is— 
 And there ends my article from the theatre. 
 
 SOURWIT.. Heyday! What’s become of your two Pollys? 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 229 
 
 MEDLEY. Damned, sir, damned; they were damned at 
 my first rehearsal, for which reason I have cut them out ; 
 and to tell you the truth, I think the town has honoured 
 ‘em enough with talking of ’em for a whole month; though, 
 faith, I believe it was owing to their having nothing else 
 to talk of. Well, now for my patriots—You will observe, 
 Mr. Sourwit, that I place my politicians and my patriots at 
 opposite ends of my piece, which I do, sir, to show the 
 wide difference between them; I begin with my politicians, 
 to signify that they will always have the preference in the 
 world of patriots, and I end with patriots to leave a good 
 relish in the mouths of my audience. 
 
 SOURWIT. Ay; by your dance of patriots, one would 
 think you intended to turn patriotism into a jest. 
 
 MEDLEY. So I do—But don’t you observe I conclude the 
 whole with a dance of patriots? which plainly intimates, that 
 when patriotism is turned into a jest, there is an end of the 
 whole play: come, enter four patriots——You observe I have 
 not so many patriots as politicians; you will collect from 
 thence that they are not so plenty. 
 
 SOURWIT. Where does the scene lie now, sir? 
 
 MEDLEY. In Corsica, sir, all in Corsica. 
 
 Enter four PATRIOTS from different doors, who meet in the 
 centre and shake hands. 
 
 SoURWIT. These patriots seem to equal your greatest 
 politicians in their silence. 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, what they think now cannot well be spoke, 
 but you may conjecture a great deal from their shaking 
 their heads; they will speak by and by——as soon as they 
 are a little heated with wine: you cannot, however, expects 
 any great speaking in this scene, for though I do not make 
 my patriots politicians, I don’t make them fools. 
 
 SOURWIT. But, methinks, your patriots are a set of 
 shabby fellows. 
 
 MEDLEY. They are the cheaper dressed; besides, no man 
 can be too low for a patriot, though perhaps it is possible 
 he may be too high. 
 
230 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER 
 
 I PATRIOT. Prosperity to Corsica. 
 
 2 PATRIOT. Liberty and property. 
 
 3 PATRIOT. Success to trade. 
 
 4 PATRIOT. Ay, to trade—to trade—particularly to my 
 shop. 
 
 SOURWIT. Why do you suffer that actor to stand laughing 
 behind the scenes, and interrupt your rehearsal ? 
 
 MEDLEY. O, sir, he ought to be there, he’s a laughing in 
 his sleeve at the patriots; he’s a very considerable character 
 —and has much to do by and by. 
 
 SOURWIT. Methinks the audience should know that, or 
 perhaps they may mistake him as I did, and hiss him. 
 
 MEDLEY. If they should, he is a pure impudent fellow, 
 and can stand the hisses of them all; I chose him 
 particularly for the part—Go on, Patriots. 
 
 I PATRIOT. Gentlemen, I think this our island of Corsica 
 is in an ill state: I do not say we are actually in war, for 
 that we are not; but however we are threatened with it 
 daily, and why may not the apprehension of a war, like 
 other evils, be worse than the evil itself? for my part, this 
 I will say, this I will venture to say, that Jet what will 
 happen I will drink a health to peace. 
 
 MEDLEY. This gentleman is the noisy patriot, who drinks 
 and roars for his country, and never does either good or 
 harm in it—The next is the cautious patriot. 
 
 2 PATRIOT. Sir, give me your hand; there’s truth in 
 what you say, and I will pledge you with all my soul, but 
 remember, it is all under the rose. 
 
 3 PATRIOT. Lookye, gentlemen, my shop is my country. 
 I always measure the prosperity of the latter by that of 
 the former. My country is either richer or poorer, in my 
 opinion, as my trade rises or falls; therefore, sir, I cannot 
 agree with you that a war would be disserviceable: on 
 the contrary, I think it the only way to make my country 
 flourish ; for as 1 am a _ sword-cutler, it would make my 
 shop flourish, so here’s to war. 
 
 MEDLEY. This is the self-interested patriot; and now you 
 shall hear the fourth and last kind, which is the indolent 
 
FOR THE YEAR 1736 231 
 
 patriot, one who acts as I have seen a prudent man in 
 company fall asleep at the beginning of a fray, and never 
 wake till the end on’t. 
 
 4 PATRIOT. [Waking.| WHere’s to peace or war, I do not 
 care which. 
 
 SOURWIT. So this gentleman being neutral, peace has it 
 two to one. | 
 
 MEDLEY. Perhaps neither shall have it, perhaps I have 
 found a way to reconcile both parties: but go on. 
 
 I PATRIOT. Can any one, who is a friend to Corsica, 
 wish for war in our present circumstances ?>——TI desire to ask 
 you all one question, are we not a set of miserable poor dogs? 
 
 OMNES. Ay, ay. 
 
 3 PATRIOT. That we are sure enough, that nobody 
 will deny. 
 
 Enter QUIDAM. 
 
 QUIDAM. Yes, sir, I deny it. [AW start.] Nay, gentle- 
 men, let me not disturb you, I beg you will all sit down. 
 I am come to drink a glass with you—Can Corsica be poor 
 while there is this in it? [Lays a purse on the table.| Nay, 
 be not afraid of it, gentlemen, it is honest gold I assure 
 you; you are a set of poor dogs, you agree; I say you 
 are not, for this is all yours, there [Pours it on the table], 
 take it among you. 
 
 I PATRIOT. And what are we to do for it? 
 
 QUIDAM. Only say you are rich, that’s all. 
 
 -OMNEsS. Oh, if that be all! [Zhey snatch up the money. 
 
 QuIDAM. Well, sir, what is your opinion now? tell me 
 freely. 
 
 I PATRIOT. I will; a man may be in the wrong through 
 ignorance, but he’s a rascal who speaks with open eyes 
 against his conscience——I own I thought we were poor, 
 but, sir, you have convinced me that we are rich. 
 
 OMNES. We are all convinced. 
 
 QUIDAM. Then you are all honest fellows, and here is 
 to your healths; and, since the bottle is out, hang sorrow, 
 cast away care, e’en take a dance, and I will play you a 
 tune on the fiddle. 
 
32 THE HISTORICAL PAG Ss Loc, 
 
 2 
 
 OMNES. Agreed. 
 
 1 PATRIOT. Strike up when you will, we are ready to 
 attend your motions. [Dance here; Quidam dances out, and 
 
 they all dance after him. 
 
 MEDLEY. Perhaps there may be something intended by 
 this dance which you don’t take. 
 
 SOURWIT. Ay, what, pr’ythee? 
 
 MEDLEY. Sir, every one of these patriots have a hole in 
 their pockets, as Mr. Quidam the fiddler there knows; so 
 that he intends to make them dance till all the money is 
 fallen through, which he will pick up again, and so not lose 
 one halfpenny by his generosity; so far from it, that he 
 will get his wine for nothing, and the poor people, alas! 
 out of their own pockets, pay the whole reckoning. This, 
 sir, I think is a very pretty Pantomime trick, and an in- 
 genious burlesque on all the fourberies which the great Lun 
 has exhibited in all his entertainments: And so ends my 
 play, my farce, or what you please to call it. May I hope 
 it has your lordship’s approbation ? 
 
 LORD DAPPER. Very pretty, indeed ; indeed ’tis very pretty. 
 
 MEDLEY. Then, my lord, I hope I shall have your en- 
 couragement; for things in this town do not always succeed 
 according to their merit; there is a vogue, my lord, which 
 if you will bring me into, you will lay a lasting obligation 
 on me: and you, Mr. Sourwit, I hope, will serve me among 
 the critics, that I may have no elaborate treatise writ to 
 prove that a farce of three acts is not a regular play of five. 
 Lastly, to you, Gentlemen, whom I have not the honour to 
 know, who have pleased to grace my rehearsal; and you, 
 Ladies, whether you be Shakespeare’s ladies, or Beaumont 
 and Fletcher’s ladies, I hope you will make allowances for 
 a rehearsal, 
 
 And kindly all report us to the town ; 
 No borrowed, nor no stolen goods we’ve shown, 
 If witty, or if dull, our play’s our own. 
 
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 PA WiRave D1.C.E 
 
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 AS IT WAS D—MNED AT THE 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, IN DRURY LANE. 
 
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 PLUTO. EURYDICE. — 
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 [Zhe music bell rings.] 
 Enter the AUTHOR wz a hurry. A CRITIC following. 
 
 AUTHOR. Hold, hold, Mr. Chetwood; don’t ring for the 
 overture yet, the devil is not dressed. He has but just put 
 on his cloven foot. 
 
 CRITIC. Well, sir, how do you find yourself? In what 
 state are your spirits ? 
 
 AUTHOR. Oh! never better. If the audience are but in 
 half so good a humour, I warrant for the success of my 
 farce. 
 
 Critic. I wish it may succeed; but as it is built (you 
 say) on so ancient a story as that of Orpheus and Eury- 
 dice, I fear some part of the audience may not be acquainted 
 with it. Would it not have been advisable to have writ a 
 sheet or two by a friend, addressed to the spectators of 
 Eurydice, and let them a little into the matter? 
 
 AUTHOR. No, no; any man may know as much of the 
 story as myself, only by looking at the end of Littleton’s 
 dictionary, whence I took it. Besides, sir, the story is 
 vulgarly known. Who has not heard that Orpheus went 
 down to the shades after his wife who was dead, and so 
 enchanted Proserpine with his music, that she consented he 
 should carry her back, with a proviso he never turned to 
 
236 EURYDICE 
 
 look on her in his way, which he could not refrain from, and 
 so lost her? Dear sir, every schoolboy knows it. 
 
 CrITIc. But for the instruction of those beaus who never 
 were at school. 
 
 AUTHOR. They may learn it from those who have. If 
 you will secure me from the critics, I don’t fear the beaus. 
 
 CRITIC. Why, sir, half the beaus are critics. 
 
 AvuTHor. Ay! s’gad, I should as soon have suspected 
 half the Dutchmen to be dancing-masters. If I had known 
 this, I would have spared them a little. I must leave out 
 the first scene, I believe. 
 
 CRITIC. Why that? 
 
 AUTHOR. Why, it is a scene between the ghosts of two 
 beaus. And if the substance of a beau be such an unsub- 
 stantial thing as we see it, what must the shadow of that 
 substance be? 
 
 GritTic, “Ha, hay ha [ee Ridiculous. 
 
 AUTHOR. Ay, I think so. I think we do come up to 
 the ridiculous in our farce, and that is what a farce ought 
 to be, and all it ought to be: for, as your beaus set up for 
 critics, so these critics on farces may set up for beaus. But 
 come, I believe by this, the devil and the ghosts are ready, 
 so now, Mr. Chetwood, you may ring away. Sir, if you 
 please to sit down with me between the scenes, I shall be 
 elad of your opinion of my piece. 
 
 (They sit: the Overture is played.) 
 
 CRITIC. Pray, sir, who are these two gentlemen that stand 
 ready to rush on the stage? Are they the two ghosts you 
 mention ? 
 
 AUTHOR. Yes, sir, they are. Mr. Spindle and Captain 
 Weazel, the one belongs to the court, the other to the army ; 
 and they are the representatives of their several bodies. You 
 must know, farther, the one has been dead some time, the 
 other but just departed: but hush, they are gone on. 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN WEAZEL, MR. SPINDLE. 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Mr. Spindle, your very humble servant. 
 
EURYDICE 237 
 
 You are welcome, sir, on this side the river Styx. I am 
 glad to see you dead, with all my heart. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Captain Weazel, I thank you. I hope you 
 are well. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. As well as a dead man can be, my 
 dear. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. And faith! that’s better than any living 
 man can be, at least, any living beau. Dead men (they say) 
 feel no pain; and I am sure we beaus, while alive, feel little 
 else; but however, at last, thanks to a little fever and a 
 great doctor, I have shaken off a bad constitution ; and now 
 I intend to take one dear swing of raking, drinking, whoring, 
 and playing the devil, as I have done in the other world. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. I suppose then you think this world 
 exactly like that you have left? 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Why, you have whores here, have you not? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Oh, in abundance. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Give me a buss for that, my dear. And 
 some of our acquaintance, fine ladies, are there not? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Ay, scarce any other. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Thou dear dog! Well, and how dost thou 
 lead thy life, thy death I should say, among ’em? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Faith! Jack, even as I led my life 
 between cards, dice, music, taverns, wenches, masquerades. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Masquerades! Have you those too? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Those! Ay, they were borrowed 
 hence. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. What a delicious place this hell is! 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Sir, it is the only place a fine 
 gentleman ought to be in. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. How it was misrepresented to us in the 
 other world! 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Pshaw! that hell did not belong to 
 our religion; for you and I, Jack, you know, and most of 
 our acquaintance, were always heathens. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Well, but what sort of a fellow is the old 
 gentleman, the devil, hey? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL, Is he? Why, a very pretty sort of a 
 
238 EURYDICE 
 
 gentleman, a very fine gentleman; but, my dear, you have 
 seen him five hundred times already. The moment I saw 
 him here I remembered to have seen him shuffle cards at 
 White’s and George’s; to have met him often on the 
 Exchange, and in the Alley, and never missed him in or 
 about Westminster Hall. I will introduce you to him. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Ay, do. And tell him I was hanged, that 
 will recommend me to him. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. No, hanged, no; then he will take you 
 for a poor rogue, a sort of people he abominates so, that 
 there are scarce any of them here. No, if you would re- 
 commend yourself to him, tell him you deserved to be 
 hanged, and was too great for the law. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Won't he find me out? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. If he does, nothing pleases him so 
 much as lying: for which reason he is so fond of no sort 
 of people as the lawyers. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Methinks, he might, for the same reason, 
 be fond of us courtiers too. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Sir, we have no cause to complain of 
 our reception. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. But have you no news here, Jack ? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Yes, truly, we have some, and pretty 
 remarkable news too. Here is a man come hither after his 
 wife. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. What! to desire the devil to take great 
 care of her, that she may not come back again? 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. No, really, to desire her back again ; 
 and ’tis thought he will obtain his request. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Ay; he must be a hard-hearted devil 
 indeed, to deny a man such a request as that. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Did you never hear of him in the 
 other world? he is a very fine singer, and his name is 
 Orpheus. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. Oh, ay! he’s an Italian. Signior Orpheo 
 ——I have heard him sing in the opera in Italy. I suppose 
 when he goes back again they will have him in England. 
 But who have we here? 
 
EURYDICE 239 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. This is the woman I spoke of, Madam 
 Eurydice. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. Faith! she is handsome; and if she had 
 been anybody’s wife but my own, I would have come hither 
 for her with all my heart. 
 
 AUTHOR. That sentiment completes the character of my 
 courtier, who is so complaisant, that he sins only to comply 
 with the mode; and goes to the devil, not out of any incli- 
 nation, but because it is the fashion. Now for Madam 
 Eurydice, who is the fine lady of my play: and a fine lady 
 she is, or I am mistaken. 
 
 Enter EURYDICE. 
 
 EURYDICE. Captain Weazel, your very humble servant. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Your servant, Lady Fair. <A gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance desires the honour of kissing your 
 hands. 
 
 EURYDICE. Any gentleman of your acquaintance! From 
 England, I presume ? 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. Just arrived thence, madam. 
 
 EURYDICE. You have not been at court, yet, sir, I suppose. 
 You will meet with a very hearty welcome from his majesty. 
 He has a particular kindness for people of your nation. 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. I hope, madam, we shall always deserve it. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. But I hope the news is not true that 
 we are to lose you, Madam Eurydice? 
 
 EURYDICE. How can you doubt it, when my husband is 
 come after me? Do you think Pluto can refuse me, or that 
 I can refuse to go back with a husband who came hither 
 for me? 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Faith! I don’t know; but if a husband 
 was to go back to the other world after his wife, I believe 
 he would scarce persuade her to come hither with him. 
 
 EURYDICE. Oh but, sir, this place alters us much for the 
 better. Women are quite different creatures after they have 
 been here some time. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. And so you will go? 
 
240 EURYDICE 
 
 EuRYDICE. It is not in my power. You know 
 positively against the law of the realm. In desiring to go I 
 discharge the duty of a wife. And if the devil won't let 
 me, Lecant helpvit. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. I am afraid of the power of his voice. 
 I wish he be able to resist that charm; and I fancy, if you 
 was to confess ingenuously, it is his voice that charms you 
 to go back again. 
 
 EURYDICE. Indeed, sir, you are mistaken. I do not think 
 the merit of a man, like that of a nightingale, lies in his 
 throat. It is true, he has a fine pipe, and if you will carry 
 your friend to court this morning, he may hear him; but 
 though it is possible my heart may have its weak sides, I 
 solemnly protest no one will ever reach it through my ears. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. That’s strange; for it is the only way to 
 all the ladies’ hearts in the other world. 
 
 EURYDICE. Ha, ha, ha! I find you beaus know just as 
 much of a woman as you ever did. Do you imagine when 
 a lady expires at an opera she thinks of the signior that’s 
 singing? No, no, take my word for it, music puts softer 
 and better things in her head. 
 
 AIR I. Do not ask me, charming Phillis. 
 
 When a woman lies expiring 
 Atal ialsialwialwiat 
 Do you think her, sir, desiring 
 Nothing more than ha, ha, ha? 
 [Lait between the Beaus. 
 
 Critic. If you will give me leave, sir, I think you have 
 not enough distinguished the character of your courtier from 
 your soldier. 
 
 AUTHOR. What soldier! Have you mistaken my army- 
 beau for a soldier? You might as well take a Temple-beau 
 for a lawyer. Sir, a beau is a beau still, whatever profession 
 he belongs to; the beaus in all professions differ in nothing 
 but in dress; and therefore, sir, to distinguish the character 
 
EURYDICE 241 
 
 of my army-beau from my court-beau, I clap a cockade into 
 his hat, and that is all the distinction I can make between 
 them——But mum: Pluto is going on, 
 
 SCENE.—The Court of PLUTO. 
 Enter PLUTO, PROSERPINE, aud ORPHEUS. 
 
 PLUTO. Indeed, friend Orpheus, I am concerned I cannot 
 grant your request without infringing the laws of my realm. 
 Ask me any thing else, and be certain of obtaining: riches, 
 power, or whatever is in my gift. Indeed, you ought to be 
 contented with the common fate of men, Consider, you 
 had the possession of your wife something more than a 
 twelvemonth. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Long enough, I am sure, for any poor 
 woman to be confined within the fetters of matrimony. 
 
 PLUTO. Is it possible that that voice, which can lull the 
 cares of every other asleep, should not be able to assuage 
 those of your own breast? 
 
 AUTHOR. Now for a taste of Recitativo. My farce is an 
 Oglio of tid-bits. 
 
 ORPHEUS, (22 Recitativo). 
 
 Curst be the cruel scissors of the fates _ 
 
 That snipt her thread of life, and curst that law 
 Which now forbids her to my arms. 
 
 No, cruel king, detain your offered wealth, 
 
 And hang my harp forsaken in your realm: 
 
 For all things useless are to me 
 
 Without Eurydice. 
 
 AIR II. 
 
 Riches, can you ease restore, 
 Riches make me wish the more 
 The possession of my sweet, 
 To bestow them at her feet. 
 VOL, X. int 
 
242 EURYDICE 
 
 What relief in softest lays 
 Warbling all my charmer’s praise, 
 Bidding fiercer passion rise, 
 Teaching languish to my eyes. 
 
 Then can wealth and music please, 
 When my charmer smiles at these ; 
 But lest envy these bemoan, 
 Give me, give me her alone. 
 
 PLUTO. [Jz vaptures.) O caro, caro.—(What shall I do? 
 If I hear another song I am vanquished. Should he desire 
 thee, my dear, I could hardly deny him.) 
 
 [Aszde to Proserpine. 
 
 PROSERPINE. That may possibly be, my dear (and I 
 wish he would with all my heart). [Aszde. 
 
 PLUTO. Consider, child, there is no danger in the pre- 
 cedent: for as he is the first man who ever desired to have 
 his wife again, it is possible he may be the last. 
 
 PROSERPINE. I own the request odd enough; nor do I 
 know any miracle that would equal it, unless she should 
 consent to go along with him, which I much question: for 
 I don’t remember to have ever heard her mention her 
 husband’s name till his arrival here. And though you may 
 make free with your own laws, and your own people, I 
 hope, Mr. Pluto, you will not usurp any authority over 
 mine. By Styx, if you give one dead wife back again to 
 her husband against her will, I will make hell too hot to 
 hold you. 
 
 PLUTO. Do not be in a passion, my dear. 
 
 PROSERPINE. My dear, I will be in a passion. Shall 
 you prescribe to me what to be in? 
 
 PLUTO. You need not fear the loss of your subjects ; 
 though you should promise to return every wife that was 
 asked. 
 
 PROSERPINE. How, sir! have I not several widows, whose 
 jointures died with them; whose husbands would not only 
 ask but walk hither barefoot to get them again? But you 
 
EURYDICE 243 
 
 are always despising my subjects. I am sure no goddess 
 of quality was ever used as I am. It would never be 
 believed on earth, that the devil is a worse husband than 
 any there. 
 
 AUTHOR. Considering where the scene lies, I think these 
 sentiments are not mal-d-propos. 
 
 Enter EURYDICE, CAPTAIN WEAZEL, MR. SPINDLE. CAPTAIN 
 WEAZEL introduces MR. SPINDLE fo PLUTO and 
 PROSERPINE, EURYDICE goes to ORPHEUS. 
 
 ORPHEUS. (Recttativo.) 
 
 Oh, my Eurydice! the cruel king, 
 Still obdurate, refuses to my arms 
 The repossession of my love. 
 
 EURYDICE. (ecztativo.) 
 
 Unkind Fate, 
 So soon to put an end to all our joys! 
 And barbarous law of Erebus 
 That will not reinstate us in our bliss. 
 ORPHEUS. And must you stay? 
 EURYDICE. And must you go? 
 ORPHEUS. Oh no! 
 EURYDICE. ’Tis so. 
 ORPHEUS. Oh no! 
 EURYDICE. ’Tis so, 
 
 Critic. Why does Eurydice speak in recitativo? 
 
 AUTHOR. Out of complaisance to her husband. As you 
 will find her to behave through my whole piece, like a very 
 polite and well-bred lady.—I intend this couple as a contrast 
 to the devil and his wife. 
 
 Ale eil, 
 
 ORPHEUS. Farewell, ye groves and mountains, 
 Ye once delightful fountains, 
 
244 EURYDICE 
 
 Where my charmer used to stray, 
 Where in gentle am’rous play, 
 Wanton, willing, 
 Burning, billing, 
 Ever cheerful, ever gay, 
 We have spent the summer-day. 
 
 Where herds forgot their lowing, 
 
 And trees forget their blowing, 
 
 Joining with the fleecy flocks, 
 
 And the hard and massy rocks, 
 All came prancing, 
 Skipping, dancing: 
 
 Not the magic of my song 
 
 But thy eyes drew all along. 
 
 PLUTO. I am conquered; by Styx, you shall have her 
 back. Take my wife too; take every thing; another song, 
 and take my crown. | 
 
 PROSERPINE. Hold, hold, not so generous, good King 
 Pluto. If the young lady pleases to return with her 
 husband, as you have sworn by Styx, she may. 
 
 AUTHOR. There, sir, there. I have carried the power of 
 music beyond Orpheus, Amphion, and all of them; I have 
 made it inspire a man to get the better of his wife. 
 
 PROSERPINE. But I insist on her consent being asked. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE* -[7o Weazel], I find in -hell themes 
 mare is the better horse. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Yes, faith! Jack, and no where else, 
 I believe. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Thanks, most infernal majesty ; 
 I ask no greater boon. 
 
 IXURYDICE. You may depend too surely on your Eurydice, 
 to doubt her consent to whatever would make you happy. 
 But—it is a long way from hence to the other world; and 
 you know, by experience, my dear, I am an exceeding bad 
 traveller. 
 
EURYDICE 248 
 
 OrPHEUS. I’ll carry you on my shoulders. 
 
 EURYDICE. O, dear creature! your shoulders would fail ; 
 indeed, they would. And if I should be taken sick on the 
 road, what should I do? Indeed, in this world, I might 
 make a tolerable shift; but on the other side the river 
 Styx, if I was fainting, no public-house dare sell me a 
 dram. 
 
 ORPHEUS. I will buy two gallons, and carry them with 
 me. 
 
 EURYDICE. Life, child, is so very uncertain, that who 
 knows but as soon as I am got hence I may be summoned 
 back the next day ; and consider, what an intolerable fatigue 
 two such journeys taken together would be. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Is it not a journey which I have undertaken 
 for you? 
 
 EURYDICE. O you great creature, you! You are a man, 
 and I am a poor weak woman. I. hope you don’t compare 
 your strength with mine. Besides, if I was able to go, it 
 is really so much better to be here than to be married, that 
 I must be mighty silly to think of returning. —— Indeed, 
 dear Orphy, I should be ashamed to show my face after it. 
 
 POL Ns 
 
 Oh Lud! I should be quite ashamed, 
 My former friends to see; 
 
 In an assembly if I’m named, 
 They ’d point and cry, That’s she. 
 
 From husbands when ’tis thought so fine 
 For wives to run away, 
 
 Should I return again with mine, 
 What can the world all say? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Can you go then? will you refuse me? 
 
 EURYDICE. My dear, you know I always hated to refuse 
 you so much, that I hated you should ask me any thing: 
 if it was reasonable, I should do it of my own accord: but 
 I never will be persuaded out of my reason. 
 
246 EURY DICE 
 
 AT RSs 
 
 ORPHEUS. That marriage is a great evil, 
 Who’ll ever dispute more in life, 
 When they hear I’ve prevailed on the devil, 
 And cannot prevail on my wife, poor man! 
 And cannot prevail on my wife. 
 
 EURYDICE. But when those who hear your sad ditty 
 Shall the date of your wedding explore, 
 Do you think men a husband will pity, 
 Who should have known better before, poor man! 
 Who should have known better before. 
 
 PLUTO. The doom is fixed, I ask your pardon, my dear ; 
 [¢o Proserpine] but I swore by Styx before I thought of it, 
 that she should go. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Ay, you are always swearing before you 
 think of it: However, Eurydice, since that’s the case, the 
 oath must be kept. But I can add a clause to the bill, if 
 he looks back on you once in the way, you shall return, 
 and that I swear by Styx. 
 
 PLUTO. Do you hear, sir, what my wife says? 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE [¢o Weazel]. This river Styx seems a 
 pretty way of ending controversies between man and wife. 
 It is pity the Thames had not the same virtue. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Thanks, most diabolical majesty, for your 
 infernal kindness, 
 
 PLUTO. I hope you will take care, and not forfeit the 
 advantage of this favour I have granted you. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Which I have granted, if you please, 
 sir. 
 
 PLUTO. Ay, which my wife has granted. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL_ [¢o Spindle]. You see how ill people 
 express themselves, when they call a bad husband the devil 
 of a husband. 
 
 EURYDICE. I thank your majesty, madam, for your inter- 
 
EURYDICE 247 
 
 position in my behalf, and if I did not improve it, I should 
 be unworthy of your royal favour. 
 
 PROSERPINE. I doubt not but you have been here long 
 enough to learn to outwit your husband. 
 
 EURYDICE. Few women, madam, need come hither to 
 learn that art. 
 
 PROSERPINE. I am glad they behave so well.——Dear 
 Eurydice, I wish you a good journey with all my heart, and 
 hope to see you soon again. 
 
 EURYDICE. The first moment it is in my power, I assure 
 your majesty. 
 
 PLUTO. Friend Orpheus, farewell, I give thee thy wife 
 with greater pleasure, since I hope, as thou hast come 
 hither now to get her, thou wilt return hither shortly to 
 get rid of her. [Exeunt Pluto, Proserpine, Captain Weazel, 
 
 and Mr. Spindle. 
 
 EURYDICE. Well, sir, and so I must take a trip with you 
 to the other world. How was it possible you could come 
 hither to fetch me back when I was dead, who had so often 
 wished me here, while alive? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Those were only the sudden blasts of passion. 
 Besides, as is the common fate of mortals, I never knew my 
 happiness till I lost it. 
 
 EURYDICE. And was you then really concerned for me? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Yes, my dear, and I think you was so for 
 me; your tears at our parting gave me sufficient assurance, 
 
 EURYDICE. Ha, ha, ha! I was afraid of dying, child, that 
 was all. Upon my word, my dear, parting with thee was 
 all the little comfort I had. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Did you desire it then? 
 
 EuRYDICE. Most heartily, upon my word. I seldom 
 prayed for any thing else. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Why, did we not live comfortably together ? 
 
 EURYDICE. O very comfortably. Did you not leave me 
 to run after the golden fleece? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Nay, if you come to that, did you not run 
 away from me, and stay at Thebes by yourself a whole 
 winter ? 
 
248 EURYDICE 
 
 EurypiceE. And did not you keep a mistress in my 
 absence, when you might have come to me? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Did not you spend in diversions and play what 
 should have kept your family ? 
 
 EurRyYbDIcE. And did you not spend on mistresses what 
 should have kept your wife? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Was not you almost eternally in the vapours? 
 
 EURYDICE. And was not you the occasion of my 
 vapours? Did not you kill my favourite monkey, because 
 I would not dance with that rake, Hercules, and the rest 
 of your brother Argonauts ? 
 
 ORPHEUS. You have dined with that rake Hercules 
 when I have not been by, I believe; and did not you 
 crack one of my best fiddles, only because I would not 
 dance with that coquet Miss Atalanta, and the rest of your 
 flirts ? 
 
 EURYDICE. You have danced with her in private, I fancy ; 
 and I would break your fiddle again, sir, on the same 
 occasion. 
 
 ORPHEUS. And I would see you and your monkey at the 
 devil, if you affronted my friends. 
 
 EURYDICE. Ha, ha, ha! Then you would come after me 
 again, as you have now; ha, ha, ha! 
 
 ORPHEUS. Nay, do not laugh so immoderately. 7 
 
 EURYDICE. How can I avoid it at this comfortable state 
 of life which you are so fond of as to desire over again? 
 
 ORPHEUS. But experience might teach us to amend our 
 faults for the future. 
 
 EURYDICE. Experience rather ought to teach us the im- 
 possibility of such an amendment: for if we could have 
 learnt so, we might have learnt from the examples of others, 
 when we were first married, and from our own in a short 
 time; but I never perceived any better effect from the 
 remembrance of a past quarrel than the working up a new 
 one. Could experience cure folly, men would not want that 
 cure very early in life. 
 
EURYDICE 249 
 
 AIR VI. 
 
 If men from experience a lesson could reap, 
 To fly from the folly they ’d seen, 
 
 What madman at forty a mistress would keep, 
 What woman would love at eighteen! 
 What woman, &c. 
 
 The levées of statesmen and courts of the law, 
 Boys only would haunt very soon; 
 
 And all married broils to conclusion would draw, 
 At the end of the sweet honey-moon. 
 At the end, &c. 
 
 So if you have a mind to improve and profit by your own 
 experience, e’en look back at the third step, and return single 
 as you came. 
 
 ORPHEUS. No, I will be so complacent, that I had rather 
 prove your hypothesis than my own. 
 
 EURYDICE. Then, pray, set out: In those last words of 
 yours matrimony seemed to begin again: for to refuse his 
 wife with civility is the true complacence of a husband—— 
 So, a good journey to us. 
 
 jedi ide 
 Turn, O turn thee, dearest creature. 
 
 Turn, O turn, dear, do not fly me; 
 I could ever thus hold out: 
 If you loved, you’d not deny me; 
 If you loved, you’d look about. 
 [Exit, she following. 
 
 SCENE.—The Banks of the River Styx. 
 [They call Charon several times without.| 
 
 AUTHOR. So now Charon is out of the way, and the 
 audience will be put out of humour. 
 VOL. X. KK 
 
250 ORY DIG 
 
 Critic. But pray, sir, why does Orpheus talk sometimes 
 in Recitativo, and sometimes out of it? 
 
 AuTHOR. Why, sir, I do not care to tire the audience 
 with too much Recitativo; I observe they go to sleep at it 
 at an opera. Besides, you may give yourself a good reason 
 why he leaves off singing: for I think his wife may very 
 well be supposed to put him out of tune—Are you satisfied ? 
 
 Critic. I could ask another question—Why have you 
 made the devil hen-pecked ? 
 
 AUTHOR. Sir, you know where I have laid the scene, and 
 how could hell be better represented than by supposing the 
 people under petticoat government ?>—But O! Charon is come 
 
 Cass 
 
 Enter CHARON and MACCAHONE. 
 
 CHARON. You, Mr. Maccahone, will you please to pay 
 me my fare? 
 
 MACCAHONE. Ay, fet would I with all my shoule, but 
 honey, I did die not worth a sixpence, and that I did leave 
 behind me. 
 
 CHARON. Sir, if you do not pay me, I shall carry you 
 back again. | 
 
 MACCAHONE. To my own country? Arrah do, honey. 
 Uboboo! what a shoy it will be to my relations, that are 
 now singing an anthem called the Irish Howl over me, 
 to see me alive when they know that I am dead. 
 
 CHARON. If you do not pay your fare, I shall carry you 
 to the other side of the river, where you shall wander on 
 the banks a thousand years. 
 
 MACCAHONE. Shall I? what, where I did see half a dozen 
 gentlemen walking alone? Uboboo! upon my shoule, the 
 laugh is coming upon my face. 
 
 CHARON. Pr'ythee, what dost thou laugh at? 
 
 MACCAHONE. I laugh to think how I will bite you. 
 
 CHARON. What wilt thou do? 
 
 MACCAHONE. Upon my shoule, I will get a bridge and 
 swim Over upon it, and I will send upon the post to the other 
 world to buy a bridge, and I know where I can buy one 
 
EURY DICE 251 
 
 very cheap; and when there is a bridge, I believe no one 
 will come into your boat that can go over the water upon 
 dry land. 
 
 CHARON. Here, take this fellow, some of you, and ferry 
 him back again, where he shall stay till his bridge is built. 
 But whom have we here? I suppose the couple who are 
 by Pluto’s special order to be ferried over to the other 
 side. 
 
 Enter ORPHEUS avd EURYDICE. 
 
 ORPHEUS. If you please, Mr. Charon, to prepare your 
 boat. I suppose you have received your orders? 
 
 CHARON. Master, the boat is just gone over, it will be 
 back again instantly. I wish you would be so good in 
 the mean time, master, to give us one of your Italian 
 catches. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Why, dost thou love music then, friend 
 Charon ? 
 
 CHARON. Yes, fags! Master, I do. It went to my 
 heart t’other day, that I did not dare ferry over Signior 
 Quaverino. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Why didst thou not dare? 
 
 CHARON. I don’t know, sir; Judge Rhadamanthus said 
 it was against the law; for that nobody was to come into 
 this country but men and women; and that the signior was 
 neither the one nor the other. 
 
 _ORPHEUS. Your lawyers, I suppose, have strange quirks 
 here in hell? 
 
 CHARON. Nay, for that matter they are pretty much the 
 same here as on earth. 
 
 EuRYDICE. Help, help, I shall be drowned, I shall be 
 drowned ! 
 
 ORPHEUS. [Zurning.| Ha! Eurydice’s voice! 
 
 EURYDICE. O, unlucky misfortune! why would you look 
 behind you, when you knew the queen’s command ? 
 
 ORPHEUS. Thou wicked woman, why wouldst thou tempt 
 
 me? 
 EuURYDICE. How unreasonable is that, to lay the blame 
 
252 EURYDICE 
 
 on me! Can I help my fears? You know I was always 
 inclined to be hysterical: but it is like you, to lay the 
 blame on me, when you know yourself to be guilty; when 
 you know you are tired of me already, and looked back 
 purposely to lose me. 
 
 ORPHEUS. And dost thou accuse me? 
 
 EURYDICE. I don’t accuse you. I need not accuse you. 
 Your own wicked conscience must do it. Oh! had you 
 loved like me, you could have borne to have gone a million 
 of miles. I am sure, I could have gone farther, and never 
 once have looked back upon you. [Pretending to cry. 
 
 ORPHEUS. Curst accident: but still we may go on. 
 Proserpine can never know it. 
 
 EURYDICE. [Sjfeaking brisk.| No, I promised to return 
 the moment you looked back; and a woman of honour 
 must keep her, promise, though it be to eave ies 
 husband. 
 
 ATR Vali 
 
 Farewell, my dear, 
 Since fate severe, 
 Has cut us twice in twain. 
 ORPHEUS. Say not farewell, 
 I’ll back to hell, 
 And sing thee back again. 
 
 EURYDICE. No, Orpheus, no, 
 
 You shall not go. 
 ORPHEUS. And must we, must we part? 
 EURYDICE. We must away, 
 
 For if you stay, 
 Indeed, ’twill break my heart. 
 
 Your servant, dear, 
 I downward steer, 
 
 You upward to the light ; 
 Take no more leave, 
 For I must grieve, 
 
 Till you are out of sight. 
 
EURYDICE 253 
 
 CHARON. Come, Master Orpheus, never take it to heart: 
 but e’en part as merrily as your lady did. I believe the 
 devil would be very glad to go with you, if he could leave 
 his wife behind him. 
 
 ORPHEUS. (ecztativo.) 
 
 Ungrateful, barbarous woman! 
 Infernal Stygian monster! 
 Henceforth mankind 
 
 Ill teach to hate the sex. 
 
 PT RYE: 
 
 If a husband henceforth, who has buried his wife, 
 Of Pluto request her again brought to life: 
 Pluto, grant his request as he enters thy portal, 
 And Jove, for his comfort, 
 And Jove, for his comfort, 
 O make her, O make her, O make her immortal! 
 
 AUTHOR. There, now the audience must stay a little, while 
 the grave scene is preparing. Pray, Mr. Chetwood, hasten 
 things as much as possible. 
 
 Critic. I see Mr. Orpheus is come to his Recitativo 
 again. 
 
 AUTHOR. Yes, sir, just as he lost his senses, I wish 
 our opera composers could give as good a reason for their 
 Recitativo. 
 
 Critic. What, would you have them bring nothing but 
 mad people together into their operas? 
 
 AUTHOR. Sir, if they did not bring abundance of mad 
 people together into their operas, they would not be able to 
 subsist long at the extravagant prices they do, nor their 
 singers to keep useless mistresses; which, by the bye, is a 
 very ingenious burlesque on our taste. 
 
 CRITIC. Ay, how so? 
 
 AUTHOR. Why, sir, for an English people to support an 
 extravagant Italian opera, of which they understand nor 
 
254 EURYDICE 
 
 relish neither the sense nor the sound, is as_ heartily 
 ridiculous and much of a piece with an eunuch’s keeping a 
 mistress: nor do I know whether his ability is more despised 
 by his mistress, or our taste by our singers. 
 
 CRITIc. Hush, hush! don’t disturb the play! 
 
 SCENE.—PLUTO’S Court. 
 PLUTO, CAPTAIN WEAZEL, MR. SPINDLE. 
 
 PLUTO. Well, Mr. Spindle, pray how do you like your 
 way of living here? 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. Upon my word, may it please your 
 majesty, it is so very like the life I used to lead, that I can 
 scarce perceive any difference, unless (I hope your majesty 
 will not be offended) I think you are not quite so wicked 
 here as we used to be in the other world. 
 
 PLUTO. Why truly, that is what I am afraid of, Mr. 
 Spindle, and that is what I regret very much: but I know 
 no remedy for it; for as it is impossible to make the 
 people here worse, so I believe it is impracticable to make 
 them there better. (How little these wretches know, that the 
 vices which were their pleasures in the other world, are their 
 punishment here; and that the most vicious man needs 
 scarce any other punishment than that of being confined to 
 his vice !) [Aszde. 
 
 AUTHOR. There, sir! There is morality for you out of 
 the mouth of the devil, if that be not @ fuco dare lucem, let 
 another handle the pen for me. 
 
 MR. SPINDLE. One vice in particular, that we excel you 
 in, is hypocrisy. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. It cannot be otherwise; for as his 
 diabolical majesty is known to have such an antipathy to 
 virtue, you may be certain, no one here will affect it. 
 
 PLUTO. Why not? I am no enemy to the affectation of 
 it; and if they were to counterfeit never so nicely, they 
 might depend on it I should see through them. But ha! 
 my wife and Eurydice! 
 
POU YI CE 255 
 
 Enter PROSERPINE and EURYDICE. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Yes, sir, the gentleman could not stay, it 
 seems, till he got home; but looked back on his treasure, 
 and so forfeited it. 
 
 EuRYDICE. And yet, I took all the pains in my power 
 to prevent it, continually entreating him to look forward, 
 frightened out of my wits every step, lest he should see 
 me by a side glance, and yet all would not do; he would 
 [sobbzng|, he would look back upon me, and so I have lost 
 him for ever. 
 
 PLUTO. Be comforted, madam. 
 
 EURYDICE. It is in your power to comfort me. 
 
 PLUTO. And be assured, it is in my will. 
 
 EURYDICE. Then you must promise me never to send me 
 back: for, truly, there is [composed| so much pain in 
 parting, that since it must happen, I am resolved never to 
 see my husband again, if I can help it. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Be easy; for by Styx, he never shall send 
 you back! 
 
 Mr. SPINDLE. However, there is some hypocrisy here, I 
 find. [Aszde to Weazel. 
 
 CAPTAIN WEAZEL. Ay, among the women. 
 
 PROSERPINE. Well, my dear Eurydice, I am so pleased to 
 see you returned, that I will celebrate a holiday in all 
 my dominions. Let Tantalus drink, and take Ixion off 
 the wheel. Let every one’s punishment be remitted a 
 whole day. Do you hear, husband? what are you thinking 
 of ?——Do you take care and signify my pleasure? 
 
 PLUTO. I shall, my dear. Do you hear, all of you? It 
 is my wife’s pleasure that you should all keep holiday. 
 
 PROSERPINE. And harkye, sir, I desire you would wave 
 your wand, and conjure back some of your devils that 
 dance at the play-houses in the other world. 
 
 PLUTO. My dear, I will obey your commands. 
 
 PROSERPINE, You see, my dear Eurydice, the manner in 
 which I live with my husband. He settled one half of 
 the government on me at my marriage, and I have, thank 
 
256 _ EURYDICE 
 
 fate, pretty well worked him out of the other half: thus I 
 make myself some little amends for his immortality. 
 
 EURYDICE. And sure a wife ought to have some amends 
 made her for such a terrible circumstance. 
 
 PLUTO. My dear, the dancers are come. 
 
 EURYDICE. Well, I am quite charmed with your majesty’s 
 behaviour to a husband. 
 
 PROSERPINE. And I am so charmed with yours, that you 
 shall henceforth be my chief favourite. 
 
 A GRAND DANCE. 
 CHORUS. 
 
 EUR. From lessons like these 
 You may if you please, 
 Good husbands, learn to be civil ; 
 For you find ’tis in vain 
 To wish for us again. 
 When once we are gone to the devil. 
 
 PROS. At .each little pet, 
 Do not quarrel and fret, 
 And wish your wives dead, for I tell you, 
 If they once touch this shore, 
 You shall have them no more, 
 Though to fetch them you send Farinello. 
 
 PLUTO. Attend to Old Nick, 
 Ye brethren that stick 
 Like me in Hymen’s fast fetters ; 
 If you’d lead quiet lives, 
 Give way to your wives, 
 As you see must be done by your betters. 
 CHORUS. Attend to Old Nick, 
 Ye brethren that stick 
 Like him in Hymen’s fast fetters ; 
 If you’d live quiet lives, 
 Give way to your wives, 
 As you see must be done by your betters. 
 
— = 
 - a: 
 ; ae: 
 aN a 5 ~ aa ‘ 
 
 - ~-EURYDICE HISSED 
 
 A WORD TO THE WISE. 
 
 ee vOL. x. ay 
 
DRAMATIS 
 
 SPATTER? co one ee 
 SOURWITivi pot ook eee ee 
 LORDZ DAPPERT cnet a) (me 
 
 PILLAGE-Fs fac es ee eee eee 
 
 HONES TUS. eee ao ee 
 NLUSB a eta pie 
 
 ACTORS 3 * eros. Gan 
 
 GENTLEMEN... . 
 
 PERSON | |) i 
 
 _. »« Mr. Ward. 
 
 atl 
 
 - # 
 
 . Mrs. Chita ;: 
 sp aoe 
 
 . . Mr, Roberts. 
 
 - o MM IAD ES 
 
 . . Mrs. Haywood. 
 Mr. Blakess 
 Mr. Lowther. 
 Mr. Pullen. < 
 Mr. Topping, 
 Mr. Woodburn. 
 Mr. Machen, — 
 
 ith a 
 Mr. Woodburn. ai 
 | T 2, iz e 1 y 
 
 * _ 
 Oe 
 
Pe aa Oke il SyS ET) 
 
 OR, 
 
 mow ORD TOcshEE. WISE. 
 
 Enter SPATTER, SOURWIT, azd LORD DAPPER. 
 
 SPATTER. My lord, I am extremely obliged to you for 
 the honour you show me in staying to the rehearsal of my 
 tragedy: I hope it will please your lordship, as well as 
 Mr. Medley’s comedy has, for I assure you it is ten times 
 as ridiculous. 
 
 SouRWIT. Is it the merit of a tragedy, Mr. Spatter, to 
 be ridiculous? | 
 
 SPATTER. Yes, sir, of such tragedies as mine; and I 
 think you, Mr. Sourwit, will grant me this, that a tragedy 
 had better be ridiculous than dull; and that there is more 
 merit in making the audience laugh, than in setting them 
 asleep. 
 
 LORD DAPPER. I beg, sir, you would begin, or I sha’n't 
 get my hair powdered before dinner; for I am always four 
 hours about it. 
 
 SOURWIT. Why, pr’ythee, what is this tragedy of thine? 
 
 SPATTER. Sir, it is the damnation of Eurydice. I fancy, 
 Mr. Sourwit, you will allow I have chose this subject very 
 
260 EURYDICE AiISSED, OR, 
 
 cunningly ; for as the town have damned my play, for their 
 own sakes they will not damn the damnation of it. 
 
 SouRWIT. Faith, I must confess, there is something of 
 singular modesty in the instance. 
 
 SPATTER. And of singular prudence too; what signifies 
 denying the fact after sentence, and dying with a lie in 
 your mouth: no, no, rather, like a good pious criminal, re- 
 joice, that in being put to shame you make some atonement 
 for your sins; and I hope to do so in the following play ; 
 for it is, Mr. Sourwit, of a most instructive kind, and conveys 
 to us a beautiful image of the instability of human greatness, 
 and the uncertainty of friends. You see here the author of 
 a mighty farce at the very top and pinnacle of poetical or 
 rather farcical greatness, followed, flattered, and adored by a 
 crowd of dependants: on a sudden, fortune changing the 
 scene, and his farce being damned, you see him become the 
 scorn of his admirers, and deserted and abandoned by all 
 those who courted his favour, and appeared the foremost to 
 uphold and protect him. Draw the scene, and discover 
 Mr. Pillage. [Scene draws. 
 
 SOURWIT. Who is he? | 
 
 SPATTER. The author of the farce. . 
 
 SOURWIT. A very odd name for an author. 
 
 SPATTER. Perhaps you will not remain long in that 
 opinion: but silence. 
 
 PILLAGE. Who’d wish to be the author of a farce, 
 Surrounded daily by a crowd of actors, 
 
 Gaping for parts, and never to be satisfied ? 
 
 Yet, say the wise, in loftier seats of life, 
 
 Solicitation is the chief reward ; 
 
 And Wolsey’s self, that mighty minister, 
 
 In the full height and zenith of his power, 
 
 Amid a crowd of sycophants and slaves, 
 
 Was but perhaps the author of a farce, 
 
 Perhaps a damned one too. ’Tis all a cheat, 
 
 Some men play little farces, and some great. [ Exit. 
 
 SPATTER. Now for the levée. 
 
 SOURWIT. Whose levée, sir? 
 
A WORD T0 THE WISE 261 
 
 SPATTER. My poet’s, sir. 
 
 SOURWIT. ’Sdeath, sir, did ever any mortal hear of a 
 poet’s levée? 
 
 SPATTER. Sir, my poet is a very great man. 
 
 SOURWIT. And pray, sir, of what sort of people do you 
 compose your great man’s levée? 
 
 SPATTER. Of his dependants, sir: pray, of what sort of 
 people are all great men’s levées composed? I have been 
 forced, sir, to do a small violence to history, and make my 
 great man not only a poet, but a master of a play-house; 
 and so, sir, his levée is composed of actors soliciting for 
 parts, printers for copies, box-keepers, scene-men, fiddlers, 
 and candle-snuffers. And now, Mr. Sourwit, do you think 
 I could have composed his levée of properer company ? 
 Come, enter, enter gentlemen. 
 
 [The Levée enters, and range themselves 
 to a ridiculous tune. 
 
 Enter PILLAGE. 
 
 1 ACTOR. Sir, you have promised me a part a long 
 time: if you had not intended to employ me, it would have 
 been kind in you to have let me know it, that I might 
 have turned myself to some trade or other. 
 
 PILLAGE. Sir, one farce cannot find parts for all; but you 
 shall be provided for in time. You must have patience; I 
 intend to exhibit several farces, depend on me you shall 
 have a part. 
 
 1 AcTor. I humbly thank you. 
 
 2 Actor. Sir, I was to have a principal part long 
 ago. | 
 PILLAGE. Speak to me before the parts are cast, and I 
 will remember you in my next farce; I shall exhibit several. 
 I am very glad to see you; you remember my farce is to 
 [to 3 Actor] come on to-day, and will lend me _ your 
 hands. 
 
 3 AcTOR. Depend on me. 
 
 PILLAGE, And you, sir, I hope, will clap heartily. 
 
262 EUR Y¥DICR SOLD SOR, 
 
 4 AcToR. De’el o’ my sal, but I will. 
 
 PILLAGE. Be sure and get into the house as soon as the 
 doors are open. 
 
 4 AcToR. Fear me not; I will but get a bet of denner, 
 and I will be the first in the huse—but— 
 
 PILLAGE. What, sir? 
 
 4 ACTOR. I want money to buy a pair of gloves. 
 
 PILLAGE. I will order it you out of the office. 
 
 4 AcToR. De’el o’ my sal, but I will clap every gud 
 thing, till I bring the huse down. 
 
 PILLAGE. That won’t do: the town of its own accord 
 will applaud what they like; you must stand by me when 
 they dislike——-I don’t desire any of you to clap unless 
 when you hear a hiss——let that be your cue for clapping. 
 
 ALL. We'll observe. 
 
 5 AcTor. But, sir, I have not money enough to get into 
 the house. 
 
 PILLAGE. I cannot disburse it. 
 
 5 AcTOR. But I hope you will remember your promises, 
 sir. 
 
 PILLAGE. Some other time; you see I am busy 
 are your commands, sir? 
 
 I PRINTER. I am a printer, and desire to print your 
 play. 
 
 2 PRINTER. Sir, I’ll give you the most money. 
 
 PILLAGE [fo 2 Printer, whispering]. You shall have it— 
 Oh! I am heartily glad to see you. [Zakes him aside.) You 
 know my farce comes on to-day, and I have many enemies ; 
 I hope you will stand by me. 
 
 POET. Depend on me, never fear your enemies, I'll 
 warrant we make more noise than they. 
 
 PILLAGE. Thou art a very honest fellow. 
 
 [Shaking him by the hand. 
 
 PoET. I am always proud to serve you. 
 
 PILLAGE. I wish you would let me serve you, I wish 
 you would turn actor, and accept of a part in some of my 
 farces. 
 
 PoET. No, I thank you, I don’t intend to come upon the 
 
 What 
 
A WORD TO THE WISE 263 
 
 stage myself; but I desire you would let me recommend 
 this handsome, genteel, young fellow to act the part of a 
 fine gentleman. 
 
 PILLAGE. Depend on it, he shall do the very first I 
 bring on the stage: I dare swear, sir, his abilities are such 
 that the town will be obliged to us both for producing 
 them. | 
 
 POET. I hope so, but I must take my leave of you, for 
 I am to meet a strong party that I have engaged for your 
 service. 
 
 PILLAGE. Do, do, be sure, do clap heartily. 
 
 POET. Fear not, I warrant we bring you off triumphant. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 PILLAGE. Then I defy the town: if by my friends, 
 Against their liking I support my farce, 
 
 And fill my loaded pockets with their pence, 
 Let after-ages damn me if they please. 
 
 SOURWIT. Well, sir, and pray what do you principally 
 intend by this levée scene? 
 
 SPATTER. Sir, I intend first to warn all future authors 
 from depending solely on a party to support them against 
 the judgment of the town. Secondly, showing that even the 
 author of a farce may have his attendants and dependants ; 
 I hope greater persons may learn to despise them, which 
 may be a more useful moral than you may apprehend ; for 
 perhaps the mean ambition of being worshipped, flattered, 
 and attended by such fellows as these, may have led men 
 into the worst of schemes, from which they could promise 
 themselves little more. 
 
 Enter HONESTUS., 
 
 HONESTUS. You sent me word that you desired to see me. 
 PILLAGE. I did, Honestus, for my farce appears 
 
 This day upon the stage——and I intreat 
 
 Your presence in the pit to help applaud it. 
 HONESTUS. Faith, sir, my voice shall never be corrupt. 
 
264 EURYDICE HISSED; OR, 
 
 If I approve your farce, I will applaud it ; 
 If not, I’ll hiss it, though I hiss alone. 
 PILLAGE. Now, by my soul, I hope to see the time 
 When none shall dare to hiss within the house. 
 HONESTus. I rather hope to see the time, when none 
 Shall come prepared to censure or applaud, 
 But merit always bear away the prize. 
 If you have merit, take your merit’s due; 
 If not, why should a bungler in his art 
 Keep off some better genius from the stage? 
 I tell you, sir, the farce you act to-night 
 I don’t approve, nor will the house, unless 
 Your friends by partiality prevail. 
 Besides, you are most impolitic to affront 
 The army in the beginning of your piece; 
 Your satire is unjust, I know no ghost 
 Of army-beaus unless of your own making. 
 SOURWIT. What do you mean by that? 
 SPATTER. Sir, in the farce of Eurydice, a ghost of an 
 army-beau was brought on the stage. 
 SOURWIT. O! ay, I remember him. 
 PILLAGE. I fear them not, I have so many friends, 
 That the majority will sure be mine. 
 HONESTUS. Curse on this way of carrying things by 
 friends, 
 This bar to merit; by such unjust means, 
 A play’s success, or ill success is known, 
 And fixed before it has been tried i’ th’ house; 
 Yet grant it should succeed, grant that by chance, 
 Or by the whim and madness of the town, 
 A farce without contrivance, without sense, 
 Should run to the astonishment of mankind ; 
 Think how you will be read in after-times, 
 When friends are not, and the impartial judge 
 Shall with the meanest scribbler rank your name ; 
 Who would not rather wish a Butler's fame, 
 Distressed and poor in every thing but merit, 
 Than be the blundering laureat to a court? 
 
A WORD TO THE WISE 265 
 
 PILLAGE. Not I On me, ye gods, bestow the pence, 
 And give your fame to any fools you please. 
 HONESTUS. Your love of pence sufficiently you show, 
 By raising still your prices on the town. 
 PILLAGE. The town for their own sakes those prices pay, 
 Which the additional expense demands. 
 HONESTUS. Then give us a good tragedy for our money, 
 And let not Harlequin still pick our pockets, 
 With his low paltry tricks and juggling cheats, 
 Which any school-boy, was he on the stage, 
 Could do as well as he——In former times, 
 When better actors acted better plays, 
 The town paid less. 
 PILLAGE. We have more actors now. 
 HONESTUS. Ay, many more, I’m certain, than you need. 
 Make your additional expense apparent, 
 Let it appear quite necessary too, 
 And then, perhaps, they ll grumble not to pay. 
 PILLAGE. What is a manager whom the public rule? 
 HONESTUS. The servant of the public, and no more: 
 For though indeed you see the actors paid, 
 Yet from the people’s pockets come the pence ; 
 They therefore should decide what they will pay for. 
 PILLAGE. If you assist me on this trial day, 
 You may assure yourself a dedication. 
 HoNneEstTus. No bribe——I go impartial to your cause, 
 Like a just critic, to give worth applause, 
 
 But damn you if you write against our laws. [ Ext, 
 PILLAGE. I wish I could have gained one honest man 
 Sure to my side——But since the attempt is vain, 
 
 Numbers must serve for worth; the vessel sails 
 With equal rapid fury and success, 
 Borne by the foulest tide, as clearest stream. 
 
 Enter VALET DE CHAMBRE. 
 
 VALET. Your honour’s muse 
 Is come to wait upon you. 
 VOL. X. M M 
 
265 EURYDICE AISSED,; Of; 
 
 PILLAGE. Show her in. 
 I guess she comes to chide me for neglect, 
 Since twice two days have passed since I invoked her. 
 
 Einter MUSE. 
 
 SouRWIT. The devil there have! This is a mighty 
 pretty way the gentleman has found out to insinuate his 
 acquaintance with the muses; though, like other ladies, I 
 believe they are often wronged by fellows who brag of 
 favours they never received. 
 
 PILLAGE. Why wears my gentle muse so stern a brow? 
 Why awful thus affects she to appear, 
 
 Where she delighted to be so serene? 
 
 Muse. And dost thou ask, thou traitor, dost thou ask? 
 Art thou not conscious of the wrongs I bear, 
 
 Neglected, slighted for a fresher muse ? 
 I, whose fond heart too easily did yield 
 My virgin joys and honour to thy arms, 
 And bore thee Pasquin. 
 
 PILLAGE. Where will this fury end? 
 
 Muse. Ask thy base heart, whose is Eurydice ? 
 
 PILLAGE. By all that’s great, begotten on no muse, 
 
 The trifling offspring of an idle hour, 
 When you were absent, far below your care. 
 
 MusE. Can I believe you had her by no muse? 
 
 PILLAGE. Ay, by your love, and more, by mine, you 
 
 shall ; 
 My raptured fancy shall again enjoy thee; 
 Cure all thy jealousies, and ease thy fears. 
 
 Muse. Wilt thou? make ready then thy pen and ink. 
 
 PILLAGE. Oh, they are ever ready; when they fail, 
 Mayst thou forsake me, mayst thou then inspire 
 The blundering brain of scribblers, who for hire 
 Would write away their country’s liberties. 
 
 MUuSsE. .O name not wretches so below the muse: 
 
 No, my dear Pillage, sooner will I whet | 
 The Ordinary of Newgate’s leaden quill; 
 
A WORD TO THE WISE 267 
 
 Sooner will I indite the annual verse, 
 
 Which city bellmen, or court laureats sing; 
 Sooner with thee in humble garret dwell, 
 
 And thou, or else thy muse disclaims thy pen, 
 Wouldst sooner starve, ay, even in prison starve, 
 Than vindicate oppression for thy bread, 
 
 Or write down liberty to gain thy own. 
 
 SOURWIT. Hey-day! methinks this merry tragedy is 
 growing sublime. 
 
 SPATTER. That last is, indeed, a little out of my present 
 style; it dropped from me before I was aware; talking of 
 liberty made me serious in spite of my teeth, for between 
 you and me, Mr. Sourwit, I think that affair is past a jest: 
 but I ask your pardon, you shall have no more on’t. 
 
 PILLAGE. Come to my arms, inspire me with sweet 
 
 thoughts. 
 And now thy inspiration fires my brain: 
 Not more I felt thy power, nor fiercer burnt 
 My vigorous fancy, when thy blushing charms 
 First yielded trembling, and inspired my pen 
 To write nine scenes with spirit in one day. 
 
 Musk. That was a day indeed! 
 
 SOURWIT. Ay, faith! so it was. 
 
 MusE. And does my Pillage write with joy as then? 
 Would not a fresher subject charm his pen? 
 
 PILLAGE. Let the dull sated appetite require 
 Variety to whet its blunted edge; 
 
 The subject which has once delighted me, 
 
 Shall still delight, shall ever be my choice ; 
 
 Come to my arms, thou masterpiece of nature. 
 
 The fairest rose, first opening to the sun, 
 
 Bears not thy beauty, nor sends forth thy sweets ; 
 
 For that once gathered loses all its pride, 
 
 Fades to the sight, and sickens to the smell ; 
 
 Thou, gathered, charmest every sense the more, 
 
 Canst flourish, and be gathered o’er and o'er. [Exeunt. 
 
 SPATTER. There, they are gone to write a scene, and the 
 town may expect the fruit of it. 
 
268 EURYDICE HISSED; OR, 
 
 SouRWIT. Yes, I think the town may expect an offspring 
 indeed. 
 
 SPATTER. But now my catastrophe is approaching: change 
 the scene to the outside of the play-house, and enter two 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Enter two GENTLEMEN. 
 
 I GENTLEMAN. Came you from the house? 
 
 2 GENTLEMAN. I did. 
 
 I GENTLEMAN. How wears the farce? 
 
 2 GENTLEMAN. The pit is crammed, I could not get 
 
 admission, 
 But at the door I heard a mighty noise, 
 It seemed of approbation, and of laughter. 
 
 I GENTLEMAN. If laughter, it was surely approbation, 
 For I’ve long studied the dramatic art, 
 
 Read many volumes, seen a thousand plays, 
 Whence I’ve at length found out this certain truth, 
 That laughs applaud a farce, and tears a tragedy. 
 
 SOURWIT. A very great discovery, indeed, and very 
 pompously introduced ! 
 
 SPATTER. You sneer, Mr. Sourwit: but I have seen dis- 
 coveries in life of the same nature, introduced with much 
 greater pomp. 
 
 SOURWIT. But don’t you intend to lay the scene in the 
 theatre, and let us see the farce fairly damned before us? 
 
 SPATTER. No, sir, it is a thing ‘of too horipigue 
 nature; for which reason I shall follow Horace’s rule, and 
 only introduce a description of it. Come, enter, Description ; 
 I assure you I have thrown myself out greatly in this next 
 scene, 
 
 Enter third GENTLEMAN. 
 
 3 GENTLEMAN, Oh, friends, all’s lost; Eurydice is 
 damned. 
 2 GENTLEMAN. Ha! damned! A few short moments 
 past I came 
 From the pit-door, and heard a loud applause, 
 
A WORD TO THE WISE 269 
 
 3 GENTLEMAN. ’Tis true, at first the pit seemed greatly 
 pleased, . 
 And loud applauses through the benches rung, 
 But as the plot began to open more, 
 (A shallow plot) the claps less frequent grew, 
 Till by degrees a gentle hiss arose ; 
 This by a catcall from the gallery 
 Was quickly seconded: then followed claps, 
 And ’twixt long claps and hisses did succeed 
 A stern contention. Victory hung dubious. 
 So hangs the conscience, doubtful to determine, 
 When honesty pleads here and there a bribe; 
 At length, from some ill-fated actor’s mouth, 
 Sudden there issued forth a horrid dram, 
 And from another rushed two gallons forth : 
 The audience, as it were contagious air, 
 All caught it, hallooed, catcalled, hissed, and groaned. 
 1 GENTLEMAN. I always thought, indeed, that joke would 
 damn him; 
 And told him that the people would not take it. 
 3 GENTLEMAN. But it was mighty pleasant to behold, 
 When the damnation of the farce was sure, 
 How all those friends who had begun the claps, 
 With greatest vigour strove who first should hiss, 
 And show disapprobation. And John Watts, 
 Who was this morning eager for the copy, 
 Slunk hasty from the pit, and shook his head. 
 2 GENTLEMAN. And so ’tis certain that his farce is gone? 
 3 GENTLEMAN. Most certain. 
 2 GENTLEMAN. Let us then retire with speed, 
 For see, he comes this way. 
 3 GENTLEMAN. By all means, 
 Let us avoid him with what haste we can. [ Exeunt. 
 
 Enter PILLAGE. 
 
 PILLAGE. Then I am damned——Cursed henceforth be 
 the bard, 
 
 Whoe’er depends on fortune, or on friends. 
 
270 EURYDICE AISSED, &¢. 
 
 SouRWIT. So, the play is over; for I reckon you will 
 not find it possible to get any one to come near this honest 
 gentleman. 
 
 SPATTER. Yes, sir, there is one, and you may easily 
 guess who it is: the man who will not flatter his friend 
 in prosperity, will hardly leave him in adversity Come, 
 enter Honestus. 
 
 PILLAGE. Honestus here! will he not shun me too? 
 
 HoNESTUS. When Pasquin ran, and the town liked you 
 
 most, 
 And every scribbler loaded you with praise, 
 I did not court you, nor will shun you now. 
 
 PILLAGE. Oh! had I taken your advice, my friend! 
 I had not now been damned——Then had I trusted 
 To the impartial judgment of the town, 
 
 And by the goodness of my piece had tried 
 
 To merit favour, nor with vain reliance 
 
 On the frail promise of uncertain friends, 
 
 Produced a farce like this Friends who forsook me, 
 
 And left me nought to comfort me but this. | Drinks. 
 HONESTUS. Forbear to drink. 
 PILLAGE. Oh! it is now too late. 
 
 Already I have drunk two bottles off, 
 
 Of this fell potion, and it now begins 
 
 To work its deadly purpose on my brain. 
 
 I’m giddy, ha! my head begins to swim, 
 
 And see Eurydice all pale before me; 
 
 Why dost thou haunt me thus? I did not damn thee. 
 
 By Jove there never was a better farce: 
 
 She beckons me—Say—whether—blame the town, 
 
 And not thy Pillage——-Now my brain’s on fire! 
 
 My staggering senses dance and I am 
 
 HONESTuS. Drunk. 
 
 That word he should have said, that ends the verse: 
 Farewell, a twelve hours’ nap compose thy senses. 
 May mankind profit by thy sad example, 
 
 May men grow wiser, writers grow more scarce, 
 And no man dare to make a simple farce. 
 
imuevenpslsh-DOWN DICK 
 
 OR, 
 
 Pao LON STN RE SUDSs: 
 
 A DRAMATIC ENTERTAINMENT OF WALKING IN SERIOUS 
 AND FOOLISH CHARACTERS. 
 
 Interlarded with Burlesque, Grotesque, Comic Interludes, 
 
 CALLED 
 
 feet ENA PICK-POCKET: 
 THE NEW THEATRE IN THE HAYMARKET, 
 
 Being (tis hoped) the last Entertainment that will ever be exhibited on 
 any Stage. 
 
 INVENTED BY THE INGENIOUS 
 
 MONSIEUR SANS ESPRIT. 
 
 THE MUSIC COMPOSED BY THE HARMONIOUS 
 
 SIGNIOR WARBLERINI. 
 
 AND THE SCENES PAINTED BY THE PRODIGIOUS 
 
 MYNHEER VAN BOTTOM-FLAT. 
 
 Monstr horrend’ inform.—— 
 
 FIRST ACTED IN 1744. 
 
LO MR JOHN LUN, 
 
 Vulgarly called ESQUIRE. 
 
 SIR,—Though Pasquin has put dedications in so ridiculous 
 a light, that patrons may, perhaps, pay some shame for 
 the future for reading their own praises; yet, I hope 
 you will not begin to be affected with so troublesome 
 a passion, when I tell you, I know no man in England 
 to whom I can so properly dedicate the following pages 
 as yourself. 
 
 It is to you, sir, we owe (if not the invention) at least 
 the bringing into a fashion, that sort of writing which you 
 have pleased to distinguish by the name of Entertainment. 
 Your success herein (whether owing to your heels or your 
 head I will not determine) sufficiently entitles you to all 
 respect from the inferior dabblers in things of this nature. 
 
 But, sir, I have farther obligations to you than the 
 success, whatever it be, which this little farce may meet 
 with, can lay on me. It was to a play judiciously brought 
 on by you in the May-month, to which I owe the original 
 hint, as I have always owned, of the contrasted poets, and 
 two or three other particulars, which have received great 
 applause on the stage. Nor am I less obliged to you for 
 discovering in my imperfect performance the strokes of an 
 author, any of whose wit, if I have preserved entire, I 
 shall think it my chief merit to the town. Though I 
 cannot enough cure myself of selfishness, while I meddle 
 in dramatic writings, to profess a sorrow that one of so 
 superior a genius is led, by his better sense and better 
 
 VOL. X. N N 
 
274 DEDICATION 
 
 fortune, to more profitable studies than the stage. How 
 far you have contributed to this, I will not presume to 
 determine. Farther, as Pasquin has proved of greater ad- 
 vantage to me, than it could have been at any other 
 play-house, under their present regulations, I am obliged to 
 you for the indifference you showed at my proposal to you 
 of bringing a play on your stage this winter, which imme- 
 diately determined me against any farther pursuing that 
 project; for as I never yielded to any mean or sub- 
 servient solicitations of the great men in real life, I 
 could by no means prevail on myself to play an under- 
 part in that dramatic entertainment of greatness, which you 
 are pleased to divert yourself with in private, and which, 
 was you to exhibit it in public, might prove as profitable 
 to you, and as diverting a Pantomime to the town, as any 
 you have hitherto favoured us with. 
 
 I am, moreover, much obliged to you for that satire on 
 Pasquin, which you was so kind to bring on your stage; 
 and here I declare (whatever people may think to the 
 contrary) you did it of your own goodness, without any 
 reward or solicitation from me, I own it was a sen- 
 sible pleasure to me to observe the town, which had before 
 been so favourable to Pasquin at his own house, confirming 
 that applause, by thoroughly condemning the satire on him 
 at yours. 
 
 Whether this was written by your command, or your 
 assistance, or only acted by your permission, I will not 
 venture to decide. I believe every impartial honest man 
 will conclude, that either lays me under the same obligation 
 to you, and justly entitles you to this dedication. Indeed, 
 I am inclined to believe the latter; for I fancy you have 
 too strong a head ever to meddle with Common-sense, 
 especially since you have found the way so well to succeed 
 without her, and you are too great and good a Manager, 
 to keep a needless supernumerary in your house. 
 
 I suppose you will here expect something in the dedi- 
 catory style on your person and your accomplishments: 
 but why should I entertain the town with a recital of 
 
DEDICATION 275 
 
 your particular perfections, when they may see your whole 
 merit all at once, whenever you condescend to perform the 
 Harlequin? However, I shall beg leave to mention here (I 
 solemnly protest, without the least design of flattery) your 
 adequate behaviour in that great station to which you was 
 born, your great judgment in plays and players, too well 
 known to be here expatiated on; your generosity, in divert- 
 ing the whole kingdom with your race-horses at the expense, 
 I -might almost say, of more than your purse. To say 
 nothing of your wit and other perfections, I must force 
 myself to add, though I know every man will be pleased 
 with it but yourself, that the person who has the honour to 
 know your very inmost thoughts best, is the most sensible of 
 your great endowments. 
 
 But, sir, while I am pleasing myself, and I believe the 
 world, I am, I fear, offending you: I will therefore desist, 
 though I can affirm, what few dedicators can, that I can, 
 and perhaps may, say much more; and only assure you 
 that I am, with the sincerity of most of the foregoing 
 lines, 
 
 Your most obedient, 
 
 And most humble Servant, 
 
 PASQUIN. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 PHAETON was the son of Phoebus, and Clymene, a 
 Grecian oyster-wench. The parish boys would often upbraid 
 him with the infamy of his mother Clymene, telling him 
 she reported him to be the son of Apollo, only to cover 
 her adultery with a serjeant of the Foot-guards. He com- 
 plains to Clymene of the affront put upon them both. She 
 advises him to go to the Round-house (the temple of his 
 father), and there be resolved from his own mouth of the 
 truth of his sire; bidding him at the same time beg some 
 indubitable. mark, that should. convince the world that his 
 mother was a virtuous woman, and whore to Phoebus. He 
 goes to the said Round-house, where Apollo grants his 
 request, and gives him the guidance of his lanthorn for a 
 day. The youth falling asleep, was tumbled out of the 
 wheelbarrow, and what became of him I could never 
 learn. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONA. 
 
 Meee, tne Composer... «. +... . . ». . ir. Roberts. 
 BAN AnVAULRODS see ew ns « vee» Dr. Lacey, 
 BeePRWEIL, aCritic, ..4) 204°. = 50's. wal Mr, Machen. 
 ORAL CEM Bea! sae ya ln yc a Ue ae) « all te Lurner. 
 NEE ee ry ie tN ci io deh ss st ape x, D075, Charke. 
 Wee eR Oeeee eur l) 4 y Sow. eM, Freeman. 
 Ee eee Se ate 2) A Walls. 
 NN se re ee er eg cg Ges ge uD. Lopping, 
 ee PA ON eee ee Ae ss et let 2, AP Smith. 
 Seren ok HAE TONG de te ks cee ayes ict. . 127, Boothby. 
 Se A TA ace hes fijy ain te! o 2 vig ie, 20m. Lgerfon, 
 SeerRC AS WERT ge ate sai. et ality oo tye AA ESS* Jomes. 
 ee A Ey ra a aks oe woth aig en, Lckpe cdl Pam a 1 AGES UPL OSS, 
 Bree See eet aie Pivaress, rusls . ever? apr Dl ess. J er oUsOn. 
 eel Pe VEU RRS eh Fete it mc. aioe lott Leu, OSGMOna. 
 eRe Br Vi dhe Pe cepts CaM rd eb esl thd ee fOnes. 
 mee te SACLE RK eye a Goce) ws nt 1a, ie 1c Mons. Castigiione. 
 | Mr. Freeman. 
 Be EACERS (| Mr. Turner. 
 ‘ . { Waster Sherwin. 
 ae \ Miss Ferguson. 
 UAC REN er ee os be a ew ula ao = ladle, Beaumaunt. 
 PECIENT RAMAN, (cu cdsis ss Go i we ee ALY Smitlh, 
 MCE SIC VMEAN i ha oe he ee cos. os. Fe, Lowder. 
 BS TeV SCAN esl os a bay packs sea AD7, Collerd. 
 Ee ORM TO rR eo eel cits at et oe: Mr BRoothoy. 
 eA er ae A Se ae, age cee ay «?, vr Pullen, 
 
 PEL Ak eee cet eee eh eee) ae ge ea DT. Walizs, 
 
278 DRAMATIS PERSONA 
 
 ATRAKE 9. -. «ou Qieen BRE ee) eer, ager Phenix. 
 { Mr. Smith. 
 \ Mr. Collerd. 
 PISTOL. 0 6 00} ok ee, sy 9 
 TRAGEDY KING .. «3 soypee een uence ns) 9717 pee 
 SCHOOL-MISTRESS = 5 © s @ wos ms 5 5 07S ope 
 TRAGEDY QUEEN. = >a em ee 2 ee ee 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Lowder. 
 Mr. Collera. 
 Mr. Chapman. 
 
 CHAIRMEN |...) see ene 
 
 WATCHMEN . e . . . . , * ° e . . . 
 
 Constables, Watch, Fiddlers, Lanthorns, Suns, Moons, Whores, 
 Gly Ol. 0. j 
 
meu ViBLE-DOWN DICK 
 
 OR, 
 
 PhONa UN ii SU DS: 
 
 PROMPTER, FUSTIAN, SNEERWELL, azad MACHINE. 
 
 PROMPTER. Mr. Fustian, I hope the tragedy is over, for 
 Mr. Machine is just come, and we must practise the 
 entertainment. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, my tragedy is done; but you need not be 
 in such haste about your entertainment, for you will not 
 want it this season. 
 
 PROMPTER. That, sir, I don't know; but we dare not 
 disoblige Mr. Machine, for fear he should go to the other 
 house. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Dear Fustian, do let us stay and see the 
 practice. 
 
 FUSTIAN. And can you bear, after such a luscious meal 
 of tragedy as you have had, to put away the taste with such 
 an insipid dessert ? 
 
 SNEERWELL. It will divert me a different way.—I can 
 admire the sublime which I have seen in the tragedy, and 
 laugh at the ridiculous which I expect in the entertainment. 
 
 FUSTIAN. You shall laugh by yourself then. [ Gozng. 
 
280 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 SNEERWELL. Nay, dear Fustian, I beg you would stay 
 for me, for I believe I can serve you; I will carry you to 
 dinner in a large company, where you may dispose of 
 some tickets. 
 
 FusTIAN. Sir, I can deny you nothing—Ay, I have a 
 few tickets in my pockets. 
 
 [Pulls out a vast quantity of Paper. 
 
 MACHINE. Gentlemen, I must beg you to clear the stage 
 entirely: for in things of this serious nature, if we do not 
 comply with the exactest decency, the audience will be very 
 justly offended. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Things of a serious nature! Oh the devil! 
 
 MACHINE. Harkye, Prompter, who is that figure there? 
 
 PROMPTER. That, sir, is Mr. Fustian, author of the new 
 tragedy. | 
 
 MACHINE. Oh! I smoke him, I smoke him. But Mr. 
 Prompter, I must insist that you cut out a great deal of 
 Othello, if my pantomime is performed with it, or the 
 audience will be palled before the entertainment begins. 
 
 PROMPTER. We'll cut out the fifth act, sir, if you please. 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, that’s not enough, I’ll have the first 
 cut out too. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Death and the devil! Can I bear this? Shall 
 Shakespeare be mangled to introduce this trumpery ? 
 
 PROMPTER. Sir, this gentleman brings more money to 
 the house than all the poets put together. 
 
 MACHINE, Pugh, pugh, Shakespeare !——-Come, let down 
 the curtain, and play away the overture. — Prompter, to 
 your post. [Zhe curtain draws up, discovers Phaeton — 
 
 leaning against the scene. 
 
 SCENE.—A Cobbler’s Stall. 
 Enter CLYMENE. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, sir, who are these extraordinary 
 figures ? 
 MACHINE. He leaning against the scene is Phaeton; and 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 281 
 
 the lady is Clymene; or Clymene as they call her in Drury 
 Lane. This scene, sir, is in the true altercative, or scolding 
 style of the ancients. Come, madam, begin. 
 CLYMENE. You lazy, lousy rascal, is’t well done, 
 That you, the heir-apparent of the Sun, 
 Stand with your arms before you like a lout, 
 When your great father has two hours set out, 
 And bears his lanthorn all the world about? 
 YOUNG PHAETON. Oh mother, mother! think you it 
 _ sounds well, 
 That the Sun’s son in cobbler’s stall should dwell? 
 Think you it does not on my soul encroach, 
 To walk on foot while father keeps a coach? 
 If he should shine into the stall, d’ ye think 
 To see me mending shoes he would not wink? 
 Besides, by all the parish-boys I’m flammed, 
 You the Sun’s son! You rascal, you be damned! 
 CLYMENE. And dost thou, blockhead, then make all this 
 noise, 
 Because you’re fleered at by the parish-boys? 
 When, sirrah, you may know the mob will dare 
 Sometimes to scorn, and hiss.at my Lord Mayor. 
 
 AIR I. Gillifiower, gentle Rosemary. 
 
 YOUNG PHAETON. O mother, this story will never go 
 down ; 
 Twill ne’er be believed by the boys of the town ; 
 ’Tis true what you swore, 
 I’m the son of a whore, 
 They all believe that, but believe nothing more. 
 CLYMENE. You rascal, who dare your mamma thus to 
 doubt, 
 Come along to the justice, and he’ll make it out ; 
 He knows very well, 
 When you first made me swell, 
 That I swore ’twas the Sun that had shined in my cell. 
 1 C2 ee OO 
 
282 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 YOUNG PHAETON. O mother, mother, I must ever grieve; 
 Can I the justice, if not you believe? 
 If to your oath no credit I afford, 
 Do you believe I’ll take his worship’s word? 
 CLYMENE. Go to the watch-house, where your father 
 bright 
 That lanthorn keeps which gives the world its light; 
 Whence sallying, he does the day’s gates unlock, 
 Walks through the world’s great streets, and tells folks 
 what’s o'clock. 
 YOUNG PHAETON. With joy I go; and ere two days 
 are run 
 I’ll know if I am my own father’s son. [| Exze, 
 CLYMENE. Go, clear my fame, for greater ’tis in life 
 To be a great man’s whore, than poor man’s wife. 
 If you are rich, your vices men adore, 
 But hate and scorn your virtues, if you’re poor. 
 
 AIR II. Puerot Tune. 
 
 Great courtiers palaces contain, 
 Poor courtiers fear a jail;. 
 Great parsons riot in champagne, 
 Poor parsons sot in ale; 
 Great whores in coaches gang, 
 Smaller misses 
 For their kisses 
 Are in Bridewell banged ; 
 Whilst in vogue 
 Lives the great rogue, 
 Small rogues are by dozens hanged. | Aeee, 
 
 The scene draws and discovers the Sun in a great chair in the 
 Round-house, attended by Watchmen. 
 
 Enter YOUNG PHAETON. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, sir, what is the scene to represent? 
 MACHINE. Sir, this is the Palace of the Sun. 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 283 
 
 FuSTIAN. It looks as like the Round-house as ever I 
 saw any thing. 
 
 MACHINE. Yes, sir, the Sun is introduced in the character 
 of a watchman; and that lanthorn there represents his chariot. 
 
 FUSTIAN. The devil it does! 
 
 MACHINE. Yes, sir, it does, and as like the chariot of 
 the Sun it is as ever you saw any thing on any stage. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I can’t help thinking this a properer repre- 
 sentation of the Moon than the Sun. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Perhaps the scene lies in the Antipodes, 
 where the Sun rises at midnight. 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, the scene lies in Ovid’s Metamorphoses ; 
 and so, pray, sir, don’t ask any more questions, for things 
 of this nature are above criticism. 
 
 YOUNG PHAETON. What do I see? What beams of 
 
 candle-light 
 Break from that lanthorn and put out my sight? 
 
 PHOEBUS. O little Phaey! pr’ythee tell me why 
 Thou tak’st this evening’s walk into the sky? 
 
 YOUNG PHAETON. Father, if I may call thee by that 
 
 name, 
 I come to clear my own and mother’s fame: 
 To prove myself thy bastard, her thy miss. 
 PHOEBUS. Come hither first, and give me, boy, a kiss. 
 [Kzsses him. 
 Now you shall see a dance, and that will show 
 We lead as merry lives as folks below. 
 [A dance of Watchmen. 
 YOUNG PHAETON. Father, the dance has very well been 
 done. 
 But yet that does not prove I am your son. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Upon my word, I think Mr. Phaeton is very 
 much in the right on’t; and I would be glad to know, sir, 
 why this dance was introduced. 
 
 MACHINE. Why, sir? why, as all dances are introduced, 
 for the sake of the dance. Besides, sir, would it not look 
 very unnatural in Phoebus to give his son no entertainment 
 after so long an absence? Go on, go on. 
 
284 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 PHOEBUS. Thou art so like me, sure you must be mine ; 
 I should be glad if you would stay and dine ; 
 I’ll give my bond, whate’er you ask to grant: 
 I will by Styx! an oath which break I can't. 
 YOUNG PHAETON. Then let me, since that vow must 
 ne’er be broke, 
 Carry, one day, that lanthorn for a joke. 
 PHOEBUS. Rash was my promise, which I now must 
 keep: 
 But oh! take care you do not fall asleep. 
 YOUNG PHAETON. If I succeed, I shall no scandal rue; 
 If I should sleep, ’tis what most watchmen do. 
 [Exit Young Phaeton. 
 Set out, and walk around the 
 
 PHOEBUS. No more. 
 skies ; 
 My watch informs me it is time to rise. [ ace, 
 
 MACHINE. Now for the comic, sir. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Why, what the devil has this been? 
 
 MACHINE. This has been the serious, sir,——the sublime. 
 The serious in an entertainment answers to the sublime in 
 writing. Come, are all the rakes and whores ready at 
 King’s coffee-house ? 
 
 PROMPTER. They are ready, sir. 
 
 MACHINE. Then draw the scene. Pray, let the carpenters 
 take care that all the scenes be drawn in exact time and 
 tune, that I may have no bungling in the tricks; for a 
 trick is no trick, if not performed with great dexterity. 
 Mr. Fustian, in tragedies and comedies, and such sort of 
 things, the audiences will make great allowances; but they 
 expect more from an entertainment; here, if the least thing 
 be out of order, they never pass it by. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Very true, sir, tragedies do not depend so 
 much upon the carpenter as you do. 
 
 MACHINE. Come, draw the scene. 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 285 
 
 The scene draws, and discovers several Men and Women 
 
 drinking in King’s Coffee-house. They rise and dance. The 
 dance ended, sing the following song. 
 
 AIR III.. O London is a fine Town. 
 I RAKE. O Gin, at length, is putting down, 
 And ’tis the more the pity ; 
 Petition for it all the town, 
 Petition all the city. 
 CHORUS. O Gin, &c. 
 
 I RAKE. ’Twas Gin that made train-bands so stout, 
 To whom each castle yields ; 
 This made them march the town about, 
 And take all Tuttle Fields. 
 CHORUS. O Gin, &c. 
 
 I RAKE. ’Tis Gin, as all our neighbours know, 
 Has served our army too; 
 This makes them make so fine a show, 
 At Hyde Park, at review. 
 CHorRus. O Gin, &c. 
 
 1 RAKE, But what I hope will change your notes, 
 And make your anger sleep ; 
 Consider, none can bribe his votes 
 With liquor half so cheap. 
 CHORUS. O Gin, &c. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I suppose, sir, you took a cup of Gin to 
 inspire you to write this fine song? 
 
 During the song Uarlequin enters and picks pockets. A 
 Poet's pocket is picked of his Play, which, as he was 
 gomg to pawn for the reckoning, he misses. Harlequin 
 7s discovered; Constables and Watch are fetched in; 
 the Watchmen walking in their sleep; they bind him in 
 chains, confine him in the cellar, and leave him alone. 
 The Genius of Gin rzses out of a tud, 
 
286 TUMBLE-DOWWN DICK; OR, 
 
 GENIUS. Take, Harlequin, this magic wand, 
 All things shall yield to thy command: 
 Whether you would appear incog., 
 In shape of monkey, cat or dog ; 
 Or else to show your wit, transform 
 Your mistress to a butter-churn ; 
 Or else, what no magician can, 
 Into a wheelbarrow turn a man; 
 And please the gentry above stairs 
 By sweetly crying, Mellow pears. 
 Thou shalt make jests without a head, 
 And judge of plays thou canst not read. 
 Whores and race-horses shall be thine, 
 Champagne shall be thy only wine ; 
 While the best poet, and best player, 
 Shall both be forced to feed on air; 
 Gin’s genius all these things reveals, 
 Thou shalt perform, by slight of heels. 
 
 [EZx2¢ Genius. 
 
 Enter Constable and Watchmen. They take Harlequin out 
 and the scene changes to the Street; a crowd before the 
 Justice’s house. Enter a Clerk zn the character of Pierrot; 
 they all goin. The scene changes to the Justice’s Parlour, 
 and discovers the Justice learning to spell of an old 
 School-mistress. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, who are those characters? 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, that’s a Justice of peace; and the other 
 is a School-mistress, teaching the Justice to spell; for you 
 must know, sir, the Justice is a very ingenious man, and a 
 very great scholar, but happened to have the misfortune in 
 his youth never to learn to read. 
 
 Enter Harlequin zz custody ; Columbine, Poet, &c. The Poet 
 makes his complaint to the Justice; the Justice orders a 
 Mittimus for Harlequin; Columbine courts the Justice ¢o 
 
PHAGIUININ THE SODS 287 
 
 Jet Harlequin escape; he grows fond of her, but will not 
 comply till she offers him money; he then acguits Harlequin, 
 and commits the Poet. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, how is this brought about, sir? 
 
 MACHINE. How, sir! why, by bribery, You know, sir, 
 or may know, that Aristotle, in his book concerning enter- 
 tainments, has laid it down as a principal rule, that 
 Harlequin is always to escape; and I’ll be judged by the 
 whole world if ever he escaped in a more natural manner. 
 
 The Constable carries off the Poet; Harlequin “its the Justice 
 a great rap upon the back, and runs off; Columbine goes 
 to follow; Pierrot Jays hold on her, the Justice being 
 vecovered of his blow, seizes her, and carries her in. 
 Pierrot szts down to learn to spell, and the scene shuts. 
 
 Scene, the Street, Harlequin re-enters, considering how to 
 vegain Columbine, and bite the Justice. Two Chairmen 
 cross the stage with a China jar, on a horse, directed to 
 the Theatre Royal zz Drury Lane. Harlequin gets znxto 
 zt, and 1s carried into the Justice’s; the scene changes to 
 the Justice’s House; Harlequin zs brought in, in_ the 
 jar; the Justice, Pierrot, aud Columbine enter; the 
 Justice offers tt as a present to Columbine. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, sir, here’s a small error, I observe; how 
 comes the Justice to attempt buying this jar, as I suppose 
 you intend, when it is directed to the Theatre Royal in 
 Drury Lane? 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, sir, here’s no error, I observe; for how 
 should the Justice know that, when he can’t read? 
 
 SNEERWELL. Ay, there I think, Mr. Fustian, you must 
 own yourself in the wrong. 
 
 FUSTIAN. People that can’t read ought not to be brought 
 upon the stage, that’s all. 
 
288 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 While the Justice and Chairmen are talking about the jar, 
 Harlequin tumbles down upon him. The Justice and 
 Pierrot run off in a fright. Columbine runs to Harlequin, 
 who carries her off. The Chairmen go out with the jar. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Pray, Mr. Machine, how came that jar not 
 to be broke? 
 
 MACHINE. Because it was no jar, sir; I see you know 
 very little of these affairs. 
 
 Scene, the Street. Harlequin and Columbine re-enter, pursued 
 by the Justice and his Clerk. 
 
 Scene changes to a Barber’s Shop; he sets Columbine down to 
 shave her, blinds the Clerk with the suds, and turns the 
 Justice znto a periwig-block. 
 
 MACHINE. There, sir, there’s wit and humour, and trans- 
 formation for you! 
 
 FUSTIAN. The transformation is odd enough, indeed. 
 
 MACHINE. Odd, sir! What, the Justice into a block? 
 No, sir, not odd at all; there never was a more natural 
 and easy transformation; but don’t interrupt us. Go on, 
 go on. 
 
 The Clerk takes the wig off the block, puts it on, and admires 
 himself; Harlequin directs him to powder it better, which, 
 while he ts doing, he throws him into the trough, and 
 shuts him down. WUarlequin azd Columbine go off. The 
 Justice ve-enters, without his wig; his man calls to him 
 out of the trough, he takes him out, and they go off together 
 in pursuit of Harlequin. 
 
 MACHINE. Thus ends, sir, my first comic. Now, sir, for 
 my second, serious, or sublime. Come, draw the scene, and 
 discover Aurora, or the Morning, just going to break, and 
 her maid ironing her linen. 
 
PHALRTON IN THE SUDS 289 
 
 AURORA. The devil take the wench, is’t not a shame 
 You should be lazy, and I bear the blame? 
 Make haste, you drone, for if I longer stay, 
 
 The Sun will rise before the break of day ; 
 Nor can I go till my clean linen’s done: 
 How will a dirty morning look in June? 
 MAID. Shifts, madam, can’t be dried before they ’re 
 wet ; 
 You must wear fewer, or more changes get. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, in what book of the ancients do you 
 find any mention of Aurora’s washerwoman? 
 
 MACHINE. Don’t trouble me with the ancients, sir; if 
 she’s not in the ancients, I have improved upon the 
 ancients, sir, that’s all. 
 
 AURORA. Dare you to me in such a manner speak? 
 
 The morning is scarce fine three times a week; 
 But I can’t stay, and as I am must break. | Bxee. 
 
 MAID. Break, and be hanged! please Heaven I’ll give 
 
 you warning. 
 Night wants a maid, and so I’ll leave the Morning. [£vz. 
 
 Scene changes to an Open Country. 
 Enter two COUNTRYMEN. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. Is it day yet, neighbour? 
 
 2 COUNTRYMAN. Faith, neighbour, I can’t tell whether it 
 is or no. It is a cursed nasty morning; I wish we have 
 not wet weather. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. It begins to grow a little lighter 
 though now. [Aurora crosses the stage, with two or three 
 
 girls carrying farthing candles. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, what do those children represent ? 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, those children are all stars; and you shall 
 see presently, as the Sun rises, the candles will go out, 
 which represents the disappearing of the stars. 
 
 FUSTIAN. O the devil! the devil! 
 
 MACHINE. Dear sir, don’t be angry. Why will you not 
 
 VOL. X. La © 
 
290 TUMBLE-DOWWN DICK, OR, 
 
 allow me the same latitude that is allowed to all other 
 composers of entertainments? Does not a dragon descend 
 from hell in Doctor Faustus? And people go up to hell 
 in Pluto and Proserpine? Does not a squib represent a 
 thunderbolt in the rape of Proserpine? And what are all 
 the suns, sir, that have ever shone upon the stage, but 
 candles? And if they represent the Sun, I think they may 
 very well represent the stars, 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, I ask your pardon. But, sir,—— 
 
 MACHINE. Pray, sir, be quiet, or the candles will be 
 gone out before they should, and burn the girls’ fingers 
 before the Sun can rise. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. I’Il e’en go saddle my horses. 
 
 2 COUNTRYMAN. Odso! methinks ’tis woundy light all 
 of a sudden; the Sun rises devilish fast to-day, methinks. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. Mayhap he’s going a fox-hunting to-day, 
 but he takes devilish large leaps. 
 
 2 COUNTRYMAN. Leaps, quotha! I’cod, he’ll leap upon 
 us, I believe. It’s woundy hot, the skin is almost burnt 
 off my face; I warrant I’m as black as a blackmoor. 
 
 [Phaeton falls, and the lanthorn hangs hovering in the atr. 
 
 Enter 3rd COUNTRYMAN. 
 
 3 COUNTRYMAN. Oh, neighbours! the world is at an end: 
 call up the parson of the parish: I am but just got up 
 from my neighbour’s wife, and have not had time to say 
 my prayers since. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. The world at an end! No, no, if this 
 hot weather continues, we shall have harvest in May. 
 Odso, though, ’tis damned hot! I’ cod, I wish I had left 
 my clothes at home. 
 
 2 COUNTRYMAN. ’Sbud, I sweat as if I had been at a 
 hard day’s work. 
 
 I COUNTRYMAN. Oh, I’m scorched! 
 
 2 COUNTRYMAN. Oh, I’m burnt! 
 
 3 COUNTRYMAN. I’m on fire. [Exeunt, crying Fire. 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 291 
 
 NEPTUNE @escends. 
 
 NEPTUNE. I am the mighty emperor of the sea. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I am mighty glad you tell us so, else we 
 should have taken you for the emperor of the air. 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, he has been making a visit to Jupiter. 
 Besides, sir, it is here introduced with great beauty: for 
 we may very naturally suppose, that the Sun being drove 
 by Phaeton so near the earth, had exhaled all the sea up 
 into the air. 
 
 FUSTIAN. But methinks Neptune is oddly dressed for 
 a god? 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, I must dress my characters somewhat like 
 what people have seen; and as I presume few of my 
 audience have been nearer the sea than Gravesend, so I 
 dressed him e’en like a waterman. 
 
 SNEERWELL. So that he is more properly the god ot 
 the Thames, than the god of the sea. 
 
 MACHINE. Pray let Mr. Neptune go on. 
 
 NEPTUNE. Was it well done, O Jupiter! whilst I 
 Paid you a civil visit in the sky, 
 
 To send your Sun my waters to dry up, 
 Nor leave my fish one comfortable sup? 
 
 MACHINE. Come, enter the goddess of the earth, and a 
 
 dancing-master, and dance the White Joke. 
 
 They enter and dance, 
 
 NEPTUNE. What can the earth with frolics thus inspire 
 To dance, when all her kingdom is on fire? 
 
 TERRA. Though all the earth was one continual smoke, 
 ’Twould not prevent my dancing the White Joke. 
 
 SNEERWELL. Upon my word, the goddess is a great 
 lover of dancing. 
 
 MACHINE. Come, enter Jupiter with a pair of bellows, and 
 blow out the candle of the Sun. 
 
292 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 JUPITER enters, as above. 
 
 TERRA. But ha! great Jupiter has heard our rout, 
 And blown the candle of the Sun quite out. 
 
 MACHINE. Come now, Neptune and Terra, dance a 
 minuet by way of thanksgiving. 
 
 FUSTIAN. But pray how is Phaeton fallen all this time? 
 
 MACHINE. Why you saw him fall, did not you? 
 And there he lies; and I think it’s the first time I ever 
 saw him fall upon any stage. But I fancy he has lain 
 there so long, that he would be glad to get up again by 
 this time; so pray draw the first flat over him. Come, 
 enter Clymene. 
 
 CLYMENE. Art thou, my Phaey, dead? O foolish elf, 
 To find your father, and to lose yourself. 
 What shall I do to get another son? 
 For now, alas! my teeming-time is done. 
 
 ALR LY. 
 
 Thus when the wretched owl has found 
 Her young owls dead as mice, 
 
 O’er the sad spoil she hovers round, 
 And views ’em once or twice: 
 
 Then to some hollow tree she flies, 
 To hollow, hoot, and howl, 
 
 Till every boy that passes, cries, 
 The devil's in the owl! 
 
 MACHINE. Come, enter Old Phaeton. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, who is Old Phaeton? for neither 
 Ovid nor Mr. Pritchard make any mention of him. 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, he is the husband of Clymene, and might 
 have been the father of Phaeton if his wife would have 
 let him. 
 
 Enter OLD PHAETON. 
 
 OLD PHAETON. What is the reason, wife, through all the 
 town 
 
BHaAL LON IN THE SUDS 
 
 to 
 \O 
 Go 
 
 You publish me a cuckold up and down? 
 Is’t not enough, as other women do, 
 To cuckold me, but you must tell it too? 
 
 CLYMENE. Good cobbler, do not thus indulge your rage, 
 But, like your brighter brethren of the age, 
 
 Think it enough your betters do the deed, 
 And that by horning you I mend the breed. 
 
 OLD PHAETON. Madam, if horns I on my head must 
 
 wear, 
 ’Tis equal to me who shall graft them there. 
 
 CLYMENE. To London go, thou out-of-fashion fool, 
 And thou wilt learn in that great cuckold’s school, 
 That every man who wears the marriage-fetters, 
 
 Is glad to be the cuckold of his betters ; 
 Therefore, no longer at your fate repine, 
 For in your stall the Sun shall ever shine. 
 OLD PHAETON. I had rather have burnt candle all my 
 life, 
 Than to the Sun have yielded up my wite. 
 But since ’tis past I must my fortune bear; 
 ‘Tis well you did not do it with a star. 
 CLYMENE. When neighbours see the sunshine in your 
 stall, 
 Your fate will be the envy of them all; 
 And each poor clouded man will wish the Sun 
 Would do to his wife, what to your wife h’as done. 
 [Exeunt arm in arm. 
 
 MACHINE. There, sir, is a scene in heroics between a 
 cobbler and his wife; now you shall have a scene in mere 
 prose between several gods. 
 
 FUSTIAN. I should have thought it more natural for the 
 gods to have talked in heroics, and the cobbler and his 
 wife in prose. 
 
 MACHINE. You think it would have been more natural; 
 so do I, and for that very reason have avoided it; for the 
 chief beauty of an entertainment, sir, is to be unnatural. 
 Come, where are the gods? 
 
204 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, 
 
 Enter JUPITER, NEPTUNE, avd PHOEBUS. 
 
 JUPITER. Harkye, you Phoebus, will you take up your 
 lanthorn and set out, sir, or no? For by Styx! I'll put 
 somebody else in your place, if you do not; I will not 
 have the world left in darkness, because you are out of 
 humour. 
 
 PHOEBUS. Have I not reason to be out of humour, when 
 you have destroyed my favourite child? 
 
 JUPITER. ’TIwas your own fault; why did you trust him 
 with your lanthorn? 
 
 PHOEBUS. I had promised by Styx, an oath which you 
 know was not in my power to break. 
 
 JUPITER. I shall dispute with you here no longer; so 
 either take up your lanthorn, and mind your business, or 
 I’ll dispose of it to somebody else. I would not have you 
 think I want suns, for there were two very fine ones that 
 shone together at Drury Lane play-house; I myself saw 
 ‘em, for I was in the same entertainment. 
 
 PHOEBUS. I saw ’em too, but they were more like moons 
 than suns; and as like any thing else as either. You had 
 better send for the sun from Covent Garden house, there’s 
 a sun that hatches an egg there, and produces a Harlequin. 
 
 JUPITER. Yes, I remember that; but do you know what 
 animal laid that egg? 
 
 PHOEBUS. Not I. 
 
 JUPITER. Sir, that egg was laid by an ass, 
 
 NEPTUNE. Faith, that sun of the egg of an ass is a 
 most prodigious animal; I have wondered how you came 
 to give him so much power over us, for he makes gods 
 and devils dance Jigs together whenever he pleases. 
 
 JUPITER. You must know he is the grand-child of my 
 daughter Fortune by an ass; and at her request I settled 
 all that power upon him; but he plays such damned pranks 
 with it, that I believe I shall shortly revoke my grant. 
 He has turned all nature topsy turvy, and not content with 
 that, in one of his entertainments he was bringing all the 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 295 
 
 devils in hell up to heaven by a machine, but I happened 
 to perceive him, and stopt him by the way. 
 
 PHOEBUS. I wonder you did not damn him for it. 
 
 JUPITER. Sir, he has been damned a thousand times over ; 
 but he values it not a rush; the devils themselves are 
 afraid of him;. he makes them sing and dance whenever he 
 pleases. But, come, ’tis time for you to set out. 
 
 PHOEBUS. Well, if I must, I must; and since you have 
 destroyed my son, I must find out some handsome wench 
 and get another. [ Exee. 
 
 JUPITER. Come, Neptune, ’tis too late to bed to go, 
 What shall we do to pass an hour or so? . 
 
 NEPTUNE. E’en what you please—Will you along with me, 
 And take a little dip into the sea? 
 
 JUPITER. No, faith, though I’ve a heat I want to quench. 
 Dear Neptune, canst thou find me out a wench? 
 
 NEPTUNE. What sayst thou to Dame Thetis? she’s a 
 
 prude, 
 But yet I know with Jupiter she would. 
 
 JUPITER. I ne’er was more transported in my life: 
 While the Sun’s out at work, I’ll have his wife ; 
 
 Neptune, this service merits my regard, 
 For all great men should still their pimps reward. [A veunt. 
 
 MACHINE. Thus, sir, ends my second and last serious ; 
 and now for my second comic. Come, draw the scene, and 
 discover the two play-houses side by side. 
 
 SNEERWELL. You have brought these two play-houses 
 in a very friendly manner together. 
 
 MACHINE. Why should they quarrel, sir? for you 
 observe, both their doors are shut up. Come, enter Tragedy 
 King and Queen, to be hired. 
 
 Enter Tragedy King and Queen, and knock at Covent 
 Garden play-house door; the Manager comes out; the 
 Tragedy King repeats a speech out of a play; the Manager 
 and he quarrel about an emphasis. He knocks at Drury 
 Lane door; the Manager enters with his man Pistol 
 bearing a sack-load of players’ articles. 
 
296 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK, OR, 
 
 FUSTIAN. Pray, sir, what is contained in that sack? 
 
 MACHINE. Sir, in that sack are contained articles for 
 players, from ten shillings a week, and no benefit, to five 
 hundred a year, and a benefit clear. 
 
 FUSTIAN. Sir, I suppose you intend this as a joke? but 
 I can’t see why a player of our own country, and in our 
 own language, should not deserve five hundred, sooner than 
 a saucy Italian singer twelve. 
 
 MACHINE, Five hundred a year, sir! Why, sir, for a 
 little more money I’Ill get you one of the best harlequins 
 in France; and you’ll see the managers are of my opinion. 
 
 Enter Harlequin azd Columbine. oth Managers run to 
 them, and caress them; and while they are bidding for 
 them, enter a Dog zx a Harlequin’s dress; they bid for 
 him. Enter the Justice and his Clerk; Harlequin and 
 Columbine vun off. Covent Garden Manager runs away 
 with the Dog in his arms. The scene changes to a Cart- 
 load of Players. The Justice pulls out the Act of the 12th 
 of the Queen and threatens to commit them as Vagrants ; 
 the Manager offers the Justice two hundred a year tf he 
 will commence a player; the Justice accepts it, 7s turned 
 wnto a Harlequin; ke and his Clerk mount the Cart, and 
 all sing the following Chorus. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 AIR V. Adbot of Canterbury. 
 
 You wonder, perhaps, at the tricks of the stage, 
 
 Or that Pantomime miracles take with the age; 
 
 But if you examine court, country, and town, 
 
 There’s nothing but Harlequin feats will go down. 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 From Fleet Street to Limehouse the city’s his range, 
 He’s a saint in his shop, and a knave on the ’Change ; 
 At an oath, or a jest, like a censor he’ll frown, 
 But a lie or a cheat slip currently down. 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
PHAETON IN THE SUDS 297 
 
 In the country he burns with a politic zeal, 
 And boasts, like knight-errant, to serve commonweal ; 
 But once returned member, he alters his tone, 
 For, as long as he rises, no matter who’s down. 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 At court, ’tis as hard to confine him as air, 
 Like a troublesome spirit, he’s here and he’s there; 
 All shapes and disguises at pleasure puts on, 
 And defies all the nation to conjure him down. 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 ro) 
 
Nevo oe LOY TN TOWN 
 
 A SEQUEL TO 
 THE VIRGIN UNMASKED. 
 
 A FARCE, WITH SONGS. 
 
 AS IT WAS ACTED AT 
 THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, 
 
 BY HIS MAJESTY’S SERVANTS. 
 
(ZOODWILL tits. Lai) eee en 
 (LHOMAS iy t.. 25 ae eee eee 
 
 LORD sDAWBLE Ao) ey ee ee 
 NIRA ZOROGABE Le fea pa 
 SIGNIOR “CANTILEND |, eg 
 NEU DALLAD i ote eee are oe 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT . 
 WIFE . | 
 TAWDRY 2. 0 2 eee eee 
 
 Wr. Mackin 
 
 Mr. Winstone. . 
 Mr. Neal. 
 Mr. Cross. 
 
 Mr. Beard. 
 Mr. Lowe. 
 ofitva 
 ae 
 
 Mrs. M. acklin, 
 Mrs. Clive. 
 
 Mrs. Bennet. ‘al 
 
Molo vLUGY; IN. TOWN 
 
 SCENE.—Mrs. MIDNIGHT’s. 
 MRS. MIDNIGHT and TAWDRY. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. And he did not give you a single 
 shilling ? 
 
 TAWDRY. No, upon my honour. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Very well. They spend so much money 
 in show and equipage, that they can no more pay their 
 ladies than their tradesmen. If it was not for Mr. Zorobabel. 
 and some more of his persuasion, I must shut up my doors, 
 
 TAWDRY. Besides, ma’am, virtuous women and gentlemen’s 
 wives come so cheap, that no man will go to the price of 
 a lady of the town. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I thought Westminster Hall would have 
 given them a surfeit of their virtuous women: but I see 
 nothing will do; though a jury of cuckolds were to give 
 never such swinging damages, it will not deter men from 
 qualifying more jurymen. In short, nothing can do us any 
 service but an Act of Parliament to put us down. 
 
 TAWDRY. Have you put a bill on your door, ma’am, as 
 you said you would? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. It is up, it is up. O Tawdry! that a 
 woman who hath been bred, and always lived like a gentle- 
 woman, and followed a polite way of business, should be 
 reduced to let lodgings. 
 
302 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 TAWDRY. It is a melancholy consideration truly. [A ock- 
 ang.| But hark! I hear a coach stop. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Some rake or other, who is too poor 
 to have any reputation. This is not a time of day for 
 good customers to walk abroad. The citizens, good men, 
 can’t leave their shops so soon. 
 
 SERVANT [exdzers]. Madam, a gentleman and lady to 
 inquire for lodgings; they seems to be just come out of the 
 country, for the coach and horses are in a terrible dirty 
 pickle. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Why don’t you show them in? Tawdry, 
 who knows what fortune has sent us? 
 
 TAwpDRy. If she had meant me any good, she’d have 
 sent a gentleman without a lady. 
 
 SERVANT [veturning with JOHN]. This is my mistress, 
 friend. 
 
 JOHN. Do you take volks in to live here? Because, if 
 you do, madam and the squoire will come and live with 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Then your master is a squire, friend, 
 is he? 
 
 JOHN. Ay, he is as good a squire as any within five 
 miles o’ en: tho’f he was but a footman before, what is that 
 to the purpose? Madam has enough for both o’ em. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Well, you may desire your master and 
 his lady to walk in. JI believe I can furnish them with 
 what they want. What think you, Tawdry, of the squire 
 and his lady, by this specimen of them? | 
 
 TAWDRY. Why, I think if I can turn the squire to as 
 good account as you will his lady, (I mean if she be 
 handsome,) we shall have no reason to repent our acquaint- 
 ance. You will soon teach her more politeness than to 
 be pleased with a footman, especially as he is her 
 husband. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Truly, I must say, I love to see ladies 
 prefer themselves. Mercy on those who betray women to 
 sacrifice their own interest: I would not have such a sin lie 
 on my conscience for the world. 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 303 
 
 Enter THOMAS, WIFE, avd Servants. 
 
 THOMAS. Madam, your humble servant. My fellow here 
 tells me you have lodgings to let, pray what are they, 
 madam? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Sir, my bill hath informed you. 
 
 THOMAS. Pox! I am afraid she suspects I can’t read. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. What conveniences, madam, would your 
 ladyship want? 
 
 WIFE. Why, good woman, I shall want every thing which 
 other fine ladyships want. Indeed, I don’t know what I shall 
 want yet: for I never was in town before: but I shall want 
 every thing I see. 
 
 THoMAS. I hope your apartments here are handsome, 
 and that people of fashion use to lodge with you. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. If you please, sir, I’ll wait on your 
 honour, and show you the rooms. 
 
 THomAS. Ay, do, do so; do wait on me. John, do you 
 hear, do you take care of all our things. 
 
 WIFE. Ay, pray, John, take care of the great cake and 
 the cold turkey, and the ham and the chickens, and the 
 bottle of sack, and the two bottles of strong beer, and the 
 bottle of cyder. 
 
 JouNn. I’ll take the best care I can: but a man would 
 think he was got in to a fair. The folks stare at one as if 
 they had never seen a man before. 
 
 [Remain Tawdry and Wife. 
 
 TAWDRY. Pray, madam, is not your ladyship infinitely 
 tired with your journey ? 
 
 WIFE. I tired! not I, I an’t tired at all; I could walk 
 twenty miles farther. 
 
 TAWDRY. O, I am surprised at that! most fine ladies are 
 horribly fatigued after a journey. 
 
 WIFE. Are they? Hum! I don’t know whether I an’t 
 so too; yes, I am, I am horribly fatigued. (Well, I shall 
 never find out all that a fine lady ought to be.) [Aszde. 
 
 TAWDRY. Was your ladyship never in town _ before, 
 madam ? 
 
304 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 WIFE. No, madam, never before that I know of. 
 
 TAWDRY. I shall be glad to wait on you, madam, and 
 show you the town. 
 
 WIFE. I am very much obliged to you, madam: and I 
 am resolved to see every thing that is to be seen: the Tower, 
 and the crowns, and the lions, and Bedlam, and the 
 Parliament-house, and the Abbey 
 
 TAWDRY. O fie, madam! these are only sights for the 
 vulgar ; no fine ladies go to these. 
 
 WIFE. No! why then I won’t neither! Oh! odious Tower 
 and filthy lions. But pray, madam, are there no sights for 
 a fine lady to see? 
 
 TAWDRY. O yes, madam; there are ridottos, masquerades,’ 
 court, plays, and a thousand others, so many, that a fine 
 lady has never time to be at home but when she is asleep. 
 
 WIFE. I am glad to hear that; for I hate to be at home: 
 but, dear madam, do tell me—for I suppose you are a fine lady. 
 
 TAWDRY. At your service, madam. 
 
 WIFE. What do you fine ladies do at these places? 
 What do they do at masquerades now? for I have heard of 
 them in the country. 
 
 TAWDRY. Why they dress themselves in a strange dress, 
 and they walk up and down the room, and they cry, Do 
 you know me? and then they burst out a laughing, and then 
 they sit down, and then they get up, and then they walk 
 about again, and then they go home. 
 
 WIFE. Oh! this is charming, and easy too; I shall be 
 able to do a masquerade in a minute: well, but do tell me 
 a little of the rest. What do they do at your what d’ ye 
 call ’ems, your plays? 
 
 TAWDRY. Why, if they can, they take a stage-box, where 
 they let the footman sit the two first acts, to show his 
 livery ; then they come in to show themselves, spread their 
 fans upon the spikes, make curtsies to their acquaintance, 
 and then talk and laugh as loud as they are able. 
 
 WIFE. O delightful! By gole, I find there is nothing in 
 a fine lady ; anybody may be a fine lady if this be all. 
 
MISS LUCY 1N TOWN 305 
 
 PULA TL 
 
 If flaunting and ranting, 
 If noise and gallanting, 
 Be all in fine ladies required ; 
 I’ll warrant I’ll be 
 As fine a lady 
 As ever in town was admired. 
 
 At plays I will rattle, 
 Tittle-tattle, 
 Tittle-tattle, 
 Prittle-prattle, 
 Prittle-prattle, 
 As gay and as loud as the best. 
 And at t’other place, 
 With a mask on my face, 
 Ill ask all I see 
 Do you know me? 
 Do you know me? 
 And te, he, he, 
 And te, he, he! 
 At nothing as loud as a jest. : 
 
 THOMAS avd MRS. MIDNIGHT return. 
 
 THOMAS. My dear, I have seen the rooms, and they are 
 very handsome, and fit for us people of fashion. 
 
 WIFE. Oh, my dear, I am extremely glad on’t. Do you 
 know me? Ha, ha, ha, my dear, [stretching out her fan before 
 her|, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 THOMAS. Hey-day! What’s the matter now? 
 
 WIFE. I am only doing over a fine lady at a masquerade, 
 or play, that’s all. [She coquets apart with her husband. 
 
 TAWDRY [Zo Mrs. Midnight]. She’s simplicity itself’ A 
 card fortune has dealt you, which it’s impossible for you to 
 play ill, You may bring her to any purpose, 
 
 VOL, X. RR 
 
306 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I am glad to hear it: for she’s really 
 pretty, and I shall scarce want a customer for a tit-bit. 
 
 WIFE. Well, my dear, you won’t stay long, for you 
 know I can hardly bear you out of my sight; I shall be 
 quite miserable till you come back, my dear, dear Tommy. 
 
 THomas. My dear Lucy, I will but go find out a tailor, 
 and be back with you in an instant. 
 
 WIFE. Pray do, my dear. Nay, t’other kiss ; one more 
 ——QOh! thou art the sweetest creature-——Well, miss fine 
 lady, pray how do you like my husband? Is he not a 
 charming man? 
 
 TAWDRY. Your husband! Dear madam, and was it your 
 husband that you kissed so? 
 
 WIFE. Why, don’t fine ladies kiss their husbands? 
 
 TAWDRY. No, never. 
 
 WIFE. O la! but I don’t like that though; by gole, 
 I believe I shall never be a fine lady, if I must not be 
 kissed. I like being a fine lady in other things, but not in 
 that; I thank you. If your fine ladies are never kissed, by 
 gole, I think we have not so much reason to envy them 
 as I imagined. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 How happy are the nymphs and swains, 
 Who skip it and trip it all over the plains: 
 How sweet are the kisses, 
 How soft are the blisses, 
 Transporting the lads, and all melting their misses! 
 If ladies here so nice are grown, 
 Who jaunt it and flaunt it all over the town, 
 To fly as from ruin 
 From billing and cooing, 
 A fig for their airs, give me plain country wooing. 
 
 TAWDRY. Oh, you mistake me, madam; a fine lady may 
 kiss any man but her husband.—You will have all the beaus 
 in town at your service. 
 
 WIFE. Beaus! O Gemini, those are things Miss Jenny 
 
etd ek LAV EO PLY. 307 
 
 used to talk of—And pray, madam, do beaus kiss so much 
 sweeter and better than other folks? 
 
 TAWDRY. Hum! I can’t say much of that. 
 
 Wire. And pray, then, why must I like them better than 
 my own husband ? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Because it’s the fashion, madam. Fine 
 ladies do every thing because it’s the fashion. They spoil 
 their shapes, to appear big with child because it’s the 
 fashion. They lose their money at whist, without under- 
 standing the game; they go to auctions, without intending 
 to buy; they go to operas, without any ear; and slight their 
 husbands without disliking them; and all——because it is 
 the fashion. 
 
 WiFE. Well, I’ll try to be as much in fashion as I can: 
 but pray when must I go to these beaus? for I really long 
 to see them. For Miss Jenny says, she’s sure I shall like 
 them; and if I do, ifacks! I believe I shall tell them so, 
 notwithstanding what our parson says. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Bravely said! I will show you some fine 
 gentlemen, which I warrant you will like. 
 
 WIFE. And will they like me? 
 
 TAWDRY. Like you! they’ll adore you, they ’ll worship 
 you. Madam, says my lord, you are the most charming, 
 beautiful, fine creature that ever my eyes beheld! 
 
 WiFE. What's that? Do say that over again. 
 
 TAWDRY. [Refeats.| Madam, you are, &c. 
 
 Wire. And will they think all this of me? 
 
 TAWDRY. No doubt of it. They’ll swear it. 
 
 WVIve, then to be sure they’ will think it: Yes,” yes, 
 then to be sure they will think so. I wish I could sec 
 these charming men. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Oh, you will see them every where. 
 Here in the house I have had several to visit me, who have 
 said the same thing to me and this young lady. 
 
 WIFE. What, did they call you charming and beautiful? 
 ——By gole, I think they may very well say so to me. 
 [Aszde.} But when will these charming men come? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. They’ll be here immediately: but your 
 
308 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 ladyship will dress yourself. I see your man has brought 
 your things. I suppose your ladyship has your clothes with 
 you? | 
 
 WIFE. O yes, I have clothes enough; I have a fine 
 thread satin suit of clothes of all the colours in the rain- 
 bow; then I have a fine red gown, flowered with yellow, all 
 my own work; and a fine laced suit of pinners, that was 
 my great grandmother’s ; that has been worn but twice these 
 forty years, and, my mother told me, cost almost four pounds 
 when it was new, and reaches down hither. And then I 
 have a great gold watch that hath continued in our family, 
 I can’t tell how long, and is almost as broad as a moderate 
 punch-bowl; and then I have two great gold ear-rings, 
 and six or seven rings for my finger, worth about twenty 
 pounds all together; and a thousand fine things that you 
 shall see. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Ay, madam, these things would have 
 dressed your ladyship very well an hundred years ago: but 
 the fashions are altered. Laced pinners, indeed! You must 
 cut off your hair, and get a little periwig and a French cap; 
 and instead of a great watch, you must have one so small, 
 that it is impossible it .should go; and——but come, this 
 young lady will instruct you. Pray, miss, wait on the lady 
 to her apartment, and send for proper tradesmen to dress 
 her; such as the fine ladies use. Madam, you shall be 
 dressed as you ought to be. 
 
 WIFE. Thank you, madam; and then I shall be as fine a 
 lady as the best of them. By gole, this London is a charming 
 place! If ever my husband gets me out of it again, I am 
 mistaken. Come, dear miss, I am impatient. Do you know 
 me? ha, he, ha! [Eazt Wife and Tawdry. 
 
 Enter LORD BAWBLE. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. So, Old Midnight, what schemes art thou 
 plodding on? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. O fie! my lord; I protest if Sir Thomas 
 and: you don’t leave off your riots, you will ruin the reputation 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 309 
 
 of my house for ever. I wonder, too, you have no more 
 regard to your own characters. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Why, thou old canting offspring of 
 hypocrisy, dost thou think that men of quality are to be 
 confined to the rules of decency, like sober citizens, as if 
 they were ashamed of their sins, and afraid they should lose 
 their turn of being Lord Mayor? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. We ought all to be ashamed of our 
 sins. O my lord, my lord, had you but heard that ex- 
 cellent sermon on Kennington Common, it would have made 
 you ashamed: I am sure it had so good an effect upon 
 me, that I shall be ashamed of my sins as long as [I live. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Why don’t you leave them off then, and 
 lay down your house? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Alas, I can’t, I can’t; I was bred up 
 in the way: but I repent heartily ; I repent every hour of 
 my life; and that I hope will make amends. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Well, where is my Jenny Ranter? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Ah, poor Jenny! Poor Jenny is gone. 
 I shall never see her more; she was the best of girls: it 
 almost breaks my tender heart to think on’t; nay, I shall 
 never out-live her loss (cryzng). My lord, Sir Thomas and 
 you forgot to pay for that bowl of punch last night. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Damn your punch! is my dear Jenny 
 dead? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Worse, if possible-——-She is——she is 
 turned Methodist, and married to one of the brethren. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. O, if that be all, we shall have her 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Alas! I fear not; for they are powerful 
 men——But pray, my lord, how go the finances, for I have 
 such a piece of goods, such a girl just arrived out of the 
 country !——-upon my soul as pure a virgin——for I have 
 known her whole bringing up: she is a relation of mine; 
 her father left me her guardian. I have just brought her 
 from a boarding-school to have her under my own eye, and 
 complete her education. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Where is she? let me see her! 
 
310 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Not a step without the Ready. I told 
 you I was her guardian, and I shall not betray my trust. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. If I like her—upon my honour—— 
 
 MRS. MIDNIGHT. I have too much value for your lordship’s 
 honour, to have it left in pawn. Besides, I have more right 
 honourable honour in my hands unredeemed already, than I 
 know what to do with. However, I think you may depend 
 on my honour; deposit a cool hundred, and you shall see 
 her; and then take either the lady or the money. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. I know thee to be inexorable. I’ll step 
 home and fetch the money. I gave that sum to my wife 
 this morning to buy her clothes. I’ll take it from her again, 
 and let her tick with the tradesmen. Lookye, if this be 
 stale goods, I’ll break every window in the house. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I’ll give you leave.-—He’ll be tired of 
 her in a week, and then I may dispose of her again, I 
 am afraid I did wrong in putting her off for a virgin, for 
 she’ll certainly discover she is married. However, I can 
 forswear the knowing it. [Zorobabel brought in, in a chair 
 
 with the curtains drawn. 
 O here’s one of my sober customers Mr. Zorobabel, is 
 it you? I am your worship’s most obedient servant. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. How do you do, Mrs. Midnight? I 
 hope. nobody sees or overhears. This is an early hour for 
 me to visit at. I have but just been at home to dress me 
 since I came from the Alley. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I suppose your worship’s hands are 
 pretty full there now with your lottery-tickets ? 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Fuller than I desire, Mrs. Midnight, I 
 assure you. We hoped to have brought them to seven 
 pounds before this; that would have been a pretty comfort- 
 able interest for our money.——But, have you any worth 
 seeing in your house? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. O Mr. Zorobabel! such a piece! such 
 an angel! 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Ay, ay, where? where? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Here in the house. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Let me sce her this instant! 
 
MISS*LOCY IN TOWN 311 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Sure nothing was ever so unfortunate. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Hey! what? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. O sir! not thinking to see your worship 
 this busy time, I have promised her to Lord Bawble. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. How, Mrs. Midnight, promise her to a 
 lord without offering her to me first? Let me tell you, 
 tis an affront not only to me, but to all my friends: and 
 you deserve never to have any but Christians in your house 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Marry forbid! Don’t utter such curses 
 against me. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Who is it supports you? Who is it 
 Can support you? Who have any money besides us? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Pray your worship forgive me. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. No, I will deal higher for the future 
 with those who are better acquainted with lords; they will 
 know whom to prefer. I must tell you, you are a very 
 ungrateful woman. I know a woman of fashion at St. 
 James’s end of the town, where I might deal cheaper than 
 with yourself; though I own, indeed, yours is rather the 
 more reputable house of the two. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. But my lord hath never seen her yet. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL, Hath he not? Why then he never 
 shall, till I have done with her: she’ll be good enough for 
 a lord half a year hence. Come, fetch her down, fetch her 
 down. How long hath she been in town? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Not two hours. Pure country innocent 
 flesh and blood.—But what shall I say to my lord? 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL, Say any thing: put off somebody else 
 upon him; a stale woman of quality, or somebody who 
 hath been in Westminster Hall and the newspapers. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Well, I’ll do the best I can; though, 
 upon my honour, I was to have had two hundred guineas 
 from my lord. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Two hundred promises you mean; but 
 had it been ready cash, I’ll make you amends if I like 
 her; we'll never differ about the price; so fetch her, fetch 
 her. 
 
312 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I will, an’t please your worship. [£z7z7. 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Soh! the money of Christian men pays 
 for the beauty of Christian women. A good exchange! 
 
 Enter MRS, MIDNIGHT. 
 [A nozse without. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Oh, sir, here are some noisy people 
 coming this way; slip into the next room: I am as tender 
 of your reputation as of my own. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. You are a sensible woman, and I com- 
 mend your care; for reputation is the very soul of a Jew. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Go in here, I will quickly clear the coast 
 for you again. [#xz¢ Zorobabel.] Now for my gentlemen ; 
 and if I mistake not their voices, one is an opera-singer, 
 and the other a singer in one of our play-houses. 
 
 Enter SIGNIOR CANTILENO avd MR. BALLAD. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. What is the matter, gentlemen? what 
 is the matter? 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Begar I vil ave de woman; begar 
 I vil ave her. 
 
 MR. BALLAD. You must win her first, Signior; and if 
 you can gain her affections, I am too much an Englishman 
 to think of restraining her from pursuing her own will. 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Never fear, me vin her. No 
 English woman can withstand de charms of my voice. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. If he begins to sing, there will be no 
 end on’t. I must go look after my young lady. [ Ext. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 CANT. ~Music sure hath charms to move, 
 With my song, with my song I’ll charm my love. 
 This good land where money grows, 
 Well the price of singing knows: 
 Hither all the warblers throng ; 
 Taking money, 
 Milk and honey, 
 Taking money for a song. 
 
ee 
 
 MISS LUCY IN TOWN - 313 
 
 MR. BALLAD. Ha, ha, ha! What the devil should an 
 Italian singer do with a mistress? 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Ask your women, who are in love 
 wit de Italian singers. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 See, while I strike the vocal lyre, 
 Beauty languish, languish and expire: 
 Like turtle-doves, in a wooing fit, 
 See the blooming charmers sit ; 
 Softly sighing, 
 Gently dying, 
 While sweet sounds to raptures move: 
 Trembling, thrilling, 
 Sweetly killing, 
 Airs that fan the wings of love. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Mr. BALLAD. Be gone, you shame of human race, 
 The noble Roman soil’s disgrace ; 
 Nor vainly with a Briton dare 
 Attempt to win a British fair. 
 For manly charms the British dame 
 Shall feel a fiercer, nobler flame: 
 To manly numbers lend her ear, 
 And scorn thy soft enervate air. 
 
 Enter a PORTER. 
 
 PORTER [Zo Cantileno]. Sir, the lady’s in the next 
 room. 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Ver vel. . Begar I vil ave her. 
 
 Mr. BALLAD. I’ll follow you, and see how far the 
 charms of your voice will prevail. 
 
 VOL, X. SS 
 
314 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 Enter MR. ZOROBABEL, MRS. MIDNIGHT, azd WIFE. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT [¢o her, entering]. I am going to intro- 
 duce your ladyship to one of our fine gentlemen whom I 
 told you of. 
 
 WIFE [surveying him awkwardly]. Is this a beau, and 
 a fine gentleman?—By goles, Mr. Thomas is a finer 
 gentleman, in my opinion, a thousand times. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Madam, your humble servant ; I shall — 
 always think myself obliged to Mrs. Midnight, for intro- 
 ducing me to a young lady of your perfect beauty. Pray, 
 madam, how long have you been in town? 
 
 WIFE. Why, I have been in town about three hours: I 
 am but a stranger here, sir; but I was very lucky to meet 
 with this civil gentlewoman and this fine lady, to teach me 
 how to dress and behave myself. Sir, I would not but be 
 a fine lady for all the world. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Madam, you are in the right on’t: and 
 this soft hand, this white neck, and these sweet lips were 
 formed for no other purpose. 
 
 WIFE. Let me alone, Mun, will you; I won’t be pulled 
 and hauled about by you, I won’t.——For I am very sure 
 you don’t kiss half so sweet as Mr. Thomas. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Nay, be not coy, my dear; if you will 
 suffer me to kiss you, I will make you the finest of ladies ; 
 you shall have jewels equal to a woman of quality :—nay, 
 I will furnish a house for you in any part of the town, 
 and you shall ride in a fine gilt chair, carried by two stout 
 fellows, that I will keep for no other purpose. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Madam, if you will but like this gentle- 
 man, he’ll make you a fine lady: ’tis he, and some more 
 of his acquaintance, that make half the fine ladies in the 
 town. 
 
 WIFE. Ay! Why, then I will like him,—I will say I 
 do, which I suppose is the same thing. [Aszde.] But when 
 shall I have all these fine things? for I long to begin. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. And so do I, my angel. 
 
 [Offering to kiss her. 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 315 
 
 WIFE. Nay, I won't kiss any more till I have 
 something in hand, that I am resolved of. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT [¢o Zorobabel]. Fetch her some baubles ; 
 any toys will do. 
 
 WirE. But if you will fetch me all the things you 
 promised me, you shall kiss me as long as you please. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. But when I have done all these things 
 you must never see any other man but me. 
 
 WIFE. Must not I?——But I don’t like that. 
 will you stay with me always then? 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. No; I shall only come to see you in 
 the evening. 
 
 WIFE. (O then it will be well enough, for I will see 
 whom I please all the day, and you shall know nothing of 
 the matter.) [Aszde.| Indeed I won’t see anybody else 
 but you; indeed I won't. But do go and fetch me these 
 fine things. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. I go, my dear.——Mrs. Midnight, pray 
 take care of her. I never saw any one so pretty nor so 
 silly. 
 
 WIFE. I heard you, sir; but you shall find I have sense 
 enough to out-wit you. Well, Miss Jenny may stay in the 
 country if she will; and see nothing but the great jolly 
 parson, who never gives any thing but a nosegay or a 
 handful of nuts for a kiss. But where’s the young lady 
 that was here just now? for to my mind I am in a new 
 world, and my head is quite turned giddy. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. It is a common effect, madam, which 
 the town air hath on young ladies, when first they come 
 into it. 
 
 And 
 
 Enter SIGNIOR CANTILENO. 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Begar, dat dam English ballad- 
 singing dog has got away de woman—ah, pardze——votla un 
 autre [Gowung towards her. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Hold, hold, Signior; this lady is not 
 for you-———She is a woman of quality, and her price is a 
 little beyond your pocket. 
 
316 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Begar, I like none but de woman 
 of quality——-And you no know de price of my pocket 
 ——See here—begar here are fifty guinea—dey are not 
 above de value of two song. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 To beauty compared, pale gold I despise, 
 No jewels can sparkle like Czelia’s bright eyes: 
 Let misers with pleasure survey their bright mass: 
 With far greater raptures I view my fine lass: 
 Gold locked in my coffers for me has no charms, 
 Then its value I own, 
 Then I prize it alone, 
 When it tempts blooming beauty to fly to my arms. 
 
 WIFE. This is certainly one of those operish singers 
 Miss Jenny used to talk of, and to mimic: she taught 
 me to mimic them too. 
 
 RECITATIVE, 
 
 CANT. Brightest nymph, turn here thy eyes, 
 Behold thy swain despairs and dies. 
 
 WIFE. A voice so sweet can not despair, 
 Unless from deafness of the fair ; 
 Such sounds must move the dullest ear: 
 Less sweet the warbling nightingale ; 
 Less sweet the breeze sweeps through the vale, 
 
 SONG, 
 
 CANT. Sweetest cause of all my pain, 
 Pride and glory of the plain, 
 See my anguish, 
 See me languish: 
 Pity thy expiring swain. 
 
WIFE. 
 
 CANT. 
 
 WIFE. 
 
 CANT. 
 WIFE. 
 
 ANT! 
 BAL. 
 
 WIFE, 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. 
 
 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 Gentle youth, of my disdain, 
 Ah, too cruel you complain ; 
 My tender heart 
 
 Feels greater smart ; 
 Pity me, expiring swain. 
 
 Will you then all my pangs despise ? 
 Will nothing your disdain remove? 
 Can you not read my wishing eyes? 
 Ah, must I tell you that I love? 
 Detain Leaic, 
 And so do I. 
 
 MR. BALLAD enters, and sings. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Turn hither your eyes, bright maid, 
 Turn hither with all your charms ; 
 Behold a jolly young blade, 
 
 Who longs to be clasped in your arms: 
 
 To sighing and whining, 
 To sobbing and pining, 
 Then merrily bid adieu. 
 See how I expire, 
 See how I’m on fire, 
 And burn, my dear nymph, for you. 
 
 Thus strongly pursued, 
 By two lovers woo’d, 
 What shall a poor woman do? 
 But a lover in flames, 
 Sure most pity claims, 
 So, jolly lad, I’m for you. 
 
 Enter MRS. MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Gentlemen, I must beg you would 
 
 317 
 
 go 
 
 » 
 — 
 
318 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 into another room; for my Lord Bawble is just coming, 
 and he hath bespoke this. 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Le diable! one of our directors! 
 I would not ave him see me here for de varld. 
 WIFE. Is my lord come? How eagerly I long to see him! 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Allons, madam. 
 WIFE. No, I will stay with my lord. 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. He is just coming in. 
 soul I will bring her to you presently. 
 SIGNIOR CANTILENO. Well, you are de woman of honour. 
 Mr. BALLAD. This new face will not come to my turn 
 yet; so I will to my dear Tawdry. 
 
 Upon my 
 
 Enter LORD BAWBLE. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Well, I have kept my word; I have 
 brought the ready. [Seezng Wife.]| Upon my soul, a fine 
 girl! I suppose this is she you told me of? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. What shall I do? [Aszde.| Yes, yes, 
 my lord, this is the same: But pray come away; for I 
 can't bring her to any thing yet: she is so young, if you 
 speak to her, you will frighten her out of her wits; have 
 but a little patience, and I shall bring her to my mind. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Don’t tell me of patience; I'll speak to 
 her now; and I warrant I bring her to my mind. 
 
 [ZLhey talk apart. 
 
 WIFE [at the other end of the stage, looking at my lord). 
 O, la! that is a fine gentleman, indeed ; and yet, who knows 
 but Mr. Thomas might be just such another, if he had but 
 as fine clothes on ?——-I wonder he don’t speak to me; to 
 be sure he don’t like me; if he did, he would speak to 
 me; and if he does not presently, the old fellow will be 
 back again, and then I must not talk with him. 
 
 MrS. MIDNIGHT. Consider, she is just fresh and raw out 
 of the country. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. I like her the better. It is in vain to 
 contend; for by Jupiter, I’ll at her. I know how to deal 
 with country ladies. I learnt the art of making love to 
 them at my election. 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 319 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. What will become of me? I’ll get 
 out of the way, and swear to Mr. Zorobabel, I know nothing 
 of my lord’s seeing her. [ Exit. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. It is generous in you, madam, to leave 
 the country, to make us happy here, with the sunshine of 
 your beauty. 
 
 WIFE. Sir, I am sure I shall be very glad if any thing 
 in my power can make the beaus and fine gentlemen of 
 this fine town happy.——He talks just like Mr. Thomas 
 before I was married to him, when he first come out of 
 his town-service. [A szde. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. She _ seems delightfully ignorant. <A 
 quality which is to me a great recommendation of a 
 mistress or a friend———-Oh, madam, can you doubt of your 
 power, which is as extensive as your beauty ; which lights 
 such a fire in the heart of every beholder, as nothing but 
 your frowns can put out. 
 
 Wire. I’ll never frown again; for if all the gentle- 
 men in town were in love with me——icod,—with all my 
 heart, the more the merrier. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. When they know you have my admira- 
 tion, you will soon have a thousand other adorers. If a 
 lady hath a mind to bring custom to her house, she hath 
 nothing more to do but to hang one of us lords out 
 for a sign. 
 
 WIFE. A lord! Gemini, and are-you a lord? 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. My Lord Bawble, madam, at your 
 service. 
 
 WIFE. Well, my Lord Bawble is the prettiest name I 
 ever heard: the very name is enough to charm one.——My 
 Lord Bawble! 
 
 LorD BAWBLE. Why, truly, I think it hath something of 
 a quality-sound in it. 
 
 WIFE. Heigh ho! 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Why do you sigh, my charmer? 
 
 WIFE. At what, perhaps, will make you sigh too, when 
 you know it. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE, Ay, what? 
 
320 MISS LOG YRTNGATO VAN. 
 
 WIFE. I am married to an odious footman, and can 
 never be my Lady Bawble——I am afraid you won't like 
 me, now I have told you.—But I assure you, if I had not 
 been married already, I should have married you of all 
 the beaus and fine gentlemen in the world: but though I 
 am married to him, I like you the best; and I hope that 
 will do. 
 
 LorRD BAWBLE. Yes; yes, yes, jiny (deat; sac very 
 well! (Is this wench an idiot, or a bite? marry me, with a 
 pox!) [Aszde.] And so you are married to a footman, 
 my dear? 
 
 WIFE. Yes, I am; I see you don’t like me, now you 
 know I am another man’s wife. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Indeed you are mistaken; I dislike no 
 man’s wife but my own. 
 
 WIFE. O la! What, are you married then? | 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Yes, I think I am: but I have almost 
 forgot it; for I have not seen my wife, till this morning, 
 for a twelvemonth. : 
 
 WIFE. No! by goles, you may marry somebody else for 
 me. And now I think on’t; if I should be seen speaking 
 to him, I shall lose all the fine things I was promised. 
 
 [A szde. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. What are you considering, my dear? 
 
 WIFE. I must not stay with you any longer, for I 
 expect an old gentleman every minute, who promised me 
 a thousand fine things, if I would not speak to anybody 
 but him: he promised to keep two tall lusty fellows, for 
 no other business but to carry me up and down in a chair. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. I will not only do that, but I will keep 
 you two other tall fellows for no other use but to walk 
 before your chair. 
 
 WIFE. Will you? Nay, I assure you, I like you better 
 than him, if I shall not lose any fine things by the 
 bargain.——But hold, now I think on’t: suppose I stay here 
 till he come back again with his presents, I can take the 
 things, promise him, and go with you afterwards, you know, 
 my lord. Oh, how pretty lord sounds! 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 321 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. No, you will have no need on’t! I will 
 give you variety of fine things. (Till I am tired of you, 
 and then I’ll take them away again.) But, my dear, these 
 lodgings are not fine enough: I will take some finer 
 for you. 
 
 WIFE. O la! what, are there finer houses than this in 
 town? Why, my father hath five hundred a year in the 
 country, and his house is not half so fine. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE, Oh, my dear, gentlemen of no hundred 
 pound a year scorn such a house as this: nobody lives now 
 in any thing but a palace. 
 
 WiFrE. Nay, the finer the better, by goles, if you will 
 pay for it. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Pugh, pshaw! Pay! never mind that: that 
 word hath almost put me in the vapours.——-Come, my dear 
 girl|—— [Kzsses her. 
 
 WIFE. O fie, my lord, you make me blush. He kisses 
 sweeter than my husband, a thousand times; I did not 
 think there had been such a man as my husband in the 
 world, but I find I was mistaken. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Consider, my dear, what a pride you 
 will have in hearing the man you love called Lordship. 
 
 WIFE. Lordship! it is pretty. Lordship! But then you 
 won't see me above once in a twelvemonth. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. I will see you every day, every minute: 
 { like you so well, that nothing but being married to you 
 could make me hate you. 
 
 WIFE. O Gemini! I forgot it was the fashion. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Let us lose no time, but hasten to find 
 some place where I may equip you like a woman of quality. 
 
 WIFE. I am out of my wits. My lord, I am ready to 
 wait on your lordship wherever your lordship pleases— 
 Lordship! Quality! I shall be a fine lady immediately 
 now. 
 
 Enter MRS. MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. What shall I do? I am ruined for ever! 
 My lord hath carried away the girl. Mr. Zorobabel will 
 VOL. X. ae: 
 
322 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 never forgive me; I shall lose him and all his friends, and 
 they are the only support of my house. Foolish slut, to 
 prefer a rakish lord to a sober Jew; but women never 
 know how to make their market till they are so old no one 
 will give any thing for them. 
 
 Enter THOMAS. 
 
 THOMAS. Your humble servant, madam. Pray, madam, 
 how do you like my clothes ? | 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Your tailor hath been very expeditious, 
 indeed, sir. 
 
 THOMAS. Yes, madam, I should not have had them so 
 soon, but that I met with an old acquaintance, Tom Shabby, 
 the tailor in Monmouth Street, who fitted me with a suit 
 in a moment——But where’s my wife? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. (What shall I say to him?) I believe 
 she is gone out to see the town. 
 
 THOMAS. Gone out! hey! what, without me! Who’s gone 
 with her ? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Really, sir, I can’t tell. Here was a 
 gentleman all over lace: I suppose, some acquaintance of 
 hers. I fancy she went with him. | 
 
 THOMAS. <A gentleman in lace! I am undone, ruined, 
 dishonoured! Some rascal hath betrayed away my wife. 
 Zounds, why did you let her go out of the house till 
 my return? 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. The lady was only a lodger with me, I 
 had no power over her. 
 
 THOMAS. How, did any man come to see her? for I am 
 sure she did not know one man in town. It must be 
 somebody that used to come here. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. May the devil fetch me, if ever I saw 
 him before; nor do I know how he got in—But there are 
 birds of prey lurking in every corner of this wicked town: it 
 makes me shed tears to think what villains there are in 
 the world to betray poor innocent young ladies. [ Cries. 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 323 
 
 THOMAS. Oons and the devil! the first six weeks of 
 our marriage! 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. That is a pity indeed——if you have 
 been married no longer: had you been together half a year, 
 it had been some comfort. But be advised, have a little 
 patience; in all probability, whoever the gentleman is, 
 he’ll return her again soon. 
 
 THOMAS. Return her! Ha! stained, spotted, sullied! Who 
 shall return me my honour ?——’sdeath! I[’ll search her 
 through the town, the world——Ha! my father here! 
 
 GOODWILL [exterzng]. Son, I met your man John at 
 the inn, and he showed me the way hither.——Where is my 
 daughter, your wife? 
 
 THOMAS. Stolen! lost! every thing is lost, and I am undone. 
 
 GOODWILL. Heyday! What’s the matter? 
 
 THOMAS. The matter! O curse this vile town; I did but 
 go to furnish myself with a suit of clothes, that I might 
 appear like a gentleman, and in the mean time your daughter 
 hath taken care that I shall appear like a gentleman all 
 the days of my life; for I am sure I shall be ashamed to 
 show my head among footmen. 
 
 GOODWILL. How! my daughter run away—— 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I am afraid it is too true. 
 
 GOODWILL. And do you stand meditating? 
 
 THomASs. What shall I do? 
 
 GOODWILL. Go advertise her this minute in the news- 
 papers——get my lord chief-justice’s warrant. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. As for the latter, it may be advisable ; 
 but the former will be only throwing away your money ; 
 for the papers have been of late so crammed with advertise- 
 ments of wives running from their husbands, that nobody 
 now reads them. 
 
 Tuomas. That I should be such a blockhead to bring 
 my wife to town! 
 
 GOODWILL. That I should be such a sot as to suffer you! 
 
 THomas. If I was unmarried again, I would not venture 
 my honour in a woman’s. keeping, for all the fortune she 
 could bring me. 
 
324 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 GoopwILL. And if I was a young fellow again, I would 
 not get a daughter, for all the pleasure any woman couid 
 give me. 
 
 Enter MR. ZOROBABEL. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. Here, where’s my mistress? I have 
 equipped her. Here are trinkets enough to supply an 
 alderman’s wife. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. (I must be discovered.) Hush, hush, 
 consider your reputation; here are company. Your mistress 
 is run away with my Lord Bawble. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. My mistress run away! Damn my 
 reputation: where’s the girl? I will have the girl. 
 
 GOODWILL. This gentleman may have lost a daughter 
 too. 
 
 THOMAS. Or a wife, perhaps——You have lost your wife, 
 sir, by the violence of your rage? 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. O worse, worse, sir; I have lost a 
 mistress. While I went to buy her trinkets, this damned 
 jade of a bawd (where is she ?) lets in a young rake, and he 
 is run away with her: the sweetest bit of country innocence, 
 just come to town. ’Sblood, I would have given a hundred 
 lottery-tickets for her. 
 
 GOODWILL azd THOMAS. How, hell-hound! 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I am an innocent woman, and shail 
 fall a sacrifice to an unjust suspicion. 
 
 GOODWILL. Oh! my poor daughter! 
 
 THOMAS. My wife, that I had so much delight in! 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. My mistress, that I proposed such 
 pleasure in. 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. Oh, the credit of my house, gone for 
 ever 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Ha! here she is again. 
 
 Enter WIFE. 
 
 WIFE. Such joy! such rapture! Well, I’ll never go 
 into the country again. Faugh! how I hate the name!— 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 325 
 
 Oh! father, I’m sure you don’t know me; nor you, Mr, 
 
 Thomas, neither nor I won't know you.——Ah, you old 
 fusty fellow, I don’t want any thing you can give; nor 
 you sha’n’t come near me,——so you sha’n’t——Madam, 
 
 I am very much obliged to you for letting me see the world. 
 I hate to talk to any one I can’t call Lordship. 
 
 GOODWILL. And is this be-powdered, be-curled, be-hooped 
 mad woman my daughter ?——[ She coquets affectedly.| Why, 
 hussy, don’t you know your own father? 
 
 THomaAs. Nor your husband? 
 
 WIFE. No, I dont know you at all——I never saw 
 you before. I have got a lord, and I don’t know any one 
 but my lord. 
 
 THomas. And pray what hath my lord done to you, 
 that hath put you in such raptures? 
 
 WIFE. Oh, by gole! who’d be fool then? When I lived 
 in the country, I used to tell you every thing I did; but 
 I am grown wiser now, for I am told I must never let my 
 husband know any thing I do, for he’d be angry; though I 
 don’t much care for your anger, for I design always to live 
 with my lord now; and he’s never to be angry, do what 
 I will——wWhy, pr’ythee, fellow, dost thou think that I am 
 not fine lady enough to know the difference between a lord 
 and a footman? 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. A footman! 
 
 Mrs. MIDNIGHT. I thought he was a servant, by his 
 talking so much of his honour. | 
 
 THOMAS. You call me footman! I own I was a footman ; 
 and had rather be a footman still, than a tame cuckold to 
 a lord. I wish every man, who is not a footman, thought in 
 the same manner. 
 
 GOODWILL. Thou art a pretty fellow, and worthy a better 
 wife. 
 
 THOMAS. Sir, I am sorry that from henceforth, I cannot, 
 without being a rascal, look on your daughter as my wife; 
 I am sorry I can’t forgive her. 
 
 WIFE. Forgive me!—ha, ha, ha!—ha, ha, ha! comical! 
 why, I won’t forgive you, mun! 
 
326 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 GOODWILL. What hath he done, which you will not 
 forgive? 
 
 WIFE. Done! why, I have found out somebody I like 
 better; and he’s my husband, and I hate him, because it 
 is the fashion: That he hath done. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Sir Skip, a word with you: If you 
 intend to part with your wife, I will give you as much for 
 her as any man. 
 
 THOMAS. Sir! 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Sir, I say, I will give you as much, or 
 more for your wife, than any man. 
 
 THOMAS. Those words, which suppose me a villain, call 
 me so, and thus should be returned. 
 
 [Gives him a box in the ear. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. ’Sdeath, sir! do you know who you 
 use in this manner? 
 
 THomas. Know you? yes, you rascal, and you ought 
 to know me. I have indeed the greatest reason to remem- 
 ber you, having purchased a ticket of you in the last lottery 
 for as much again as it was worth—However, you shall 
 have reason to remember me for the future; a footman shall 
 teach such a low, pitiful, stock-jobbing pick-pocket to dare 
 to think to cuckold his betters. [Kicks him off the stage. 
 
 Mr. ZOROBABEL. You shall hear of me in Westminster 
 Hall. | 
 GOODWILL. Your humble servant. [Kicking him off. 
 
 MR. ZOROBABEL. Very fine! very fine !——a ten-thousand- 
 pound-man is to be kicked! 
 
 (JOODWILL., “A utascalasvilains 
 
 Enter LORD BAWBLE. 
 
 WIFE. O my dear lord, are you come? 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Fie, my dear, you should not have run 
 away from me while I was in an inner room, promising the 
 tradesman to pay him for your fine things, 
 
 WIFE. O my lord, I only stept into a chair, as “you call 
 
< 
 
 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 327 
 
 it, to make a visit to a fine lady here. It is pure sport to 
 ride in a chair. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Bless me! what’s here? My old man 
 Tom in masquerade? 
 
 THomas. I give your lordship joy of this fine girl. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Stay till I have had her, Tom. Egad 
 she hath cost me a round sum, and I have had nothing but 
 kisses for my money yet. - 
 
 THOMAS. No, my lord! Then I am afraid your lordship 
 never will have any thing more, for this lady is mine. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. How! what property have you in her? 
 
 THOMAS. The property of an English husband, my lord. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. How, madam! are you married to this 
 man? 
 
 WIFE. I married to him! I never saw the fellow 
 before. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Tom, thou art a very impudent fellow. 
 
 GOODWILL. Mercy on me! what a sink of iniquity is 
 this town! She hath been here but five hours, and learnt 
 assurance already to deny her husband. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Come, Tom, resign the girl by fair means, 
 or worse will follow. 
 
 THomMAS. How, my lord, resign my wife! Fortune, 
 which made me poor, made me a servant; but nature, which 
 made me an Englishman, preserved me from being a slave. 
 I have as good a right to the little I claim, as the proudest 
 peer hath to his great possessions; and whilst I am able, 
 I will defend it. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. Ha! rascal! [They draw. 
 
 GOODWILL. Hold, my lord! this girl, ungracious as she 
 is, is my daughter, and this honest man’s wife. 
 
 WiFE. Whether I am his wife or no is nothing to the 
 purpose; for I will go with my lord. I hate my husband, 
 and I love my lord. He is a fine gentleman, and I am a 
 fine lady, and we are fit for one another——Now, my lord, 
 here are all the fine things you gave me: he will take them 
 away, but you will keep them for me. 
 
 LORD BAWBLE. So, now I think every man hath his own 
 
328 MISS LUCY IN TOWN 
 
 again; and since she is your wife, Tom, much good may you 
 do with her. I question not but these trinkets will purchase 
 a finer lady. [A xiz. 
 
 WIFE. What, is my lord gone? 
 
 THOMAS. Yes, madam, and you shall go, as soon as I 
 can get horses put into a coach. 
 
 WiFE. Ay, but I won't go with you. 
 
 THOMAS. No, but you shall go without me: your good 
 father here will take care of you into the country: where, 
 if I hear of your amendment, perhaps, half a year hence I 
 may visit you; for since my honour is not wronged, I can 
 forgive your folly. 
 
 WIFE. I shall show you, sir, that I am a woman of spirit, 
 and not to be governed by my husband.—I shall have 
 vapours and fits, (these they say are infallible,) and if these 
 won't do, let me see who dares carry me into the country 
 against my will: I will swear the peace against them. 
 
 GOODWILL. Oh! oh! that ever I should beget a daughter! 
 
 THOMAS. Here, John! 
 
 JOHN [exters]. An’t please your worship. 
 
 THOMAS. Let all my things be packed up again in the 
 coach they came in;—and send Betty here this instant with 
 your mistress’s riding dress——Come, madam, you must 
 strip yourself of your puppet-show dress, as I will of mine; 
 they will make you ridiculous in the country, where there 
 is still something of Old England remaining. Come, no 
 words, no delay; by Heaven! if you but affect to loiter, I 
 will send orders with you to lock you up, and allow you 
 only the bare necessaries of life. You shall know I’m your 
 husband, and will be obeyed. 
 
 WIFE [crying]. And must I go into the country by 
 myself? Shall I not have a husband, or a lord, or any 
 body ?——If I must go, won't you go with me? 
 
 THOMAS. Can you expect it? Can you ask me after 
 what hath happened ? 
 
 WIFE. What I did, was only to be a fine lady, and 
 what they told me other fine ladies do, and I should never 
 have thought of in the country; but if you will forgive me, 
 
MISS LUCY IN TOWN 329 
 
 I will never attempt to be more than a plain gentlewoman 
 again. 
 
 THOMAS. Well, and as a plain gentlewoman you shall 
 have pleasures some fine ladies may envy. Come, dry your 
 eyes; my own folly, not yours, is to blame; and that I 
 am only angry with. 
 
 Wire. And will you go with me then, Tommy? 
 
 THOMAS. Ay, my dear, and stay with thee too; I desire 
 no more to be in this town, than to have thee here. 
 
 GOODWILL. Henceforth I will know no degree, no differ- 
 ence between men, but what the standards of honour and 
 virtue create: the noblest birth without these is but splendid 
 infamy; and a footman with these qualities, is a man of 
 honour. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 WIFE. Welcome again, ye rural plains ; 
 Innocent nymphs and virtuous swains: 
 Farewell town, and all its sights; 
 Beaus and lords, and gay delights : 
 
 All is idle pomp and noise; 
 Virtuous love gives greater joys. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 All is idle pomp and noise; 
 Virtuous love gives greater joys. 
 
 NOlLn XS UU 
 
ee ea ee) 
 
 ear ~—e 
 —— ee 
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 AS IT WAS ACTED AT 
 
 THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, 
 
 ’ BY HIS MAJESTY’S SERVANTS. 
 
HA OLOG UE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. MACKLIN. 
 
 GENTLEMEN AND LADIES, 
 
 WE must beg your indulgence, and humbly hope you’ll not 
 be offended 
 
 - At an accident that has happened to-night, which was not 
 in the least intended, 
 
 I assure you: if you please, your money shall be returned. 
 But Mr. Garrick, to-day, 
 
 Who performs a principal character in the play, 
 
 Unfortunately has sent word, ’twill be impossible, having so 
 long a part, 
 
 To speak to the Prologue: he hasn’t had time to get it by 
 heart. 
 
 I have been with the author, to know what’s to be done, 
 
 For, till the Prologue’s spoke, sir, says I, we can’t go on, 
 
 “Pshaw! rot the Prologue,” says he; “then begin without 
 
 ite 
 
 I told him, ’twas impossible, you’d make such a_ rout 
 about it: 
 
 Besides, ’twould be quite unprecedented,——and I dare say, 
 
 Such an attempt, sir, would make them damn the play. 
 
 “Ha! damn my play!” the frighted bard replies ; 
 
 “Dear Macklin, you must go on, then, and apologise.” 
 
 Apologise! not I: pray, sir, excuse me. 
 
 “ Zounds! something must be done: pr’ythee don’t refuse 
 me: 
 
334 PROLOGUE 
 
 Pr’ythee, go on: tell them, to damn my play will be a 
 damned hard case. 
 
 Come, do: you’ve a good long, dismal, mercy-begging 
 face,” 
 
 Sir, your humble servant: you’re very merry. “Yes,” says 
 he, “I’ve been drinking 
 
 To raise my spirits; fern by Jupiter! I found -em 
 sinking.” 
 
 So away he went to see the play; Oh! there he sits: 
 
 Smoke him, smoke the author, you laughing crits. 
 
 Isn't he finely situated for a damning Oh—Oh! a—a shrill 
 Whihee! Oh, direful yell! 
 
 As Falstaff says: would it were bed-time, Hal, and all were 
 well ! 
 
 What think you now? Whose face looks worst, yours or 
 mine ? 
 
 Ah! thou foolish follower of the ragged Nine, 
 
 You’d better stuck to honest Abraham Adams, by half: 
 
 He, in spite of critics, can make your readers laugh. 
 
 But to the Prologue—What shall I say? Why, faith, in 
 my sense, 
 
 I take plain truth to be the best defence. | 
 
 I think, then, it was horrid stuff; and in my humble 
 apprehension, 
 
 Had it been spoke, not worthy your attention. 
 
 I’ll give you a sample, if I can recollect it.—— 
 
 Hip! take courage: never fear, man: don’t be dejected. 
 
 Poor devil! he can’t stand it; he has ‘drawn “ae 
 head : 
 
 I reckon, before the play ’s done, he’ll be half dead. 
 
 But to the Prologue. It began, 
 
 “To-night the comic Author of to-day, 
 
 Has writ a—a—a—something about a play: 
 
 And as the bee,—the bee,—(that he brings by way of 
 simile) the bee, which roves, 
 
 Through, through,’—pshaw! pox o’' my memory!—Oh! 
 “through fields and groves, 
 
 So comic poets in fair London town 
 
EROLOGUE 325 
 
 To cull the flowers of characters wander up and down,” 
 
 Then there was a good deal about Rome, Athens, and 
 dramatic rules, 
 
 And characters of knaves and courtiers, authors and fools, 
 
 And a vast deal about critics,—and good-nature,—and the 
 poor Author’s fear ; 
 
 And I think there was something about a third night,— 
 hoping to see you here. 
 
 *Twas all such stuff as this, not worth repeating, 
 
 In the old Prologue cant; and then at last concludes, thus 
 kindly greeting, 
 
 “To you, the critic jury of the pit, 
 
 Our culprit Author does his cause submit: 
 
 With justice, nay, with candour, judge his wit: 
 
 Give him, at least, a patient quiet hearing: 
 
 If guilty, damn him; if not guilty, clear him.” 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 MILLAMOUR 
 HEARTFORT 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST 
 Mr. MUTABLE. 
 YOUNG MUTABLE 
 SQUEEZE PURSE . 
 BRAZEN . 
 
 DR. CRISIS . 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 CLARINDA 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 Mrs. USEFUL . 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL . 
 LUCINA . 
 
 Servants, &C. 
 
 SCENE.—LONDON. 
 
 Mr. Garrick. 
 Mr. Delane. 
 Mr. Macklin. 
 Mr. Taswell. 
 Mr. Neale. 
 Mr. Morgan. 
 Mr. Yates. 
 Mr. Turbute. 
 
 Mrs. Pritchard. 
 Mrs. Woffington 
 Mrs. Macklin. 
 Mrs. Cross. 
 Miss Bennet. 
 
ike WEDDING: DAY 
 
 OAR AL 
 SCENE I—MILLAMOUR’S Lodging. 
 BRAZEN asleep on a Chair, 
 
 MILLAMOUR [calls several times without—Brazen!] Why, 
 you incorrigible rascal, are you not ashamed to sleep at 
 this time of day? Do you think yourself in Spain, sirrah, 
 that thus you go regularly to sleep when others go to 
 dinner ? 
 
 BRAZEN [waking]. Truly, sir, I think he that wakes with 
 the owl should rest with him too, Spain! Agad, I should 
 live in the Antipodes, by the hours I am obliged to keep. 
 Nor do I see why the same bell that rings others to 
 dinner should not ring me to sleep: for, I thank heaven 
 and your honour, sleep is the only dinner I have had these 
 two days. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Cease your impertinence, and get things 
 ready to dress me, 
 
 BRAZEN. What clothes will your honour please to wear? 
 
 MILLAMOUR, Get me the blue and silver; or stay—the 
 brown and gold. Come back, fetch me the black; that suits 
 best with my present circumstances. 
 
 BRAZEN. I fancy the lace suits best with your circum- 
 
 NOL. X. CPS 
 
338 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 stances. Most people in your honour’s circumstances wear 
 lace. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Harkye, sir, I have often cautioned you 
 against this familiarity. You must part with your wit, or 
 with your master. 
 
 BRAZEN. [Aszde.] That’s true. If I had any wit, I should 
 have parted with him long ago. No wise servant will live 
 with a master who has turned away his estate. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Get me the laced—go immediately. Famili- 
 arity is a sort of interest which all servants exact from an 
 indebted master: and, as being indebted to a friend is 
 the surest way to make him your enemy, so making your 
 servant your creditor is the surest way of making him your 
 friend. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter BRAZEN, showing in MRS. USEFUL. 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, is your honour at home? Here is Mrs. 
 Useful. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sirrah, you know I am. at home to my 
 friend, my mistress, and my bawd, at any time. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Hoity, toity—What! must I stay at the 
 door till your worship has considered whether you will see 
 me or not? Do I pass for a beggar or a dun with you? 
 Do you take me for a tradesman with his bill, or a poet 
 with a dedication? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. [Zo Brazen.] Do you see what your blunders 
 are the occasion of? Come, my angry fair one, lay aside 
 the terror of your brows, since it was my servant’s fault, 
 not mine. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. I, who am admitted where a poor woman 
 of quality is excluded! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I know thou art. Thou art as dear to the 
 women of fashion as their lap-dogs, or to the men as their 
 buffoons. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. A very civil comparison! 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 339 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thou art the first minister of Venus, the 
 first plenipotentiary in affairs of love, and thy house is the 
 noble scene of the congress of the two sexes. Thou hast 
 united more couples than the Alimony Act has parted, and 
 sent more to bed together without a licence than any parson 
 of the Fleet. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. I wish I could have prevented one couple 
 from doing it with a licence. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What, has some notable whore of thy 
 acquaintance turned rebel to thy power, and listed under the 
 banners of Hymen? But be not disconsolate at thy loss.— 
 My life to a farthing she returns to her duty. Whoring is 
 like the mathematics; whoever is once initiated into the 
 science is sure never to leave it. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. This may probably take your mirth a key 
 or two lower than its present pitch. [|Gzves a letter. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I hope thou dost not deal with the law. I 
 know no letter can give me any uneasiness, but a letter from 
 an attorney. [Opens the letter.| Ha! Stedfast! I know the 
 hand, though not the name. 
 
 “«Sir,—After your behaviour to me, I might not have 
 been strictly obliged to give you any account of my actions: 
 however, as it is the last line you will ever see from me, I 
 have prevailed with myself to tell you, that your course of 
 life has at last determined me to fly to any harbour from 
 the danger of you; and accordingly this morning has given 
 me to a man, whose estate and sincere affections will, 
 in time, produce that love in my heart, which your 
 actions have—have—(this is a damned hard word) have 
 e-ra-di-ca-ted, and make me happy in the name of 
 
 “CLARINDA STEDFAST.” 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What do you think now, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Think! that IJ am the most unhappy of men 
 and have lost the most charming of women. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. I always told you what it would come to, 
 but you went still on in your profligate way. It is very 
 
340 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 true, what religious men tell us, we never know the value 
 of a blessing till we lose it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, ’tis very true indeed; for till this hour 
 I never knew the value of Clarinda. [Reads again.] Hum! 
 hum! has given me to a man whose estate and sincere affection, 
 by which I am to understand that my rival is some very 
 rich old fellow; two excellent qualifications for a husband 
 and a cuckold, as one could wish. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. I shall make a faithful report of the 
 philosophy with which you receive the news. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! couldst thou tell her half my tender- 
 ness or my pain, thou must invent a language to express 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Truly, I think you had best set pen to 
 paper, and tell her them yourself. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I had rather trust to your rhetoric: the 
 paper, I am sure, will carry no more than I put into it; 
 but for thee—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. If it receives any addition it will not be 
 to your advantage. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I dare trust thee; thou lovest the game 
 too well to spoil it. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. It is very strange that a lover will not 
 answer his mistress’s letter. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! no one writes worse than a real lover. 
 For love, like honesty, appears generally most beautiful in 
 the hypocrite. In painting the mind, as well as the face, 
 art generally goes beyond nature. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Why, this is all cool reason. I expected 
 nothing but imprecations, threatening, sighing, lamenting, 
 raving. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. You are mistaken. I act on the marriage 
 of a mistress as on the death of a friend: I strive to the 
 utmost to prevent it. But if fate will have it so—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. You are a wicked man. You know it 
 hath been in your power to prevent it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Yes; but, my dear, J am no more resolute 
 to give up my liberty to the one, than my life to the other ; 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 341 
 
 and if nothing but my marriage or my death can preserve 
 them, agad, I believe I shall continue zz statu quo, be the 
 consequence what it will. [ Knocking. 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, here’s a lady, I don’t know whether she 
 comes under any of the titles your honour would have 
 admitted. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sirrah,—admit all ladies whatsoever. 
 
 Mrs. USeruL. I’ll be gone this moment. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Why so? 
 
 Mrs. UseruLt. Oh! I would not be seen with you for 
 the world. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Out of tenderness for my reputation, I 
 suppose. But that’s safe enough with you; and as for your 
 reputation, it is safe enough with any one. Reputation, like 
 the small-pox, gives you but one pain in your life. When 
 you have had the one, and lost the other, you may venture 
 with safety where you please. 
 
 pa eer) Ue 
 MILLAMOUR, MRS. USEFUL, MRS. PLOTWELL. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ha! 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. You seem surprised, sir: I suppose this 
 is a visit you little expected, though I see it’s no unusual 
 thing for you to receive visits from a lady. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. No, madam: my cousin Millamour is very 
 happy with the ladies. 
 
 MILLAMOUR [¢o Plotwell]. I believe, cousin, this is a 
 relation of ours you don’t know; give me leave to intro- 
 duce you to one another. Cousin Useful, this is my 
 Cousin Plotwell; Cousin Plotwell, this is my Cousin Useful. 
 [The ladies salute] But come, relations should never 
 meet with dry lips. Here, Brazen, bring a bottle of 
 Usquebaugh. 
 
 BoTH WOMEN. Not a drop for me. 
 
342 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, come, it will do you no harm. Well, 
 cousin, and how did you leave all our relations in the north? 
 Have you brought me no letters? 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. Only one, cousin. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. [Aszde.] Cousin! this is a sister of mine, 
 I believe; we are both of the same trade, my life on’t. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. [Zo Brazen, who enters with a bottle.| Sirrah, 
 fill the ladies—do you hear? [He ¢akes a letter from Plotwell 
 and opens it.| | 
 
 “S1R,—After so many vows and protestations, I should be 
 surprised at the falsehood of any one but so great a villain 
 as yourself: but as I have been long since certain that 
 you-have not one virtue in your whole mind, that you 
 are a compound of all that is bad, and that you are the 
 greatest tyrant, and the falsest and most perjured wretch 
 upon earth, I can expect no other. If you deserve not 
 this and ten times worse, make haste to acquit yourself to 
 the injured LUCINA.” 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Well, sir, what does my aunt say? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. She is very inquisitive about my health, 
 complains of my not writing. There’s no secret in’t. Ill 
 read it for your diversion. [ Reads. 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. For Heaven’s sake, sir, do not discover 
 the secrets of our family. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. “My dear nephew, I suppose it impossible 
 for so fine a gentleman, amidst the hurry of the deau monde 
 to think of an old aunt in Northumberland; yet sure you 
 might sometimes find an opportunity to let one know a 
 little how the world goes.” Pshaw! I’ll read no more, 
 These country relations think their friends in town obliged 
 to furnish them with continual matter for the scandal of 
 their tea-tables. Has the old lady no female acquaintance? 
 —They would take as much pleasure in writing defamation 
 as she in reading it. For my part, I'll never trouble myself 
 with others’ business till I can mind my own; nor about 
 others’ sins till I have left off my own. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 343 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Which will not be till doomsday, I’m 
 confident. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Never, while I have the same mind to 
 tempt me to sin, and the same constitution to support me 
 in it. For sins, like places at court, we seldom resign, till 
 we can keep them no longer. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. And, like places at court, you often keep 
 them when you can’t officiate in them. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. But I hope you will answer my aunt’s 
 letter. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Not I, faith. Your aunt’s letter shall answer 
 itself. Send it back to the old lady again, and write my 
 duty to her on the back of it. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. You have done your duty to her already, 
 or I am mistaken, 
 
 oi CAop Roe Ae 
 
 MILLAMOUR, MRS, USEFUL, MRS. PLOTWELL, BRAZEN. 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, sir. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, sir; what, another cousin? Do you 
 hear, sirrah, I am at home to no more female relations this 
 morning, 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, Mr. Heartfort is below. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Desire him to walk up. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. But are you resolved not to answer the 
 letter ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Positively. And, harkye,—tell the enraged 
 fair one she hath made a double conquest: her beauty got 
 the better of my reason, and now her anger hath got the 
 better of my love. Give my humble service to her, and, 
 when she comes to herself again, tell her I am come to 
 
 myself. 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. You will repent of your haughtiness, I 
 warrant you. [Axee. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So, there’s your despatch: and now for my 
 other cousin, 
 
344 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Spt Nae 
 MILLAMOUR, MRS. USEFUL. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And for you, madam, give my _ kindest 
 respects to Mrs. Stedfast. Tell her I will endeavour to efface 
 the lovely idea which Clarinda had formed in my mind since 
 she is now another's. I will pray for her happiness, but 
 must love her no more. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. And is this all? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. You may carry her this again.—Tell her, I 
 will have nothing to put me in mind of her——and this kiss, 
 which I send her by you, shall be the last token she shall 
 have to awaken the remembrance of me. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well, you’re a barbarous man. But, 
 suppose, now, I could procure a meeting between you; 
 suppose I could bring her to you this very day, at your 
 own house 
 
 MILLAMOUR, Suppose! Oh, thou dear creature! suppose 
 I gave thee worlds to reward thee! 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well, I will suppose you a man of 
 honour, and much may be done. Don’t be out of the way. 
 
 [ Axee. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thus men of business despatch attendants. 
 And in female affairs, I believe few have more business than 
 myself. The Grand Signior is but a petty prince in love, 
 compared to me, But, though I have disguised my un- 
 easiness before this woman, Clarinda lies deeper in my heart 
 than I could wish. There is something in that dear name 
 gives me a sensation quite different from that of any other 
 woman. The thought of seeing her another’s stings me to 
 the very soul. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT. 
 
 HEARTFORT. What, is your levée despatched? I met 
 antiquated whores going out of your door, as thick as 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 345 
 
 antiquated courtiers from the levée of a statesman, and with 
 as disconsolate faces. I fancy thou hast done nothing for 
 them. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thus it will ever be, Jack, where there are 
 a multitude of attendants. The lover no more than the 
 statesman can do every man’s business. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Thou dost as many people’s business as any 
 man in town, I dare swear. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I believe no one tastes more the sweets of 
 love—— 
 
 MEARTFORT. - Nor any more its bitters than I. Oh! 
 Millamour, I am the most unhappy of mankind——I have 
 lost the mistress of my soul. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay,——and I have lost two mistresses of 
 my soul, 
 
 HEARTFORT. The woman I dote on to distraction is to 
 be married this day to another. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. A reprieve, a reprieve, in comparison of my 
 fate! The woman I dote on was married this morning to 
 another. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Thou knowest not what it is to love 
 tenderly. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, faith; not very tenderly—not without a 
 sreat deal of discretion. Here lies the difference between us: 
 you, Heartfort, have discretion in every thing but love: I 
 have discretion in nothing else. Mine is a true English 
 heart; it is an equal stranger to the heat of the equator and 
 the frost of the pole. Love still nourishes it with a 
 temperate heat, as the sun doth our climate; and beauties 
 rise after beauties in the one, just as fruits do in the other. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Is it impossible to engage thee to be serious 
 a moment? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Faith, I believe it would on this subject, if 
 I did not know thy temper, 
 
 HEARTFORT. The loss of a mistress may indeed seem 
 trifling to thee, who hast lost a thousand. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. The devil take me if I have—I have found 
 it always much easier to get mistresses, than to lose them, 
 
 VOL. -X. iver Xe 
 
346 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Women would be charming things, Heartfort, if, like clothes, 
 we could lay them by when we are weary of them; since, 
 like clothes, we are often weary of them before they are 
 worn out. But this curse attends a multiplicity of amours, 
 that a man is sometimes forced to support his whole wardrobe 
 on his back at once. 
 
 HEARTFORT. My passion, sir, will not bear raillery. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I am sorry for it. Raillery is a sort of test 
 to our passions: when they will not bear that, they are 
 dangerous indeed. Therefore I'll indulge your infirmity, and 
 for your sake will be grave on a subject which I could 
 never be serious on for my own. So, lay open your wound, 
 and [’ll give you the best advice I can. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I am enough acquainted with your temper, 
 Millamour, to know my obligations to you for this com- 
 pliance. And after all, perhaps my case requires rather your 
 pity than advice; for the last word I had from my mistress 
 was, that she hated me of all men living. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hum!—Faith, I think your case requires 
 neither pity nor advice. 
 
 HEARTFORT. But this is not the most terrible, or time 
 might alter her inclination. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hardly, if it be so violent. 
 
 HEARTFORT, I take its violence to be a reason for its 
 change; but I have a better from experience, for she 
 formerly has told me that she loved me of all men 
 living. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And what has caused this great revolution 
 in her temper ? 
 
 HEARTFORT. Oh! I defy all philosophy to account for 
 one of her actions. You might easier solve all the 
 phenomena of nature than of her mind. All the insight 
 you can get into her future thoughts by her present is, 
 that what she says to-day she will infallibly contradict 
 to-morrow. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So, if she promised your rival yesterday, you 
 may depend upon her discarding him to-day. 
 
 HEARTFORT. But then she has a father, whose resolution 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 347 
 
 is immovable as the predestinarian’s fate, who has given 
 me as positive a denial as his daughter, and is this day 
 determined to bestow her on another, whom he has preferred 
 to me. | 
 
 MILLAMOUR. For the old reason, I suppose,—because he 
 is richer? 
 
 HEARTFORT. No, upon my word; for a very new reason, 
 because he is a greater rake. For you must know, that 
 this mighty unalterable will, which is as fixed as the Persian 
 laws, is determined with as little reason as resolutions of 
 some countries which are less stable. In short, sir, he hath 
 laid it down as a maxim, that all men are wild at one 
 period of life or another; so he resolved never to marry his 
 daughter but to one who hath already passed that period. 
 At last, the young lady’s good stars, and his great wisdom, 
 have led him to the choice of Mr. Mutable. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What, our Mutable! 
 
 HEARTFORT. The very same—though I have reason to 
 believe she hath as great an aversion for him as for me. 
 There is some other, Millamour, hath supplanted me in her 
 heart, whom I have not yet been able to discover; for to 
 this match she is compelled by her father. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So you are a stranger to the man she loves ; 
 you have only discovered her husband. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Ten thousand horrors are in that name! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hum !——faith, to him I think there may ; 
 but if the possession of your mistress’s person be all you 
 desire, I can’t see how you are a whit the farther from that 
 by this match; and, as to the first favour, I should not be 
 much concerned about that. If a man would keep a coach 
 for my use, I think it is but a small indulgence to let him 
 take the first airing in it. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Oh! do not trifle. An hour, a minute, a 
 moment’s delay may be my ruin. Could I but see her 
 before the marriage, this compulsion of her father’s might 
 throw her into my arms. But he is resolved she shall be 
 married on the same day with himself, and he hath this 
 morning taken a second wife. Oh! Millamour, thou hast 
 
348 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 a lively imagination——-Set it at work for thy friend: for, 
 by Heaven, I never can have any happiness but in Miss 
 Stedfast’s arms. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Miss Stedfast !—and her father married this 
 morning! Oh! my friend, if I don’t invent for thee, may I 
 never be happy in Mrs. Stedfast’s arms. 
 
 HEARTFORT. What do you mean ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. It is as fixed as your father-in-law’s most 
 confirmed will but that he is to be the cuckold of your 
 
 humble servant. Take courage; the d——l’s in’t if he robs 
 us both of our mistresses in one day. Mine he has got 
 already,——and much good may she do him. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Is it possible? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, faith. This father-in-law of yours that 
 was to be, and that shall be too, hath outstript me in the 
 race, and is gotten to the goal before me. 
 
 HEARTFORT. You are a happy man, Millamour, who can 
 be so easy in the loss of your mistress. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, and of a mistress thou hast heard me 
 toast so often, and talk so tenderly, so fondly of—in the loss 
 of Clarinda. 
 
 HEARTFORT, The d—l! was Miss Lovely your Clarinda? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, sir, Miss Lovely, Mrs. Stedfast now, 
 was my Clarinda, and is my Clarinda;—and Miss Stedfast 
 shall be yours. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Keep but your word there, Millamour. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Lookye, Heartfort, if she hath a mind to 
 see you, I'll send for an engine that shall convey you 
 thither, in spite of all the fathers in Europe. 
 
 HEARTFORT. But the time— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. If you will step in with me while I dress, 
 Brazen shall fetch the person immediately. Come, be not 
 dejected ; we shall be too hard for all, I warrant you. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Yet how do I know but every moment may 
 be the cursed period of my ruin? Perhaps this instant gives 
 her to another. 
 
 MILLAMOUR, It cannot give her inclinations; and, as I 
 have heard thee say, thy mistress hath wit and beauty, 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 349 
 
 depend upon it these qualities will never be confined in the 
 arms of a man she doth not like. Pursue her, and she 
 must fall, Decency may guard her a honeymoon or two, 
 but she will be yours at last. Never think a celebrated 
 beauty, when she is married, is deceased for ever. No, 
 rather imagine her setting in her husband’s bed, as_ poets 
 make the Sun do in that of Thetis ; 
 
 Which from our sight retires a while, and then 
 Rises and shines o’er all the world again. 
 
 AG LT 
 SCENE I.—Lucina’s Lodging. 
 LUCINA and MRS. PLOTWELL. 
 
 LuUcINA. Distraction! Send me back my letter! Is not 
 falsehood enough! must he add insult to it? Oh! may 
 eternal furies haunt him! may all the horrors of despair 
 attend his guilt! may he be so wretched that hell itself 
 may sicken with revenge! 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. And may you be so happy as to have 
 nothing to do with him! or rather, so wise as not to 
 desire it. 
 
 LUCINA. Sure it is impossible. He could not be so great 
 Bevillain. You never carried him my letter. He, that has 
 sworn so many vows of constancy 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Ha, ha, ha! vows of constancy! that 
 any woman after eighteen should think of these. Vows in 
 love have just the same meaning as compliments in conversa- 
 tion; and it is as ridiculous to believe the man who swears 
 eternal constancy, as to believe him who assures you he is 
 your most obedient humble servant. 
 
 LucINA. Oh! Plotwell, had I but known thee sooner ! 
 had I but known a friend like you, who could have armed 
 
350 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 my unexperienced soul against the wicked arts of this 
 deceitful man—— 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Then you would have followed my 
 advice, just as you have done since we were acquainted. 
 Could any one have armed you against the protesting dying 
 lover, who was breathing out daily raptures at your feet, 
 when it is not in your power to prevail against him, even 
 when he has discovered his falsehood ? 
 
 LucINA. Believe me, I could never assure myself of it 
 till now; the whole long year that I expected his return to 
 Paris, though it made me fear his falsehood, still left me 
 room to hope his truth. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. We are apt to hope what we desire. 
 But could any woman have reason to expect the return of 
 a lover, after a month had passed beyond his promise? Had 
 he intended to have married you, he would have done it 
 before his departure. Marriage, like self-murder, requires an 
 immediate resolution; he that takes time for deliberation 
 will never accomplish either. 
 
 LucINA. Oh! Plotwell, thou art well skilled in the wiles 
 of the sex: I wonder thou couldst be deceived. 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. Yes, madam, I have paid for my know- 
 ledge. Man is that forbidden fruit which we must buy the 
 knowledge of with guilt. He must be tasted to be known; 
 and certain poison is in the taste. Were man to appear 
 what he really is, we should fly from him as from a tem- 
 pestuous sea; or were he to be what he appears, we should 
 be happy in him as in a serene one. They lead us into 
 ruin with the face of angels, and when the door is shut on 
 us exert the devil. 
 
 LUCINA. He must have been a man of uncommon sense 
 who worked your ruin. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Rather the circumstances of my ruin 
 were uncommon. | 
 
 LuCINA. I am surprised that in all our acquaintance, 
 though you have often mentioned your misfortunes, you have 
 carefully avoided entering into the cause of them. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Though the relation be uneasy to me, 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 351 
 
 a 
 
 still, to satisfy your curiosity, and to prevent any solicitations 
 for the future, I will tell you in as few words as I can. In 
 my way to Paris, twenty years ago, I fell acquainted with a 
 young gentleman, who appeared to be an officer in the army. 
 He continued our fellow-traveller on the road, and, after our 
 arrival at Paris, took lodgings in the same house with us. I 
 was then young and unskilled, and too ready to listen to the 
 flattery of a lover. In short, he employed all his art to 
 convince me of his passion, to make an impression on that 
 heart which was too weakly armed to resist him. He 
 succeeded,——-and I was undone. 
 
 LucinA. I can’t find any thing uncommon in these 
 circumstances ; for I was undone just the same way 
 myself, 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. After a month spent in our too fatal 
 and too guilty joys he suddenly eloped from Paris, and 
 from that time I never saw him more. 
 
 LuUCINA. But could any thing be so strange as your 
 staying twenty years in Paris without seeking after him? 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. I heard the same year he was slain at 
 the battle of Belgrade. But I think it much more strange 
 in you, after staying a year at Paris, to come a hunting 
 after your lover. For a woman to pursue is for the hare to 
 follow the hounds; a chase opposite to the order of nature, 
 and can never be successful. A woman is as sure of not 
 overtaking the lover who flies from her as of being overtaken 
 by a lover who flies after her. 
 
 muciINA, Well, I’m resolved to see him. If I reap no 
 other advantage from it I shall have at least the pleasure 
 of thundering my injuries in his ear. 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. The usual revenge of an injured mis- 
 tress, If nature had not granted us the benefit of venting 
 our passions at our tongues and our eyes, the injury and 
 falsehood of mankind would destroy above half our sex. 
 
352 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SCENE I1.—TZzhe Street. 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT, BRAZEN. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Your calling on me was lucky enough; you 
 could have been directed to none properer for your purpose 
 than this woman: for though her body will scarce go 
 through the door, yet she has dexterity enough to go through 
 the key-hole. But let me tell you that dexterity must be 
 put in motion by gold, or it will remain in rest. 
 
 HEARTFORT. She shall not want that. When my 
 
 Charlotte’s at stake, fortune or life are trifles to the 
 adventurer. 
 _ MILLAMOUR. Well, for a sober grave man of sense, thou 
 art something violent in thy passion. I always thought 
 love as foreign to a speculative man as religion to an 
 atheist. 
 
 HEARTFORT, Perhaps it may: for I believe the atheist is 
 as often insincere in his contempt of religion as the other 
 in his contempt of woman. There are instances of men 
 who have professed themselves despisers of both, that have 
 at length been found kneeling at their shrines. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Those two things I never intend to trouble 
 my head about the theory of——I shall content myself with 
 the practice—— 
 
 HEARTFORT. With the practice of one, I dare swear, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. In my youth I believe I shall; and for 
 being old, I desire it not. I would have the fires of life 
 and love go out together. What is life worth without 
 pleasure? And what pleasure is there out of the arms of 
 a mistress? All other joys are dreams to that. Give me the 
 fine, young, blooming girl,—cheeks blushing,—eyes sparkling. 
 Give me her, Heartfort 
 
 HEARTFORT. Take her with all my heart. Come, Mr. 
 Brazen, you are to conduct me another way. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. You are too soon for Mrs. Useful’s 
 appointment. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 353 
 
 HEARTFORT. No matter—here is one coming I would 
 avoid, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ha! your rival. Nay, you have no reason 
 to be angry with him: you tell me he is as averse to 
 the match as yourself: you cannot expect be should be 
 disinterested out of complaisance. 
 
 HEARTFORT. It is for that reason I would avoid him. I 
 am not master enough of my passions ; besides, I hate lying 
 and impertinence; I can’t bear to hear a fellow run on with 
 his intimacy with this duke and that lord, whom he has 
 never spoke to, and, perhaps, never seen. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. A more innocent vanity at least than the 
 boasting of favours from women, though with truth, as 
 I have known some men of sense do; which is a vanity 
 indulged at the expense of another’s reputation. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Faith, and I take the other to be equally 
 as destructive of reputation ; for I can’t see why it should 
 more reflect on a woman to be great with a man of sense, 
 than on a man of sense to be great with a fool. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Pshaw !—thou art as serious in thy criticisms 
 on life as a dull critic on the Drama. I prefer laughing 
 sometimes at a farce and a fool to being entertained with 
 the most regular performances, or the conversation of men 
 of the best sense. 
 
 HEARTFORT. In my opinion, laughing at fools is engaging 
 them at their own weapons; for a fool always laughs at 
 those who laugh at him, nay, and oftener gets the laugh 
 of his side, because there are in the world abundance of 
 fools to one who is otherwise. In short, it is as dangerous 
 to ridicule folly any where openly, as to speak against 
 _Mahometism in Turkey, or Popery in Rome. But he is 
 here——Good-morrow. 
 
 Tee Xs ZZ 
 
354 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT, MR. MUTABLE, BRAZEN. 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Nay, ’foregad, Heartfort, you shall not 
 run away from me—Pox take your mistress, I would not 
 lose a friend for all the sluts in town—Pshaw! they are 
 plenty enough—If thou canst persuade my father off the 
 match I did not care if the devil had her. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Harkye, sir, on your life, do not utter a 
 profane word of her. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Well then, I wish you had her, or the 
 devil had her—it’s equal to me.—’Tis so difficult to please 
 you—I must like her, and I must not like her. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, Mutable, to content a passionate lover 
 is as difficult as to sail between Scylla and Charybdis: you 
 must fall into one extreme or other. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Though I would have Charlotte only mine, 
 yet I could not bear to hear her slighted by another. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, Mutable, doth this early sally of yours 
 proceed from having been in bed early, or from not being 
 in bed at all? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Not at all, agad.—That Lord Bouncer is 
 an everlasting sitter. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Who had you with you? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. There was myself, three lords, two 
 baronets, four whores, and a justice of peace. His worship, 
 indeed, did not sit late; he was obliged to go home at 
 three to take a nap, to be sober at the sessions—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And punish wickedness and debauchery. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Millamour, was you ever in company 
 with my Lord Grig ?——He is the merriest dog—We had 
 such diversion between him and the Duke of Fleet Street— 
 Ha, ha, ha! says the Duke to me—Jack Mutable, says he 
 —ha, ha, ha; what do you think of my Lord Grig? Why, 
 my Lord Duke, says I, what of my Lord Grig? Why, says 
 my Lord Duke again, he is damnably in love with my Lady 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 355 
 
 Piddle. You know my Lady Piddle, Millamour—she is a 
 prude, you know; and that puts me in mind of what Sir 
 John Gubble told me t’other day at White’s—— 
 
 HEARTFORT. Death and damnation! This is insupportable. 
 Come, Mr. Brazen—— 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 MILLAMOUR, MR. MUTABLE. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. White’s—Now I mention White’s, I must 
 send an excuse to my Lord Goodland. He invited me two 
 days ago, to dine with him to-day. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Two days ago!——why he went into the 
 country a week since. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Nay, then Sir Charles Wiseall was mis- 
 taken, for he delivered me the message yesterday; which is 
 a little strange, methinks. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, faith, it is very strange; for he has 
 been in Scotland this fortnight. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. How! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. It is even so, I assure you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Then, as sure as I am alive, I dreamt all 
 this, Oh! but may I wish you joy yet? They tell me you 
 are going to be married. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Who told you so? 
 
 Mr. MuUTABLE. Hum!——that I can’t remember. It was 
 either the Duchess of Holbourn, or Lady Chatter, or Lady 
 Scramble, or—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, you dreamt it; a sure sign it will not 
 happen. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Heyday! Where’s Heartfort gone? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. He can’t bear a successful rival. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Poor devil! I pity him heartily. And I 
 pity myself; for, I protest, I am as sorry at winning her 
 as he can be at losing her, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. But, is there no way of persuading the old 
 gentleman off? 
 
356 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Odd! here he comes. Pr’ythee, do try; 
 let me call you my lord, and it will give you more 
 weight with him; for he takes a lord to be as infallible as 
 the pope. 
 
 MILLAMouR. Ay, is he so fond of quality? 
 
 Mr. MutTABLE. Oh! most passionately. You must know 
 he hesitates even at this match on that account; nay, 
 I believe, notwithstanding her fortune, he would prefer a 
 woman of quality for his daughter-in-law, though she was 
 not worth a groat. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ha! ’Sdeath! I have a thought—but mum 
 —he’s here, 
 
 SCENE GN: 
 Mr. MUTABLE, YOUNG MUTABLE, MILLAMOUR. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Ha! Jacky, have I found you out at 
 last? It is so long since I was in town, I had almost 
 lost myself. But, harkye,——who’s that fine gentleman ? 
 hey ! 
 
 YounG MUTABLE. Oh! one of the lords I told you I 
 converse with—an intimate acquaintance of mine. Ill in- 
 troduce you to him, sir. My lord, this is my father, my 
 lord—— 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. At your lordship’s service, my lord. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sir, I am exceedingly glad to see you in 
 
 town. 
 
 Mr. Mutasie. I am exceedingly obliged to your lordship 
 —My lord, I am vastly unworthy so great an honour. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. You will excuse my father, my lord. 
 as he has lived in the country most of his time, he does 
 not make quite so fine a bow as we do. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. My son says true, my lord. I have lived 
 most of my time in the country, the greater my misfortune, 
 and my father’s crime, my lord. But, I thank my stars, my 
 son cannot charge me with stinting his education. Alas! my 
 lord, it must be done betimes. A man can never be sent 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 357 
 
 into the world too soon. What can fhey learn at schools 
 or universities? No, no, I sent my boy to town at 
 sixteen, and allowed him wherewithal to keep the best 
 company. And, I thank my stars, I have lived to see him 
 one of the finest gentlemen of his age. 
 
 YounG MUTABLE. Ah! dear sir, your most obedient 
 humble servant. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. It is owing, sir, to such wise parents as you 
 that the present age abounds with such fine gentlemen as 
 it does.. Our dull forefathers were either rough soldiers, 
 pedantic scholars, or clownish farmers. And it was as 
 difficult to find a fine gentleman among us then as it is 
 a true Briton among us now. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE, I am very proud, my lord, to find my 
 son in such company as your lordship’s. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Dear sir, the honour is on my side, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. ‘’Sbud! Your men of quality are the 
 civilest sort of people upon earth. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And, I believe, my sister is of the same 
 opinion. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. His sister! [A sede. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I am extremely bound to your good 
 lordship. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I see you are shy of speaking; but I do 
 not at all think it beneath the honour of my house to 
 marry into a worthy family with a competent estate, though 
 there be no title. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. My lord! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And since my sister has condescended to 
 receive the addresses of your son I shall not oppose the match. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I am surprised, my lord 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Nay, sir, you cannot be surprised; for 
 certainly Mr. Mutable has more honour than to have 
 proceeded so far without acquainting you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Oh, yes, my lord, he has acquainted 
 me Yes, my lord, I have been acquainted indeed——But 
 the honour was so great that I could scarce believe it. 
 
358 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE,* [Aszde.] This is not the first woman 
 I have been in love with, without seeing. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Oh, fie upon you, Jacky, why did you 
 not tell me of this?—I’ll go break off the other match this 
 moment. My lord, I cannot express the very grateful 
 sentiments I have of this great honour, my lord—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I shall be glad to see you at my house; 
 in the meantime, Mr. Mutable may have as free access to 
 my sister as he pleases. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Dear my lord, I am your most 
 obedient humble servant. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I and mine, my lord, are eternally obliged 
 to your goodness; and I hope my son is as _ sufficiently 
 sensible as myself. I will just go do a little business, and, 
 then, Jacky, I’ll come to this place, and you shall carry 
 me to wait on his lordship. Be sure to be here, or I shall 
 NOtMa DE sablemetomeund ayo In the meantime I am 
 your lordship’s very obedient, devoted, humble servant, to 
 command. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 MILLAMOUR, YOUNG MUTABLE, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, have I not managed the old gentle- 
 man finely ? 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Yes; but as my Lord Twitter says, 
 how shall we carry it on? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. That I am thinking. Suppose I get some- 
 body to personate my sister—I see your father is of a 
 good, easy, credulous disposition, and not altogether so 
 inflexible as your father-in-law } 
 
 YouNG MUTABLE. No, hang him; he never kept a 
 resolution two minutes in his life. He is the very picture 
 of my Lord Shatterbrain; and you know my Lord Shatter- 
 brain is very famous for breaking his word. I have made 
 forty engagements with him and he never kept one ;—then, 
 the next time we met,—Jack Mutable, says he, I know 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 359 
 
 you ll pardon me—I have such a memory—but there’s Sir 
 George Goose has just such another too—but George is a 
 comical dog, that’s the truth on’t——There was he, and 
 I, and the duke—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Harkye, I have thought how the thing 
 shall be conducted. Heartfort’s house shall pass for mine; 
 thither do you bring your father; you shall find a lady 
 ready to receive you. But you must remember to behave 
 to her as if you were old acquaintance. I will in- 
 struct her how to answer you. So, go now, and expect 
 your father, and remember to give me the title of Lord 
 Truelove. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Agad, I dined with Sir John Truelove 
 about four days ago; and how many bottles do you think 
 we sat? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Twenty dozen, if you will. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. No, faith, not that——not that quite. 
 I brought off four to my own share though; and so drunk 
 was my Lord Puzzle—ha, ha, ha! and so mad—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. But if thou art not quite drunk or mad 
 thyself, pr’ythee do mind thy business; for if you stay one 
 moment longer I’ll fling up the affair. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. I go, I go. My Lord Truelove, your 
 servant. ’Foregad, Sir John is one of the merriest dogs in 
 Christendom. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. [Solus.] Go thy way, Guillim displayed— 
 Thou catalogue of the nobility—’Sdeath, I fancy ‘tis the 
 vanity of such fools as this that makes men proud of a 
 title, without any other merit. Now, if I can but match 
 this spark with my Northumberland cousin, I shall hand- 
 somely be quit of a troublesome relation—And, faith, I 
 think the arms of a rich fool are a sort of hospital, proper 
 to every woman who has worn out her reputation in the 
 service. 
 
360 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SCENE. VIII.—MR. STEDFAST’S House. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, speaking to MRS. USEFUL, who goes out and 
 returns with HEARTFORT. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, well, tell the wretch I will see him, 
 to give him another final answer, since he will have it. 
 Poor creature! how little he suspects who is his rival }—— 
 Oh! Millamour, thou hast given this heart of mine more 
 sighs in one week than it ever felt before——nay, than it 
 hath ever made any other feel. How shall I let him know 
 my passion, or how avoid this match intended for me by 
 my father! Well, sir, how often must I tell you, I won't 
 have you, I can’t have you? 
 
 HEARTFORT. Madam, as you have often told me the 
 contrary, I think you should give some reason why you 
 will not have me. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I tell you a reason—I hate you. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I might expect a better reason ‘forwtuacs 
 hate than the violence of my love. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! the best reason in the world. I hate 
 every thing that is ridiculous, and there is nothing so 
 ridiculous as a real lover. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Methinks, gratitude might produce the 
 highest affection. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Your humble servant, sweet sir——Grati- 
 tude! that implies an obligation; but how am I obliged 
 to you for loving me? I did not ask you to love me— 
 did I?—I can’t help your loving me; and if one was to 
 have every one that loves one, one must have the whole 
 town. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Can my torments make you merry, madam? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! no, certainly; for you must know, I 
 am extravagantly good-natured; nor can you yourself say, 
 that I have not begged you to get off the rack: but you 
 would have me take you off in my arms, like an odious 
 ridiculous creature as you are. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 361 
 
 HEARTFORT. Give me my reason again; untie me from 
 the magic knot you have bound me in; for, whilst you 
 hold me fast within your chains, ‘tis barbarous to bid me 
 take my freedom. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Chains!—sure being in love is something 
 like being in the galleys; and a lover, like other slaves, is 
 the subject of no other passion but pity: Nay, they are 
 even more contemptible——they are mere insects. One 
 gives being to thousands with a smile, and takes it away 
 again with a frown. A celebrated physician might as well 
 grieve at the death of every patient as a celebrated toast 
 at the death of every lover: and then it would be impossible 
 for either of them ever to have dry eyes. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Come, come, madam; the world are not 
 at all so deaf to reason as Iam. There are those who can 
 see your faults, though I can’t—can weigh affectation against 
 beauty, and ill-nature against wit. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. They are inseparable. No one has beauty 
 without affectation, nor wit without ill-nature. But lovers, 
 you know, only see perfections. All things look white to 
 love, as they do yellow to the jaundice. 
 
 HEARTFORT. This cool insensibility is worse than rage. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. It would be cruel indeed to add to the 
 fire. I would extinguish your passion, sir, since this is the 
 last time it can blaze in public without prejudice to my 
 reputation. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Sure you can’t resolve to marry a fool? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I can resolve to be dutiful to a parent, and 
 run any risk rather than that of my fortune. In short, Mr. 
 Heartfort, could you have prevailed with my father, you 
 might have prevailed with me. I liked you well enough to 
 have obeyed my father, but not to disobey him. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Was that the affection you had for a man 
 who would have sacrificed himself and the whole world 
 to you? 
 
 Cee epee 
 
362 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE, HEARTFORT. 
 
 CLARINDA. Fie! Charlotte, how can you use him so 
 barbarously ? Poor MHeartfort! JI protest I pity you 
 
 sincerely. 
 CHARLOTTE. Indeed, Clarinda,——for I shall never call 
 you mother——I am come to an age wherein I shall not 
 
 follow your advice in disposing of myself: nor am I more 
 forward to ask your opinion, than you was to ask mine 
 when you married my father. 
 
 CLARINDA. My dear Charlotte, you shall never have more 
 cause to repent my marriage than I believe you would have 
 to repent your own with this gentleman. 
 
 HEARTFORT. My life, madam, is a poor sacrifice to such 
 goodness. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Dear creature! if the old gentleman your 
 husband was here, you would make him jealous on his 
 wedding-day.—Besides, it is barbarous in you to blame me, 
 for he hath taken a resolution to give me to Mr. Mutable; 
 and you know, or you will know before you have been 
 married to him long, that when once he hath resolved on 
 any thing, it is impossible to alter him. 
 
 GH Nita, 
 MR. STEDFAST, HEARTFORT, CLARINDA. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Heyday! What’s here to do? JI 
 thought I had forbidden you my house. Am I not master 
 of my own house? 
 
 HEARTFORT. No, sir, nor ever will while you have two 
 such fine ladies in it. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Sir, if I had two empresses in it, my 
 word should be a law.—And I can tell you, sir, I will have 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 363 
 
 blunderbusses in it, and constables too, if I see you in it 
 any more. 
 
 CLARINDA. Nay, pray, my dear, do not try to shock him 
 more; Charlotte hath used him ill enough already. 
 
 MR, STEDFAST. Harkye, madam, my dear, I must give 
 you a piece of advice on our wedding-day—Never offer to 
 interrupt me, nor presume to give your opinion in any thing 
 till asked—If nature hath made any thing in vain, it is the 
 tongue of woman. Women were designed to be seen, and 
 not heard; they were formed only to please our eyes. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You will be singularly happy, my dear, 
 with a husband who marries to please no sense but his eyes. 
 
 CLARINDA. I do not doubt being as happy with him as 
 I desire. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. This is another thing I must warn you 
 of—never to whisper in my presence——Whispering no one 
 uses but with an ill design. I made a resolution against 
 whispering at sixteen, and have never whispered since. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Yes, sir, and if you had made a resolution 
 to hang yourself, others would have been equally obliged to 
 follow the example. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. I wish you would resolve to go out of 
 my doors, sir; or I shall take a resolution which may not 
 please you. Madam, if you have not given this gentleman a 
 final discharge already, do it now. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You hear, sir, what my father says, therefore 
 I desire you would immediately leave us, and not think of 
 returning again. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Not certain death should deter me from 
 obeying your commands; nor would that sentence, pronounced 
 from any other lips, give me as much pain, as this banish- 
 ment from yours, [Axz7. 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST, CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 CLARINDA. Go thy ways, for a pretty fellow. 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Go thy ways, for an hypocrite. We 
 
364 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 shall have that fellow turn rake at forty. The seeds of 
 raking are in him, and one time or other they will break 
 out. Rakery is a disease in the blood, which every man is 
 born with: and the sooner it shows itself the better. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But I hope sir, since I have complied with 
 your commands in despatching one lover, you will comply 
 with my desires in delaying my alliance with another. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. As for that, you may be very easy: so 
 you are married to-day, I care not what hour. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why to-day, sir? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Because I have resolved it, madam. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. One day sure would make no difference. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Madam, I have said it. 
 
 CLARINDA. Let me intercede for so short a reprieve. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. I am fixed. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Consider, my whole happiness is at stake. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. If the happiness of the world was at 
 stake, I would not alter my resolution. [Servant enters. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, Mr. Mutable is below. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Show him up. Go you two in.—Daughter, 
 be sure and make yourself ready. I have not yet resolved 
 the hour of marrying you, but it shall be this afternoon ; 
 for I am determined to keep both our wedding suppers 
 together. 
 
 SCENE XI 
 MR. STEDFAST, MR. MUTABLE. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Mr. Mutable, your servant. Odso! 
 where’s the bridegroom ?—He is a little too backward for a 
 young fellow: the bride has reason to take it amiss. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Nay, Mr. Stedfast, if she or you take 
 any thing amiss, we cannot help that. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Pugh! I was in jest with thee: She 
 shall take nothing amiss, for I am resolved on the match. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Truly, I am sorry for it. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Ha! sorry—for what ? 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 365 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Since it must be known, what signifies 
 hesitation ?—My son is pre-engaged, sir. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. How, sir, pre-engaged ! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Yes, sir, to a young lady of beauty and 
 fortune—and, what is more, a lady of quality. I assure you, 
 sir, I did not know one word of it when our bargain was 
 made; which I am sorry for, and heartily ask your pardon. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. And is this the manner you treat me 
 in, after I have refused such offers for your son’s sake? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. The match was none of my own choice ; 
 but if quality will drop into one’s lap—— 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Ay, quality may drop into your lap or 
 your pocket either, and not make them one bit the heavier 
 —And pray, who is this great lady of quality? 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. I know nothing more of her than that 
 she is a lord’s sister. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Hath she no name, then? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Yes, sir, I suppose she hath a name, 
 though I don't know it. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. And pray, sir, what’s her fortune? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I don’t know that either. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Your very humble servant, sir—I honour 
 your profundity: If the lady’s quality be equal to your 
 wisdom, Goatham and Fleet Street will be in strict alliance 
 —sir, I admire your son; for though it is probable he may 
 get nothing by the bargain, I find he has sense enough to 
 outwit his father; and he may laugh at you, while all the 
 world laughs at him. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. What do you mean, sir? 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Stay till your daughter be brought home, 
 she will explain my meaning, I warrant you—she will bring 
 you both extremes, my life on’t—Quality in the kennel, 
 and fortune in the air. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Hum! if it should prove so—sir, the 
 match is not completed. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. No, sir; you are very capable of breaking 
 it off, we see—— [Servant ezzers. 
 
 SERVANT, Sir, the lawyer is come with the writings. 
 
/ 
 
 366 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. He may cancel them if he pleases, and 
 hang himself when he has done. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Stay, sir, I am not determined in this 
 affair—— 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Nor in any, I am sure—but I am; and you 
 must give up your pretensions one way or other this moment. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Then I stand by the securest—So desire 
 the lawyer to walk in—I hope you will forgive me, Mr. 
 Stedfast, what’s past. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Ay, sir, more for my own sake than 
 yours; for had I not resolved on the match, I might have 
 taken other measures. 
 
 SCENE olde 
 Mr. MUTABLE, MR. STEDFAST, PRIG. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Come, sir, I am ready to sign articles. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Where’s Squeezepurse, your master ? 
 
 Pric. Sir, my master is busy, he could not wait on you, 
 but I can do it as well. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Sir, I am the best judge of that—lI have 
 resolved never to sign any thing without your master. 
 
 Pric. It is the very same thing, I assure you——The 
 writings are fully drawn, and any witness may do as well as 
 my master. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Your master is a negligent puppy, and 
 uses me doubly ill—first, in staying away, and then in 
 sending such an impertinent coxcomb to dispute with me. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I believe, Mr. Stedfast, we may do it. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Excuse me, sir, I shall not alter my 
 resolves—Therefore go to your master and tell him to come 
 to me immediately ; for I will not sign without him, that I 
 am resolved. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. In the meanwhile, I’ll step just by, and 
 call my son, that we may meet with no further interruption. 
 
 [Servant eztzers. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 367 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, the tailor hath sent word, that he cannot 
 finish the new liveries till to-morrow morning. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Then, sir, go and give my humble ser- 
 vice to the tailor, and tell him to send them half done or 
 undone ; for I am resolved to have them put on to-day, though 
 they are thrown like blankets over their shoulders, and 
 
 my equipage should look like the retinue of a Morocco 
 ambassador. 
 
 ACT IIT: 
 SCENE I1.—TZzhe Street. 
 HEARTFORT, MILLAMOUR, YOUNG MUTABLE. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Though I fear my fortune desperate, yet is 
 my obligation infinite to you, my dear Millamour, for this 
 trouble. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. And to me too.——Agad, I have run 
 the hazard of being disinherited on your account As for 
 the wife, the loss is not great; but I have a real value for 
 the estate. ; 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, faith, Heartfort, thou must confess 
 thyself obliged to him: he hath done what is in his 
 power 
 
 HEARTFORT. I thank him——And, in return, Mutable, 
 let me give you a piece of advice. Leave off that ridicu- 
 lous quality of pretending an acquaintance with men of 
 fashion whom thou hast never seen, for two reasons: First, 
 no one believes you; nor, if you were believed, would any 
 one esteem you for it; because all the prizefighters, jockeys, 
 gamesters, pimps, and buffoons in England have the same 
 honour—— 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Ha, ha, ha! this is very merry, very 
 facetious, faith—Agad, Millamour, if I did not know that 
 Heartfort keeps the best company, I should think him 
 envious. 
 
368 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I rather think his ambition lies quite the 
 opposite way; for I have seen him walking at high Mall 
 with a fellow in a dirty shirt, and a wig unpowdered. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Auh! what a couple of distinguishing 
 qualifications he chose to appear in the Mall with !— 
 
 HEARTFORT. And the man he means happens to have 
 qualifications very seldom seen in the Mall or any where 
 else—— 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Ay, pr’ythee what are these? 
 
 HEARTFORT. Virtue, and good sense. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Ha, ha, ha! virtue and good sense; no 
 powder and dirty linen—Four fine accomplishments for an 
 old philosopher to live upon—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, or for a modern philosopher to starve 
 with—But, mum—Remember who I am. 
 
 SCLIN Peet 
 Mr. MUTABLE, YOUNG MUTABLE, HEARTFORT, MILLAMOUR. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So, sir, you are expeditious; and now, if 
 you please, I am ready to wait upon you—— 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE, I am unwilling to give your lordship any 
 further trouble; for I find, my lord, that matters are too 
 far gone to be broke off now—So I thank your lordship 
 for the honour you intended me. But the boy must be 
 married to his former mistress—— 
 
 HEARTFORT. Ha! [A szde. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What’s this, sir? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. In short, my lord, I have as great an 
 honour for quality as any man; but there are things to be 
 considered—Quality is a fine thing, my lord, but it does not 
 pay debts. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Faith, you are mistaken there, father, 
 for it does. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I little thought this consideration would 
 have exposed my sister to an affront—You are the last 
 
THE. WEDDING-DA Y 369 
 
 ommoner I shall offer her to, I assure you—Perhaps you 
 may repent this refusal—— | 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Dear sir, consider —— Your son’s 
 happiness, grandeur, fortune, all are at stake. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Now the affair is over, sir, I shall tell you, 
 that my sister was not only secure of a fortune much larger 
 than Mr. Stedfast’s daughter ; but, as I have resolved against 
 marriage, my fortune and title too must have descended to 
 your son. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Hey!—And should I have seen my 
 Jacky a lord ?—Should I have had a lord ask me blessing? 
 —And a set of young lords and ladies my grand grand- 
 children? Should this old crab-tree stock have seen such 
 noble grafted fruit spreading on its branches?—O my good 
 dear lord, I ask pardon on my knees—Forgive the foolish 
 caution of a fearful old man, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My honour, my honour forbids—— 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. O dear, sweet, good my lord.——Let 
 pity melt your honour to forgiveness. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Let me intercede, sir. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. If your honour must have a sacrifice, let 
 my fault be paid by my punishment. Tread upon my 
 neck, my lord. Do any thing to me. But do not let me 
 bar my son’s way to happiness. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. The strictest honour is not required to be 
 inexorable. I shall content myself therefore with inflicting 
 on you a moderate punishment. Whereas I intended to 
 pay the fortune down before marriage, I now will do it 
 afterwards. 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Whenever your lordship pleases. I will 
 give one thorough rebuff to Mr. Stedfast, and return in- 
 stantly. — Jacky, stay, stay you here, and expect me, 
 to conduct me to his lordship. My lord, I am_ your 
 lordship’s most obedient humble servant. [ Exee. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. This succeeds to our wish. I think I'll 
 e’en play the parson myself, and marry you in jest. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. But I shall not play the husband, I 
 thank you. 
 
 VOL. X. sie 
 
379 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Pshaw !—in jest. 
 
 YOUNG MuTABLE. Hum, I take matrimony to be no 
 fest 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And I take it to be the greatest jest in 
 nature, When the old gentleman comes, Heartfort, do you 
 take him to your house, which must pass for my Lord 
 Truelove’s ; thither will I bring the lady with the utmost 
 expedition. But remember to give a particular order to 
 all your servants that your name is Truelove. 
 
 HEARTFORT. If you would have me stay with you, in 
 the meantime, I must have no lords. Nay, I will not 
 allow you a baronet. Not even a plain Sir, though he was 
 but knighted last week, and hath not paid his fees yet. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Well, well, you shall be humoured, 
 though I am at work for your service. 
 
 SCENE III.—STEDFAST'S House. 
 CLARINDA, Mrs. USEFUL. 
 
 CLARINDA. To leave my _ husband’s house on my 
 wedding-day? And visit a gallant? I’ll never consent 
 to it—— | 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Then there’s a pretty fellow gone to his 
 forefathers. 
 
 CLARINDA. No, tell the barbarous man, undone as he is, 
 I would have consented to any other portion with him than 
 dishonour. Tell him, he hath forced me to the fatal resolution 
 I have taken; for, to avoid him was my first cause of 
 marrying; and tell him in that hour I gave my hand to 
 Mr. Stedfast I resolved never to see him more. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL, The devil take me if I do. You may 
 send another messenger. I’ll have no hand in his death. 
 I always had a natural antipathy to murder—Poor dear, 
 pretty, handsome young fellow—Go—you are a cruel 
 creature !—Oh! had you seen how he sighed, and sobbed, 
 and groaned, and kissed your letter, and called you by all 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 371 
 
 the tenderest, softest names; then shed such a shower of 
 tears upon the paper; then kissed it again, and swore he 
 had lost his soul in you—Oh! it would have melted rocks, 
 could they have seen it. 
 
 CLARINDA. Why wilt thou torment me to no purpose? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. It is your own fault if it be to no 
 purpose. 
 
 CLARINDA. What can I do? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What can you do?—that any woman 
 after eighteen should ask that question—What can you 
 do? Methinks charity should tell you, if your heart was 
 not deaf to every thing that is good. When a fine 
 handsome young fellow is the beggar, what woman can 
 want charity? 
 
 CLARINDA. I have no more to give—My all is now my 
 husband’s ; nor can J, without injuring him, bestow—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Your husband!— You are enough to 
 make me mad—Injure your husband!—You may as well 
 think you injure your chest when you take the money out 
 of it—And would you be locked up all your life in that 
 old fusty chest, the arms of your husband? 
 
 WUARINDA,, Hal Doth it become thee to rail against 
 my husband, who hast employed all thy vile rhetoric to 
 persuade me to receive him? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. To receive him as a husband I did,— 
 and I now persuade you to make a husband of him. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, villain! What hath urged thee to use me 
 as thou dost? Didst thou not first entice me to leave my 
 convent, and fly to England with that monster Millamour ? 
 ——And then didst thou not, with the same diligence, 
 intreat me to this marriage? And now—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What allegations are here? I own I 
 advised you to quit a religion I thought not consistent with 
 the health of your soul, and to fly to the arms of a man I 
 thought loved. you. When I thought he did not love you, I 
 advised you to leave him—And now I find he does love 
 you, I advise you to return to him again. 
 
 CLARINDA. What! with the loss of my honour? 
 
372 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. The loss of your honour! No, no—You 
 may keep your honour still; for every woman hath it till she 
 is discovered. 
 
 CLARINDA. Name it to me no more. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. At least you may see him—there’s no 
 dishonour in that. 
 
 CLARINDA. I dare not think of it. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. E’en do it without thinking of it—Let 
 the poor man owe the continuing of his life to my entreaties. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh! he hath a more powerful advocate within 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well—I’l fly with the happy news. 
 
 CLARINDA. Stay—I cannot resolve. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. That’s enough——She, that can’t resolve 
 against her lover, always resolves for him. 
 
 CLARINDA. Well—I will take one dear last draught of 
 ruin from his eyes—And then bid them farewell for ever. 
 
 SCENE IV.—TZv’e Street. 
 
 CHARLOTTE [disguised]. Here am I  ffairly escaped 
 from my father’s house And now, what to do, or 
 whither to go, I know not. If I return, I know the 
 positiveness and passionateness of his temper too well to 
 leave me any hopes of avoiding the match he is resolved 
 on—If I do not, I dread the consequences. Suppose I find 
 Millamour out, and acquaint him with my passion — I'll 
 die sooner—If Heartfort were here this moment, I believe 
 I should not refuse him any longer—Ah! 
 
 SCENE AV. 
 MILLAMOUR, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Pox on my rashness in discharging the 
 good mother this morning—I shall never be able to find 
 Lucina—I must get another—Ha! What hath fortune sent 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 373 
 
 us? A woman in a mask!—I suppose she doth it to hide 
 the small-pox, or some cursed deformity——But hang it, 
 she may pass for a woman of quality, for all that. Agad, 
 I’ll attack her, and if I mistake not, she expects it. At 
 least she doth not threaten to run away.——Madam, your 
 most obedient, humble servant—I presume by your present 
 posture, that your mask gives you an advantage over me 
 —That I have the honour of being known to you—— 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You may depend on it, sir, it is to my 
 advantage to cover my face by my doing it—And I conceive 
 it would be to your advantage to wear a mask too. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I’ll excuse your abusing my face, while 
 you abuse your own—Nor do I believe you in earnest in 
 meer, for) il see, by your eyes, that’you like me; and I 
 am pretty confident you like yourself. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Indeed, if Mr. Millamour is so fully per- 
 suaded of the former, I think he may without any ill 
 opinion of my modesty suspect the latter. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hum! My name too—— 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I hope you have not the worse opinion of 
 yourself from my knowing it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, my dear—nor much the better of 
 you, I can tell you. Harkye, child, I find thou art some 
 old acquaintance of mine; and as those are a set of people 
 whom I am always glad to serve, I will make thy 
 fortune. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Now I fancy you don’t think me an old 
 acquaintance: for, if I was, you must be assured I know 
 that it is not in your power. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Why, truly, madam, I am not worth as 
 many Indies as I would bestow on your dear sex, if I had 
 ’em—But, in this affair, I am not to be the principal, but 
 only a sort of agent—or, to speak in your own language, 
 the bawd. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And if you can but act the part of a 
 woman of quality for one half hour, I believe I shall put 
 it into your power to act one as long as you live. 
 
374 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 CHARLOTTE. ‘What! have you a man of quality to 
 dispose of? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No; but I have what many a man of 
 quality would be glad to dispose of. I have a great fortune 
 for you; and that with it which many a woman of quality 
 hath to dispose of. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. What's that, pray? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. A fool! 
 
 CHARLOTITE. Oh! you won’t want customers ; but you and 
 I, I find, shall not agree; for we happen to deal in the 
 same wares. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. But mine is a man-fool, madam. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And so is mine, sir——but let us waive 
 that; for I will give him to any one who will have him. 
 The fortune is what concerns me most. Do you know any 
 one in whose hands I could place ten thousand pounds 
 with safety ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Nay, prythee don’t trifle; if you will come 
 with me, and act your part well, you shall be mistress of 
 four times that sum within these two hours. You shall 
 have a husband with those two great matrimonial qualities, 
 rich and a fool. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ay, and what is his name? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What signifies his name? Will you have a 
 rich fool for a husband, madam, or no? (This must be some 
 very vulgar slut, by her hesitation.) 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, sir, I don’t want riches, and I hate a 
 fool. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Then, your servant. I must go find some- 
 body that will. If I had but time on my hands, I should 
 find many a woman of fashion would be glad to be Mrs, 
 Mutable. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ha! stay, sir (this may be a lucky ad- 
 venture, at least it must be a pleasant one), if I had known 
 Mr. Mutable was the gentleman—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, Mr. Mutable is the gentleman. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh, heavens! My father! I shall be 
 discovered. 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 375 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, madam, we have not a moment to 
 lose. Step to my lodgings, and receive instructions. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, sir, I have so good an opinion of 
 your honour, that I will trust myself with you. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My honour is most infinitely obliged to 
 your confidence, dear madam. 
 
 SCH Nea. L 
 MR. STEDFAST, MR. MUTABLE. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Forgive indeed! Why a man may as 
 well determine which way a weathercock shall stand this 
 day fortnight, by its present situation, as he can what you 
 will think an hour hence by what you think now. <A wind- 
 mill, or a woman’s heart, are firm as rocks in comparison 
 of you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. I own he did overpersuade me; but, 
 pardon me this time, and I will immediately fetch the boy, 
 and matters shall be despatched. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Hum! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Come, come, you cannot blame me. Who 
 would not marry his son to a woman of quality? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Who would not? I would not, sir. If 
 I had resolved to marry my daughter to a cobbler, I would 
 not alter my resolution, to see her a-bed with the Emperor 
 of Germany. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. All men, Mr. Stedfast, are not so firm in 
 their resolutions as you are. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. More shame for them, sir. I am now in 
 the fiftieth year of my age, and never broke one resolution 
 in my life yet. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE, Good lack! I am some years older than 
 you are, and never made a resolution in my life yet. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Well, sir, I see your son coming: I will 
 prepare my daughter. But, pray observe me. Make one 
 resolution. If you change your mind again before they 
 
376 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 are married, they shall never be married at all, that I am 
 resolved. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. [Aszde.] This is a bloody positive old 
 fellow. What a brave absolute prince he’d make! Ill 
 warrant he’d chop off the heads of two or three thousand 
 subjects, sooner than break his word. I must not anger 
 him any more. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Mr. MUTABLE, YOUNG MUTABLE, HEARTFORT. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Come, Jacky, you must along with me: 
 Mr. Stedfast and I are agreed at last. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. And disappoint his lordship, sir? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Don't tell me of his lordship. I have 
 taken a resolution to see you married immediately: and 
 married you shall be. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Confusion ! 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Dear sir. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Sir, I tell you I have taken a resolution: 
 so follow me, as you expect my blessing. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Heartfort, for heaven’s sake stop him. 
 
 HEARTFORT. ‘Sdeath! I'll stop him, or perish in the 
 attempt. 
 
 SCENE VIII—MILLAMoOUR’S Lodgings. 
 
 BRAZEN [alone, with an opera book in his hand). Well, I 
 cannot come into the opinion of the town about this last 
 opera. It is too light for my gout. Give me your solemn, 
 sublime music. But pox take their taste: I scarce know 
 five footmen in town who can distinguish. The rascals have 
 no ear, no judgment. I would as soon ask a set of country 
 squires what they liked. I remember the time when we 
 should not have suffered such stuff as this to have gone 
 down.- Ah dear, Sz caro—— [ Sings. 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 377 
 
 To him, MILLAMOUR and CHARLOTTE. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. MHey-day! Here, you musical gentleman, 
 pray get you down stairs. 
 
 BRAZEN. Yes, sir. [Szzes the end of the tune, and exit. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You have a very polite footman indeed, sir. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Yes, madam. But come, my dear, as you 
 are now in a place where you have nothing to fear, you 
 have no more occasion for your mask. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, sir. Before I discover more of me, it 
 will be proper to set you right in some mistakes you seem 
 to lie under concerning me. In the first place know, that 
 I am a gentlewoman. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, a parson’s daughter, descended from 
 very honest and reputable parents, I dare swear. [Aszde. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And, what will surprise you, one of a very 
 good family, and very great fortune. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, that would surprise me, indeed. But 
 come, unmask, or you will force me to a violence I would 
 avoid. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You promised me not to be rude, before I 
 would venture hither; and, I assure you, I am a woman 
 of fashion. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, madam, if you are a woman of fashion, 
 I am sure you have too much good-nature to be angry with 
 me for breaking a promise, which you have too much wit 
 to expect I should keep. Besides, where there is no breach 
 of confidence, there is no breach of promise. And you no 
 more believe us when we swear we won't be rude than we 
 believe you when you swear you think us so. So, dear, 
 sweet gentlewoman, unmask; for I am in haste to serve 
 my friend, and yet I find I must serve myself first. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hold, sir. You know you are but a 
 procurer. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. But I generally taste what I procure before 
 I put it into a friend’s hands. Lookye, madam, it is in 
 vain to resist. So, my dear artificial Blackmoor, I desire 
 thee to uncover. 
 
 VOL. X. a0 
 
378 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, sir, first hear my history. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I will first see the frontispiece of it. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Know, I am a woman of strict honour. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Your history hath a very lamentable be- 
 ginning. | 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And in the greatest distress in the world ; 
 for I am this day to be married to a man I despise. Now, 
 if Mr. Millamour can find out any means to deliver me from 
 the hands of this uncourteous knight, I don’t know how far 
 my generosity may reward him. I forgive these suspicions 
 of me, which the manner in which you found me sufficiently 
 justifies: But, I do assure you, this adventure is the only 
 one which can attack my reputation; and I am the only 
 child of a rich old father, and can make the fortune of my 
 husband. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Husband! Oh! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ay, husband. As rich a man as Mr. 
 Millamour would leap at the name; though I hope you 
 don’t think it my intention to make one of you—To en- 
 deavour wickedly to inclose a common that belongs to the 
 whole sex. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ouns! What the devil can she be? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You have a rare opinion of yourself indeed, 
 that the very same morning in which you have escaped the 
 jaws of a poor mistress, you should find another with twenty 
 thousand pounds in her pocket. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Every circumstance—|Aszde.] Who knows 
 what fortune may have sent me? What these charms of 
 mine have done? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. What are you considering, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I am considering, my dear, what particular 
 charm in my person can have made this conquest. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! a complication, sir. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Dear madam! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. For you must know, sir, that I have 
 resolved never to marry, ’till I have found a man without 
 one single fault in my eye, or a single virtue in any one’s 
 else—For my part, I take beauty in a man to be a sign of 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY Sra 
 
 effeminacy ; sobriety, want of spirit; gravity, want of wit; 
 and constancy, want of constitution. ; 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So that to have no fault in your eye is 
 to be an impudent, hatchet-face, raking, rattling, roving, 
 inconstant—— 
 
 CHARLOTTE. All which perfections are so agreeably 
 blended in you, sweet sir— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Your most obedient humble — servant, 
 madam. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. That I have fixed on you as my cavalier 
 for this enterprise, for which there is but one method. I 
 must run into one danger to avoid another. I have no way 
 to shun my husband at home but by carrying a husband 
 home with me. Now, sir, if you can have the same implicit 
 faith in my fortune as you had in my beauty, the bargain 
 is struck. Send for a parson, and you know what follows— 
 [uumasks|, you may easily see my confusion. And I would 
 have you imagine you owe this declaration only to my 
 horrible apprehension of being obliged to take a man I like 
 less than yourself. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I am infinitely obliged to you, madam. 
 But—— 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But! Do you hesitate, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. The offer of so much beauty and fortune 
 would admit of no hesitation, was it not that I must wrong 
 a friend! Consider, madam, if you know none who hath a 
 juster title to them. How happy would this declaration make 
 Heartfort, which you throw away on me. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I find I have thrown it away indeed—Ha! 
 Am I refused? I begin to hate him, and despise myself. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Upon my soul she is a fine woman; but 
 can I think of wronging my friend? The devil take me if 
 she is not exquisitely handsome; but he is my friend— 
 But she hath twenty thousand pounds— But I must be a 
 rascal to think of her, and as many millions would not pay 
 for it. 
 
380 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 MILLAMOUR, CHARLOTTE, BRAZEN. 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, here is a lady. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. ’Sdeath! a lady!—Fool, sot, oaf! How often 
 shall I tell thee, that I am never at home to two ladies at 
 aatime? 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, you would have hanged me, if I should 
 have denied you to Madam Clarinda. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Clarinda! O, transporting name——My dear, 
 shall I beg, for the safety of your reputation, you would step 
 into that closet, while I discharge the visit of a troublesome 
 relation ? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Put me any where from the danger of a 
 female tongue——wWell, if I escape free this time, I will 
 never take such another ramble while I live again. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. [Shuts her zn the closet.| There—now will I 
 find some way to let Heartfort know of her being here. I 
 am transported at the hope of serving him, even whilst 
 Clarinda is at my door. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 MILLAMOUR, CLARINDA zxztroduced by MRS. USEFUL. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My Clarinda! This is a goodness of that 
 prodigious nature—— 
 
 CLARINDA. That it can be equalled by nothing but thy 
 falsehood. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Can so unjust an accusation proceed from 
 so much sweetness? Can you, that have forsaken me— 
 
 CLARINDA. Do not attempt to excuse yourself—You know 
 how false you have been— Nor could any thing but your 
 falsehood have driven me to what I have done. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. By all the—— 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 381 
 
 CLARINDA. Do not damn thyself more—I know thy 
 falsehood; I have seen it. Therefore thy perjuries are as 
 vain as wicked. Do you think I wanted this testimony? 
 [Geves him a letter.] 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Lucina’s letter! Cursed accident! She too 
 hath received Clarinda’s! But I must stand it out.—Hear 
 this! My falsehood! Mine! when there’s not a star in 
 _ heaven that hath not seen me, like an Arcadian of the first 
 sort, sighing and wishing for you; the turtle is inconstant, 
 compared to me; the rose will change its season, and 
 blossom in mid-winter; the nightingale will be silent, and 
 the raven sing; nay, the phoenix will have a mate when I 
 have any mate but you. 
 
 CLARINDA. Had this been true, nature should have 
 sooner changed than I, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! you know it is: you have known this 
 heart too long to think it capable of inconstancy. 
 
 CLARINDA. Thou hast a tongue that might charm the 
 very sirens to their own destruction, till they owned thy 
 voice more charming and more false than theirs. There 
 is a softness in thy words equal to the hardness of thy 
 heart. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And there is a softness within that 
 
 CLARINDA. Hold, sir, I conjure you do not attempt my 
 honour; but think, however dear you have been to me, my 
 honour’s dearer. | 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thy honour shall be safe — Not even the 
 day, nor heaven itself, shall witness our pleasures. 
 
 CLARINDA. Think not the fear of slander guards my 
 honour — No, I would not myself be a witness of my 
 shame. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thou shalt not. We’ll shut out every 
 prying ray of light, and, losing the language of our eyes, 
 find more delicious ways to interchange our souls. We’ll 
 wind our senses to a height of rapture, till they play us 
 such dear inchanting tunes of joy— 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh! Millamour [szgheng'. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Give that dear sigh to my warm bosom 
 
382 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 Thence let it thrill into my heart, and fan thy image there 
 —Oh! thou art every where in me. My eyes, my ears, my 
 thoughts would only see, and hear, and think of thee. © 
 Thou dearest, sweetest, tenderest —— Would Heaven form 
 me another paradise, would it give me new worlds of 
 bliss, 
 
 To thee alone my soul I would confine, 
 Nor wish, nor take, another world than thine. 
 
 ACG Ts isk 
 SCENE I.—Mr. STEDFAST’S Aouse. 
 Mr. STEDFAST, with SERVANTS, 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Is every thing in order? Are the new 
 liveries on all the rest of my servants? 
 
 FOOTMAN. Yes, sir, they are all on after a manner; one 
 hath no pockets, and the other hath no sleeves. John 
 the coachman will not wear his. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Then desire John the coachman to drive 
 himself out of my doors, I’ll make my servants know they 
 are dressed to please my humour, not their own. 
 
 Cook. Sir, it is impossible to get supper ready by 
 nine, 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Then let me have it raw. If supper be 
 not ready at nine, you shall not be in my house at ten. 
 Well, what say you? will not my wine be ready? 
 
 BUTLER. No, indeed will it not, sir; your honour hath 
 by mistake marked a pipe not half a year old. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Must I consult your palate or my own? 
 Must I give you reasons for my actions? Sirrah, I tell you 
 new wine is properest for a wedding. So go your ways, and 
 trouble me with no more impertinent questions, 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 383 
 
 SCENE II. 
 MR. STEDFAST, SQUEEZEPURSE. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Mr. Squeezepurse, I am glad you are 
 come. I am so pestered with my servants. 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. The laws are too mild——too mild for 
 servants, Mr. Sted fast. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Well, and have you brought the writings? 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. They are ready. The parties’ hands are 
 only necessary. The settlement is as strong as words can 
 make it: I have not been sparing of them. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. I expect Mr. Mutable and his son this 
 instant; and hope, by the help of you and the parson, to 
 have finished all within an hour. [Enter a Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, here’s a letter for your honour. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Mr. Squeezepurse, you will excuse me. 
 
 [ Reads. 
 
 “Sir,—I am at length fully determined to marry my son 
 to the other lady, so desire all matters may be cancelled 
 between us. I was ashamed to bring you this refusal, so 
 have sent it by letter. Your humble servant, | 
 
 “THO. MUTABLE.” 
 
 Ashamed! Ay, thou mayst be ashamed, indeed. 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. Any thing of moment from the other 
 party? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Death and fury! Go call your lady here! 
 —She was a witness of his engagements, Ill go to law 
 with him. 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. The law is open to any injured person, 
 and is the properest way of seeking restitution. 
 
 SERVANT. My lady, sir! my lady is gone out. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. How! gone out! My wife gone out—— 
 Ouns, and pestilence! run away on her wedding-day! Where 
 is she gone? 
 
 SERVANT. I don’t know, sir. 
 
384 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. I saw your lady, sir, as I came by, go 
 into a house in the other street. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Show me that house immediately, good 
 Mr. Squeezepurse. I will fetch her home, I am determined. 
 It is a fine age to marry in, when a wife cannot stay at 
 home on her wedding-day. 
 
 SCENE III.—MILLAMouR'S Lodgings. 
 MILLAMOUR, CLARINDA. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Cruel Clarinda—Thus to stop short when we 
 are at the brink of happiness: to show my eager soul a 
 prospect of elysium, and then refuse it the possession. 
 
 CLARINDA. With how much juster reason may I com- 
 plain of you! Ah! Millamour, didst thou not, when the 
 very day of our marriage was appointed, didst thou not 
 then forsake me? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Heaven knows with what reluctancy, nor 
 could any thing but my fear of your misery have compelled 
 me to it. 
 
 CLARINDA. It is a strange love that makes its object 
 miserable, for fear of its becoming so. Nor can the heart 
 that loves be, in my opinion, ever miserable, while in 
 possession of what it loves. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! let that plead my cause, and whisper 
 to thy tender heart . 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 To him, BRAZEN. 
 
 BRAZEN. Oh, sir! Undone, undone. 
 MILLAMOUR. What’s the matter? 
 BRAZEN. Mr. Stedfast, sir, is below with another gentleman 
 
 —He swears his wife is in the house, and he will have 
 her. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 38 
 
 wm 
 
 CLARINDA. I shall faint. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What’s to be done?—There’s another 
 woman in the closet, whom she must not see. 
 
 [Runs to the closet, and returns. 
 
 BRAZEN. Sir, he will be up stairs in a moment. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, heavens! [Falls back into a chatr. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sirrah, be at hand, and assist me with lying. 
 Her fright has inspired me with the only method to preserve 
 her. Give me my gown and cap instantly. Away to your 
 post—Madam, do you pretend yourself as ill as possible— 
 So! hush, hush, what noise is this ? 
 
 CN Foy, 
 
 MILLAMOUR, CLARINDA, BRAZEN, MR. STEDFAST, 
 _ SQUEEZEPURSE. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Where is this wicked, vile, rambling 
 woman? Where are you, sorceress, that are run away 
 from your husband’s house on your wedding-day ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hold, sir, you must not disturb the lady. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Must not disturb her, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, sir. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST, Why, pray, sir, who are you? 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. Mr. Stedfast, give me leave, if you please. 
 Whoever you are, sir, I believe you scarce know what you 
 are doing. Do you know, sir, that this lady is a femme 
 couverte, and the consequence of detaining such without the 
 leave of her husband first had and obtained? Mr. Stedfast, 
 you have as good an action against the gentleman as any 
 man can wish to have. Juries, nowadays, give great damages 
 in the affair of wives. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Is this lady your wife, sir? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Yes, sir, to my exceeding great sorrow. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Then, sir, you owe her life to me; for had 
 not immediate application been made, the whole College 
 could not have saved her, 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. To you! who the devil are you? 
 
 VOL. X. 3D 
 
386 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sir, I am an unworthy practiser of the art 
 of physic. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. How came she here, in the devil’s name? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. By a most miraculous accident——She was 
 taken ill just at my door. My servant too was then, by as 
 great good luck, standing at it. Brazen, give the gentleman 
 an account how you brought the lady in, when you saw her 
 drop down at my door. 
 
 BRAZEN. I was standing, sir, as my master says, picking 
 my teeth at the door, when the sick lady who sits in the 
 chair, as my master says, and ready to drop down, as my 
 master says; and so I took her up in my arms, and brought 
 her up Stairs, and set her down in the great chair, and called 
 my master, who, I believe, can cure her if any doctor in 
 England can; for though I say it, who am but a poor 
 servant, he is a most able physician in this sort of falling 
 fits. 
 
 SQUEEZEPURSE. I saw nothing of this happen when she 
 came in, and this fellow’s a good evidence, or I am 
 mistaken. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, heavens! where am I? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Where are you? Not where you should 
 be—at home at your husband’s, 
 
 CLARINDA. My husband’s voice! Mr. Stedfast, where 
 are you? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Go near her, sir—Now you may go as 
 near her as you please. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. What’s the matter with you, madam? 
 
 CLARINDA. I cannot tell you, sir; I was taken in the 
 strangest giddy manner, with such a swimming in my head, 
 that every thing seemed to dance before my eyes. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. You may thank yourself. What did 
 you do a-gadding? But is this giddy, swimming, 
 dancing distemper over, pray? 
 
 CLARINDA. Not quite over; but I am much better. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I never knew that sfectficum basilicum 
 magnum fail; that is, indeed, an universal nostrum. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST, Sir, I am glad to hear you mention a 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 387 
 
 nostrum, by which, I suppose, you are not a regular-bred 
 physician; for those are a set of people whom I resolved, 
 many years ago, never to employ. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sir, I never took any degree at our university. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I like you the better for it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. You are a man of understanding, sir. The 
 university is the very worst place to educate a physician 
 in. A man, sir, contracts there a narrow habit of observing 
 the rules of a set of stupid ancients, Not one in fifty of 
 them ever ventures to strike a bold stroke, A quack, sir, 
 is the only man to put you out of your pain at once. 
 A regular physician, like the court of chancery, tires a man’s 
 patience, and consumes his substance, before he decides the 
 cause between him and the disease. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Come, madam, I suppose by this time 
 you are able to walk home, or to a chair at least. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Sir, the air is very dangerous, you had 
 better leave her here some time. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Sir, I am resolved she shall go home, let 
 the consequence be what it will. Doctor, here is something 
 for your trouble. I am much obliged to your care— 
 Madam, how do you now? 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh! infinitely better. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. A word with you, sir; I heard you say, 
 this is your wedding-day——In your ear. [Wdzspers.| Not 
 as you tender your wife's future health, nay, her life. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Never fear—come, child, come—Mr. 
 Squeezepurse. Doctor, your servant. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Give me leave, sir, to hand the lady to her 
 chair. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Pshaw! I hate ceremony—pray stay 
 behind— [Pushes away Millamour and exit with his 
 
 wzfe and Squeezepurse. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. So! we are well off this time. 
 
 BRAZEN. Ay, sir, some thanks to me; for I think I lied 
 pretty handsomely. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, sirrah, and are you so vain of the 
 merit? Did not I show you the way? 
 
388 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 CHARLOTTE. [Kuzocks at the door.| Doctor! doctor! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ha! get you hence, and endeavour to find 
 out Heartfort, and bring. him hither instantly. My fair 
 prisoner, I ask your pardon for keeping you confined so 
 long. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! sir, no excuses: patients must be 
 tended. But, pray, doctor, have you not some little skill in 
 casuistry ? Will you advise me what to do in this affair, 
 and whether you think it proper I should suffer you to 
 pass with my father for so excellent a physician as you do? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! madam, it needs no great casuist to 
 advise a young lady how to act, which should be always by 
 the rules of good-nature. Besides, madam, you shall not 
 see your father deceived, for I will merit the same reputation 
 with you, if you will take my prescription; for I will 
 engage to recommend you one that shall cure you of all 
 distempers. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ay, pray what is this infallible nostrum ? 
 I am afraid it is something very nauseous to the palate. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, far otherwise: it is taken by a great 
 many ladies merely for its agreeable relish. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, what is it? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Nothing more than a very pretty fellow of 
 my acquaintance. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Indeed! And pray is this very pretty 
 fellow of your acquaintance like a certain physician of my 
 acquaintance ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, faith: if he was, you would have taken 
 the nostrum long ago. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hum! I question that. JI fancy, doctor, 
 you are as great a quack in love as you are in physic, and 
 apt in both to boast more power than you have. Ah! if I . 
 thought it worth my while, I would play such pranks with 
 your wild worship. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 389 
 
 SCENE. VI. 
 MILLAMOUR, CHARLOTTE, HEARTFORT. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Oh! Millamour, I have been waiting for 
 you. Ha! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, whether thou hast been waiting 
 for me, or seeking me, I am glad you have found me: for I 
 have a favour to ask of you, which you must not deny me. 
 Madam, look him boldly in the face: I dare swear we shall 
 Carry our point. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. What point, sir? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. In short, sir, this young lady hath begged 
 me to ask your pardon in her name, and hopes your 
 forgiveness of all her ill usage, all her little airs, which the 
 folly of youth, and the vanity of beauty together, made her 
 put on; and she does most faithfully promise, nay, and I 
 have offered to be bound for her, that, if you are so generous 
 to forgive the past, she shall never offend for the future. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Intolerable insolence! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Yes; her intolerable insolence, she hopes, 
 knowing the infinite goodness and sweetness of your temper, 
 will be past over; and that you will be pleased to consider, 
 that a gay, giddy, wild young girl, could not have. under- 
 standing enough to set a just value on the sincere passion 
 of a man of sense and honour. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. This is insupportable! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Nay, nay, I think so too. I must condemn 
 the hardness of your heart, that can be proof against such 
 penitence in an offending mistress. Though she hath been, 
 I own, as bad as possible, yet sure her repenting tears may 
 atone. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I’m in a dream; for thou, my friend, I am 
 sure, wilt not delude me, Madam, is it possible for me to 
 presume to think the sufferings I have undergone, had they 
 been ten thousand times as great, could touch your heart? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hum! I thank my stars, I have it. 
 
390 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 HEARTFORT. I cannot be awake, nor you be mistress 
 of such goodness, to value my little services so infinitely 
 beyond their merit. Oh! you have been too kind. I have 
 not done nor suffered half enough. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Pox take your generosity! suffer on to 
 eternity, with all my soul. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I deserve your pity now a thousand times 
 more than ever. This profusion of goodness overwhelms my 
 heart. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Not one bit beyond a just debt; she owes 
 you all, 
 
 HEARTFORT. Millamour, as thou art my friend, no more. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Let him proceed; I am not ashamed to 
 own myself Mr. Heartfort’s debtor. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And though you have somewhat exceeded 
 your commission, and said more for me than perhaps the 
 stubbornness of my temper might have permitted me to 
 say, yet this I must confess, my behaviour to Mr. Heartfort 
 hath no way answered his merits. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Go on, go on, madam; you never spoke 
 half so much truth in your life. 
 
 SCENT Vis 
 
 MILLAMOUR, CHARLOTTE, HEARTFORT, MR. MUTABLE, 
 YOUNG MUTABLE, 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. My lord, I have been waiting for your 
 lordship above this hour; if it had not been for Jacky 
 here, I should never have found you. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. A particular affair, sir, hath detained me; 
 but I am ready now to wait on you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Jacky, is not that your former mistress, 
 Miss Stedfast? Odso! it is she. What can she do 
 here ? 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. I wish she be not come to spoil 
 my match with my lord’s sister 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 391 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. You have hit it, boy. Jacky, you have 
 it: but I’ll try that. My lord, my good lord— 
 
 [Lhey talk apart. 
 
 HEARTFORT. This is such an excess of goodness! You 
 judge too harshly indeed of a few slight gaieties. Women 
 with not half your merit or beauty daily practise more. 
 And give me leave to think, they were put on for a trial 
 of me. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ay, but what right had I to that trial, 
 unless I had intended, which I never can, to disobey my 
 father. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Ha! never can! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Heaven forbid I should prove undutiful to 
 him! And, Mr. Heartfort, wherefore, pray, did you under 
 stand all these apologies made, but that, after all your merit, 
 I must obey my father in marrying this young gentleman. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Confusion! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Indeed, madam, but there are more 
 fathers to be obeyed than one. My son, madam, is another 
 woman’s property: and I believe I have as good a right to 
 my son as Mr, Stedfast has to his daughter. It’s very 
 fine, truly, that my son must be stolen from me, and 
 married whether I will or no! 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Ay, faith is it, madam, very hard 
 that you will have me, whether I will or no. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Indeed! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Why truly, madam, I am very sorry it 
 should be any disappointment to you; but my son, madam, 
 happened to be, without my knowledge, at the time I 
 offered him to you, engaged to my Lord Truelove’s sister. 
 Was not he, my lord? Sure, madam, you would not rob 
 another woman of her right. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Sir, if it please you, honoured sir, my good 
 father-in-law that was to have been, a word with you. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. As many as you please, madam, but no 
 father-in-law. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Though in obedience to my father I had 
 complied to accept of your son for a husband, yet I am 
 
392 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 obliged to your kind refusal, because that young gentleman, 
 your son, sir, happens to be a person for whom, ever since 
 I had the honour of his acquaintance, I have entertained 
 the most surprising, invincible, and infinite contempt in the 
 world. 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Contempt for me! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Contempt for Jacky! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. It would be therefore ungrateful to let such 
 a benefactor as you be deceived in a point which so nearly 
 concerns him. This gentleman, sir, is no lord, and hath no 
 estate. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. How, Jacky, no lord! 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Yes, sir, I’ll be sworn he is. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And he hath contrived, sir, to marry your 
 ingenious son to some common slut of the town. So I 
 leave you to make up the match, and am, gentlemen, 
 your most humble servant. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT, MR. MUTABLE, avd YOUNG 
 MUTABLE. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Millamour, I thank thee for the trouble 
 thou hast undergone for me; but, as the affair is no longer 
 worth my pursuit, I will release you from your troublesome 
 title, and this gentleman from his mistake. So, sir, your 
 son is disengaged, and you may marry him to the young 
 lady just now gone, whenever you please. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Faith, sir, I am sorry I have no sister for 
 your son, with all my heart. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. And are you no lord? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No, sir, to my sorrow. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Why, have I been imposed upon then? 
 [Zo Young Mutable.] But how came you to join in the 
 conspiracy? Would you cheat your father? 
 
 YOUNG MUTABLE. Indeed, sir, not I. I was imposed on 
 as well as you. I took him for a lord; for I don’t know 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 393 
 
 a lord from another person but by his dress. You cannot 
 blame me, sir. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Nay, Jacky, I don’t desire to blame you: 
 I know thou art a good boy, and a fine gentleman. But 
 come, come with me. I will make one more visit to 
 Mr. Stedfast, and try what’s to be done. If I can pacify 
 him, all’s well yet. What had I to do with lords? We 
 country gentlemen never get any good by them. 
 
 SCENE TX 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, Heartfort, be not grave on the 
 matter: I will venture to affirm thy mistress is thy own. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Damn her! do not mention her: I should 
 despise myself equal with the fool just departed could | 
 think myself capable of forgiving her: no, believe me, 
 Millamour, was she to commence the lover, and take the 
 pains I have done to win her, they would be ineffectual. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And art thou so incensed with a few 
 coquette airs of youth and gaiety, which girls are taught 
 by their mothers, and their mistresses, to practise on us to 
 try our love, or rather our patience, when perhaps their own 
 suffers more in the attempt? 
 
 HEARTFORT. ’Sdeath, sir, hath she not used me like a 
 dog? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Certainly. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Hath she not trifled with my _ passion 
 beyond all sufferance? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Very true. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Hath she not taken a particular delight in 
 making me ridiculous? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Too true! and since I see you can bear it, I 
 will tell you, she hath abused you, trifled with you, laughed 
 at you, coquetted and jilted you. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Hold, Millamour, do not accuse her unjustly 
 neither: I cannot say she hath jilted me. 
 
 VOL. xX. 2.5 
 
394 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Damn her! think no more of her: it would 
 be wrong in you to forgive her. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Yes, forgive her I can: it would be rather 
 mean not to forgive her. Yes, yes, I will forgive her. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, do; and so think no more of her. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I will not; for it is impossible to impute 
 so much ill usage only to the coquettish airs of youth: 
 for could I once be brought to believe that—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And yet a thousand women—— 
 
 HEARTFORT. ‘True, true, dear Millamour: a thousand 
 women have played worse pranks with their lovers, and 
 afterwards made excellent wives; it is the fault of their 
 education, rather than of their natures: and a man must be 
 a churl who would not bear a little of that behaviour in a 
 mistress, especially in one so very young as Charlotte is, 
 and so very pretty too. For, give me leave to tell you, 
 we may justly ascribe several faults to the number of 
 flatterers, which beauty never is without; besides, you must 
 confess, there is a certain good-humour that attends her 
 faults, which makes it impossible for you to be angry 
 with them. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Indeed, to me she appears to have no faults 
 but what arise from her beauty, her youth, or her good 
 humour; for which reason, I think, sir, you ought to forgive 
 them, especially if she asked it of you. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Asked it of me! Oh! Millamour, could I 
 deny any thing she asked of me? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, well, that we shall bring her to; or 
 at least to look as if she asked it of you; and you know 
 looks are the language of love. 
 
 HEARTFORT. But pray how came she to your lodgings 
 this afternoon ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ha! Truepenny, art thou jealous? 
 
 HEARTFORT, No, faith: your sending for me prevents 
 that, though I was never so much inclined. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Let us go and take one bottle together, 
 and I will tell you, though perhaps I must be obliged to 
 trust a lady’s secret with you (and I could trust any but 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 395 
 
 your own miistress’s). Courage, Heartfort: what are thy 
 evils compared with mine, who have a husband to contend 
 with ; a damned legal tyrant, who can ravish a woman with 
 the law on his side? All my hope and comfort lie in his 
 age: and yet it vexes me, that my blooming fruit must be 
 mumbled by an old rascal, who hath no teeth to come at 
 the kernel. 
 
 POA ET ANS 
 SCENE I—LvCINA’S Apartment. 
 
 LUCINA. [W2th a letter.| Shall I write once more to this 
 perjured man? But what can it avail? Can I upbraid him 
 more than I have already done in that which he hath 
 scornfully sent back? Perhaps I was too severe. Let me 
 revise it. Ha! what do I see?—-—A letter from another 
 woman. Clarinda Stedfast! O villain! doth he think I yet 
 want testimonies of his falsehood ? 
 
 SteieN is. lie 
 LUCINA, MRS. PLOTWELL. 
 
 LucINA. Oh! Plotwell, such new discoveries! The letter 
 you brought me back was not my own, but a rival’s, a 
 rival as unhappy as myself. 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. And now I bring you news of a rival 
 more happy than yourself, if the possession of a rake be 
 happiness. In short, Mr. Millamour is to be married to the 
 daughter of Mr. Stedfast. 
 
 LucINA. Ha! that was the name I heard when at his 
 lodgings. He hath debauched his wife, and would marry 
 his daughter. This is an opportunity of revenge I hardly 
 could have wished. But how, how, dear Plotwell, art thou 
 apprised of this? 
 
396 THE WEDDING-DA Y 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. When you sent me back to Millamour 
 while I was disputing with his servant, who denied me 
 admission, a fine young lady whipped by me into a chair: 
 I then bribed his servant with a guinea, who discovered to 
 me that her name was Stedfast; that she was a great 
 fortune, and to be married to his master; and that she lived 
 in Grosvenor Street. 
 
 LuciInA. Shall I beg you would add one obligation more 
 to those I have already received from you, and deliver her 
 this letter? It may prevent the ruin of a young creature. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. One of Millamour’s letters to you, I 
 suppose. But it will have no effect, unless it recommends 
 him the more to her, by giving her an opportunity of 
 triumphing over a rival. 
 
 Lucina. No matter: to caution the unexperienced 
 traveller from the rocks we split on is our duty; if that 
 be ineffectual, his rashness be his punishment. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Pray take my advice, and resolve to 
 think no more of him. 
 
 LucinA. As a lover I never will. Oblige me in this, 
 and then I will retire with you to the cloister you shall 
 choose, and never more have converse with that traitorous 
 SEX, 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. On condition you think no more of 
 Millamour, I will undertake it, though it is an ungrateful 
 office. 
 
 LUCINA. Come in with me, while I enclose it under seal, 
 that you may securely affirm you are ignorant of the con- 
 tents. Come, my faithful Plotwell, believe me, I both hate 
 and despise mankind; and from this hour I will entertain 
 no passion but our friendship in my soul. 
 
 Friendship and love by heaven were both designed, 
 That to ennoble, this debase the mind. 
 
 Friendship’s pure joys in life’s last hour remain: 
 By love, that cheating lottery, we gain 
 
 A. moment’s bliss, bought with an age of pain. 
 
THE WEDDING-DA Y 397 
 
 SCENE IIIL—A TZavern. 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And now, dear George, I hope I have 
 satisfied your jealousy. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I wish I could say you had as well satisfied 
 me with your behaviour to this young lady——to Clarinda, 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What wouldst thou have me do? 
 
 HEARTFORT. Why, faith, to be sincere, not what thou 
 hast done; however, since that’s past, all the reparation 
 now in thy power to make, is to see her no more. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. That would be a pretty reparation indeed! 
 and perhaps she would not thank you for giving me that 
 advice. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Perhaps not; but I am sure her husband 
 would. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Her husband! Damn the old rascal: the 
 teasing such a cuckold is half the pleasure of making him 
 one. 
 
 HEARTFORT. How! what privilege dost thou. perceive 
 in thyself to invade and destroy the happiness of another? 
 Besides, though shame may first reach the husband, it doth 
 not always end there: the wife is always liable, and often 
 is involved in the ruin of the gallant. The person who 
 deserves chiefly to be exposed to shame is the only person 
 who escapes without it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hey-day! thou art not turning hypocrite, I 
 hope. Thou dost not pretend to lead a life equal to this 
 doctrine? 
 
 HEARTFORT. My practice, perhaps, is not equal to my 
 theory; but I pretend to sin with as little mischief as I can 
 to others: and this I can lay my hand on my heart and 
 affirm, that I never seduced a young woman to her own 
 ruin, nor a married one to the misery of her husband. Nay, 
 and I know thee to be so good-natured a fellow, that what 
 thou dost of this kind arises from thy not considering 
 
398 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 the consequence of thy actions; and if any woman can lay 
 her ruin on thee, thou canst lay it on custom. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Why, indeed, if we consider it in a serious 
 way—— 
 
 HEARTFORT. And why should we not? Custom may 
 lead a man into many errors, but it justifies none; nor are 
 any of its laws more absurd and unjust than those relating 
 to the commerce between the sexes: for what can be more 
 ridiculous than to make it infamous for women to grant 
 what it is honourable for us to solicit, nay, to ensnare and 
 almost compel them into; to make a whore a scandalous, 
 a whoremaster a reputable appellation! Whereas, in reality, 
 there is no more mischievous character than a_ public 
 debaucher of women. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No more, dear George; now you begin to 
 pierce to the quick. 
 
 HEARTFORT. I have done: I am glad you can feel; it 
 is a sure sign of no mortification. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Yes, I can feel, and too much, that I have 
 been in the wrong to a woman, who hath no fault but 
 foolishly loving me. ’Sdeath! thou hast raised a devil in 
 me that will sufficiently revenge her quarrel. Oh! Heart- 
 fort, how was it possible for me to be guilty of so much 
 barbarity without knowing it, and of doing her so many 
 wrongs without seeing them till this moment, till it is too 
 late, till I can make her no reparation ? 
 
 HEARTFORT. Resolve to see her no more; that’s the 
 best in your power. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Well, I will resolve it, and wish I could do 
 more. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 MILLAMOUR, HEARTFORT, MRS. USEFUL. 
 
 MrS. USEFUL. Oh! Mr. Millamour, oh! 
 MILLAMOUR. What news? 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Oh! I am dead. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 399 
 
 HEARTFORT. Drunk, I believe. What’s the meaning of 
 this? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Give me a glass of wine, for I am quite 
 out of breath. , 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Help! Heartfort, help! 
 
 Mrs, USEFUL. I am come——Give me another glass. 
 
 HEARTFORT. You have no reason to complain of your 
 breath, for I think you drink two glasses in the same. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well, then, now I am a little come to 
 myself, I can tell you I have charming news for you; 
 Clarinda continues still in the same dangerous way, and her 
 husband—but mum—what have I said?—I forgot we were 
 not alone. 
 
 HEARTFORT. Oh! madam, I will withdraw. 
 
 [Retires to another part of the stage. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well then, her husband hath sent me to 
 fetch you to her. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. He hath sent too late; for I have resolved 
 to see her no more. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What do you mean? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Seriously as I say—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. You will never see her more? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Never. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. You will see her no more!  [Passionately. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No: I have considered it as the only 
 reparation I can possibly make her. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Indeed! If that be the only reparation 
 you can make her, you are a very pretty fellow. But it is 
 false; you are not such a sort of a man. If I had known 
 you to be such a sort of a man, the devil should have had 
 you, before I should have troubled my head about your 
 affairs. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My heart reproaches me with no action of 
 my life, equal with my behaviour to Clarinda, and I would 
 do any thing to make her amends. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Could not your heart have reproached 
 you sooner, before you had made me accessary to the cheat 
 you intend to put upon her? 
 
400 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What cheat? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. The worst cheat that can be put upon 
 her. What, sir! do you think she hath no expectations from ~ 
 you? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. If she hath, her husband will answer them. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Her husband! her husband won't, nor 
 can’t answer them—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. I am not inclined to jest—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Nor am I; but I think you are. What 
 would you say of a man, who would sail to the Indies, and, 
 when he was just come in sight of his port, tack about and 
 return without touching? Have not you been sailing several 
 years into the arms of your mistress, and now she holds 
 them open, you refuse——What! did you court her only to 
 refuse in your turn? To .refuse her when she is expecting, 
 wishing, longing—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. And do you really think her as you say? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What could move her else to lay such a 
 plot as she has done? To pretend herself sick, that you 
 might be sent for as her physician? But you would play 
 the physician with her, and make her distemper real. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. If I thought that—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. What can you think else? Can any 
 thing hurt a woman equal with being refused ? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Refused! what, giving up her matchless 
 beauty to my longing arms! ’Sdeath, he is not of flesh and 
 blood who could refuse. Thou dearest woman! and dost 
 thou think she will consent? —— Dost thou think my 
 happiness so near? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. I know it must be; but—— 
 
 MILLAMOUR. But what? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. You had better make her a reparation for 
 what’s past, and see her no more. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Reparation! ay, so I will. All that love, 
 transporting, eager, wanton, raving love can give. Heart- 
 fort, you must excuse me: business, sir, business of very 
 great importance calls me away. 
 
 HIEARTFORT. I can guess your business by your company. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY ‘401 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, my dear Useful, convey me, quick 
 as my desires, where only they can meet full satisfaction. 
 Let me enjoy Clarinda,—and—then—— 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. And then —— perhaps you may keep 
 your word, and never see her any more. 
 
 [Zxeunt Mrs. Useful axzd Millamour. 
 
 HEARTFORT. There goes an instance of the great 
 power our reason hath over our passions, But hold,—why 
 should I seek instances abroad, who have so sufficient an 
 example in my own breast? Where, had reason the do- 
 minion, I should have long since expelled the little tyrant, 
 who hath made such ravage there. Of what use is 
 reason then? Why, of the use that a window is to 
 a man in a prison, to let him see the horrors he is confined 
 in; but lends him no assistance to his escape. 
 
 SCENE V.—MR. STEDFAST’S House. 
 CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, Charlotte! let no passion prevail on you 
 to throw yourself away on a person you despise. Marriage 
 knows no release but death. Had I the world, I would give 
 it to recall mine. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You see, Clarinda, it is easier to give advice 
 than to take it. 
 
 CLARINDA. You are not in my situation. Think, my 
 Charlotte, think but of the danger I was in, against the 
 daily solicitations of a man who had so great a friend 
 within my breast. My little fortune spent. A friendless, 
 helpless orphan. The very man I loved, with whom I must 
 at least have shared poverty, refusing to make me the 
 honourable partner of his bed! What could Charlotte then 
 have done? Would you have then refused a rich, an 
 honourable lover? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hum! agad, I don’t know what I should 
 
 elgind 3 F 
 
402 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 have done. Heaven forbid it should be my case. I should 
 not have taken the old fellow, I am positive. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, my dear Charlotte! never let any thing 
 tempt you to forfeit the paths of honour. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And yet, my dear Clarinda, you can 
 feign yourself sick to see your lover. Pray, my dear, how 
 doth a woman’s honour do when she is sick to see her 
 gallant ? 
 
 CLARINDA. Indeed you wrong me. The terror I have 
 of your father’s bed put me on the feigning this sickness, 
 which will soon be real. For as to Millamour, I have 
 determined never to see him more, 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Nay, I will swear I saw Useful take a 
 chair and go for him, as your physician, by my father’s 
 order. 
 
 CLARINDA. You surprise me! O that wicked woman, 
 who hath been the occasion of all my misfortunes, and is 
 determined to persecute me to the last minute. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. There is somewhat in her which I dislike, 
 and have often wondered why you would indulge her in the 
 freedom she takes. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh, Charlotte! in distressed circumstances, how 
 easily can impudence get the ascendant over us? Besides, 
 this woman, of whom I now have your opinion, can out- 
 wardly act a saint, as well as inwardly a devil. What 
 defence hath the ignorance of twenty against the experienced 
 arts of such a woman? Believe me, I thank heaven I have 
 escaped so well, rather than wonder I have not escaped 
 better, 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, honoured madam, if your daughter-in- 
 law may presume to advise, rest contented with the honour 
 you have already attained; for, if you should be over- 
 thrown but in one battle, there’s an end of all your 
 former conquests. But hush, hush! to your chair. My 
 father is coming up. 
 
THE WEDDING-DA VY 403 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 MR. STEDFAST, CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Well, madam, how do you now? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. My mother is extremely ill, sir. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. I did not ask you——How do you do, 
 child ? 
 
 CLARINDA, Oh! 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Oh! This is the most comfortable wedding- 
 day, sure, that ever man had. Well, the doctor will be 
 here presently. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Sir, the last words mamma spoke were, she 
 desired she might not see the doctor. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Yes, madam; but the last words I speak 
 are that she shall see him. 
 
 CLARINDA. No doctor——No doctor ! 
 
 Enter MRS. USEFUL and MILLAMOUR. 
 
 MRS. USEFUL. [Jlutroducing Millamour.] Sir, here’s the 
 doctor. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I am glad you are come, sir: my wife 
 is extremely ill—Go to her. Physicians should make a little 
 more haste. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Give me your hand, if you please, madam ? 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. How do you do, child? 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh! 
 
 PLR OTEDFAST. That’s all) I have been able to get of 
 her, Doctor; she is not able to tell you even how she doth. 
 
 MRS. USEFUL. [Aszde.] A true physician, faith! He feels 
 for her pulse in her palm. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. How do you find her, Doctor? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Truly, sir, I wish there may not be more 
 danger in the case than is imagined. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Nay, the world shall not say she died 
 for want of assistance. I will go send for another. 
 
404 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 MILLAMOUR. O sir! there’s no need of that—I can trust 
 to my own skill. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I’m resolved. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Come, madam; we’ll leave the doctor to” 
 his patient. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 CLARINDA, MILLAMOUR. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh, speak to me, Clarinda——Whisper 
 something tender to my soul, or I shall die before thee. 
 
 CLARINDA. Thou hast undone me, Millamour. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Then I have undone myself Myself !—— 
 What’s that to having ruined thee? JI would be ages ex- 
 piring to preserve thee. My dear! my only love! Too late 
 I see the follies of my life. I see the fatal consequence 
 of my ungoverned, lawless passion. 
 
 CLARINDA. Oh! had thy eyes but yesterday been opened, 
 but now it is too late. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Too late! I will put back the hand of 
 time. Oh, think it not too late. O couldst thou but recover; 
 thy marriage could not, should not keep us from being 
 happy. 
 
 CLARINDA. Alas, my disease is but a poor pretence to 
 see you once again to take this last farewell. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Thou angel of softness! Thou fountain of 
 eternal sweets! To take a last farewell! Then I will bid 
 farewell to life, Clarinda. Life, which I will not endure 
 without thee. Witness heaven, that could I but recall blest 
 yesterday again, I would not slight the offers of thy virtuous 
 love, for the whole world of beauty, or of wealth! O fool! 
 to trifle with so vast a blessing till it was snatched from 
 thee! Yet since we cannot be what we wish, let us be 
 what we can. 
 
 CLARINDA, No, Millamour, never with the forfeit of my 
 honour, I will lose my life: nay, what I value much more, 
 rather than quit that idol of my soul, I will lose you, 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 405 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 MILLAMOUR, CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE, Mrs. USEFUL, 
 MR. STEDFAST, DR. CRISIS. 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Hush, hush—to your posts, to your posts. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. [Jlutroducing Crisis.| Doctor, that is your 
 patient, and heaven direct your judgment. 
 
 Dr. CRISIS. Sir, sir, harkye, who’s that? I observed him 
 feel her pulse. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. That is a brother physician, sir. 
 
 Dr. CRISIS. Ay, what is his name ? 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Doctor, Doctor Crisis desires to know 
 your name. . 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My name! name—My name is Gruel. 
 
 Dr. CRISIS. Gruel, I don’t know him, nor do I remember 
 his name in the college. Some quack, I suppose.—Sir, I’m 
 your humble servant. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Stay, stay, dear Doctor. 
 
 Dr. Crisis. Sir, I will consult with no quacks: Sir, I 
 have not studied physic so long, to consult with a quack; 
 wherefore have we a college of physicians, if we are to call 
 quacks to our assistance ? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. For heaven’s sake, Doctor, my wife will 
 die. 7 
 
 MimeORISIS. | oir, I can’t help it, if half the world were 
 to die, unless that man were out of the room I will have 
 nothing to do: and that I am resolved. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. If you come to that, sir, I am resolved 
 he shall not be sent out of the room. I would not send 
 him out of the room to save my wife’s life: No, nor scarce 
 to save my own life. So see whose resolution will be broke 
 first, yours or mine—Resolved, quotha. 
 
 Dr. CRISIS. Here, John, my coach! to the door—consult 
 with a quack! 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Doctor, pray return my fee. 
 
 Dr. CRISIS. Sir, your humble servant. [ Bret. 
 
406 THE WEDDING-DA Y 
 
 MILLAMoUR. I hope, sir, we shall not want his advice. 
 I apprehend the distemper to be now some moments past 
 the crisis, and in half an hour, 1 may possibly send you the 
 happy news of your wife’s being out of danger. But it is 
 entirely necessary she should go to bed, and then I will 
 
 go and see her. [Enter Servant, who whispers Stedfast. 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Doctor, you will excuse me a few 
 minutes—A lady wants me below stairs. [| Axit. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Come, nurse; you must put your patient to 
 bed, and then I'll visit her again. 
 
 CLARINDA. Never, never, Millamour. Never from this hour 
 will I behold that face again: that fatal cause of all my misery. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Barbarous Clarinda! Can I be knowingly 
 the cause of one misfortune to you, when I would not 
 purchase the world with one sigh of thine? 
 
 CLARINDA. Thy conversation is dangerous to my honour: 
 and henceforth I will fly thee as the worst of contagions. 
 Farewell—And think you have lost a woman who durst 
 not, from her tenderness, ever see thee more. [| Excz. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. O agony! O Clarinda! 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Ha, ha, ha!—That ever a man, who knows 
 so much of the sex as Mr. Millamour, should despair at 
 the very brink of victory! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. ’Sdeath—Did she not say she’d never see 
 me more? 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Well, and hath she not said so a hundred 
 times; and seen you as often?—Did she not say she durst 
 not see you more? Women are all cowards, and dare not 
 do any thing unless they are forced to it. I tell you she is. 
 wishing, sighing for you. Honour and love have a conflict 
 within her breast, and if you stand by the little gentleman, 
 I’ll hold a thousand pounds he gets the better. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. No more of this foolery. Thou hast undone 
 us both: and, by heavens, I will be revenged on thee. I 
 will expose thee to all mankind, as thy infamy deserves, till 
 every wretched maid shall curse thee, every honest woman 
 despise thee, and every boy that meets thee shall hoot thee 
 through the world. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 407 
 
 Mrs. USEFUL. Is this my reward? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Reward! There is none in law or justice 
 equal to thy deserts. Thou art a more mischievous animal 
 than a serpent; and the man or woman who admits one 
 of thy detestable character into his house or acquaintance, 
 acts more foolishly than he who admits a serpent into his 
 bosom. A public mark of infamy should be set on every 
 such wretch, that we might shun them as a contagion. 
 Never see me more; for if thou dost, I shall forego the 
 dignity of my sex to punish thee. O Clarinda! I will 
 pursue thee still: for next to having thee mine is leaving 
 my life at thy feet. 
 
 MRS. USEFUL. Very fine! I have no more to do here at 
 present. Such encouragement will tempt me to grow honest 
 and quit my employment. 
 
 SON HEX 
 Mr. STEDFAST, MRS, PLOTWELL. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST, A very pretty reasonable gentleman, truly. 
 Would not one woman content him? Must he have my 
 wife and daughter too? would he have my whole family? 
 Madam, I know not how to return this obligation, which 
 the great concern you have showed for my honour hath laid 
 upon me. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Can you not find then in this face 
 something which might give you a reason for that concern ? 
 Look stedfastly on me, and tell me if you remember no 
 mark in these features which were once known to you? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. There’s something in that voice, 
 that—— 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. That once was music in your ears, if 
 ever you spoke truth to Cleomela. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Cleomela! 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL. Are there then any horrors in that 
 name? Age certainly hath left no furrows there, however it 
 
408 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 hath altered this unhappy face. Still, if remembrance of past 
 joys be sweet, the name of Cleomela should be so. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I am so surprised! I scarce have reason 
 left to recollect you. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Be not terrified. I come not to upbraid 
 you; to thunder any injuries in your ears, nor breach of 
 promise. / 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. You know you cannot. It was your own 
 fault prevented my fulfilling them. Would you have changed 
 your religion, you know my resolutions were to have married 
 you. And you know my resolutions were never to marry 
 you, unless you did. You kept your religion, and I my 
 resolution. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. How easily men find excuses to avoid 
 what they dislike! But that is past; nor do I come to 
 claim the fulfilling it. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. No, Heaven hath taken care to put that. 
 out of my power; as this letter hath told you before. 
 
 MRS. PLOTWELL, I assure you, sir, the contents of that 
 letter I am a stranger to. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Are you? then pray read it—for I intend 
 to make them no secret. [Plotwell takes the letter, reads, 
 and shows much surprise.| 
 
 SCENE X. 
 MILLAMOUR, MR. STEDFAST, MRS. PLOTWELL. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Oh! sir, the most unfortunate news. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. What’s the matter? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Your lady is relapsed into the most violent 
 fit of madness; and I question much whether she will ever 
 speak again. | 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. She hath no need. She hath hands to 
 write her mind. Nay, were they cut off too, she would find 
 some other means. She would invent as strange methods to 
 betray the lewdness of her mind as Lavinia did to discover 
 her injury. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY 409 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Hey-day! Your wife hath infected you 
 with madness. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. Yes, my wife hath infected me indeed. 
 It breaks out here [pocnting to his head]. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. What can be the meaning of this? I am 
 sorry to see this, sir. Very sorry to hear this. This is no 
 common distemper. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. No! I thought cuckoldom the most 
 general distemper in the kingdom. 
 
 SCENT xCl: 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE, MR. STEDFAST, MILLAMOUR, MRS. 
 PLOTWELL. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Odso! Mr. Stedfast, I am sorry to hear 
 your lady is ill. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. It is probable you may; for you and I 
 are not likely to be sorry on the same occasion. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. No, it is not—Yes, it is—it is impossible 
 —Agad! ’tis he—’tis—my dear Lord Truelove. I’m your 
 most obedient humble servant. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. My Lord Truelove? 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Ay, sir, this is the worthy lord, sir, to 
 whose sister I was to have married my son, till, by good 
 luck, sir, I found my Lord Truelove to be no lord, but a 
 certain wild young vagabond, who goes by the name of 
 Millamour. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. What’s this I hear? 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Ay, ’tis so,——the house is infected, and 
 every man is mad that comes into it. 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Mad! You young dog, you have made 
 a fool of me, I thank you. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I am a fine one, truly, if Doctor Gruel 
 be a cheat. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Mr. Millamour! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Nay, then, ’tis in vain to contend. And it 
 requires less impudence to confess all than to deny it. My 
 
 VOL. X. 33.6 
 
410 THE WEDDING-DAY 
 
 dear Mrs, Plotwell. [Millamour and Mrs. Plotwell talk apart, 
 and then go out together.| 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Mr. Stedfast, if you please we’ll make 
 no longer delay of the wedding. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Sir, I hate the name of wedding. 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Hey-day! I hope you are not capable 
 of breaking your resolution. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Sir, I shall break my heart. A man 
 that is married is capable of every thing but being 
 happy. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Come, come, I’m sorry for what’s past, 
 and am willing to show my repentance, to put it out of 
 my power to offend any more——wWhat signify delays? 
 Let us have the wedding to-night. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Whenever you please, sir. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. If your daughter be ready, my son is. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. I have no daughter, sir. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. Ha! ha! ha! You’re a merry man. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Lookye, gentlemen, if one of you will 
 take my wife, the other shall have ay daughter. [Zo them, 
 Millamour. ] 
 
 MILLAMOUR. O, sir! the luckiest news: Your lady is 
 recovered, her distemper left her in a moment, as by a 
 miracle, at the sight of Mrs. Plotwell. 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. My distemper is not removed. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Take courage, sir, I’ll warrant I cure you 
 ——What are you sick of? 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. What you are sick of too, by this time 
 ——my wife. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Is that all? 
 
 MR. STEDFAST. This insult, sir, is worse than your first 
 injury: but the law shall give me a reparation for both. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Here comes a better friend to you than the 
 law. If your wife be all your illness, she will do what the 
 law can seldom do, unmarry you again. I don’t know 
 how uneasy you may be for marrying my mistress; but 
 
 I am sure you ought to be so for marrying your own 
 daughter. 
 
THE WEDDING-DAY AII 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 To them, CLARINDA, CHARLOTTE, HEARTFORT. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. Start not at that word, but thank the 
 watchful care of Heaven, which hath sent me here this day 
 to prevent your fall, even at the brink of ruin—And, with 
 a joy becoming so blest an occasion, receive your daughter 
 to your arms. 
 
 CLARINDA. My father,—I am resolved to call you by 
 that name. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Call me any thing but husband. 
 
 MrS. PLOTWELL. She is indeed your daughter — the 
 pledge of our loves—the witness of your treachery and my 
 shame, whom that wicked woman seduced from the nunnery, 
 where I thought I had placed her in safety. 
 
 CLARINDA. Sir, I kneel for your blessing, nor will I rise 
 till you have given it me. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Take it, my child, and be assured no 
 father ever gave it more gladly. This is indeed a happy 
 discovery — I have found my daughter, and I have lost 
 my wife. 
 
 Mrs. PLOTWELL. My child, let me again embrace thee. 
 This is happiness indeed ! 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE. What, have you more daughters than 
 one, Mr. Stedfast ? 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Even as you see, sir. 
 
 Mr. MuTABLE. Why then, sir, I hope you will not 
 take it amiss, that I desire all farther treaty may cease 
 between us. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Sir, I would not marry a daughter of 
 mine into your family, was your estate ten times as large 
 as it is. So now you have my resolution. I should 
 expect by such a match, to become grandfather to a 
 weather-cock. 
 
 Mr. MUTABLE, Very well, sir, very well—there’s no 
 harm done—my son is zz statu quo, and as fine a gentleman 
 as ever he was. ) 
 
412 THE WEDDING-DA Y 
 
 HEARTFORT. Your honour, sir, is now disengaged. You 
 will give me leave once more to mention my ambition, 
 especially if another child is to share my Charlotte’s fortune, 
 I may appear at least worthier of her in your eyes. . 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Here!—Take her—take her—— 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I told you, sir, I would obey my father; 
 but I hope you will never expect me to obey my husband. 
 
 HEARTFORT. When I expect more obedience than you 
 are willing to pay, I hope you will punish me by rebellion. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, I own I have not deserved so much 
 constancy ; but I assure you, if I can get gratitude enough, 
 I will pay you, for I hate to be in debt. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. You was pleased, sir, this day to promise 
 me, that on the recovery of your lady’s senses you would 
 give me whatever I should ask. 
 
 Mr. STEDFAST. Ay, sir, you shall have her before you 
 ask. There she is, she hath given you her inclinations, 
 and so I give you the rest of her. Heaven be praised, I 
 am rid of them both. Stay, here is another woman. still. 
 Will nobody have her, and clear my house of them? for 
 it is impossible for a man to keep his resolutions while 
 he hath one woman in it. 
 
 MILLAMOUR. My Clarinda! Oh! transporting ecstasy ! 
 
 CLARINDA. My Millamour! my ever loved! 
 
 MILLAMOUR. Heartfort, your hand. I am now the 
 happiest of mankind. I have, on the very point of losing 
 it, recovered a jewel of inestimable value. Oh, Clarinda! my 
 former follies may, through an excess of good fortune, 
 prove advantageous to both in our future happiness. While 
 I, from the reflection on the danger of losing you, to 
 which the wildness of my desires betrayed me, shall enjoy 
 the bliss with doubled sweetness: and you from thence 
 may derive a tender and a constant husband. 
 
 From my example, let all rakes be taught 
 
 To shun loose pleasure’s sweet but poisonous draught. 
 Vice, like a ready harlot, still allures ; 
 
 Virtue gives slow, but what she gives secures. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, AND SPOKEN BY MRS. WOFFINGTON. 
 
 THE trial ended, and the sentence o’er, 
 
 The criminal stands mute, and pleads no more. 
 Sunk in despair, no distant hope he views, 
 Unless some friendly tongue for mercy sues. 
 
 So too our bard (whatever be his fate) 
 
 Hath sent me here compassion to create: 
 
 If damned, to blunt the edge of critic’s laws ; 
 If saved, to beg continuance of applause. 
 
 All this the frighted Author bid me say. 
 
 But now for my own comments on his play. 
 
 This Millamour, for aught I could discover, 
 Was no such dangerous, forward, pushing lover: 
 Upon the bull I, like Europa, ventured, 
 Entered his closet—where he never entered ; 
 But left me, after all my kindness shown, 
 
 In a most barbarous manner, quite alone: 
 
 Whilst I, with patience to our sex not common, 
 Heard him prescribing to another woman : 
 
 But, though quite languishing, and vastly ill 
 
 She was, I could not find she took one pill. 
 
 Though her disease was high, though fierce the attack, 
 You saw he was an unperforming quack: 
 
 But soon as marriage altered his condition, 
 
 He cured her as a regular physician. 
 
414 EPILOGUE 
 
 My father Stedfast took it in his head 
 To keep all resolutions which he made: 
 As the great point of life, this seemed to strike him: 
 His daughter Charlotte’s very much unlike him. 
 The only joys (and let me freely speak them) 
 I know in resolutions is to break ’em. 
 
 I think without much flattery I may say 
 There’s strict poetic justice through this play. 
 You heard the fool despised ; the bawd’s just sentence ; 
 Heartfort’s reward, and Millamour’s repentance: 
 And such repentance must forgiveness carry ; 
 Sure there’s contrition with it when we marry. 
 
THE BATHERS 
 
 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Aa COMEDY. 
 
 ‘ re ) AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE. 
 
 a oe 
 
 re 
 ae 
 Pee 
 ‘ 
 
 4 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 THE Comedy now published was written by the late 
 HENRY FIELDING some years before his death. The 
 Author had shown it to his friend Mr. Garrick; and en- 
 taining a high esteem for the taste and critical discern- 
 ment of Sir Charles Williams, he afterwards delivered the 
 manuscript to Sir Charles for his opinion. At that time 
 appointed Envoy Extraordinary to the Court of Russia, 
 Sir Charles had not leisure to examine the play before 
 he left England. Whether it has had the honour to travel 
 with the Envoy into Russia, or was left behind that it might 
 not interfere with the intrigues of the Embassy, we cannot 
 determine. Sir Charles died in Russia, and the manuscript 
 was lost. 
 
 As MR. FIELDING has often mentioned this affair, many 
 inquiries were made, after his decease, of several branches 
 of Sir Charles’s family, but did not produce any tidings of 
 the comedy. 
 
 About two years ago, Thomas Johnes, Esq., member for 
 Cardigan, received from a young friend, as a present, a 
 tattered manuscrift play, bearing indeed some tokens of 
 antiquity, else the present had been of little worth, since 
 the young gentleman assured Mr. Johnes, that it was “a 
 damned thing!”—Notwithstanding this unpromising character, 
 Mr. Johnes took the dramatic foundling to his protection 
 with much kindness; read it; determined to obtain Mr. 
 Garrick’s opinion of it; and for that purpose sent to Mr. 
 Wallis of Norfolk Street, who waited upon Mr. Garrick 
 with the manuscript, and asked him, if he knew whether 
 
 MOL cox. 3 H 
 
418 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 the late Sir Charles Williams had ever written a play ?— 
 Mr. Garrick cast his eye upon it—“The lost sheep is 
 found!—This is Harry Fielding’s Comedy!” cried Mr. 
 Garrick, in a manner that evinced the most friendly regard 
 for the memory of the Author. 
 
 This recognition of the play was no sooner communicated 
 to Mr. Johnes, than he, with the most amiable politeness, 
 restored his foundling to the family of MR. FIELDING. 
 
 Two gentlemen, of the most distinguished dramatic talents 
 of the age, have shown the kindest attention to the frag- 
 ment thus recovered. To the very liberal and friendly 
 assistance of Mr. Sheridan, and to the Prologue and Epi- 
 logue, written by Mr. Garrick, is to be attributed much of 
 that applause with which the Public have received “THE 
 FATHERS; OR, THE GOOD-NATURED MAN.” 
 
Be bt Boo Cr ben i, 
 
 THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND 
 
 LORD LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX, AND 
 MASTER OF THE HORSE TO THE KING. 
 
 My Lorp,—The Author of this Play was an upright, 
 useful, and distinguished magistrate for the County of 
 Middlesex ; and by his publications laid the foundation of 
 many wholesome laws for the support of good order and 
 subordination in this metropolis, the effects of which have 
 been, and now aré, forcibly felt by the Public. His social 
 qualities made his company highly entertaining. His genius, 
 so universally admired, has afforded delight and instruction 
 to thousands. The memory of such a man calls for respect ; 
 and to have that respect shown him by the great and 
 praiseworthy must do him the highest honour. . 
 
 Under these circumstances this little orphan posthumous 
 work, replete with humour and sound sense, looks up to 
 your Grace for protection, as a nobleman who makes rank 
 and affluence answer the great purposes of displaying true 
 ‘dignity and beneficence. Thus adorned by accomplishments, 
 and enriched by manly sentiments, it is the interest of 
 
ae ‘a = ba ‘ 3 see | Re a “ y } ae 
 = ~ ate! na ” wv}. a? Z es : os ee, he ieee ° 
 <A is ‘a c ie ed or - a < re 
 fl oS ae 
 Ped . A + 
 . aan Pa) a DEDICATION ; 
 ae society to join with me in the warmest eichee for the ¢ 
 eres ‘tinuance of your Grace’s health, and of all those power. 
 ~~ an liberally and so constantly exerted by your Grace for 
 good of mankind. 
 7 I have the honour to be, 
 : My Lorp, 
 : an 
 Your Grace’s respectful and 
 
 Obedient Servant, — aa 
 JOHN FIELDING. 
 
 L 
 
 Brompton Place. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK, SPOKEN BY MR. KING. 
 
 WHEN from the world departs a son of fame, 
 His deeds or works embalm his precious name; 
 Yet not content, the Public call for art 
 
 To rescue from the tomb his mortal part ; 
 Demand the painter’s and the sculptor’s hand, 
 To spread his mimic form throughout the land: 
 A form, perhaps, which living, was neglected, 
 And when it could not feel respect, respected. 
 This night no bust or picture claims your praise, 
 Our claim’s superior, we his spirit raise: 
 
 From time’s dark storehouse, bring a long-lost play, 
 And drag it from oblivion into day. 
 
 But who the Author? Need I name the wit, 
 Whom nature prompted as his genius writ? 
 Truth smiled on Fancy for each well-wrought story, 
 Where characters live, act, and stand before ye: 
 Suppose these characters, various as they are, 
 The knave, the fool, the worthy, wise, and fair, 
 For and against the Author pleading at your bar. 
 First pleads Tom Jones—grateful his heart and warm— 
 Brave, generous Britons, shield this play from harm ; 
 My best friend wrote it; should it not succeed, 
 Though with my Sophy blest—my heart will bleed— 
 Then from his face he wipes the manly tear ; 
 Courage, my master, Partridge cries, don’t fear: 
 Should Envy’s serpent hiss, or malice frown, 
 Though I’m a coward, zounds! I’l] knock ’em down: 
 
422 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Next, sweet Sophia comes—she cannot speak— 
 
 Her wishes for the play o’erspread her cheek ; 
 
 In every look her sentiments you read: 
 
 And more than eloquence her blushes plead. 
 
 Now Blifil bows—with smiles his false heart gilding, 
 He was my foe—I beg you’ll damn this FIELDING ; 
 Right ! Thwackum roars—no mercy, sirs, I pray— 
 Scourge the dead Author, through his orphan play. 
 What words! cries Parson Adams, fie, fie, disown ’em, 
 Good Lord!—de mortuis nil nist bonum: 
 
 If such are Christian teachers, who’ll revere ’em— 
 And thus they preach, the Devil alone shall hear ’em. 
 Now Slipslop enters—though this scrivening vagrant, 
 Salted my virtue, which was ever flagrant, 
 
 Yet, like black ’Thello, I’d bear scorns and whips, 
 Slip into poverty to the very hips, 
 
 T exalt this play—may it increase in favour; 
 
 And be its fame immortalized for ever! 
 
 "Squire Western, reeling, with October mellow, 
 
 Tall, yo !—Boys !—Yoax—Critics! hunt the fellow! 
 Damn’em, these wits are varmint not worth breeding, 
 What good e’er came of writing and of reading? 
 Next comes, brimful of spite and politics, 
 
 His sister Western—and thus deeply speaks: 
 
 Wits are armed powers, like France attack the foe; 
 Negotiate till they sleep—then strike the blow! 
 Allworthy last, pleads to your noblest passions— 
 Ye generous leaders of the taste and fashions ; 
 Departed genius left his orphan play 
 
 To your kind care—what the dead wills, obey: 
 
 O then, respect the FATHER’S fond bequest, 
 
 And make his widow smile, his spirit rest. 
 
oe a DRAMATIS PERSONA. 
 
 MEN, 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR .; -.. «104 eee King. - 
 Mr. BONcoUR . °....... . . « M7 aBep 
 YouNG BoNcouR, hisSon . ..: .. . . . Mr, Webster. Pi, 
 OLD VALENCE . 4... . » «|. 6. 0 05) e¢#oeE oe-cg . 
 YOUNG VALENCE, his Son... .. . . . Myr. Whitfield. 
 SiR GREGORY KENNEL . . . . . . . . . Mr, Baddeley. — 
 
 YounG KENNEL, his Son ... .. . ... M7, Dodd 
 ° coe vy 
 
 WOMEN. 7 
 Mrs. BoNcoUR. . . . .. . . . . . . Mrs. Hopkins. — 
 
 MIss* BONCOUR’ 45.0 © 0) See Younge. 
 Miss VALENCE... ...... . . » MMys, Badge 
 
iE EA Li RRS 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 PN arly 
 SCENE I.—A Parlour in MR. BONCOUR’S House. 
 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and MRS. BONCOUR. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. Pray be pacified 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. It is intolerable, and I will never submit 
 to it. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. But, my dear! 
 
 Mrs. BONCOUR. Good Mr. Boncour, leave off that odious 
 word ; you know I detest it; such fulsome stuff is nauseous 
 to the ears of a woman of strict virtue. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I don’t doubt your virtue. 
 
 Mrs. BONcCOUR. You don’t——I am very much obliged 
 to you, indeed; nor any one else, I apprehend: I thank 
 Heaven my carriage is such that I dare confront the 
 world, 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. You mistake me, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. That is as much as to say I have not 
 common understanding; to be sure, I can’t comprehend 
 any thing. 
 
 VOL. X. zy 
 
426 THE FATHERS 5 OR, 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I should be sorry to think I had given 
 you any reason to be out of humour. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Then I am in the wrong; a wife is 
 always in the wrong, certainly ; it is impossible for a wife 
 to be in the right in any thing. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My dear, I never said so. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. That is as much as to say, I don’t tell 
 truth: I desire you will treat me with good manners at 
 least; that I think I may expect. A woman of virtue, 
 who brought you a fortune, may expect that. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Madam, I esteem you for your virtue, 
 and am grateful to you for your fortune; I should blush if 
 you could upbraid me with lavishing it on my own pleasures, 
 or ever denying you the enjoyment of it. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. How! have I a coach at my command ? 
 you keep one, indeed, but I am sure I have no command 
 of it. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Indeed you wrong me. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Why, have you not lent it this very 
 morning without my knowledge? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My dear, I thought the chariot would 
 have served. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. How can that serve when I am to take 
 three other ladies with me? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. Who’s there? 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 Bid John take the chariot to my cousin, and let the coach 
 attend my wife—I ask your pardon, child; I own I should 
 have told you of it, but business really put it out of 
 my head. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Well, and suppose I should find but one 
 of the ladies at home, must I drag about a heavy coach 
 all over the town, like an alderman’s or a country justice 
 of peace’s lady ? 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Nay, since you are so unresolved—the 
 promise was not absolute; you shall not be uneasy on any 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 427 
 
 account———Tell the fellow he need not go to my cousin 
 at all—[Axct Servant]. Now, my dear, you may have your 
 choice, and I hope you will be easy. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Easy! yes; I have a great deal of reason 
 to be easy, truly; now your relations, if they have not the 
 coach will lay the whole blame upon me; sure, never was 
 so unfortunate a creature as 1 am!——no, let them have 
 both, and then they will be satisfied; I dare say I shall 
 find a coach amongst my acquaintance, though you deny 
 me yours, [ Axct. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. So! this comes of meddling with matters 
 out of my sphere; but I deserve it, who know her temper 
 so well. 
 
 Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcOoUR. Brother, good-morrow, I hope no 
 accident hath happened, for I met my sister in a violent 
 hurry at the door. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. No, nothing extraordinary: wives will 
 have their humours, you know. 
 
 Str GEORGE BoNncour. Ay, wives who have such 
 husbands. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I hope I give her no occasion to be 
 uneasy. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Indeed you do—You are a very 
 wicked man, brother. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. How! 
 
 SiR GEORGE BoNcouR. For you have spoilt a very good 
 sort of a woman; you have many an uneasy hour, many a 
 heart-ache, many a sigh, and many a tear to answer for, 
 which you have been the occasion of to my poor sister. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I don’t remember I ever denied her any 
 thing. 
 
 Str GEORGE BoNcoUR. That is the very reason; for 
 what can a poor woman be obliged to consult so unsteady 
 as her own inclinations? If you would contradict her a 
 little, it would prevent her contradicting herself. A man 
 pretends to be a good husband, and yet imposes continually 
 
428 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 that hard task upon his wife to know what she has a 
 mind to. é 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Brother, I admit raillery, but I should 
 contemn myself, if I refused any thing to a woman who 
 brought me so immense a fortune, to which my circumstances 
 were so very unequal: I do not think with the world, that 
 I make a woman amends for robbing her of her fortune 
 by taking her person into the bargain. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I would not have you rob her; I 
 would only have you keep her from robbing herself. Ah! 
 I should have made an excellent husband, if I could ever 
 have been persuaded to marry. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Doubtless your wife would have agreed 
 rarely with this doctrine. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOoUR. She must have been a most un- 
 reasonable woman else; for I should have desired no more 
 of her than only to do whatever I would have her. I am 
 not that person you would make me appear; for, except a 
 few diversions which I have an antipathy to, such as music, 
 balls, cards, plays, operas, assemblies, visits, and entertainments, 
 I should scarce ever deny her any thing. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Your. exceptions put me in mind of 
 some general pardons, where every thing is forgiven except 
 crimes. | 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcOoUR. I suppose you would have me 
 suffer her to keep an assembly and rendezvous of all such 
 idle people as can’t stay at home; that is, have nothing 
 to do any where else. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Perhaps I love an assembly no more 
 than you. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Why do you keep one then? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. For the same reason that I do many 
 other things not very agreeable to me, to gratify my wife. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcouR. But, brother, pray for what 
 purpose do you think the law gives you a power to 
 restrain her? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Brother, the law gives us many powers 
 which an honest man would scorn to make use of, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 429 
 
 ~ 
 
 Sir GEORGE BoNcouR. So the advantage you receive 
 from your wife’s fortune, is to be her steward, while she 
 lays it out in her own pleasures. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. And that no inconsiderable one. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoncourR. No! 
 
 Mr. Boncour. No; for the greatest pleasure I can enjoy 
 is that of contributing to hers. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. You are a good deal too good 
 for this world, indeed you are; and really, considering how 
 good you are, you are tolerably lucky; for were I half so 
 good, I should expect, whenever I returned home, to catch 
 my wife in an intrigue; my servants robbing my house; 
 my son married to a chambermaid; and my daughter run 
 away with a footman. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. These would be ill returns to your 
 goodness. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. That’s true; but they are very 
 common ones for all that; and I wish somewhat worse does 
 not happen to your son; for I must tell you, and I am 
 sorry to tell it you, the town talk of him« 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I hope they can Say nothing ill of him. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Nothing ill of him! they say 
 every thing ill of him—O brother, I think myself obliged 
 to discover it to you, this son, this eldest son of yours, 
 the hopes of your family, whom I intended my heir; this 
 profligate rascal, IJ tell it with tears in my eyes—keeps— 
 keeps—a wench. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I know it— 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcouR. [/u a@ passion.] Know it !—wh—at 
 —that he keeps a wench ? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am sorry for it. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. If he was a son of mine, I’d 
 skin him—I’d flay him—I’d starve him. He shall never 
 have a groat—a farthing of mine: I’ll marry to-morrow, 
 and if I haven’t an heir, I’ll endow an hospital, or give 
 my money to the Sinking Fund. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR, Come, brother, I am in hopes to reclaim 
 him yet, 
 
430 3 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. His vices are all owing to you. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I never gave him instructions in that way. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. You have given him money, that 
 is giving him instructions: whoever gives his son money is 
 answerable for all the ill uses he puts it to. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Rather, whoever denies his son a reason- 
 able allowance is answerable for all the ill methods he is 
 forced into to get money. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Reasonable! brother: why there 
 is our dispute; I am not so rigid as some fathers; I am 
 not for totally curbing a young man; I would not have him 
 without a shilling or two in his Bacon to appear scandalous 
 at a coffee-house—no—— 
 
 Mr. BoNncour. Sir George, instead of disputing longer 
 on this subject, will you go with me and visit my son ?— 
 suppose we should find him at his studies ? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcourR. I as soon expect to find him at 
 his prayers—Well, I will go, as I have no other business ; 
 though I know the world better than to expect either to 
 convince myself or you. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am ready to wait on you; my coach 
 is at the door. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. If I should break the rascal’s 
 head, you'll forgive me—Keep—I’d keep him, if he was a 
 son of mine, [ Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE—Azt YOUNG BONCOUR’S. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour, MISS BONCOUR, MISS VALENCE, come 
 forward. 
 
 YOUNG BoNncouR. Dear sister, how could you let this 
 inundation of nonsense in upon us? 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. Nay, don’t blame me. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Oh! I was a witness to what passed; 
 however, now they are gone, I must remind you of your 
 promise to let me hear that song. JI think both the words 
 and air admirable. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 431 
 
 Miss Boncour. You will make George proud if you 
 praise his poetry. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Love or poverty makes most poets ; 
 and I hope I shall never want at least one of those motives 
 —as Mr. Warbler is gone, I will attempt it myself. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 i: 
 
 While the sweet blushing spring glowing fresh in her prime, 
 All nature with smiles doth adorn ; 
 Snatch at each golden joy—check the ravage of time, 
 And pluck every bud from the thorn. 
 In the May-morn of life, while gladsome and gay, 
 Each moment, each pleasure improve, 
 For life we shall find is at best but a day, 
 And the sunshine that gilds it is love. 
 
 If: 
 
 The rose now so blooming, of nature the grace, 
 In a moment is shrunk and decayed, 
 And the glow which now tinges a beautiful face, 
 Must soon, alas! wither and fade. 
 In the May-morn of life then, while gladsome and gay, 
 Each moment, each pleasure improve, 
 For life we shall find is at best but a day, 
 And the sunshine that gilds it is love. 
 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. My father! and uncle too—so, so! 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Dear George, don’t let us interrupt your 
 entertainment; your uncle and myself called only to see 
 how you did, as we went by, If I had known you had 
 had company, we should not have come up—Pray go on 
 with your music, 
 
432 THE FATHERS; OR 
 
 Younc Boncour. Sir; you are always the kindest and 
 most condescending —— but from you, sir, this is an 
 unexpected honour. 
 
 Str GEORGE BONCOUR. Dear sir, most obliging, and 
 most gracious sir, you do me an infinite deal of honour 
 indeed——You see he is at his studies, brother. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Pray, George, don’t let us interrupt your 
 entertainment. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Upon my word, my nephew 
 shows an exceeding good taste in his morning diversions. 
 
 YouNG BoNcouR. Yes, sir, these ladies have been so 
 good as to hear a silly trifle of my own writing. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. I am sorry we came too late, 
 for I think nonsense is never so agreeable as when set to 
 music. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. The music my brother designed for me 
 and this lady; and I doubt not, if he had had any 
 expectation of your company, my dear uncle, he would 
 have provided some more serious entertainment. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Upon my word, sir, you have a 
 very pretty house here, completely finished and furnished 
 —when I was a young fellow we had not half so good a 
 taste. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. No, sir, the age is improved since that 
 time——when a knight of the shire used to jog to town 
 with a brace of geldings, and a single liveryman; and very 
 prudently take a first floor in the Strand, when, if you asked 
 in the shop for Sir Thomas, a dirty fellow behind the counter 
 called out, Maid, is Sir Thomas above ?—I dare swear, uncle, 
 in your time, many a tradesman hath had half a dozen men 
 of fashion in his house. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. If he had nine men of fashion in 
 his house, he had fewer in his books, I believe. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. And once in seven years came up madam 
 in the stage-coach, to see one comedy, one tragedy, go once 
 to the opera, and rig out herself and family till the next 
 general election—ha! ha! ha !|—— 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCoUR. Well, Miss Malapert, and what 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 433 
 
 -do you think you have said now? why, nothing more than 
 that your grandmothers had ten times as much prudence as 
 yourselves, 
 
 Enter SERVANT hastily. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, I ask pardon, I thought your honour had 
 been gone. 
 
 Mr. BONcouUR. Speak out, sir. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, there be below Monsieur de Pannier, with 
 a new suit; and Monsieur de la Mouton Maigre, with some 
 embroidery for your honour. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoONcouR. There is another virtue of the 
 age! If you will be extravagant, can’t you let your own 
 tradesmen reap the benefit of it? is it not enough to send 
 your money out of your own family, but you must send it 
 out of your own country too? | 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. I consider nothing farther than who 
 serves me the best. 
 
 Mr. BoNcourR. I must join your uncle here, George,— 
 I am afraid it is fashion rather that guides you to the choice ; 
 but were it otherwise, every man ought to have some partiality 
 for his own country; it is a laudable prejudice, without 
 which no people ever were or can be great. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. It ever was the characteristic of 
 this nation—but now a passion for French dress and fopperies 
 is as prevailing as the use of their frippery tongue Ah ! 
 there was a time, when we found the way to be understood 
 in France without the help of their language—[looks on his 
 watch|, but I have trifled away more time than I could well 
 afford: shall I carry you any where, brother, or will you 
 stay here? 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Have you any engagement, George? 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. None at present. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Then, brother, I wish you a good morning. 
 I have some business with my son. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Good-morrow to you, brother— 
 Pray, sir, will you order some of your domestics to show me 
 
 Ol: xX. aa 
 
434 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 out of these noble apartments, for there are so many doors 
 to them, I may possibly miss my way. 
 
 Younc Boncour. I will do myself that honour, sir. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. Upon my soul, sir, you are so 
 full of complaisance you confound me; nay, sir, pray walk 
 first, I insist upon it. 
 
 YOUNG BoONCOoUR. Sir, it is my duty to obey. [ Eve. 
 
 SiR GEORGE Boncour. Extravagant rascal! if I had 
 such a son, I would make a little free with his coxcombical 
 pate. [ Havet. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I wish, child, you would take that young 
 lady away, for I have something to say to your brother. 
 
 Miss Boncour. La, papa, you are always so full of 
 secrets | | 
 
 Mr. Boncour. You know, dear Harriet, how fond I am 
 of your company. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Yes; eternally sending me away is a 
 proof of it. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. This is a disobedience which I ought to 
 love you for, instead of chiding you; and I will break an 
 appointment to enjoy this evening with you and your 
 brother. 
 
 Miss BonNcour. Nay, I can’t promise to be at home this 
 evening, for I shall be engaged to go to the play, and if I 
 should not happen to go to the play, I shall be engaged to 
 a party at cards. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Miss Boncour, you must remember your 
 promise to set me down at home; my time is out, and I 
 dare not stay one minute beyond it. 
 
 Miss BONcouR. Dare not? ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Miss VALENCE. No; my father will never forgive me if 
 I should. 
 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. I have got my uncle into his chariot 
 at last; but he was so full of ceremony I thought I never 
 should; he has made fifty bows to my servants; I never 
 saw him in such a humour. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 435 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. You know his temper, George, and may 
 easily guess at the reason of it. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Well, if you are so positive — 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Don’t call me _ positive—I act against 
 my inclination. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. Are you going already, madam,—— 
 you will do me the honour——-— 
 
 [Lxzt, leading her out. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. [Adlone.| How wretched is that animal, 
 whose whole happiness centres in himself; who cannot feel 
 any satisfaction, but in the indulgence of his own appetite. 
 feeciemy children still a part of me;-they are, as it were, 
 additional senses, which let in daily a thousand pleasures 
 to me;. my enjoyments are not confined to those which 
 nature hath adapted to my own years, but I can in my son’s 
 fruition taste those of another age——nor am I charitable, 
 but luxurious, when I bestow on them the instruments of 
 their pleasures. [Azer Young Boncour.| So, George, you 
 have soon quitted the young lady. 
 
 YounG Boncour. I was going to make that excuse for 
 leaving you so long. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. You have been a good husband this 
 quarter. 
 
 YounGc Boncour. Sir; you are always so good as to 
 prevent my necessities, and almost my wishes; for indeed 
 I should have been obliged—— 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I thought a hundred would not be 
 burthensome. [Giving him a note, 
 
 YounGc Boncour. [Bowing respectfully, with a smile.) A 
 hundred! Gad, it is but a hundred. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. What are you considering, Genre 
 
 YounG Boncour. I was thinking, sir, how happy such a 
 sum as this would have made me when I was at school; 
 but really, in my circumstances, it will go a very little 
 way; it will but just pay for a picture which I bought 
 yesterday. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. A hundred pounds is a large price for a 
 picture. 
 
436 THE FATHERS, Ok, 
 
 Younc Boncour. A mere trifle, sir; one can get nothing 
 to hang up in a room for less. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I only give that hint, because I should 
 be sorry that your demands should ever be such as I should 
 be unable to answer. 
 
 YouNG Boncour. I am not such a stranger to your 
 fortune, sir, as to incur expense beyond its reach. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. No more of this: call on me by and by, 
 and your wants shall be supplied; but, I believe you guess 
 by the formality of my preparation, and my sending away 
 your sister, that I have something of moment to impart to 
 you—Without more preface—what think you of marriage? 
 
 YouNG BONcouUR. Marriage, sir? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Ay: I don’t: expect your good sense 
 will treat my proposition with the common stale raillery of 
 those noble free-spirited libertines, whose great souls disdain 
 to be confined within the limits of matrimony: who laugh 
 at constancy to the chaste arms of a woman of virtue, while 
 at the expense of health and fortune they are strictly faithful 
 to the deceitful embraces of some vile designing harlot. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Pardon me, sir; my thoughts of 
 marriage are different; but I hope, sir, you will indulge me 
 in choosing a wife for myself. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. You need not apprehend too much com- 
 pulsion or restraint; but the lady I shall recommend to you 
 is so unexceptionable—— 
 
 YOUNG BoNcouR. To be sincere, sir, my affections are 
 already engaged; and though I have no hasty thoughts of 
 marrying, yet when I do, I am determined on the person, 
 and one whom I think unexceptionable on your side. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Her name? 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Miss Valence. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Her fortune, I apprehend, is much inferior 
 to that of the lady I should have proposed; but neither her 
 fortune nor family are such as shall make me endeavour to 
 oppose your inclinations. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Sir, you are ever good; though indeed 
 in this you indulge me only in the common right which 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 437 
 
 nature has bestowed on me; for to restrain the inclination 
 in that point, is not a lawful but a usurped power in a 
 parent: how can Nature give another the power to direct 
 those affections which she has not enabled even ourselves 
 to govern? 
 
 MR. BONCOUR. However, you will give me leave to treat 
 with Mr. Valence on this subject; for though I know he 
 must rejoice at that offer, yet he is a man of that kind who 
 must be dealt with with due circumspection; and the minds 
 of lovers are too much wrapt up in sublime pleasures, to 
 attend to the low settlement of worldly affairs. 
 
 Einter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, Monsieur Valence desites to know if your 
 honour be at home. 
 
 YOuNG BoncourR. I shall be glad to see him. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I'l] leave you, and go and find out the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 YounGc Boncour. I believe, sir, you may treat with him 
 farther than for me; my sister’s inclinations, I am confident, 
 look toward the same family. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Are you certain of that? 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. By incontestable proofs. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, Mr. Valence and I have been old 
 acquaintance and neighbours; he is of a good family, and 
 has a good fortune; and the world gives him and his children 
 a fair character. I am glad you have disposed of your affec- 
 tions in no worse manner: good-morrow to you, George— 
 I shall see you in the afternoon. 
 
 YOuNG Boncour. I shall not forget to pay my duty to 
 you, sir. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. No ceremony with me. |Peea2 
 
 YouNG Boncour. Sir [dows]; I believe 1 have the most 
 complaisant father in Christendom. Though all fathers are 
 too niggardly—This sneaking hundred: ha! ha! ha! My 
 dear Valence, good-morrow :— 
 
438 PEPSI ATAERS.; OK, 
 
 Enter YOUNG VALENCE. 
 
 Why look you so sprightly and gay? some unexpected 
 happiness has befallen you. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. O Boncour! my father, can you believe 
 it? he sent for me this morning, of his own accord, without 
 the least petition, the least motion of mine, sent for me, and 
 with the utmost generosity, made me a present of ten pieces. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Why do you laugh? 
 
 YOUNG BoNcouR. To see you so much over-rate a trifle. 
 My father paid me a visit this morning, and with the 
 utmost generosity made me a present of a hundred: upon 
 which, with the utmost gratitude, I asked him for more! 
 Why, tell me, Charles, dost thou think it is not his duty 
 who hath begot us with all those appetites and passions, to 
 supply them to the utmost of his power? But, Charles, I 
 hope you will make your friends partakers of your father’s 
 generosity : you will dine with us to-day. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Your company is generally too expensive 
 for me. 
 
 YouNG Boncour. Why, faith, the world is grown to 
 such a pass, that, without expense, a man cannot keep good 
 company. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. By good company, I suppose you 
 mean embroidered company; for men of sense are to be 
 come at cheaper. 
 
 YOUNG BoNcoUR. By good company, I mean polite 
 company ; for true politeness, though it does not make a 
 man of sense, it mends him. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE, But does politeness never dine without 
 a French cook, nor eat out of any thing but plate? 
 
 YOUNG BoNCcOoUR.. To show you I think otherwise, I will 
 dine with you wherever you please. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Why my business with you was, to 
 let you know my father has been so good to give my 
 sister leave to spend this day at your house; now, if you 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 439 
 
 will, without ceremony, let me invite myself to the same 
 place—— 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. You make me perfectly happy, and I 
 hope to know something this afternoon which will make 
 you so; at least, if you wish to call me brother as eagerly 
 as I do to call you by that name. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Need I declare that to you? 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. Then I assure you, your father’s 
 consent is only wanting. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Ha!——you make me happy, indeed ; 
 for were the alliance less advantageous, he is so good, so 
 indulgent, I will fly to him, and throw myself at his feet to 
 obtain it. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. I believe my chariot is at the door; 
 I will carry you——Oh, my dear Charles, my spirits are now 
 so high, that it must be an uncommon accident which will 
 ruffle them; and believe me, the vast delight, which the 
 near prospect of enjoyment of my love affords me, is not 
 a little heightened by the expectation of seeing you also 
 happy in your wishes; and I can look down with contempt 
 on the merchant, who sees the anchor cast to his ship; the 
 general, who has just obtained a victory; or the despairing 
 minister, who has just carried his point and subverted the 
 designs of his enemies. [ EAxeunt. 
 
 oe ee 
 SCENE I—A Room in OLD VALENCE'S House. 
 Enter OLD VALENCE avd SERVANT. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Tell Mr. Boncour I shall be glad to see 
 him.—What can this formal visit mean? I hope he has not 
 discovered the intimacy between our children; if I could 
 
440 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 once compass that double marriage, I should complete my 
 wishes; why not? For I know the violent passion of the 
 young people, and the extreme indulgence of the father ; 
 but, though he is a weak man, it is impossible he should 
 give his consent; the disparity of fortune is too great: 
 Well! but, as he has brought up his children to hate and 
 despise him, perhaps they may not ask it; no, it would 
 make me too happy. | 
 
 Enter Mr. BONCOUR. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My good old friend and neighbour, how 
 do you do? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, I am heartily glad to see 
 you; this is extremely kind, and hath prevented me this 
 very morning paying you that visit, which I have been 
 obliged to owe you some time against my inclination. 
 
 Mr. BONCoUR. Ceremony between old friends, my good 
 neighbour, is ridiculous; it is the privilege of friendship and 
 love to throw aside those forms, which only serve men to 
 keep up an appearance of affection where there is none; 
 there has been a long acquaintance and intimacy between 
 our families. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. There has been so indeed, and highly to 
 my satisfaction. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am deceived, my very good old friend, 
 if there are not some who wish a much closer alliance; 
 you know, Mr. Valence, my way hath been always to dis- 
 cover my sentiments, without great formality of introduction ; 
 in short, I have discovered a very particular intimacy be- 
 tween our younger branches; I am mistaken if they are not 
 desirous to knit the alliance still closer. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. So! (just what I feared). [Aszde. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. But you know, my old friend, the 
 views of young people, and of their parents, in matrimony, 
 are extremely different; theirs is only the satisfaction 
 of an immediate passion, ours looks forward to their future 
 happiness, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN A4Y 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Sir, I am surprised at what you tell me. 
 [ Confusedly. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Why surprised? it is but a_ natural 
 affection. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. It is an affection, sir, which I never 
 encouraged in them. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. It is in our power, Mr. Valence—— 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I shall be very ready to contribute mine, 
 I assure you; I scorn to connive at my children’s stealing 
 a match into any family, particularly my friend’s: I do 
 assure you, I should scorn it. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I believe, indeed, you would——but—— 
 
 OLD VALENCE. If I had had but the least suspicion—— 
 if such a thing had ever entered into my thoughts, you 
 should have known it that moment. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. I am convinced, but give me leave—— 
 perhaps the advantage may be somewhat of your side. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Dear sir, the whole world knows how 
 infinitely it is so; but I am not like the world in all 
 respects; I am not so devoted to my interest to do a mean 
 thing ; I would not do a mean thing for the world. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Nor am I so like the world to place my 
 own or my children’s interest in riches only, or rather to 
 sacrifice their happiness to my own vanity; I am _ willing, 
 when they have taken out a licence, that they shall have 
 no more to do with Doctors’ Commons; for which reason 
 I will neither marry my daughter to a spindle-shanked beau, 
 nor my son to a rampant woman of quality. Mr. Valence, 
 our children love each other, and their passions, if en- 
 couraged, may make them happy: my business with you, 
 my neighbour, is not to frustrate, but to complete their 
 attachments; in a word, what think you of a double marriage 
 between our families? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. [Suvprised.| Sir !|—— 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Are you willing it should be so? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Are you in earnest? 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. I thought you had known me too well 
 to suspect me of jesting on such an occasion; I assure 
 
 VOL, X. maT 
 
442 THE FATHERS, -OR, 
 
 you I have no other business here at present: I know my 
 son’s happiness is wrapt up in your daughter, and for aught 
 I know, my daughter may have the same affection for your 
 son; I do not only therefore propose the match to you, 
 but I do it with earnestness. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Do you? Why then, for that very 
 reason, I shall put on some _ backwardness; eagerness is 
 always to be taken advantage of. [Aszde. 
 
 Mr. BONcCOUR. Be not surprised; perhaps there may be 
 some advantage in point of fortune on one side or other: if 
 it should be on mine, I can never give it up better than to 
 an old friend. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Hum——that estate of mine in North- 
 umberland is a very good estate, and very improvable; let 
 me tell you, it is an estate that—— 
 
 Mr. Boncour. It will be the business of hereafter to 
 consider each particular; we have been neighbours to each 
 other so long, that our affairs in general can be no secret to 
 either. At present I should be glad of your direct answer. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. A double marriage between our children! 
 It is a matter, Mr. Boncour, which will require great 
 consideration. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Ay !—— 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Are you certain your son has so violent 
 an affection for my daughter ? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. I am certain. . 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And that your daughter has the same 
 liking towards my son? 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. Women are not so open on these occasions, 
 but I have reason to believe it. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And they meet, I suppose, with a 
 suitable return of affection from my children? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I believe they do. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And you are entirely willing to have 
 this double match go forward? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am desirous of it, earnestly desirous. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. So that my consent alone is wanting? 
 
 Mr. BoNncour. Even so. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 443 
 
 OLD VALENCE. It will require great consideration. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. How? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, I have always had the 
 greatest respect for you and your family; there is nothing 
 in my power which I would not do to serve you; consider, 
 sir, I have but two children, a boy and a girl, they are my 
 all, and the disposal of them is a matter of great weight ; 
 you cannot expect me to be so hasty in taking any 
 measures leading to it. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. Why, what objections can you appre- 
 hend ? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I don’t know: I have not yet considered 
 enough of the matter. You will excuse me, Mr. Boncour, 
 but treaties of this nature oblige us to inquire a little into 
 one another’s affairs: why, that estate now of yours in 
 Hampshire is a very ill-timbered estate. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Sir, 1 am in no doubt but that my 
 estate will be able to answer your demands. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. They will not be unreasonable, Mr. 
 Boncour; I shall act in a most generous manner; I have 
 always despised those who have used any art in their actions ; 
 I shall be glad if it happens to fall within my power to 
 oblige you; but, truly, this affair requires great consideration. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Well, sir, I will leave you to it; in the 
 afternoon I shall expect your answer. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Mr. Boncour, you shall have my answer 
 this very evening; be assured, if possible, I will comply with 
 your desires. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I shall expect you this afternoon. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I will wait on you, and hope there will 
 be no difficulty. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. There shall be none on my side. [£zzz. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, This is beyond my utmost expectation ;— 
 but I must not appear forward, that I may make the better 
 bargain;—nothing is so foolish as leaping eagerly at an 
 advantageous proposal. 
 
A44 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 Enter YOUNG VALENCE. 
 
 So, son, where have you been? I have wanted you; is it 
 impossible for you to stay at home with money in your 
 pocket ? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, if I had known you would have 
 wanted me 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But you are not to know always: I 
 don’t know myself; you must keep in the way; young fellows 
 nowadays mind nothing but their pleasures. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you will have no reason to com- 
 plain of that, for to please you is my greatest pleasure. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And so it ought to be, for I think my 
 generosity to you this morning shows you that I have a 
 pleasure in pleasing you. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Oh, sir, if my happiness can give you 
 pleasure, it is in your power to make me so happy! 
 
 OLD VALENCE, So, something else is wanted, I see; but, 
 whatever it be, I may thank myself for it: bestowing one 
 favour is giving right to ask a second; the first is a gift, 
 the rest are payments. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. If a son hath any right to ask, it is 
 the favour I shall ask of you; and if any son could hope 
 to obtain, I must; since the only reason which prompts a 
 father to deny is in my favour, and the lady on whom I 
 have placed my affection is my superior in fortune. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Ay! perhaps he means my friend’s 
 daughter, and then my prudent backwardness will be finely 
 rewarded [aszde]. Who is the lady? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. One whose person, family, and fortune, 
 are not unknown to you; but why should I fear to name ~ 
 her? Miss Boncour. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Who ?——what? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Miss Boncour; sure you can have no 
 objections. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. What a way is that of talking? You 
 are sure I can have no objections? How can you tell what 
 objections I may make? Are you to dictate to me? This 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 445 
 
 is the consequence of my generosity to you this morning; 
 this all arises from my foolish prodigality. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I own my obligations, and am 
 sorry I used an unguarded expression, by which I meant no 
 more than that I hoped her fortune would be agreeable 
 to you. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I don’t know that. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. I thought, sir, so long an acquaintance 
 with her father 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And pray, why have you thought that 
 my long acquaintance with her father must let me into the 
 knowledge of his circumstances? Mr. Boncour has the repu- 
 tation of a weak man, but notwithstanding that, I know he 
 has a little low cunning in him, which makes it more diffi- 
 cult to see through his affairs than those of a wiser man; 
 so let me give you a little advice: if you have an affection 
 for this girl, don’t let her father see it; I hate deceit, and 
 love to act openly and honestly with mankind; but still 
 with some prudence towards such a cunning knave as 
 Boncour. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I shall pay an exact observance 
 to your orders. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Well, well, perhaps you might have 
 settled your affections worse ; I don’t know, I don’t promise 
 any thing, but if matters appear exactly to my mind—— 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you are the best and most 
 indulgent of fathers. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Remember, I promise nothing. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. You are the kindest of men, and I 
 the happiest. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Observe my advice. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. I should be unworthy, indeed, were I 
 to neglect it. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Go, send your sister to me; remember, I 
 promise nothing. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, you are the best of fathers. [A xzz. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, This is the effect of severity ; severity is 
 indeed the whole duty of a parent—Now for my daughter— 
 
446 ii PALS OR 
 
 a little caution would suffice with her; for women of their 
 own accord are apt enough to practise deceit, and now, I 
 think I have my old neighbour’s fortune at my disposal. 
 
 Einter MISS VALENCE. 
 
 MIss VALENCE. My brother told me, sir, you had sent 
 for me. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Yes, Sophy, I did; come hither, fave 
 not very lately given you any pocket-money. 
 
 MIsS VALENCE. Sir, it is not my business to keep an 
 account where I have no demand, but from the generosity 
 of the vaivel. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But I think I have not lately, that is 
 very lately, given you much. 
 
 MISS VALENCE. No, really, sir, I don’t remember to have 
 had any thing of you, since you gave me a ticket for the 
 opera, and that is almost a year ago, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Well, well, there are a couple of pieces 
 for you; be a good housewife, and you sha’n’t want money. 
 
 MISS VALENCE. I give you a thousand thanks, sir. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Now, Sophy, look me full in the face, 
 and tell me what you think of young Boncour. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Why should you ask me what I think 
 of him, sir? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. What an impertinent question is that! 
 You give me fine encouragement to be generous to you; 
 why should I ask you? I have reason, no doubt of it, but 
 your cheeks answer me better than your lips; that blush 
 sufficiently assures me what you think of him. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. If I blushed, sir, it was at your sus- 
 picion, for I am sure Mr. Boncour is no more to me than 
 another man. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But suppose I have a desire he should 
 be more to you? 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I shall be dutiful to you in all things. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I believe it will be an easy piece of 
 duty; you are all very dutiful when you are ordered to 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 447 
 
 follow your inclinations ; but, young lady, what I insist on at 
 present is, that if this gentleman has your affections you 
 will be so good as to conceal them. 
 
 MIss VALENCE. Pray, sir, why should you think he has 
 my affections? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Again at your whys! Madam, I tell 
 you I expect you to behave with discretion; that is, in 
 other words, to deal as dishonestly with your lover as you 
 do with your father; I am sure you can never repine at 
 such easy commands; so this afternoon I desire you will 
 put on all your reserve, all your airs and indifference: but, 
 perhaps you have given him encouragement already, perhaps 
 you have dutifully intended to marry him without consent 
 or approbation of mine. 
 
 MisS VALENCE. Indeed, sir, you have no reason—— 
 
 OLD VALENCE. How, have I no reason! a pretty compli- 
 ment to your father; go to your chamber, madam, and 
 stay there till you have learnt a more respectful behaviour. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Sir, I obey—— Peete 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Ah, there’s nothing like severity! children 
 are so vile, that one dares not indulge one’s good inclination 
 towards them: I have brought all this on me by my own 
 generosity: but now for the business with Boncour, I will go 
 to my lawyer, and we will draw up proposals together. An 
 imprudent man in my situation would have testified imme- 
 diate raptures, but the best general rule I know is, never 
 to discover your thoughts, either in your words or your 
 countenance. [ Ave. 
 
 SCENE II.—Mr. Boncour’s House. 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. Dear papa, don’t tease me about the 
 fellow: I care not if he was hanged, and all other fellows! I 
 affections for the creature! I wonder who can have put it 
 into your head! 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Nay, if it be not so, tell me frankly, and 
 you shall be left out of the treaty which I am carrying on with 
 
448 THE FATHERS, OR, 
 
 the old gentleman, relative to a match between your brother 
 and his daughter. 
 
 Miss BoNcouR. A match between my brother and Miss 
 Valence ! 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. We met this morning, and shall meet . 
 again this afternoon about it. 
 
 Miss BONcouR. And pray tell me, dear sir, what makes 
 you suspect any thing between me and Mr. ——? I forget 
 the creature’s name! 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Are my suspicions well grounded ? 
 
 Miss Boncour. La, sir, I can’t conceive what should 
 make you imagine any such thing. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. You will not answer me directly? 
 
 Miss Boncour. I don’t know what to answer. 
 
 " Mr. Boncour. Nay, I desire no more! Well, my dear, 
 we will not be long in finishing the settlements. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. Settlements! Sir, you frighten me. I 
 hope I have not said any thing—can’t one converse and 
 dance with a man—But, I assure you, sir, it is no such 
 thing. 
 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. So, George, you find me engaged in an 
 impossible task. 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. I am sorry for that, sir, pray what 
 is it? 
 
 Mr. BONcour. Nothing more than trying to get truth 
 from a woman; it seems we have been under a mistake all 
 this while, and one half of our treaty is abortive ; your sister 
 disavows all regard for Mr. Valence. 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. Iam glad of it! for I should be sorry 
 if she threw away her affections on one so worthless—one 
 who, while he is addressing her, is engaged to another 
 woman. 
 
 MR. BoNcouR. How! 
 
 YOUNG BONCcoUR. Sir, I have had ocular demonstration ; 
 nay, I question if he be not married already ; at least, I am 
 certain every thing is concluded. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 449 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. Say you so? this very well accounts for 
 that backwardness which surprised me in the father—— 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha,—an affection, indeed !—ha, 
 ha, ha!—no, I assure you, sir, I have no affection—an 
 affection truly !—no, I have all the abhorrence and contempt 
 in the world for him. 
 
 YOUNG BoONCOoUR. Dear sister, don’t be in a passion. 
 
 Miss BonNcour. I am in no passion, brother ; it is impos- 
 sible for a man I hate and despise to put me in a passion ; 
 no, brother, when I know a man to be a villain, I assure 
 you, brother, he shall never have it in his power to give 
 me uneasiness. 
 
 YOUNG BoNcour, But, my dear 
 
 Miss Boncour. No, brother, I would not have you 
 think I am in a passion on his account; all that vexes 
 me is, that my father should think I had a value for him. 
 
 YOUNG BONcoUR. Well, dear sir, I believe I need not 
 fear to ask you the success of the business you was so kind 
 to undertake. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. Upon my word, George, it was such as 
 surprised me, till you accounted for it, by this engagement 
 of young Valence’s; I think, on comparing his circumstances, 
 I might have expected a more hearty concurrence; but I 
 do assure you, the best answer I could obtain was, that he 
 would consider of it. 
 
 YOuNG BoncouR. Oh, sir, that was only to lessen the 
 opinion which he feared you might have had of the advan- 
 tageousness of the proposal; I think I know him so well, 
 that he would make an outward difficulty of assenting to a 
 point which inwardly he heartily wished to compass ; 
 especially when he had no fear of losing it by so doing; as 
 perhaps your good-natured forwardness made him secure on 
 that side. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Ay, faith, it is surprising there should be 
 such foolish wise men in the world. 
 
 Miss BoNcourR. Brother, one word with you; who told 
 you this villain was to be married? 
 
 YouNnG Boncour, Excuse me—I cannot tell you. 
 
 MOTs 3M 
 
450 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 Miss Boncour. I would not deny you, brother. 
 
 Younc Boncour. I should not have curiosity enough to 
 ask what no ways concerned me. 
 
 Miss Boncour. But suppose it did concern me? 
 
 YounGc Boncour. Is that possible? — what! he that 
 never made any addresses to you? 
 
 Miss Boncour. Addresses, pugh!—Pshaw, this is using 
 me in a manner I did not expect; I would not conceal a 
 secret from you, especially a secret of this nature. 
 
 YouNnG Boncour. Oh! a secret of this nature! Now, be 
 honest, and tell me why you called Valence a villain, and 
 I will discover the whole. 
 
 Miss Boncour. A villain! if you knew as much as I, 
 you would think it a term too gentle. Don’t imagine lI 
 have the least concern at losing him; but if what you say 
 is true, he is the most perfidious wicked villain that ever 
 broke his solemn vows to a woman. 
 
 YOUNG BoNncouR. Then to be as honest and sincere 
 with you, there is not one single syllable of truth in all I 
 have said. I am convinced he loves you sincerely, and 
 since I find you return his passion with equal ardour 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. What do you mean, brother ? 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Nay, child, ’tis in vain to dissemble—you 
 are fairly caught. 
 
 Miss BONcouR. Well, I protest now, this is the most 
 barbarous treatment; and so the story you raised of poor 
 Valence is absolutely false? 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. As mere fiction as ever came from a 
 traveller or a newspaper. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Well, child, I think you need say no more 
 to encourage me to include you in the treaty, at least I 
 shall take your silence for consent. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Then if I must speak—— 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Let it be truth for once. 
 
 Miss Boncour. The devil take the story — for I never 
 was more frightened by one in all my life. 
 
 Mr. BONCoUR. George, I think there will be no farther 
 obstruction; Mr. Valence will be here this afternoon; and 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 451 
 
 as soon as matters can be settled by the lawyers, you 
 may depend on your happiness. 
 
 YouNG BoncouR. Here is my mother coming this way; 
 I believe it would be my sister’s wish, as well as mine, that 
 this affair should be yet a secret from her. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I think you are in the wrong there; nor 
 am I willing she should be unacquainted with a thing of 
 this nature. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. At least, sir, till I have the honour 
 of seeing you again. 
 
 Miss BONcouR. Ay, do, Bes, sir. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Well, so far I will indulge you. 
 
 [Zxeunt Young Boncour azd Miss Boncour. 
 
 Enter MRS. BONCOUR. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcourR. Do Mr. Valence’s family dine here 
 to-day ? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. Yes, my dear. 
 
 Mrs. BONCOUR. Very well, then, I will dine abroad. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. As you please, child, since your daughter 
 is at home. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. I know, sir, it is a matter of indifference 
 to you; but I think you need not affect it—it would be 
 civiller to express some regard for me, though it was never 
 so counterfeit. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. Would you have me say you shall not 
 dine abroad? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Shall not! I should laugh at that 
 indeed ! 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Why, my dear, should I ever discover an 
 inclination contrary to yours, by which you must be driven 
 to the uneasiness of knowing you thwart one or the 
 other? you know, child, concealments of this kind are the 
 ereatest delicacies of friendship. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. To be sure I can conceal nothing, nor I 
 have no delicacy of friendship about me; I wonder you 
 would choose so indelicate a woman. 
 
452 PHO TAL AERS OR; 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Come, it is happy for you I did choose 
 you; at least, you might have fallen to the lot of one who 
 would have been less observant of your temper; suppose 
 you had been married to my brother Sir George ? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Sir George! why Sir George? I know 
 no man who would make a better husband. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. So he says himself, and this I must con- 
 fess, he would never have had a dispute of this kind with 
 his wife; for he would have told her peremptorily, Madam, 
 I have invited the company, and you shall stay and dine 
 with them. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. Well, and that would have been kinder 
 than indifference ; for my part, I aver I could bear contra- 
 diction from a man that was fond of me. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. What, rather than compliance? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. I am not that fool you may imagine 
 me; I know a little of human nature, and am convinced 
 there is no man truly fond of his wife who is not uneasy 
 at the loss of her company. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Will it please you if I order you to stay 
 at home? | 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. Order me! no, truly, if my company be 
 so indifferent that you consult only my pleasure in desiring 
 it, I shall never think myself obliged to you on that 
 account: I thank Heaven, I am not every where so despic- 
 able, but that there are some weak enough to desire my 
 conversation, and, perhaps, might prefer it to the agreeable 
 Miss Valence herself. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. She is a guest of my daughter’s, not of 
 mine: surely you don’t conceive I have any particular 
 pleasure in Miss Valence’s company ? 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. Oh, I am not jealous, I assure you; you 
 wrong me mightily if you think I am jealous; she must be 
 a poor creature, indeed, who could be jealous of every little 
 flirt; no, I should have too much contempt for the man 
 who delighted in the conversation of such flirts; but this I 
 think I might reasonably expect, that he would enjoy them 
 by himself, and not insist on my being of the company. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 453 
 
 Mr. BONcCouR. You cannot charge me with any such 
 behaviour, nay, scarce with a single desire that would con- 
 tradict your inclinations; therefore, when you told me you 
 would dine abroad, I answered, Just as you please; though 
 I knew not the company to be disagreeable to you. 
 
 MRS. BONCOUR. But I will not dine abroad, Mr. Boncour, 
 I will dine at home; pray give me leave to know my 
 own inclinations better than you; I am neither a fool nor 
 a child, whatever you may think of me, nor will I be 
 treated as such by any husband in the universe! What! 
 I suppose I must shortly come with my hands _ before 
 me, and ask you leave before I do any thing! Pray, Mr. 
 Boncour, will you give me leave to make a few visits this 
 morning? 
 
 See DONCOUR tia. \ha,.ha! ».My dear, did. 1, ever 
 deny you! 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. You insist on my asking, then, it seems, 
 but I assure you I shall not; I did not part with my 
 fortune to part with my liberty too, so your servant. [/ iz. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, Sir George is in the right; I have 
 spoiled this woman certainly; for her temper from a good 
 one is now become intolerable; but she brought me a 
 fortune; true, she did, and an immense one, and with it, 
 what I took for better and for worse; and so it is idle 
 to complain. Wiley 
 
 AG lelLLE 
 SCENE I.—Mr. Boncour’s Aouse. 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Mr. Valence’s man left this letter. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. So! here I shall have, I suppose, my 
 neighbours sentiments at large on this important business, 
 [Reads the letter.| 
 
454 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 “SiR,—I have maturely weighed your proposal; and to 
 convince you of the desire I have to an alliance with 
 your family, notwithstanding some offers made me, which, 
 to a worldly-minded man might perhaps appear more 
 advantageous, I have consented to the union between our 
 children, for which purpose I have drawn up a _ few 
 articles, not doubting but you will think them very 
 reasonable. 
 
 “First, You shall vest your whole estate immediately in 
 the possession of your son, out of which, besides your 
 wife’s fortune, you shall be allotted two hundred pounds 
 per annum during life. 
 
 “Secondly, You shall pay down fifteen thousand pounds 
 as your daughter’s portion, for which she shall have a 
 proportionable settlement, as our lawyers shall agree. 
 
 “Thirdly, That, as a very large part of my estate will, 
 at my death, descend to my son, I shall remain in posses- 
 sion of the whole during my life, except ” But why 
 should I read any farther? Is this man mad, or doth he 
 conclude me to be so? 
 
 Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcouR. I called on you, brother, to let 
 you know I shall dine with you, for my friend has sent 
 me word the House will sit late. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Oh, Sir George, I am particularly glad 
 to see you; I will give you an instance that your opinion 
 of mankind is juster than my own; since I saw you, I have, 
 to comply with my son’s inclinations, proposed a match in 
 Mr. Valence’s family ; could you imagine he would send me 
 such a letter as this in answer? oh, you need only look 
 at the articles. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. [Reading.| Well, what of this? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. What! can you think the man is in his 
 senses ? 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Certainly; for ’tis impossible he 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 455 
 
 should suppose you to be in yours, when you made him 
 the offer to which this letter is an answer. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. But, brother, is my making him an 
 advantageous offer a reason for so impudent an imposition ? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Ay, surely, no one can give 
 another a stronger hint to impose upon him than by first 
 imposing upon himself; you have infinite obligations to him 
 I think, for he sees you have an inclination to beggary, 
 and therefore would make you a beggar. Besides, can any 
 thing be more reasonable than what he proposes? I am 
 sure I should not expect such gentle terms in the same 
 case! What doth he desire of you more than to throw your- 
 self on the bounty of your son? Well, and who the devil 
 would make any scruple of trusting a son,—especially such 
 a son as yours—a fine gentleman—one who keeps a wench 
 —Never fear, man, I warrant he’ll allow you pocket-money 
 enough. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Raillery, Sir George, may exceed the 
 bounds of good nature as well as good breeding; I did not 
 expect that you would have treated the serious concerns of 
 my family in so ludicrous a manner, nor have laughed at 
 me when I asked your advice. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Zounds! what shall I say? I 
 thought to have pleased you, by calling his demands 
 reasonable; shall I take the other side of the question? for, 
 like a lawyer, I can speak on either; he hath taken the 
 most prudent way of calling you a fool, and his proposals 
 seem to proceed rather from a design of insulting you than 
 from any hopes of success. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. It really has that appearance. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcOUR. Well, then, and do you want my 
 advice what to do? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I shall undoubtedly reject them with scorn, 
 and if myself alone were concerned, I could with ease :—but 
 my son, I fear, has set his heart on the young lady. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Then break his heart: why what 
 a devil of a fellow is this son of yours? he sets his fortune 
 on one wench, and his heart on another! 
 
456 MARIAH ERO Se OK, 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Come, brother, you are a little too hasty: 
 when we reflect on the follies of our youth, we should be 
 more candid to the faults of our children. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. You are welcome to throw the 
 sins of my youth in my face: I own I have been as wicked 
 as any, and therefore, I would not suffer a son to be so; 
 of what use is a parent’s experience, but to correct his 
 children; and, give me leave to tell you, you are a very 
 unnatural father, in not suffering your son to reap any 
 benefit from your former sins; but you, brother, to obtain 
 the character of a good-natured man, are content to be the 
 bubble of all the world. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, I had rather be the bubble of 
 other men’s will than of my own; for, let me tell you, 
 brother, whatever impositions knavery puts upon others, it 
 puts greater on itself. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, dinner is upon the table. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, we will defer this affair till 
 the afternoon, when I believe my behaviour will please you. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. It will surprise me too, if it 
 does. [Laeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.—OLD VALENCE’sS House. 
 Enter OLD VALENCE and SERVANT. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Sir Gregory come to town, say you? 
 
 SERVANT. He is at the coffee-house, and will be here 
 immediately. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Well, show him up. [xt Servant.] 
 What great affair can have brought him up, who has not, 
 I believe, been in town these twenty years? something of 
 vast importance must have drawn him from his foxhounds! 
 he hath been so long absent, the town will be a sight to 
 him, at least he will be a sight to the town. [Sir Gregory 
 halloos without.| He is not far off, I hear. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 457 
 
 Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Hey a vox, Master Valence— 
 how goes it, my old friend? you look surprised to see me 
 in town. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I must confess, Sir Gregory, you were 
 one of the last persons I expected to see here. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL, It is like a fox running against 
 the wind: well, how does madam, and how does your fine 
 son do? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Alas! my wife, poor woman, I have lost 
 her some time: I thought you must have heard of that. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Like enough I may: I can’t 
 remember every trifle. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I hope your family is well, Sir Gregory ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why I have lost my lady too, 
 since I saw you; she is six feet deep, by George! but the 
 boys are well enough: Frank, he is at home; and: Will is 
 at Oxford; and the Squire, he is just come from his 
 travels. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. And how does Master Francis? I think 
 he is my godson. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, Frank, Frank is well 
 enow; I would a brought un to town, but the dogs would 
 not spare un: he is mightily improved, I can tell you, since 
 you saw un: he takes a five-bar gate like a greyhound; but 
 the Squire is the top of the pack: I have been at some 
 pains in his education; he has made, what do you call it, 
 the tower of Europe. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. What, has Master Gregory been abroad ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL, I think so—he hath been out 
 almost two years, in France, and Italy, and Venice, and 
 Naples, and I don’t know where. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Indeed! why I thought he had been too 
 young to travel. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. No, no; he’s old enough, he 
 will be of age in half a year more. 
 
 eal Sat 3.N 
 
458 THE FATHERS ; Of, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. He is much improved by his travels, no 
 doubt on’t. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Improved, ay, that he is—Egad 
 he overtops them all—he was the finest gentleman at sessions 
 I have nothing to do for’n, but marry un to a woman 
 of quality, and get un made a parliament man, and then 
 his fortune is made, then he will be a complete gentleman ; 
 now I have secured one o’ um; I have agreed for a borough, 
 and I fancy, neighbour Valence, you can recommend me 
 to tother; you converse with quality; do you know now 
 ever a woman of quality that’s very handsome, with a 
 great fortune, that wants a husband? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Quality, beauty, and fortune! you are 
 somewhat high in your demands, Sir Gregory. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, if she be not handsome, 
 the boy won't like her; and if she have no fortune, I 
 sha’n’t. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But, why quality ? what use is there in 
 that? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL, Nay, I can’t tell much use in it; 
 but there is something in it to be sure, for I have seen 
 men proud on it in the country, who have nothing else to 
 be proud of——Odsure—I fancy they have forgot to direct 
 the boy hither: I left him at the coffee-house having his 
 shoes cleaned ; the dog’s grown so nice since his travels, that 
 he did but just step into a kennel, though he wa’n’t over 
 the instep; the shoes o’un must be cleaned immediately ; 
 I will step and see for un, and be back with you in an 
 instant. [ Axce. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, If this cub hath no more wit than his 
 father, it will not be difficult to match him to my own 
 daughter. He will be a much greater match than young 
 Boncour: this is an effect of my prudence; but I am afraid, 
 as unreasonable as my demands are to Boncour, folly will 
 make him accept them; if he should, I can raise them so 
 high, that, even so great a fool as he is, he will reject 
 them: however, I will be first sure on this side. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 459 
 
 Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL azd YOUNG KENNEL. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL... Here he is; here is the boy; 
 child, this is my friend, Mr. Valence. 
 
 [Young Kennel runs to Old Valence and kisses his hand. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I am glad to see you returned. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Pardie! Sir, your most humble servant. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Is not he a fine gentleman? 
 Well, Gregory, let us hear a little more of your travels; 
 come, don’t be ashamed before folks, don’t—Come, tell us 
 what you—— 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Dear old gentleman, don’t give your- 
 self any pain on my account: I should have made the tour 
 of Europe to very little purpose if I had any modesty left. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Neighbour Valence, do ask him 
 about pleaces. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Pray, sir, how do you like Venice? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Not at all; egad, it stands in the 
 middle of the sea! 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. How! no lies, Greg,—don’t put 
 the traveller upon us! 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Indeed he speaks truth. How do you 
 like the humour, the temper of the Italians? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I don’t know any thing of them, for 
 I never would converse with any but those of my own 
 country. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That’s right; I would have thee 
 always be a true Englishman. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I suppose you saw Rome, sir? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Faith, sir, I can’t say I saw it, for I 
 went extremely late in, and stayed there but a week: I 
 intended to have taken a walk or two about town, but 
 happening to meet with two or three English dogs at our 
 inn—mortblue! I never stirred abroad till the day I came 
 away. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. What! didst not see the Pope 
 of Rome? 
 
460 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 Younc KENNEL. No, not I: I should have seen him, I 
 believe, but I never heard a word that he was at Rome 
 till after I came into France, and then I did not think it 
 was worth going back for: I did not see any one thing 
 in Italy worth taking notice of, but their pictures; they are 
 magnifique indeed! | 
 
 OLD VALENCE. How do you like the buildings, sir, in 
 Italy ? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. They showed me some old buildings, 
 but they are so damnably out of repair one can’t tell 
 what to make of them. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, Gregory, give us a little 
 account of France: you saw the King of France, did not 
 you, Greg? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Yes, and the Queen, and the Dolphin; 
 why, Paris is well enough, and the merriest place I saw in 
 all my travels: one never wants company there; for there is 
 such a rendezvous of English, I was never alone for three 
 months together, and scarce ever spoke to a Frenchman all 
 the while. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. There, Mr. Valence, you see how 
 unjustly they speak against our sending our sons to travel: 
 you see they are in no danger of learning foreign vices 
 when they don’t keep company with foreigners. Well, 
 Mr. Valence, how do you like un? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Oh, infinitely well, indeed! he is really 
 a finished gentleman 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ay, is he not a fine fellow? 
 But, Greg, you don’t tell Mr. Valence half what you told 
 me about a strange man at Orlines. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. You will excuse my father’s pro- 
 nunciation, as.he has never been abroad: he means Orleans, 
 where I saw one of the largest men I ever saw in my life; 
 I believe he was about eight foot high. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. What a misfortune it is not to 
 travel in one’s youth: I can scarce forgive my father’s 
 
 memory for keeping me at home. Well, but about the King 
 of France? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 461 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Zounds! father, don’t ask me so many 
 questions. You see, sir, what a putt he is. 
 
 [Aszde to Valence. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, you rogue, what did I 
 send you abroad for, but to tell me stories when you came 
 home? , 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. You sent me abroad, sir, to learn to 
 be a fine gentleman, and to teach me to despise clownish 
 fellows, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Come, Sir Gregory, perhaps the young 
 gentleman will be more open over a bottle; what say 
 you? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. You know I never flinch from a 
 bottle; and we will have some stories after a glass. Well, 
 Greg, you know what I came to town about, and _ this 
 gentleman will assist us; he will recommend a wife to 
 you. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I am this gentleman’s very humble 
 servant; but I want none of his assistance. There is a 
 lady whom I knew before I went abroad, and saw again 
 last night with another young lady at the play, and 
 mortblue if I marry any other woman. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. How, sirrah! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Pray, dear old gentleman, don’t put on 
 that grum look: rat me, do you think I have made the 
 tour of Europe to be snubbed by an English father when 
 I came home again? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Sirrah, I’ll beat the tour of 
 Europe out of you again: have I made you a fine gentleman 
 in order to despise your father’s authority !—— 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Pray, Sir Gregory—— 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Sirrah, I’ll disinherit you; I'll. 
 send your brother Will a travelling, and make Frank a 
 parliament man in your room. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. A fig for your disinheriting! it is not 
 in your power; if I can but get this girl, I’ll marry her, 
 and carry her back to France. There is as good English 
 company at Boulogne as I ever desire to crack a bottle 
 
462 THE FATHERS, OR, 
 
 with——what do you take me for? a boy! and that you 
 are to make me do what you please, as you did before I 
 went abroad? Dzadle! do you think to use me as you do 
 brother Frank, who is but your whipper-in? sortb/ue, I have 
 been hunting with the King of France. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. If you have been hunting with 
 the devil, I’ll make you know I am your father; and, 
 though you are a fine gentleman, the same pains will make 
 your brother Will as fine a gentleman to the full. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Pray, sir, consider; don’t disoblige your 
 father. Come, Sir Gregory, I have ordered a bottle of wine 
 within; let us go and talk over that matter; I dare say I 
 shall bring the young gentleman to reason; come, pray 
 walk in. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. He shall obey me, or—— 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I have travelled to a fine purpose, 
 truly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.—Mr. BONcour’s /ouse. 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and YOUNG BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. Though the articles are a _ little 
 unreasonable, if you had any compassion or love for your 
 children, who you know have placed their hearts on the 
 match, you would comply. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My children are ungrateful, if they up- 
 braid me with want of affection: but this is a mere trick, 
 a poor scheme of Mr. Valence’s, to take advantage of your 
 passions and my indulgence. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. So, we are sacrificed to contention 
 ‘twixt our fathers for the superiority of understanding. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. You injure me, son; the low, dirty 
 reputation of cunning I scorn and detest. 
 
 Einter MRS. BONCOUR. 
 
 Mrs. BONCOUR. So, sir, I hear there are marriages going 
 on in the family, which I was not to be acquainted with. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 463 
 
 MR. BONCOUR. Pardon me, my dear; I intended to have 
 acquainted you, and should before, but for a particular 
 reason. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. What reason, pray? 
 
 Mr. BoNcourR. You need not concern yourself. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Indeed! not concern myself! who am 
 I? have not I an equal concern, ay, and a superior 
 one? 
 
 MR. BONCOUR. But hear me, madam. 
 
 Mrs. BoNncour. No, I won’t hear any thing said for 
 the match; it is below them in family and fortune both. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I do not intend—— 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. I don’t care what you intend; you may 
 keep your reasons to yourself, if you please; but, as for the 
 double marriage, I will have no such thing; all your plots 
 sha’n’t compass it. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I tell you it is broke off——there is to 
 be no match. 7 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. How, no match! and pray what was the 
 reason you kept it a secret from me? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. Ma’am! 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. So! I am nobody in the house; matches 
 are made and unmade, and I know nothing of the matter. 
 And why do you break it off? 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Because his demands were monstrous—— 
 exorbitant beyond credibility. 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. And pray what was the reason you kept 
 it a secret from me? nay, I will know——I am resolved I 
 will know—won’t you tell me ?——-you are a barbarous man, 
 and have not the least affection for me in the world 
 
 [cryzng |. 
 Enter MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 Miss BOoNcouR. Bless me, madam, what is the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. Nothing extraordinary ; your father has 
 behaved to me like a monster. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. La, sir, how can you vex my mamma in 
 this manner ! 
 
464 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 Mr. Boncour. So! she for whom I suffered all this, is 
 the first to accuse me. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. It seems you are to be married without 
 my knowledge. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Married, madam! to whom, pray? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Nay, I don’t know whether it is to be 
 so now; for the same wise head that made the match has, 
 it seems, broke it off again. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Yes, child; Mr. Valence hath been pleased, 
 from my easy behaviour to him, to use me in such a manner, 
 and insist upon such terms, that I can’t, either consistently 
 with common sense or honour, comply with. Now, my dear, 
 you see I do not keep all secrets from you, examine them 
 yourself. 
 
 Miss Boncour. [Aszde.] So, so, so! after my affections are 
 engaged, they are to be baulked, it seems: but there shall 
 go two words to that bargain. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. I can’t see any thing so unreasonable in 
 his demands; if the match was otherwise good, I should 
 not have broken it off on this account. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. What! would you subvert the order of 
 nature, and change places with your children? would you 
 depend on their duty and gratitude for your bread; and 
 give way to the exorbitant demands of a man who has 
 made them for no other reason but because I offered him 
 more than he expected, or could have hoped for? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. I say his demands are for the advantage 
 of our children, and truly if I can submit to them, you, 
 Mr. Boncour, may be satisfied. 7 
 
 YOUNG BONcoUR. Nay, then, I think it is a good time 
 for me to appear: Oh, madam, eternal blessings on your 
 goodness, which it shall be the business of my life to 
 deserve! Oh, cease not till you have prevailed on his 
 obdurate heart to relent. 
 
 Miss Boncour. I must second my brother——Have pity 
 on him, dear mamma! see how he trembles, his lips are 
 pale, his voice falters! Oh, consider what he suffers with the 
 apprehension of losing the woman he loves; though my 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 465 
 
 father’s cruel heart is deaf to all his sufferings, you are all 
 goodness, all tenderness; you, I know, will not bear to see 
 him miserable! 
 
 Mrs. BOoNcouR. Why do you address yourself to me? 
 there stands the good man who wisely contrived this match, 
 and then with so much resolution broke it off. 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. My passion, till you encouraged it, 
 was governable——’Twas you, sir, who bid me hope, who 
 cherished my young love; and, though the modesty of her 
 sex may make her backward to own it, my sister’s heart 
 is as deeply concerned as mine. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. Thank you, brother, but never mind me: 
 ——TI had my father’s command to give my promise, and 
 I must not obey him if he commands me to break it. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. [Takes hold of his sleeve.| Sir, I beseech 
 you—— 
 
 Miss Boncour. [Takes hold of the other.| Dear papa—— 
 
 Mrs. BONCOUR. And for what reason was this secret 
 kept from me? 
 
 Miss BoNcour. When he hath put it into his children’s 
 heads—— 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. When their whole happiness is at stake. 
 ——Then it is into a family of so good a character—— 
 
 Mrs. BOoNcouR. I must take my children’s parts, and 
 you shall consent, or never—— 
 
 Miss Boncour. I’ never let go your hand—— 
 
 YOUNG Boncour, Ill never rise again—— 
 
 Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. O brother! you never arrived so fortu- 
 nately to my assistance as now—— 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcOUR. Why, what’s the matter? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Oh, I am worried to death by my wife 
 and my children. | 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Nay, brother, you shall judge if he hath 
 reason to complain: he hath, without my knowledge, con- 
 tracted a match between Mr, Valence’s children and his. 
 
 OLE xX: cone, 
 
466 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 own; and when the young people had united their affections, 
 truly he hath, of his own wise head, broke it off again. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. You have appealed to a very wrong 
 person now; my brother knows the whole affair. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I know, brother! what do I 
 know? if you have broken off the children’s match, you 
 have done a very ill thing, let your. reasons be what 
 they will. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. How, brother! are you my enemy too? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Can you imagine I will be your 
 friend, brother, when you run rashly of your own head into 
 schemes of consequence without consulting your wife !— 
 without taking the advice of her, your best friend, your 
 best counsellor ? 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. . True, dear brother—— 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. And then when you have done 
 so, and suffered a fine gentleman here to engage his precious 
 affections, to fix his constant heart, which always dotes with 
 the same ardour on the same beauteous object—— 
 
 YOUNG BoNncourR. True, by heavens! 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcour. And this little bud here, to 
 throw off the veil of her virgin modesty, and all overspread 
 with blushes and confusion, to tell an odious man she will 
 have him, which nothing but her duty to you could ever 
 extort from her— 
 
 Miss BOoNcoUR. ‘True, dear uncle! 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Then after all this, out of base 
 worldly motives, such as should never enter into the thoughts 
 of a good man—— 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. Too true—— 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. To disappoint all their hopes, to 
 ruin all their fair prospects of happiness—to throw your 
 wife into an ill humour—— 
 
 Mrs. BoNcouR. Monster! 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. To make your son here distracted. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. Unnatural father! 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. To break your daughter’s heart ! 
 
 Miss BoNcouR. Cruel! barbarous! 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 467 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Now, madam, wife, children, marry, do 
 as you will——I oppose you no longer——a leaf may as 
 well swim against a cataract—— 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. But why keep it a secret from me? 
 why must not I be trusted with a secret? 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. And may I depend on my father’s 
 permission to be happy? 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Even as you please, sir—O—ay,—madam, 
 and you too, I will prevent you the trouble of speaking. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. Come, dear girl, let us haste to make 
 our friends happy with the news. 
 
 [EZaeunt Mrs. Boncour, Young Boncour, Miss Boncour. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. You use me kindly, brother. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. How would you have me use 
 you, brother? you must excuse me if I don’t follow your 
 example: you see an instance now, that by humouring 
 these good people I have gained their affections, I mean 
 their thanks; affections, indeed, they have none, but for 
 themselves; but had I taken your part, and spoken my 
 real sentiments, I had pulled an old house on my-head ; 
 your wife would have abused me, your daughter have hated 
 me, and your son have wished to send me out of the 
 world. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. But is this consistent with your behaviour 
 this afternoon, when I received your letter? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Remember, brother, we were 
 alone then; and at the worst I should only have opposed 
 my judgment to yours; here I must have encountered a 
 majority—a measure seldom attended with success ; well, but 
 for your comfort, I have contrived a scheme to disappoint 
 them all effectually. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Brother, I thank you; but will it be a 
 good-natured thing to disappoint them, poor things? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Good nature! damn the word! 
 I hate it!—_—they say it is a word so peculiar to our 
 language that it can’t be translated into any other— 
 Good nature! [Lxeunt, 
 
468 OL SOD LT ls WBS ANE a Op 
 
 AGCPAYV; 
 SCENE I.—OLD VALENCE’S Jouse. 
 Enter OLD VALENCE and YOUNG KENNEL. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Consider, young gentleman, the conse- 
 quence of disobedience to a father; especially to so 
 passionate a father as Sir Gregory! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Don’t talk to me of fathers! Parblieu / 
 it is fine topsy-turvey work, to travel first and go to school 
 afterwards, 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Upon my word it would do some of our 
 young travellers no harm. : 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, That I, who am to inherit a fortune 
 of five thousand pounds a year, may not marry whom I 
 please, but must have crammed down my throat some 
 bread-pudding of a citizen’s daughter, or scrag end of a 
 woman of quality! 
 
 OLD VALENCE. You don’t know whom Sir Gregory may 
 provide for you. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, But I know whom he will not;— 
 besides, I shall provide for myself—— 
 
 OLD KENNEL, Consider first the sin of disobedience ;— 
 you know it is in his power to disinherit you. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE, No, indeed don’t I, nor he _ neither, 
 that’s better:—plague! if he could do that, I believe I 
 should be a little civiller to him—no, no, that’s out of his 
 power, I assure you; my tutor let me into that secret a 
 great while ago, 
 
 Enter MISS VALENCE. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Oh, here comes my daughter according 
 to my orders, Now if he had not unluckily seen this wench 
 at the play—— | Aszde. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Did you send for me, sir? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 469 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I send for you! no; but come hither. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ha! farblieu! ’tis she--’tis the very 
 same. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. What coxcomb is this? [A szde. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. This is the most lucky adventure that 
 hath happened in all my travels. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. You stare at my daughter as if you had 
 seen her before. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. As certain as I have seen the King of 
 France ;—but, sir, is this lady your daughter ? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. She is, sir; I have only one other child. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Then I believe, sir, you are father to 
 an angel; you know, sir, I told you I saw a lady at 
 the play, and for whom I would be disobedient to all the 
 fathers in the universe. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I protest, sir, you surprise me—— 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Sir, may I go? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Ay, ay, child :—go—go. 
 
 [EZxzt Miss Valence. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Sir!—madam, can you be so barbarous ? 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Sir Gregory will be back in a minute. I 
 would not have him know any thing of this for the world, 
 he would run me through the body, though I am innocent. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Never fear him, I will defend you. 
 Let me see her once more. 
 
 Oro VALENCE. .You shall see her again; but have 
 patience, if you will get your father away, and return back 
 by yourself, you shall see her once to take your leave of 
 her, for you must not disobey your father; but are you 
 certain he can’t disinherit you? that is, that he is only 
 tenant for life? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I don’t know whether he is tenant for 
 life or for death; but I know that my tutor, and several 
 lawyers too, have told me he could not keep me out of 
 one acre. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But you are sure you had it from good 
 lawyers? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, Ay, as any in the kingdom. 
 
470 SHEE ATTERSS OK, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Well, I am glad of it; ‘tis a terrible 
 thing for a man to disinherit his children:—don’t be un- 
 dutiful, unless you can’t help it, and if you can't help it, 
 why it is not your fault; but hush, here’s Sir Gregory. 
 
 Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, have you brought him to 
 it ?—will he be a good boy, and marry a woman of quality, 
 or no? 
 
 OLD. VALENCE. I have said all that I can saya 
 Gregory, and upon my word he is rather too hard for me. 
 I would have you consider a little, sir; it is only whether 
 he shall choose a wife for himself or not:—consider, Sir 
 Gregory, he is to live with her, not you. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ay, I am to live with her, not you—— 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That’s not true, Mr. Valence; 
 I intend both he and she shall live with me; they shall 
 down to Dirty Park next week, and there they shall remain. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I’ll be cursed though, if we do! 
 
 OLD VALENCE. That very argument makes against you; 
 for if he should have fixed on a private gentlewoman, and 
 that you don’t know but he hath, she may go down to 
 Dirty Park; but a woman of quality—why, Sir Gregory, 
 she’d fetch Dirty Park up hither, and convert a thousand 
 of your acres into half a rood in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ay, into half a rood in Grosvenor 
 Square. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Would she? let me see her 
 there once, Ill answer for her; why, Mr. Valence, I'll tell 
 you what I did myself. I married this boy’s mother in this 
 town, she was a woman of fashion, a well-bred woman; 
 though I had but a small fortune with her, but twenty 
 thousand pounds.—I married her for love; well, the next 
 morning, down trundled her and I to Dirty Park, and when 
 I had her there, ecod, I kept her there: and whenever she 
 asked to go to London, my answer was, that as I hated 
 the town myself, she had better stay till she had a daughter 
 old enough to be her companion. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 471 
 
 OLD VALENCE. But she was not a woman of quality, 
 Sir Gregory. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. No, not quite your tip-top of 
 all, not one of your duchesses nor your countesses, but her 
 father was a squire, and that’s quality enough. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Now you talk like a reasonable man. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ay, faith, that’s something like a 
 Christian. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, you rogue, do you make 
 a heathen of me? why, did I ever talk otherwise? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Nay, do not be captious, Sir Gregory. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Captious! ha, ha, ha! Why, do 
 you think I am angry with the boy for his wit? no, no, 
 let him be as sharp as he will, I always encourage his 
 wit, that is the chief thing he learnt in his travels. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir George Boncour, sir— 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. But come, Mr. Valence, let’s go 
 and crack one bottle together. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Show him up. [act Servant.] Excuse 
 me, Sir Gregory, I have business. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, come Greg, you sha’n't 
 flinch—ah, Mr. Valence, I assure you the rogue is as true 
 an Englishman at his glass as ever. Axe, 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I shall give him the slip, and be back 
 again as soon as I can. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. [Wethzn.] Why, Greg |—— 
 
 Greg !—— 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Coming! Pardie! he halloos at me as 
 if I was a whipper-in. [Exzt. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. This was beyond my hope, beyond my 
 expectation; I despair not of Sir Gregory’s consent—but if 
 not, as long as he can’t cut off the entail—— 
 
 Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Your servant, Mr. Valence. 
 OLD VALENCE. Most noble Sir George, I have not had 
 
472 : THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 the honour of seeing you a great while. (I suppose he is 
 come to make up the match, but ’tis too late.) [A szde, 
 
 SiR GEORGE BoNncourR. I am sorry, sir, for the occasion 
 of waiting on you now, and so will you too; I know you 
 will, though perhaps it will give you an opportunity of 
 exerting your friendship; that may be some alleviation ; 
 in short, my brother is undone. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. How! 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Unless one can raise ten 
 thousand pounds within an hour, an execution will be in 
 his house. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. An execution in his house for ten 
 thousand pounds! what! a man of his estate? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Estate! what estate could stand 
 out against the prodigality of his children? besides, between 
 you and me, with all his prudence, he has been dabbling 
 in the Funds, that bottomless pit that swallows up any 
 fortune. Estate !—ah, all mortgaged, all ate out; it matters 
 not to tell it, for within these two days the whole town 
 must know he is not worth a groat 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I am very sorry for it; upon my word; 
 I am shocked to the last degree; poor gentleman! my 
 neighbour, my acquaintance, my friend! 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Do not let it move you too 
 much. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Why do you ask impossibilities? do you 
 think me more than man, or that my heart is stone? is 
 flint? Oh, my good Sir George, you know not how tenderly 
 I feel the misfortunes of others—of my friends’ especially, 
 and of him my best of friends; I am too tender-hearted 
 for a man. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. I know your goodness, your 
 excessive goodness, and therefore contrary to the express 
 charge, that of all men you should know nothing of the 
 ina ver 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I am obliged to him—I know the reason 
 of that, but I find you don’t. [A side. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I say contrary to his express 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 473 
 
 injunction; I acquaint you with his misfortunes; since I 
 know you are both able and willing to save him from 
 disgrace ; a mere trifle will do it, though nothing but money 
 will do. ee 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Money! why does he not sell? why 
 does he not mortgage? there is an estate of his contiguous 
 to mine; I have a value for it, as it is his; and rather 
 than it shall go to a stranger, I will borrow the money 
 to purchase it—(men in distress always sell pennyworths.) 
 
 [A szde. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoncourR. (Damned rascal!) [Aszde.] Well, 
 I’ll tell him what you say. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Pray do.—Your humble servant, and 
 pray if that estate be sold, let me have the refusal of it. 
 [Eazt Sir George.| Mercy on me! where can one find an 
 honest man? that ever he should lay such a plot of in- 
 termarriage between our families, when he knew himself 
 undone! how wary ought a man to be in each moment 
 of his life, when every fool is a politician, and capable of 
 laying schemes to attack him. | 
 
 Enter YOUNG VALENCE, 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Oh, sir, I have news which I am sure 
 will please you! Mr. Boncour hath consented to your 
 terms, so there is now no impediment to the union of 
 our families. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Indeed, there is an impediment which 
 will be never got over; in short, I have news for you, 
 which I am atraid will not please you. Mr. Boncour is 
 undone. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Undone, sir! 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Not worth a groat. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. How! is it possible? 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Indeed, sir, I don’t know by what means 
 men ruin themselves; we see men’s fortunes ruined, and 
 others made every day no one knows how; it is sufficient 
 I am certain that it is so; and I expect you will have no 
 more thought of his daughter. 
 
 NOL, X: 3 P 
 
474 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Truly, sir, I am not very ambitious 
 of marrying a beggar. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. You have none of my blood in you if 
 you are; and, take my word for it, there are in marriage 
 many comfortable hours when a man wants not the 
 assistance of beggary to make him hang himself. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE, Sir, it was in obedience to your 
 commands that I thought of the match at all. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. -.And it is, sit, in obediénces tama, 
 commands, that I expect you to break it off. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. I hope you’ll give me leave to do it 
 with civility. 
 
 OLD VALENCE, Oh! with as much civility as you please, 
 sir; when you are obliged by prudence to do what the 
 world calls an ill thing, always do it with civility. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I shall obey you in all things. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Send your sister to me in my closet, I 
 must give her a lesson of the same kind. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE, She will, I am confident, receive it 
 with the same regard. [Zazt Young Valence. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I have no reason to doubt it, thanks to 
 my severity; for by continually thwarting my children’s 
 desires, I made their inclinations so useless to them, that 
 at length they seemed to have none at all, but to be 
 entirely guided by my will. Severity is, in short, the whole 
 duty of a parent. [ Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.—MR. BONcCOUR’S House. 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR and MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. La, brother, you are always teasing me 
 with your odious questions: what condition is my heart in? 
 What condition is your own in? We seem to be pretty 
 much in the same circumstances. 
 
 YOUNG BoncouRr. I confess, and glory in it. J wonder 
 why the devil women should have more reserve than men, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 475 
 
 Miss Boncour. Oh, don’t be angry with us on that 
 account; we have not a bit more than is useful to us; 
 and really it seems well enough contrived to keep your 
 whimsical affections alive, which seldom pursue us _ longer 
 than you have difficulties thrown in your way. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. As you have had no experience, 
 sister, you must have heard this from others; and, believe 
 me, child, they told thee those frightful stories, and made 
 bugbears of men merely to deter thee from marrying, that’s 
 all: they only frighten thee, as they do children, with 
 apparitions, 
 
 Miss Boncour. It is preposterous though to frighten us, 
 in order to make us desire to lie alone. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. Well, you don’t know but I am an 
 exception to your first rule, if it be general, [Miss Boncour 
 sighs.| Why that sigh? 
 
 Miss Boncour. I wish there may be another. 
 
 YounG Boncour. I am convinced you will find another 
 in my friend Valence. 
 
 Miss BONcouR. It is my interest to hope so, since you 
 have contrived among you to marry me to him. 
 
 YouNG Boncour. All compliance! you have no affection 
 for him, then? 
 
 Miss Boncour. Shall I tell you the truth, brother? 
 
 YouNG Boncour. I would not put you to too violent 
 pain, sister; but if, without great danger of your life, it 
 might come out— 
 
 Miss Boncour. Why, then I do love him, and _ shall 
 love him to all eternity. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Madam, Mr. Valence to wait on you. 
 
 Miss BONcOuR. Show him into the parlour, I’ll come to 
 him. [#zzt Servant.] Brother, you will keep my secret; at 
 least, don’t tell him till a day or two after I am married, 
 and perhaps I may be beforehand with you. 
 
 [Eazt Miss Boncour. 
 
476 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 YouNG Boncour. Get you gone for a good-natured 
 girl: he is a rascal who would not make you happy, and 
 be so himself with you. 
 
 Re-enter SERVANT w72th a letter. 
 
 SERVANT. Mr. Valence’s man, sir, delivered me this. 
 [Eazt Servant. 
 YouNnG Boncour. Ha! I know the dear hand.—|[Xeads.] 
 “Sir, I am sorry to inform you, that I have this moment 
 orders from my father to”——Ha! confusion!——“to see 
 you no more: you will best know on this occasion how to 
 act, for the sake of your unhappy Sophia Valence!’”—My 
 blood runs cold; I’ll fly to her and know the reason of 
 this change of my fortune—poor girl, she wants a comforter 
 as much as myself. [ Axe. 
 
 SCENE III.—Another Apartment in MR. BONCOUR’S Hfouse. 
 Enter YOUNG VALENCE and MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. How sudden are the changes in this 
 world, how vain our pursuits! An hour ago I was the 
 happiest of mankind, and am now the most miserable. 
 
 Miss BoNcouR. ‘This is nothing but some scruple started 
 between the old gentlemen, which will be settled again: 
 this be assured of, while your happiness is in my power, 
 you shall never be miserable. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Yet consider, madam, consider my 
 condition; I, who, if I was possessed of all my father’s 
 fortune, should be an unworthy offering to your beauty: 
 with what assurance can I throw a disinherited son at 
 your feet? 
 
 Miss Boncour. Fathers often threaten what they never 
 perform; but let yours be ever so obstinate, I know my 
 father's good nature to be such, that he will settle a fortune 
 on us that will enable us to live at our ease, if not in 
 splendour. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 477 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Oh! my dearest love, I fear there are 
 no hopes from that quarter; for the reason of my father’s 
 breaking off the match was an account he just received 
 from undoubted authority, that your father is irretrievably 
 ruined, and is not now worth a shilling in the world. 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. Good Heavens! what do I hear? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. ’Tis but too true; and ’tis with the 
 utmost reluctance I come the fatal messenger of such un- 
 welcome tidings! Oh, that I were now but master of the 
 fortune I am entitled to, that I might prove the sincerity 
 of my passion; that I might show my sole object was 
 the possession of your lovely self, without any sordid views 
 of fortune. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Then all the flattering prospect of 
 happiness I had before me is vanished in an instant. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Why so, my angel? if the change 
 of fortune makes no change in our love, we may still be 
 happy. 
 
 Miss BoNcour. Happy! what, by indulging a hopeless 
 passion ? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Why hopeless? it is in our power 
 instantly to realise its joys—curse on all those who conspired 
 to fetter love with any chains to make it subservient to the 
 gain of lawyers and priests; cannot we trust to the ties of 
 nature, and our own affections? Is not this dear hand 
 security enough for your heart, without a more formal 
 union? Oh, melting softness, (Ha! by my hopes she dissolves 
 —I’ll carry her now.) [Aszde.] O my paradise, this hour, 
 this minute, this instant—— 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. What do you mean? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Need I tell you my meaning? or can 
 words do it? O no, my soul, my angel! 
 
 Miss Boncour. Sure I am in a dream! pray who are 
 you, sir? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. You are in a dream, indeed; do not 
 you know your Valence? 
 
 Miss BONcouR. My Valence! no, he never would use 
 me thus. 
 
478 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Does the excess of my passion offend 
 you, which, inflamed by disappointment, will admit of no 
 delay? I here plight my solemn vow, and call Heaven 
 to witness that you are my wife, and at my father’s 
 death—— 
 
 Miss BONcouR. Be gone, villain, and never see me more, 
 
 [ Exe. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. This I might expect. om isiiGusees 
 proposal; but her distress and my perseverance must in time 
 prevail. [ Zeeze, 
 
 SCENE IV.—Another Apartment in MR. BONCOUR'S Ffouse. 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONcOUR. Your ruin will go round the 
 town before night; by six all the good women will order 
 their horses, to blame your conduct, and pity your family 
 in every assembly and private company they meet with. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. So, you think I shall have no more 
 difficulty to prevent the match. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I do, indeed, and hope you will 
 reap more advantage than that from it. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. What, pray? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Be cured of your distemper 
 your good nature. Have you not obliged almost every one 
 of your acquaintance? Have you not lent money without 
 security ? Have you not always been inclined to speak well 
 of mankind, and blamed nothing but the most notorious 
 villainy? Have not your doors been open as those of an 
 hospital to the sustenance of the poor? nay, have you 
 not taken them from a prison, and brought them to your 
 table? Are there not many rich men who owe the original 
 of their wealth to your bounty; and yet, if after all that 
 you have done, should you not be able to borrow five 
 pounds in the town, would it not cure you? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Why should I be sorry that I have been 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 479 
 
 good, because others are evil? If I have acted right I have 
 done well, though alone; if wrong, the sanction of all 
 mankind would not justify my conduct. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. I tell you, sir, you have not 
 acted right: you have acted very wrong in doing kindness 
 to a parcel of rogues and rascals, who with the tenth part 
 of your understanding have called you fool for serving them ; 
 have privately laughed at you in your prosperity, and will 
 publicly despise you in your adversity—a good-natured man! 
 Oh! ’tis a precious character. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Ha, ha, ha! brother, you yourself are a 
 good-natured man, and don’t know it. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. Why, truly, I have been guilty 
 of some infirmities of that kind, for which I am heartily 
 sorry; I have told a man he deserved to be hanged, when 
 he ought to have been broke on the wheel; and sometimes 
 I pay my tradesmen’s bills in half a year without deduction, 
 when the rascals would gain three per cent. if I paid them 
 in a twelvemonth: I have refused going to law with a man 
 for a debt, only because I knew he could not pay the 
 charges: I have shaken a rogue by the hand, only because 
 it was the fashion ; and have expressed abundance of sorrow 
 for the misfortunes of my acquaintance when they have not 
 given me the least uneasiness; yes, I think, in the main, I 
 am too good-natured truly. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, Sir: George, let the effects this 
 scheme of yours produces upon my children be the test of 
 our principles, 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Content. 
 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. My father! oh, sir, I have heard such 
 news! heaven forbid there should be the least shadow or 
 colour of truth in it. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Why, sure, sir, it can’t surprise 
 you to hear your father is ruined, when you have been 
 endeavouring by a long course of extravagance to bring 
 it about? 
 
480 GHEE FATHERS; Of, 
 
 YouNG Boncour. Sir, I éan ill bear _jesting sommehia 
 subject: if the indulgence of my father has allowed the 
 inadvertency of my youth to bring this misfortune on him, 
 the agonies of all my future days will not sufficiently punish 
 me for it. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. Do you hear that, brother? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. I would not have you take it so 
 much to heart neither, since your own ruin will not be abso- 
 lutely included in your father’s; you have a certain reversion 
 of the estate, by the marriage settlement, upon which you may 
 still raise money for your own subsistence; and I do not 
 suppose you mad enough to give up your right to that in order 
 to enable your father to preserve himself, by cutting off 
 the entail. 
 
 YOUNG BONCoUR. How! is it in my power to preserve 
 him ? 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. Yes, in that way you may, but 
 in no other. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. Send for a lawyer this moment: let 
 him point out the method: if there were no other way my 
 blood should sign the deed. Oh, my father, believe me, I am 
 blest to give you this trifling instance of my duty, of my 
 affection ! . 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My child! Oh, brother, I can scarce 
 support it. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. I’ll this instant to my lawyer; I am 
 impatient till it be done; justice, gratitude, duty to the 
 best of fathers, will not let me rest till- it is accomplished. | 
 
 | [ Bxzt. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Well, Sir George, what think you now ? 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Think! why I think he has 
 smelt out the trick, and has artfully contrived this cheap 
 method of appearing meritorious in your eyes. 
 
 MR. BONCOUR. Oh, brother, that is too severe a censure ; 
 the feeling that he showed, the warmth, the earnestness with 
 which he expressed himself, could never be assumed by 
 one not accustomed to dissemble. | 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Well, if that be the case, all I 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 481 
 
 can say is, that you have damned good luck in having a 
 son whose natural disposition was so good, that all the 
 pains you have taken have not been able to spoil him 
 entirely—-—But who have we here? 
 
 Enter SIR GREGORY KENNEL. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL [entering]. Pshaw! at home 
 indeed! plague on thee; dost think I want to ask whether 
 a man’s at home when I see him at the window? Neighbour 
 Boncour, how fares it ?>——what, Sir George! 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Is it possible! Sir Gregory Kennel in 
 town ! 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That question hath been asked 
 by every one I have seen since I have been here: why 
 should it not be as possible for us country gentlemen to 
 come to town, as for you town gentlemen to come into the 
 country? I don’t know whether you are glad to see us 
 here, but we should be glad to see some of you there a 
 little oftener. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I hope you left all well there, Sir 
 Gregory? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Yes; I left the tenants very 
 well; and they give their humble service to you, would be 
 very glad of your company to spend a little of your money 
 amongst them. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. But how does your family, Sir Gregory ? 
 how does my godson do? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, the squire is very well; I 
 was bringing him to see you; but I taught un to travel, I 
 think, and so, ecod, at the corner of one of the streets, he 
 travelled off, and left me in the lurch: you have no need 
 to be ashamed of your godson, I can tell you; he is a 
 fine gentleman: I suppose you have heard he has made 
 the tour of Europe, as he calls it. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Not I, truly. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. But, pray, Sir George, what do 
 you think is my business in town? 
 
 VOL. X. 3-2 
 
482 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Faith, I can’t tell To sell 
 oxen, I suppose ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. No; not that entirely; though 1 
 have some cattle with me too. Pray guess again. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoncouR. To see my Lord Mayor's show, 
 perhaps? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. No, no; I don’t love shows. 
 Well, then, since you can’t tell, I’ll tell you; to get a good 
 wife for my son; for though the boy hath seen all Europe, 
 till a man hath married his son, he ha’n’t discharged his — 
 duty—then he hath done all in his power. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Ay, ay, his wife will do the 
 rest. 
 
 Enter MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Sir, when you are at leisure, I shall be 
 happy to speak with you. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Presently, my dear. —— Sir . Gregory 
 Kennel——a very old friend of mine——-My daughter, Sir 
 Gregory. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. A brave lass, faith! by your 
 leave, madam; why, that’s well; you are in the right 
 not to be shy to me, for I have had you in my arms 
 before now. 
 
 Mr. BoNcour. And her brother too, Sir Gregory. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ay, so I have, and truly for the 
 matter we were talking of, since I see what I see, I don't 
 care for going any farther ; what say you, neighbour Boncour ? 
 You know my estate, and I know yours, you have seen my 
 son, and I see your daughter; what say you to a match 
 between them ? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My daughter, Sir Gregory, will be the 
 properest person to ask. . 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL, Not at all; what signifies asking a 
 person a question, when you know beforehand what will be 
 the answer; especially when you know that answer to be a 
 false one——No, no, the boy shall ask her, and then they 
 will lie to one another; for if she swears she does not 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 483 
 
 ~ love him, he’ll swear he’ll love her for ever, and that is as 
 good a one. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Sir Gregory, I am sensible of the honour 
 you propose me, but shall neither force nor oppose her 
 inclination. 
 
 Miss Boncour. I find he hath not heard our story. 
 
 [A szde. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, my little Gilliflower, since 
 I am to ask thee, what would it say to a hearty, healthy, 
 good-humoured young dog, that would love thee till thy 
 heart ached ? | 
 
 Miss Boncour. Sir! I don’t understand you. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. O lud, there is a—— 
 
 Miss BoNncour. Hold, sir, no rudeness; when I am 
 properly asked, I shall know how to answer, air 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That is, when she is asked by 
 the young fellow; that, I suppose, is properly asked. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. ’Tis an alliance on no account to 
 be lost——well, Sir Gregory, I hope my niece gave you a 
 satisfactory answer. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. The same answer that a lawyer 
 or physician could give who were attacked without a fee. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. What’s that ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL, That they were not properly 
 asked ; but here will be the proper person himself presently ; 
 he who knows where to find me. 
 
 Mr. BONcourR. In the mean time, Sir Gregory, what say 
 you to a bottle of Burgundy ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. I shall like a bottle of any thing 
 very well, for I have not drank a single drop this whole hour. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am réedy to wait on you. 
 
 SiR GREGORY KENNEL. Wait on me! prythee get out 
 and show me the way; a plague of ceremony, [ Axeunt. 
 
484 THE FATHERS ; OR, 
 
 7. On ae 
 SCENE I.—A Room in OLD VALENCE'S House. 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR and MISS VALENCE. 
 
 Miss VALENCE, And so you have promised to resign 
 your right of inheritance in the estate to your father ? 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. I have, madam. 
 
 MISS VALENCE, Then you have done like a fool; and 
 deserve to be pointed at as such. 
 
 YOUNG BoncouR. How, madam? would you have me 
 insensibly and quietly sit down, and see my father ruined? 
 
 MISS VALENCE. Ay, fifty fathers, rather than part with 
 my prospect of a fortune. 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Does this agree with those professions 
 of filial duty I have heard from Miss Valence? 
 
 MISS VALENCE. Professed ! ha, ha, ha! to my father! when 
 I never dared to do otherwise. I may rather say, this 
 foolish generosity is little of a piece with your frequent 
 professions of disobedience. 1 | 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. Well, no more of this, dear Sophia. 
 Tell me when you will make me happy ? 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I don’t know what you mean—— 
 
 YOUNG BONCOoUR. How! 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Sure, you can’t imagine, when you parted 
 with the right of your estate, but that you parted with your 
 right to your mistress. Do you think I would do so 
 imprudent a thing as marry a beggar? 
 
 YOUNG BONCoUR. Did you not tell me to-day, nay scarce 
 an hour ago, that neither the misfortunes of my father, nor 
 the commands of your own, should prevent our happiness? 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Nor do they. ’Tis your own folly you 
 are to thank; a folly, which had you loved me, you could 
 not have been guilty of——(Besides, I did not know then, 
 that I had a lover at my command.) [A sede, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 485 
 
 YOUNG BONCOUR. Sure my eyes or my ears deceive me! 
 these words cannot come from the generous Miss Valence. 
 
 MisS VALENCE. Indeed, I am as generous as a prudent 
 woman ought to be, or ever will be; I hope you do not 
 expect me to have the romantic ideas of a girl of fifteen, 
 to dream of woods and deserts; you would not have me 
 live in a cottage on love? 
 
 YoOuNG Boncour. I find I have been in an error, the 
 erossest, wildest, and most monstrous of errors; I have 
 thought a woman faithful, just, and generous. 
 
 MIsS VALENCE. Why truly that is a mistake, something 
 extraordinary in so great a man; but if you have any thing 
 of importance, I beg you would communicate it, for my 
 mantua-maker waits for me in the next room, and I expect 
 a lady every moment, to carry me into the city, where I 
 am to give her my judgment on a fan-mount. So, Mr. 
 Boncour, you will excuse me at present, and do me the 
 favour to give my compliments to your sister. 
 
 [Zazt Miss Valence. 
 
 YOUNG BoncourR. [Stands some time silent.| I have been 
 deceived with a vengeance! Thou art indeed another 
 creature than the object of my affection was; where is she 
 then? why, no where. This is the real creature, and the 
 object of my love was the phantom. Vanish then, my love, 
 with that, for how can a building stand, when the foundation 
 is gone! [Haz¢t. Young Boncour, 
 
 SGENEA LT. 
 Enter YOUNG VALENCE azd MISS VALENCE (laughing). 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I assure you, brother, I take it iil of 
 you to overhear my privacies. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Nay, never be ashamed of your merit ; 
 I shall esteem you always for your resolution. I own I 
 scarce believed any woman could so easily have resigned 
 her lover. 
 
486 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 MISS VALENCE. Oh, ’tis a terrible thing for a woman to 
 resign her lover when she is under fifteen, or above fifty ; 
 that is, for a girl to part with what she calls her first love, 
 - or an old woman with what she fears will be her last. But 
 at one-and-twenty, when one has seen a little of the world, 
 the changing of one lover for another is as changing one’s 
 clothes. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Well, since you are so frank with me, 
 I’ll be as communicative with you. My passion for Miss 
 Boncour is a little more ungovernable than yours for her 
 brother ; and since it is inconvenient to have her for a wife, 
 I have eveemined to have her for a mistress. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. And do you think you shall be able to 
 accomplish your point? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Yes, and you will think so too, I 
 believe, when you know all In short, I attacked her this 
 very morning, depreciated marriage with violence, and pressed 
 her with all the eagerness of a man whose appetites were 
 too impatient to endure the tedious ceremony of saying 
 grace before he satisfies them. 
 
 MIss VALENCE. And how did she receive you? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Much better than I expected. How- 
 ever, at last she rallied her spirits, and with some passion 
 commanded me to leave her; I was scarce at home before 
 I received this letter. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Any letter after such a proposal was an 
 acceptance of it. 
 
 [Reads.| “As you cannot wonder at my being a little 
 surprised at what past this morning between us, you will 
 easily be able to account for my behaviour on that occasion. 
 If you desire me to say I am sorry for so peremptorily 
 putting an end to your visit, you may think I have said 
 so. However, I desire to see you this evening punctually at 
 eight, and that you would, if possible, avoid being seen. 
 by any of the family, but yours,” | 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. What are you considering about? 
 
 MISS VALENCE. Only whether it is her hand. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. That I am sure it is. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 457 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Then I am sure you have nothing to do 
 but to keep your appointment. 
 
 Enter OLD VALENCE aud YOUNG KENNEL. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Since you are so very desirous, sir, to see 
 my daughter, I don’t see how I can refuse the son of my 
 good friend Sir Gregory; refusing indeed is not my talent— 
 I own I cannot guess what earnest business you can have 
 with her. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Upon my honour, sir, it is not of any 
 disservice to the young lady, nay, I believe I may trust you 
 with it, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. No, no, no, I will be trusted with nothing. 
 I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing. But 
 pray, young gentleman, are you sure now (I only ask for an 
 impertinent curiosity), are you sure that Sir Gregory can’t 
 cut off the entail of his estate? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Why, if you won't believe, you may ask 
 the lawyers that my tutor consulted about it. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Nay, nay, it is nothing to me, it is no 
 business of mine Oh, here is my daughter. Child, Mr. 
 Kennel, eldest son of Sir Gregory Kennel, desires me to 
 introduce him to your acquaintance—[ They salute|—Well, Mr. 
 Kennel, you must pardon me, I must leave you on business 
 ‘of consequence: Son, you must come along with me,I ask 
 pardon for only leaving my daughter to keep you company. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Sir, I wait on you. 
 
 [Hazt Old Valence axd Young Valence. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, Pray, madam, was you ever at Paris? 
 
 MISS VALENCE. No, sir, I have never been out of my 
 own country. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. That is a great misfortune to you, 
 madam; for I would not give a fig for any thing that had 
 not made the tour of Europe. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I thought, sir, travelling had been a 
 necessary qualification only to you gentlemen. I need not 
 ask, sir, if you have been at Paris. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. No, I hope not, madam; I hope no 
 
488 LHE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 one will imagine these clothes to be the handiwork of any 
 English tailor: Paris, indeed! why, madam, I have made the 
 tour of Europe. 
 
 MIss VALENCE. Upon my word, this is extraordinary 
 in one so young; I suppose, sir, you went abroad very 
 soon after you left school? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. School! ha, ha, ha! why, madam, I 
 was never at school at all; I lived with the old witch my 
 grandmother till I was seventeen, and then my father stole 
 me away from her, and sent me abroad, where I wish I 
 had stayed for ever for, ah! madam—— 
 
 MIss VALENCE. Now he begins (he is just what I would 
 choose for a husband)—— [Aszde. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Can you not read in my eyes that I 
 have lost my heart? 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Avez-vous donc laisser votre coeur a 
 Paris, Monsieur ? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. What the devil is that, madam? 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Don’t you understand French, sir? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, Not a syllable, upon my soul, except 
 an oath or two. 
 
 MIsS VALENCE. I suppose, I say, sir, you have left your 
 heart at Paris? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. No, madam, you cannot suppose that: 
 you saw, you must have seen at the play in what corner of 
 the world my heart was. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I have no time to play the coquette. 
 [Asate.| High-ho! [ Szghs. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ha! sure that sigh betokens pity. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. How do you know you want it? Have 
 you declared your passion? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Not unless my eyes have done it. 
 
 MisS VALENCE, Perhaps she who hath your heart, may 
 have returned you her own? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. That would make me happier than 
 the King of France, the Doge of Venice, or any prince 1 
 have ever seen; but if she hath, sure you must know it, 
 and it is in your power 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 489 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I, sir?—O bless me——My power! 
 ——What have you said? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Oh, take pity of the most unhappy 
 man that ever was at Versailles. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I am so frightened, so confounded 
 Could I have imagined that I had made this impression on 
 your heart! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. No, madam, no, no, no; not you; the 
 other lady that was with you. 
 
 MIss VALENCE. How, sir ! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. I am only soliciting you to let me know 
 where I may find that dear, adorable, divine creature, who 
 was with you at the play the night before last; I lost you 
 both in the crowd by a cursed accident, and by the most 
 fortunate one have met with you once again to direct me 
 to my love. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. Unheard-of impudence——and am I to 
 be a go-between ? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Can you refuse me? 
 
 MisS VALENCE. Refuse you! Go, oaf! Go, find your 
 slut, your trollop, your beggar, for so she is. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Were she the meanest beggar upon 
 earth, could I find her, I should be happy. 
 
 Miss VALENCE. I could tear my fan—my hair—my flesh 
 —TI’ll to my closet, and vent myself in private. 
 
 [Eazt Miss Valence. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Hey-day! what can have put the 
 woman in such a passion ?—But though she won't tell me, 
 now I have found her out, I shall surely find out her 
 acquaintance; I will watch her closely, for I will discover 
 
 my angel, though I make the tour of the whole world after 
 her. Pzaze, 
 
 Rote Xx. 3 R 
 
490 THE FATHERS, OR, 
 
 SCENE III.—Mr. BONcCOUR’S Apartment. 
 Enter MR. BONCOUR and MRS. BONCOUR. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcour. But why kept a secret from me? why 
 am I not worthy to know secrets? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I have given you what should be a 
 satisfactory reason.—I had promised not to tell it you. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. No, to be sure! A wife is not a proper 
 person to be trusted with any thing. 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. You have no reason to arraign my want 
 of confidence in you. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Well then, do tell me the reason why 
 you keep this a secret from me? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. That would be to have no confidence in 
 myself: come,.my dear, leave this vain solicitation; you 
 know I seldom resolve to contradict you in any thing: but 
 when I do,I have never been wheedled, or cried, or bullied 
 out of my resolution. 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. What can I think of this? 
 
 Mr. BONcoUR. Why, you are to think that you owe my 
 condescension to my tenderness, and not my folly. —— Pray, 
 my dear, lay aside this caprice of temper, which may work 
 your own misery, but shall not mine; my gratitude to you 
 will prevent my contributing to your uneasiness, but 
 shall never make the quiet of my own life dependent on 
 any other. 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. It is a pretty compliment, truly, to assure 
 me that your happiness does not depend on me. 
 
 Mr. BoNcourR. I scorn to compliment you, nor did I ever 
 speak to you but from my heart. I challenge you in any 
 one instance of my whole course of behaviour to blaine my 
 conduct, unless you join the world and condemn me for 
 too much easiness of disposition; but I must leave you a 
 little while. 
 
 Mrs. BoNcourR. But I desire you will not leave me. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I am obliged, I am guilty of rudeness 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 491 
 
 every moment I stay. I assure you it is regard to decency 
 only, and not to pleasure, calls me from you. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. Why will you go then? 
 
 Mr. BoNncour. Because I will always do what I think 
 right, without regard to my own pleasure, or that of others. 
 
 Mrs. BONCOUR, You shall stay. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. I will not. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. I will come and disturb your company. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. You would make me miserable, if you 
 did, by forcing me to the last of evils. 
 
 Mrs. Boncour. What is that, pray? 
 
 Mr. Boncour. That of using violence to you. 
 
 [Zazt Mr. Boncour. 
 
 Mrs. BONcouR. What does the man mean? he never 
 uttered any thing like this before! I must turn over a new 
 leaf, and exert more spirit than I have lately done. I will 
 go this instant and break up his company—but suppose he 
 should use violence; he seemed very resolute. Ha! I will 
 not provoke him so far—but the secret I will hear—or—he 
 shall never sleep again, that I am resolved. [| Exct. 
 
 SCENE IV.—Another Room in MR. BONCOUR’S House. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR, SIR GREGORY KENNEL, and 
 Mr. BONCOUR, ascovered drinking. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. Sir Gregory, it is your glass. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Well, and it shall be my glass 
 then — here’s success to the war; and I hope we shall 
 shortly have French pointers in England as plenty as curs. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Well said, Sir Gregory, spoke 
 like a true Englishman. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ay, like an Englishman that 
 will drink, as long as he can stand, for the good of his 
 country.—Odso, here comes my son. 
 
492 sea T LETS. SOR, 
 
 Enter YOUNG KENNEL. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Sir George, this is young Mr. Kennel. 
 [They salute. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoncourRr. Is this your son, Sir Gregory ? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ay, I think so. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoncourR. A hopeful youth, truly. [Aszde. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. So, rascal, how have you the 
 assurance to look me in the face? how have you the 
 impudence to come into my presence, sirrah, after running 
 away from me? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Nay, if you come to that, you ran 
 away from me. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. That’s a lie, and would be a 
 pretty story if it was true, to be outwalked by your father. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Hold there, not so fast, sir; I don't 
 allow you can outwalk me neither. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Don’t you? why then I will see 
 whether I can outdrink you, I believe I can do that yet: 
 Mr. Boncour, let us have a quart glass, for the rascal shall 
 start fair, we won't give him a bottle scope. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. <A quart glass! why, sir, you dont 
 intend to make me drunk? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Yes I do, sir, but I hope a 
 quart won't do it; you are not such a milksop as that. 
 Harkye, sirrah, it is all over, I have done your business for 
 you; this gentleman and I have agreed that he shall be 
 your father-in-law, so nothing remains but for you to see 
 the wench, marry, and to bed, and then down to Dirty 
 Park. 7 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Two words to that bargain, sir, for I 
 am engaged. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Nay, Sir Gregory, then 
 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR, and takes his Father aside. 
 
 YouNG BoNcouR. Sir, I have something to say to you 
 in private from my sister. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 493 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. You are engaged! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Even so, sir. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why then, sir, my estate is 
 engaged too; I will disinherit you, sirrah: I won't leave you 
 money enough to pay the tailor for such another fool’s cover 
 as you have on now. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Do you laugh at me, you dog? 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Only at your disinheriting me; my 
 tutor has let me into that secret. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Oh, ho, he has. I will thank 
 him for that the first time I see him: and in the mean time, 
 sirrah, do as I would have you, or [Lifts up rts stick. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Why, Sir Gregory, do you think 
 this is the way to prevail with your son? it may be a 
 knock-down argument, I grant you, but I am much mistaken 
 if it will ever prove a convincing one. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. If he could disinherit me, as I know 
 he can’t, I will never marry unless it be the woman I love. 
 Nay, don’t shake your stick about, I know a little of 
 quarter-staff as well as you. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Sirrah—I?H—I’1I—— 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. It is almost a pity to hinder 
 these two loggerheads from falling foul of one another. 
 
 Mr. BONcoUR. Gentlemen, I must beg to be excused 
 one moment, I will return to you instantly—Sir George, I 
 wish you would bring the company after us, I have a 
 particular reason for it. 
 
 [#222 Mr. Boncour avd Young Boncour. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcouR. [Zo Sir Gregory.] Come, Sir 
 Gregory, be pacified, you had best try by gentler methods to 
 bring the young gentleman to reason. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Ill bring him by a good cudgel, 
 that’s my reason, odsbodikins, I have sent him a travelling 
 to a fine purpose, truly, to learn to despise his father! 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. You have hit it at last, my good old 
 gentleman. 
 
 Sir GEORGE BONCOUR. Come, Sir Gregory, we will, if 
 
404 THE FATHERS, OR, 
 
 you please, adjourn for a few minutes; you have not seen 
 the house——here are some pictures worth your seeing. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, I like to see pictures well 
 enough, if they are handsome ones. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. They may do well enough for you, 
 but I am convinced they must be sad trash to a man that 
 has seen Italy. [ Lveunt. 
 
 SCENE V.—Another Apartment. 
 YOUNG VALENCE azd MISS BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. I will outwit my father, I will plunder 
 him of every thing he has, to keep you in affluence equal 
 to your desire. 
 
 Miss Boncour. And do you intend literally to make 
 me your mistress ? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. I intend to make you happy, and 
 myself with you; be assured, if love, if wealth, can make 
 you happy, thou shalt be so. | 
 
 Miss BoNcour. No, there is something in that word 
 mistress, which I don’t like. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. A groundless prejudice——cannot we 
 join ourselves, without the leave or assistance of a priest? 
 are we more capable of transferring raptures to each other’s 
 bosoms by a few cant words which he pronounces? Where 
 is the difference then of our being one another’s, with 
 marriage or without it? 
 
 Miss BONCOUR. Yes, as to me, it differs a little. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. How, my dearest creature? 
 
 Miss Boncour. I shall be infamous this way, that’s all. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. A false opinion of the world, unworthy 
 your regard; our happiness is precarious, indeed, if it is to 
 be blown up and down by the inconstant changeable breath 
 of mankind. 
 
 Miss Boncour. It seems strange to me, however, that a 
 man would make the creature he loves infamous. Could 
 I ever have thought I should have brought infamy on 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 495 
 
 myself by that tender passion for you, which I now frankly 
 own? Can you endeavour to make use of the sincerest, 
 honestest, and tenderest affection, to the ruin of her who 
 bears it to you? I need not tell you how willingly I 
 would have sacrificed my all,——how eagerly I would have 
 done or suffered any thing for you; and would you sacrifice 
 my eternal quiet, my spotless fame, my unguarded innocence, 
 to the satisfaction of an appetite which every common 
 prostitute may serve? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Every moment I see you, every word 
 you utter, adds new fuel to my flame. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Think of the injury you do me, and the 
 least drop of humanity will cool the hottest passion. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Think of the bliss I am to enjoy. 
 
 Miss Boncour. And would you enjoy it to my ruin? 
 Oh, consider those tedious miserable hours which I must 
 suffer for the momentary bliss you will possess! behold me 
 abandoned by my father, deserted by my relations, denied 
 by my acquaintance, shunned, slighted, scorned by all the 
 world! see me in the horrors of this state, and think ’twas 
 you who brought me to it; ‘twas you who plunged me into 
 this scene of misery, that creature who would not, to have 
 gained the treasures of the world, have done an act to 
 destroy your quiet; consider this and answer me, could you 
 enjoy any happiness at the price of my eternal ruin? 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Oh, can you ask it? let us not think 
 beyond the present moment. 
 
 Miss BONCoUR. Hold——thou lowest, meanest, and most 
 abject villain, think not this trial was made to recover your 
 love: Oh, no! this morning I saw,—I despised, the baseness 
 of your heart, and bore your hated presence those few 
 moments but to expose you. Open the door! 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Ha! damnation! 
 
 Enter Mr. BONCOUR, OLD VALENCE, and the rest. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Oh, monstrous! Nothing but my own ears 
 could have made me give credit to it: you will outwit your 
 
496 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 father, sir; your father will outwit you of every farthing, I 
 can tell you; I’ll disinherit you this afternoon, and turn 
 you out like a vagabond as you are. 
 
 YOUNG VALENCE. Death and despair! I’m ruined for 
 ever, [Zac¢ Young Valence. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Not one penny, not one single farthing 
 shall he ever have of mine. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My daughter, my dear child! as much 
 now the object of my admiration, as this morning of 
 my love. 
 
 Miss Boncotur. Thou best of men, it shall be the 
 business of my future days to be your comfort only. 
 
 Enter SIR GEORGE BONCOUR, SIR GREGORY KENNEL, and 
 YOUNG KENNEL. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. You are a civil man, indeed, 
 neighbour, to leave one in your own house——What! do 
 you grudge your wine? 
 
 Mr. BoNcouR. You'll pardon me, Sir Gregory, I had a 
 little business ; besides, I am not able to drink, and my 
 brother there is your match. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. As to the business, that’s a lie, 
 I believe; and if you can’t drink, what a plague are you 
 good for: but come, is this my god-daughter? Here, sirrah, 
 where are you? this is the lady you are to have: come, let 
 one see you fall to making love: let us see a little of the 
 fruits of your travels. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Sir, I am so surprised! nor know I 
 whether to thank you or fortune. 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. I know you had rather thank 
 anybody than your father, you rascal; but this is the lady 
 whom I found out for you, you dog. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. And this is the lady for whom alone 
 I refused to be obedient, not knowing who your choice 
 was. | 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Ha! what’s that, what’s that? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 497 
 
 Miss BoNcour. With your leave, I would be excused 
 at present, sir. | 
 
 Mr. Boncour. No, no, my dear, pray stay, do not 
 disoblige Sir Gregory; you may trust me, that I shall not 
 force your inclinations. : 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Come, begin, sirrah, begin. 
 
 Enter YOUNG BONCOUR. 
 
 YOUNG BoNcouR. Sir, Mr. Recorder, your lawyer, is in 
 the next room, and waits to execute the deed. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. My heart, my eyes overflow with tender- 
 ness, for so much goodness; sure ’tis a sensation almost 
 worthy to be bought with ruin: but, oh! what happiness 
 must be mine, who, while I hear these instances of my 
 children’s goodness, can assure them my fortune wants not 
 so dear a reparation. The story was your uncle’s invention ; 
 the reason for it I will tell you anon: no, my son, though 
 perhaps I may not much increase, I shall be at least a 
 faithful steward of my wife’s fortune to her children. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. How, Mr. Boncour! is this possible ? 
 
 Mr. BONcourR. It is true, indeed, neighbour. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. Indeed, neighbour, I am very glad of it; 
 and what, was this only a jest of Sir George’s? 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. Even so. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I am extremely happy in hearing it, 
 and will, if you please, make this a memorable era in the 
 happiness of our children. I speak not of my son, I will 
 abandon him, and give all I am worth to my daughter, and 
 give that daughter to your son. 
 
 YOUNG Boncour. You will pardon me, Mr. Valence ; 
 but, had I been reduced to the lowest degree of distress, I 
 would not have accepted of your daughter with any fortune 
 she could have brought. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. How, sir! 
 
 YouNG Boncour. She will, if she relate to you faithfully 
 her behaviour to me this day, lessen your surprise at what 
 I say. 
 
 mol? x. 358 
 
498 THE FATHERS; OR, 
 
 OLD VALENCE. I will go home, turn my daughter out 
 of doors, disinherit my son, give my estate to build an 
 hospital, and then hang myself up at the next charitable 
 tree Iscan find. 
 
 Str GEORGE Boncour. Mr. Valence, Mr. Valence! I 
 have spoke to my brother about that estate that lies so 
 contiguous to yours, and when it is to be sold, you shall 
 certainly have the refusal of it. 
 
 OLD VALENCE. What, am I mocked, scoffed? Ah! 
 zounds! I shall run mad. [Eat Valence. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. Madam, I have seen a great deal of 
 the world; but all the women I have seen, are no more 
 comparable to you than the smallest chapel in London is 
 to the church of Notre Dame. 
 
 Miss Boncour. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. [7o Mr. Boncour.] Why should 
 there go so many words to a bargain: let us have the 
 wedding directly. 
 
 SIR GEORGE Boncour. Wedding directly! what, do you 
 think you are coupling some of your animals in the country? 
 Do you think that a union of bodies is all that is requisite 
 in a state, wherein there can be no happiness without a 
 union of minds too? Go, and redeem past time: your son 
 is not yet too old to learn: employ some able man to 
 cultivate the share of understanding that nature gave him; 
 to weed out all the follies and fopperies that he has picked 
 up in the tour of Europe, as he calls it: then, when he 
 appears to be a rational creature, and not till then, let him 
 pay his addresses to my niece. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL. So, then, I find I am not alvationa: 
 creature! and faith, I begin to think so myself. And whose 
 fault was that, father, but yours, that did not give me a 
 rational education? 
 
 SIR GREGORY KENNEL. Why, you dog, I gave you the 
 same education I had myself: would you have had a better 
 education than your father, sirrah? But did not I send 
 you, besides, to travel, to finish your education? and when 
 an education is finished, is not that enough? what signifies 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 499 
 
 what the beginning was? But never fear them, Greg; with 
 such an education as I had, I got twenty thousand pounds 
 with my wife; and you who have travelled may, I think, 
 expect more. Never fear ’em, boy, the acres, the acres will 
 do the business, 
 
 SIR GEORGE BoNcoUR. There you may find yourself 
 mistaken ; for I have some dirty acres to add to my niece’s 
 fortune that may chance to weigh against your scale. Her 
 behaviour this day has pleased me: and I never will consent 
 to see her wedded to any one, who has not understanding 
 enough to know her value. 
 
 YOUNG KENNEL, Oh! heavens! I'll do any thing to 
 mend my understanding rather than lose the only woman I 
 can love; and though I have hated books as I do the devil, 
 if that be the only way to improve it, I’ll pore my eyes 
 out rather than lose her. 
 
 Mr. Boncour. Why, this must be a work of time; and 
 whenever you render yourself worthy of her, you may have 
 a chance to succeed. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, my lady has sent me to acquaint your 
 honour, that supper is on the table. 
 
 Mr. BONCOUR. We will attend her. [Haz Servant. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Well, brother, I think you begin 
 to find already the good effects of my advice to you: your 
 wife, you see, civilly sends in, instead of rushing herself into 
 company with the scream of, “Why must not I be let into 
 Seesecret? ~ 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Sir George, I thank you; and am now 
 convinced, that a little exertion of a proper authority on 
 my part will soon make my wife act like a _ rational 
 woman. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. Well, George, your behaviour 
 this day has, I confess, wiped away some part of the very bad 
 opinion I had of you; and if you will cast off your follies; 
 and turn away your wench, I have a wife in view for you, 
 
500 THE FATHERS; OR, THE GOOD-NATURED MAN 
 
 the same that your father intended to propose, who will 
 make you amends for the one you have lost: and in that 
 case, to make you more worthy of her, I don’t care if I 
 settle the best part of my estate on you. 
 
 YouNnG Boncour. Sir, I know that professions, on such 
 occasions, often pass only for words of course; but you 
 will see, by a total reformation of my past conduct, that 
 the whole study of my life hereafter shall be to please so 
 generous an uncle, and so good a father. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. What a variety of strange events 
 has this day produced! I can’t help thinking, that they 
 might furnish out a good subject for a comedy. 
 
 Mr. BONcouR. Only a catastrophe would be wanting ; 
 because you know it is a constant rule, that comedies should 
 end in a marriage. 
 
 SIR GEORGE BONCOUR. That’s true; but if the performer, 
 who is to represent your character, should only step forward 
 at the end, and make a smooth speech or so, an English 
 audience is generally so good-natured, that they would pass 
 over that, and all the other faults that might be in the piece, 
 for the sake of the GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
Ve SOX GAGA ey 
 
 WRITTEN BY MR. GARRICK, SPOKEN BY MISS YOUNG. 
 
 PROLOGUES and Epilogues—to speak the phrase 
 
 Which suits the warlike spirit of these days—— 
 
 Are cannon charged, or should be charged, with wit, 
 
 Which, pointed well, each rising folly hit ; 
 
 By a late General who commanded here, 
 
 And fought our bloodless battles many a year! 
 
 ’Mongst other favours were conferred on me, 
 
 He made me Captain of Artillery }—-— 
 
 At various follies many guns I fired, 
 
 Hit ’em point-blank, and thought the foe retired,— 
 
 But vainly thought—for to my great surprise, 
 
 They now are rank and file before my eyes! 
 
 Nay, to retreat may even me oblige ;—— 
 
 The works of Folly stand the longest siege! 
 
 With what brisk firing, and what thunder-claps, 
 
 Did I attack those high-built castle—caps ! 
 
 But towering still, they swell in lofty state, 
 
 Nor strike one riband to capitulate ;— 
 
 Whilst beaus behind, thus peeping, and thus bent, 
 
 Are the besieged, behind the battlement : 
 
 But you are conquerors, ladies have no dread, 
 
 Henceforth in peace enjoy the cloud-capped head! 
 _ We scorn to ape the French, their tricks give o’er, 
 
 Nor at your rigging fire one cannon more! 
 
 And now ye Bucks and Bucklings of the age, 
 
 Though caps are clear, your hats shall feel my rage; 
 
502 mPILOGUE 
 
 The high-cocked, half-cocked quaker, and the slouch, 
 Have at ye all!—I’ll hit you, though ye crouch. 
 
 We read in history—one William Tell, 
 
 An honest Swiss, with arrow shot so well, 
 
 On his son’s head, he aimed with so much care, 
 
 He’d hit an apple, and not touch one hair: 
 
 So I, with such-like skill, but much less pain, 
 
 Will strike your hats off, and not touch ycur brain: 
 
 To curse our head-dress! an’t you pretty fellows! 
 
 Pray who can see through your broad-brimmed umbrellas? 
 That pent-house worn by slim Sir Dainty Dandle 
 Seems to extinguish a poor farthing candle— 
 
 We look his body through—But what fair she 
 
 Through the broad cloud that’s round his head can see? 
 Time was, when Britons to the boxes came 
 
 Quite spruce, and chapeau bas! addressed each dame. 
 Now in flapt hats and dirty boots they come, 
 
 Look knowing thus—to every female dumb ; 
 
 But roar out—Hey, Jack! So, Will! You there, Tom? 
 Both sides have errors, that there’s no concealing ; 
 We’d lower our heads, had but men’s hearts some feeling. 
 Valence, my spark, played off his modish airs, 
 
 But nature gave us wit to cope with theirs; 
 
 Our sex have some small faults won't bear defending, 
 And though near perfect, want a little mending ; 
 
 Let Love step forth, and claim from both allegiance, 
 And bring back caps and hats to due obedience. 
 
GENERAL CONTENTS, 
 
 VoLuME I. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAY. 
 
 THE HISTORY |OF TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 
 Boors. I-To: VIET, 
 
 VoLuME II, 
 
 2H HISTORY OF TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 
 Books IX. To XVIII. 
 
 VouLuME III. 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 VouLuME IV. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH 
 ANDREWS. 
 
 A JOURNEY FROM THIS: WORLD. TO THE NEXT, .&c. 
 
504 GENERAL CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME V., 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE LIFE OF THE LATE MR: JONA GR 
 WILD. 
 
 ARTICLES IN THE CHAMPION. 
 
 VoLuME VI. 
 
 THE COVENT-GARDEN JOURNAL. THE TRUE PATRIOT. 
 THE JACOBITE’S JOURNAL. 
 PHILOSOPHICAL TRANSACTIONS. 
 
 OF THE REMEDY OF AFFLICTION FCR THE *LOSSsO8 
 OUR FRIENDS. 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND 
 DIOGENES THE, CYNIC: 
 
 AN INTERLUDE BETWEEN JUPITER, JUNO, APOLLOD AND 
 MERCURY? 
 
 AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION. 
 
 AN ESSAY ON THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE CHARACTERS 
 OF MEN. 
 
 AN ESSAY ON NOTHING. 
 A CLEAR STATE OF THE. CASE OF ELIZABETH CANNING, 
 
 A TRUE STATE OF THE CASE OF BOSAVERN PENTGZ 
 
GENERAL CONTENTS 505 
 
 VoLuME VII. 
 A VOYAGE TO LISBON. A CHARGE TO THE GRAND JURY. 
 
 AN INQUIRY INTO THE CAUSES OF THE LATE’ INCREASE 
 OF ROBBERS, &c. 
 
 THE PREFACE TO: DAVID SIMPLE. 
 THE PREFACE TO THE FAMILIAR LETTERS, &c. 
 
 A FRAGMENT OF A COMMENT ON LORD BOLINGBROKE’S 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 THE FIRSLT/OLYNTHIAC OF DEMOSTHENES. 
 MISCELLANIES AND POEMS. 
 
 JUVENAL’S SIXTH SATIRE MODERNISED IN BURLESQUE 
 VERSE. 
 
 VotumeE VIII. 
 LOVE IN SEVERAL MASQUES. THE TEMPLE BEAU. 
 THE AUTHOR’S FARCE. 
 
 RAPE UPON RAPE; OR, THE JUSTICE CAUGHT IN 
 HIS OWN TRAP. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES; OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH 
 OF TOM THUMB THE GREAT. 
 
 THE LETTER WRITERS; OR, A NEW WAY TO KEEP 
 A WIFE AT HOME. 
 
 THE LOTTERY. 
 “idee ar 
 
506 GENERAL CONTENTS 
 
 VoLuME IX. 
 THE GRUB STREET OPERA. THE MODERN HUSBAND. 
 THE COVENT GARDEN TRAGEDY. 
 THE DEBAUCHEES; OR, THE JESUIT CAUGHT. 
 THE MOCK DOCTOR; OR, THE DUMB LADY CURED. 
 THE MISER. THE INTRIGUING CHAMBERMAID. 
 
 DON QUIXOTE IN ENGLAND. 
 
 VOLUME X. 
 
 AN OLD MAN TAUGHT WISDOM; OR, THE VIRGIN 
 UNMASKED. 
 
 THE UNIVERSAL GALLANT; OR, THE DIFFERENT 
 HUSBANDS. 
 
 PASQUIN. 
 THE HISTORICAL REGISTER FOR THE YEAR 1736. 
 EURYDICE. 
 EURYDICE HISSED; OR, A WORD TO THE WISE. 
 TUMBLE-DOWN DICK; OR, PHATON IN THE SUDS. 
 MISS LUCY IN TOWN. THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 THE FATHERS ; OR, THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
LONDON: 
 R. Cray, Sons, anp TayLor, 
 BREAD STREET HILI., | 
 
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