H3r

Who’s the Dupe?

A Farce

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This Farce has been constantly before the Public
since its first appearance in 17791779 at Drury Lane. It
suggested itself to the Author’s mind on reading a passage
in which a sneer at the Inferiority of Women was
carried to excess.

As a general Satire on mere Pedantry it is a jeu
d’esprit
of a high order; in which, whilst the author
indulges in a Woman’s lively laugh at the mere plod
of Learning in the Character of Gradus, she gives,
in old Doiley, quite as vivid a reverse picture of
disgusting vulgarity in an upstart citizen, from a total
want of it. The piece disclaims the more exact attention
to Probability which a regular play demands, and
is, what a Farce ought to be, but a relaxation for the
mind that seeks it.

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Prologue.

In days of yore lived doughty Knights,

Enchanters, Squires, and valiant Wights,

Scamp’ring o’er Mountains, Seas, and Land,

Prompt, at their haughty Fair’s Command.

Castles were razed, and Giants killed,

Volcanoes sunk, or Rivers filled.

No Slanderer dared stalk the Earth,

No faithless Lover turned to Mirth

The oaths that fondly once he swore—

Is he inconstant?—he’s no more!

Rare times were these! Yet some there were

Who, even then, against the Fair,

Fearless of Conj’rer, Squire, or Knight,

Could show their teeth, and vent their spite.

These were your Learned Men—your Writers,

Whom no Age ever marked for Fighters;

But war with Women they could wage,

And fill their bold satiric page

With petty foibles—Ladies’ faults,

Who still endure their rude Assaults.

For even now it is the way,

In this our polished modern day,

On female follies to be witty,

From the Court Beauty to the City.

Those who cant rhyme, in weighty prose

Their whims and vanity expose.

In Epigrams Sir Wilting’s err Folio

Makes of the Sex a perfect Olio,

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Of Noise Caprice and Pride composed,

To every thing outrê disposed,

Whilst Cards, and Dress, and studied airs

More than good Housewifery or Prayers

Engross their time, their hearts, their cares.

Thus have they borne, from distant Ages,

The lash of Wit, the frown of sages;

Why then ’tis fair One Hour to give,

’Tis all she asks, a Woman leave

To laugh at those same learned men!

The Gall of whose sarcastic pen

’Gainst youth and beauty is supplied

Nor spares the Matron Maid or Bride.

Students! if you from musty Halls,

And the chill gloom of College walls,

To bask in pleasure’s tempting ray,

Have, Phaeton like, obtained a day,

And, throned in yonder circle, sit

Deciding on the claims of Wit,

Think not that You our author means

To rally in her farcic Scenes;

A Pedant she has dared to scan

From Alma Mater spick and span,

And You, for Laughter on the beat,

Will roasted Square-Caps deem a treat!

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Characters.

Men.

Doiley. Mr. Parsons.

Gradus. Mr. King.

Granger. Mr. Palmer.

Sandford. Mr. Aikin.

Women.

Miss Doiley. Mrs. Brereton.

Charlotte. Mrs. Wrighten.

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Who’s the Dupe?
A Farce.

Act the First.

Scene I.

The Park. Flower Girls, and several persons, passing.

First Girl.

I vow I ha’n’t had a Customer to day!
Summer is coming, and we shall be ruined. When
flowers come plenty and cheap—nobody will buy
’em.

2d. Girl.

Aye, very true—people talks of Summer!
for my part, give me Winter. In a hard Frost, or
a deep Snow, who’s dress’d without Flowers with
Furs?—Here’s one of the Captains— Enter Sandford.
Flowers Sir?

Sand.

I have no Silver.

2d. Girl.

Bless your Honor! I’ll take Gold.

Sand.

Indeed! H6v 108

2d. Girl.

Here’s Hyacinths, and a sprig of Myrtle.

Sand.

I’d rather have Roses. How much will
you take for these? Pinching her cheek. Will you
warrant them?

2d. Girl.

Oh Sir, they must be taken—“for better
for worse”
—according to Law, if taken at all. Enter Granger.

Sand.

Ah! Granger by all that’s fortunate! I dispatched
a Letter for you last night into Devonshire,
to hasten your return.

Grang.

Then your letter carriers and I jostled
each other, near one this morning, the other side
Hounslow. My Postilion—nodding I suppose in
his dreams at some Greasalinda—ran against the
Mail and tore off my hind wheel. I was forced to
mount a one-eyed hack, and with such curious equipage
arrived at three this morning.

Sand.

But, how has the negociation with your Brother
ended? Will he put you into a situation to—

Grang.

“Yes, to take a Heat with the Gentoos.
He’ll speak to Sir Jacob Jaghire to get me a Commission
in the East Indies—and mimicking every
body grows rich there—and you are a Soldier already
—you can fight!”

Sand.

Well, what answer did you give?

Grang.

“Yes, I can fight, but I can’t grow rich
there upon the mere smell of Gunpowder. Your
true East India Soldier is a Variety of the Genus of
those that strewed Minden with Frenchmen.—With
Capital to trade with, he must have as great fecundity
of Character as a Dutch Burgomaster. Whilst
his Sword is in his hand—his Pen must be in his Cockade;
he must be as expert at Fractions, as at Assaults.
To day cutting down ranks of soft beings
just risen from their embroidery—tomorrow casting
up pepper and beetle nut; this hour, a Son of Mars H7r 109
—heaping up the slain; the next, an Auctioneer—
knocking down chintz to the best bidder!”

Sand.

And thus your negociation ended.

Grang.

Oh, I had to listen to a very wise dissertation
about running out, as he calls it,—“Five
thousand! mimicking—enough for any younger son
—but the Prodigal.”
Really I can’t see how I could
help it. Jack Spiller to be sure had twelve hundred;
the fellow was honest, and would have paid, but he
married a Fine Lady—so died Insolvent. It was
not the only accident, of the kind, that occurred to
me—the purchase of my Captaincy too—the necessary
expences in my last Campaign—and the Distresses
of my fellow soldiers, have swallowed the
rest.

Sand.

Poor Granger! So, with a Spirit to do Honour
to Five Thousand a Year—thou art not now
worth five shillings!

Grang.

C’est vrai. Should the affair with my dear
Miss Doiley be cross’d— I am the most undone dog
on Earth!

Sand.

What then, under all circumstances—to a
Friend I suppose you will frankly confess—that her
Fortune is nearly as much your object as Herself.

Grang.

Why look ye Sandford—I am not one of
those sighing milksops who could live in a Cottage on
Love, or sit contentedly under a hedge and help my
wife to knit stockings; but, on the word of a Soldier!
I would rather marry Elizabeth Doiley with
Twenty, than any other woman on earth with a
hundred, Thousand.

Sand.

And the woman must be very unreasonable
who would not be satisfied with such a distinction.
But Elizabeth’s Father, as my Letter would have informed
you, has taken the Liberty to chuse a Son-inLaw
—without your Permission!

Grang.

Ah! a Lover! That then is the Secret she
hinted, and that brought me so hastily to Town;—
who—what—is he? H7v 110

Sand.

Why—every thing that you are not!

Grang.

Pshaw!—such a mixture of jest and earnest
puzzles.

Sand.

Why—that he should be your Contrast, and
yet not succeed with the Lady, is rather a puzzler to
be sure! However, since they became my Neighbours
in Surrey, I am in the Secrets of the whole
family, and, for your sake, have cultivated an intimacy
with Abraham DoileyCitizen and SlopSeller!
In a word, the Father consults me, the
Daughter complains to me, and the Cousin romps
with me—can my Importance be encreased?

Grang.

My dear Sandford—the Lover!

Sand.

My dear Granger! the sum total is this:
Old Doiley, himself bred in a Public Seminary, but
that being unfortunately only a common parish
Charity School, is determined to have a man of downright
Larning for his Son. This Caprice makes him
regardless of Fortune; but, Elizabeth’s husband
must have Latin at his finger’s ends, and be able to
teach his Grandsons to sputter in Greek. So one
Gradus is invited from Oxford, will arrive in Town
this Evening, and is to have his first Interview tomorrow.

Grang.

Oh! I’ll re-study my Greek, or write Odes
in Chaldee, if that will content him—but, may I
perish if all the Pedants in England, with the Universities
to back them, shall rob me of my Elizabeth!
See here producing a Letter an invitation from her
own dear hand! This morning, this very hour—in
a moment! I shall be at her feet. Go with me down
the Park they go off, arm in arm—oh, quicker, I
cry you mercy! we must not walk, but fly!

Exeunt.
H8r 111

Scene II.

An apartment at Mr. Doiley’s. Mr. and Miss Doiley at Breakfast.

Doil.

Here take away—take away. Remember
we’re not at home to nobody but Mr. Gradus.

Serv.

The formal gentleman that was here last
night, Sir?

Doil.

Yes! snappishly. the Gentleman that was
here last night. Exit Servant. What, I see you
are determined for to have poor Gradus’s heart
Elizabeth! I never saw you so tricked out in a Morning
before. But he isn’t none of your Chaps that’s
to be catch’d with Knots and Gew-gaws—no, no!
You must mind your P’s and your Q’s with him I
can tell you. Miss Doiley laughs—And, pray now,
dont laugh when he’s with you. Betty, my Love,
you’ve a confounding knack at laughing; and there’s
nothing so galling, to a man who studies to be wise,
as a great Laugher.

Miss D.

Oh!—the very Idea of him is as reviving
as burnt feathers in hysterics! laughs I wish I had
seen him last night, with the undisturbed rough rust
of Oxford upon him! he must have been the greatest
provocative to mirth—

Doil.

How! What! a provokive to mirth! why,
Hussey! he was recommended to me as a most desirable
match by an antiquated Doctor of the Royal
Society. He has finished his Larning some time—
and they wanted him to go and drink, and hunt, in
Shropshire—not he—he sticks to Al-Mater; and the
College-Heads have been wisely laid together, many
a time, to know whether he shall be a great Judge—
a larned Physician—or a Civility Doctor—

Miss D.

Nay then Sir—after all this, laughing will
be irresistible! H8v 112

Doil.

Dont put me in a Passion, Betty!—dont go
for to put me in a Passion. What—would you have
a man with an etarnal bright Grin upon his face, like
the head of a brass knocker—and hopping and skipping
about, like a dutch doll with quicksilver in its
heels? If you must have a husband of that sort, so
be it—so be it—none of my Silver nor Gold for him!

Miss D.

Surely, Sir, a man, instead of moving as
if cut in Wood, and speaking, as though he delivered
his words by tale, should have Manners—and—

Doil.

May be—may be; but your man of Manners
is not fit for old Doiley’s Son! What! shall I go for
to give the labour of forty years to some young Jackanapes,
who’ll come into the room with a Dancingschool
step—and prate of his Grandfather Sir Thomas,
his Great-Grand-father the General, and his GreatGreat-Great-Grandfather
—merely because I cant
very well tell whether I ever had one or no?

Miss D.

I hope Sir that such a Man could never
engage my—

Doil.

Pshaw! Pshaw! You cant pretend to judge
—they are all—all—Hypocrites and Deceivers!

Miss D.

What then perhaps Mr. Gradus

Doil.

Oh—He! He’s very different from your men
of Manners I assure you!—the most extraordinary
youth that was ever turned out of his College.
None of your randans—up all night drinking—no, in
his room, poring, and reading, and studying.—Oh,
the Joy that I shall have in hearing him talk!—I do
love Larning! Oh Betty— I was grieved—grieved
to the Soul, when thou wert born—I had set my
Heart upon a Boy! If thou’d’st been a Boy, thou
should’st have had Greek, and Algebray, and Jometry,
enough for an Archbishop!

Miss D.

I am very sorry—Sir—

Doil.

No, no—dont be sorry—be obedient, and
all will be as it should be. You know I doat on you,
you young Hussey.—Didn’t I leave Eastcheap for
Westminster on purpose to please you? Hav’n’t I I1r 113
carried you to Bath, to Brimmigem, and to the Camp,
and all the genteel places? I never grudge you no
expense, not no pleasure whatsomever.

Miss D.

Indeed, Sir, you are most indulgent—

Doil.

Yes—but then I dont like to be thwarted!
—dont go for to thwart me, that’s all. Since you
came into the world, and disappointed your Father
of a Son to study Larning—’tis your duty to give
him a larned Son-in-Law to make up his loss. Enter Charlotte.

Char.

Elizabeth!—Mrs. Taffety, the Mantua Maker,
I was desired to tell you, is in your sitting room.

Doil.

Then send her away.—She hasn’t no time
now for Mrs. Taffety.

Miss D.

Aye, send her away Cousin Charlotte
what does she want? I didn’t send for her!

Char.

Apart

Nonsense!—’tis the Captain.

Miss D.

Oh! Yes—I—aye—perhaps she has
brought the painted Lutestring!

Doil.

Bid her come again tomorrow, I say!

Char.

Oh dear Sir—such Mantua Makers as Mrs.
Taffety
, wont wait half a dozen times upon people.
Why Sir—she comes to her customers in a Chair of
her own; and her footman beats a Tattoo at the
door, as if she was a Countess.

Doil.

A Mantua-Maker, with her Footman and
Chair!—I should as soon have expected a Dutchess
in a wheel-barrow!

Miss D.

Pray, Sir, allow me just to step to my
room—I’d give the World were you as much charmed
with the call as I am!

Doil.

Coaxing Slut! Exeunt Miss D. and Charlotte.
Where the dickens can Gradus be?—Well,
good fortune never comes in a hurry.—If I’d pitch’d
upon your man of Manners, he’d by this time have
sipt his Jocklate, kiss’d Elizabeth’s fingers, hopped
into his carriage, and away to his cronies, to divert Vol. I. I I1v 114
them with Caratures of the Old Fellow and his
Daughter! Before I’d give my Gains to one of these
Puppies, I’d spend them all in building hospitals, for
lazy lacquies, and decayed beaus.

Scene III.

Another apartment. Miss Doiley and Granger.

Miss D.

A Truce to Compliments! Perhaps I
am too much inclined to believe all you can swear.
But this must be a moment of business—to secure
me to yourself, are you willing to enter into Schemes
that—

Grang.

Oh!—I’ll have a chaise at the Park Gate
in five minutes! and, we’ll be in Scotland, my Elizabeth,
before your new Lover has determined on the
Stile of his first Address to you.

Miss D.

Pho, Pho! you’re a mere bungler at contrivances;
if you’ll be guided by me, my Father
shall give me to you at St. James’s church, in the
face of the World.

Grang.

Indeed!

Miss D.

Indeed.

Grang.

I fear to trust to it my Angel. Beauty
can work miracles with all mankind, except an obstinate
father.

Miss D.

You must work the miracle. I have
settled the whole Scheme with my Cousin, who has
Understanding and Wit—all I expect in you archly
is Obedience.

Grang.

You Rogue! But, my Lesson—my Lesson!

Miss D.

Why luckily, you know my father has
never seen you—he left Bath before you had the
sauciness— I2r 115 Enter Charlotte—with two bundles.

Char.

There!—you’re finely caught! Your Father
and Mr. Gradus are actually upon the stairs.

Grang.

Destruction!—put me into a closet.

Miss D.

Oh!—there is none—I shall faint with
Terror!

Grang.

No cloths-press? No back stairs?

Char.

Neither, neither—But here—I am your
guardian angel untying one of the bundles. As they
suppose Mrs. Taffety is here, without ceremony on
with this Pellice and Handkerchief.—Speak broken
english and, my life on it, you’ll pass muster with my
Uncle.

Grang.

What! make a woman of me—by Jupiter

Char.

Lay your Commands on him. If he does
not submit we are ruined!

Miss D.

Oh—you shall! I insist upon it—here—
I’ll hide him in his close Bonnet and Veil. puts
them on.

Doil.

without

This way Mr. Gradus—come this
way—we’ll take her by Surprise—least preparation
the best rattling the door Open the door!

Miss D.

Presently, Sir.

Doil.

rapping

Why the dickens are you so long?
—open the door!

Char.

In a moment; I’m only pinning on a Dress.
You hurry so—you have made me scratch my finger!
—Good Woman, here is your work in the other
bundle.—There, now you may enter. Exit Charlotte. Enter Doiley with Gradus, in a dingy
black formal square-cut dress, his Hair
dressed in an extremely old fashioned
manner. Granger remains quiet, at the
back of the stage, arranging his bundle.

Doil.

Oh—only my Daughter’s Mantua-Maker. I2 I2v 116
Here is that Mr. Gradus, Elizabeth, I talked to you
about. Bless me—I hope you a’n’t ill—you look as
white as a Candle.

Miss D.

No, Sir,—not ill—but this person has
made my dress out of all Shape I believe! looking at
Granger.

Doil.

Why then make her pay for it, d’ye hear?
It’s my belief if she was to pay for all she spoils,
she’d soon drop her Chair and trudge a-foot. Mr.
Gradus
—beg pardon—this is my Daughter—dont
think the worse of her because you see her a little
dash’d or so.

Gradus.

With the most solemn gravity.

Bashfulness,
Mr. Doiley, is the robe of Modesty; and Modesty,
as hath been well observed, is a Sunbeam to a Diamond
—giving force to its beauty, and exalting its Lustre.

Doil.

He was a deep one, I warrant him, that said
that—I remember something like it in the Wisdom
of Solomon. Come, speak to Elizabeth there; I see,
she’s so fluster’d, she wont till you’ve broke the ice.

Grad.

Madam—bows —hem—h-r-r-m. Permit me
this honour—hem! Believe me Lady slowly and
solemnly
more satisfaction I have in beholding you,
than I should have in conversing with Grævius and
Gronovius. I had rather possess your approbation
than that of the Elder Scaliger; and this apartment
is more precious to me—than was the Lyceum Portico
to the most zealous of the Peripatetics!

Doil.

Aside.

There! Shew me a man of Manners
who could talk so.

Grang.

Advances speaking in a shrill tone

Pardie,
Madame! Is dis de Gentilhomme on whose account
you vil vant Bride-cloaths? Vy, he speak like von
Dictionaire Maker, and look like von Physicienne!

Doil.

Hold your tongue Mrs. Skain-of-Silk! What
the dickens—dont you mend nor make here.—Why
dont you pack her off! to Miss D.

Miss D.

Make haste, Mrs. Taffety;—dont you
venture to speak again! he returns and remains, I3r 117
quite quiet, at the back, tying up his bundle.
—I believe
all you said just now to be very fine, Sir; but, your
literary skill has displayed itself—in uttering what
the person you address cant comprehend. Unfortunately
I dont know the Gentlemen you mentioned.
The education given to Women shuts us
entirely out from such refined acquaintance.

Grad.

Perfectly right, Madam, perfectly right.
The more simple your education, the nearer you approach
the pure manners of the purest ages. The
Charms of women were never more powerful—never
inspired such Atchievements, as in those immortal
periods when—they could neither read, or write.

Doil.

Neither read or write! Zooks—what a fine
time was that for to bring up a Daughter! Why—a
peeress in those days did not cost so much as a Barber’s
daughter in our’s. Miss Friz must have her
Dancing—her French—her Jography—her Stronomy
—her Harpsicholl—her Penny-forty—whilst her
Father, to support all this, lives upon Sprats; or, once
in two years, calls his Creditors to a Composition.

Grad.

—O tempora mutantur! But these exuberances,
Mr. Doiley, indigitate unbounded Liberty.

Doil.

Digitate, or not—ifackens, if the Ladies
would take my advice, to distinguish themselves from
their present imitators—they’d return to their Distaffs,
and grow notable.

Grad.

Ah!—It was at the Loom, and the Spinning
wheel, that the Lucretias and Portias of the world
imbibed their Virtue; that the mothers of the
Gracchi, the Horatii the Antonini, caught that
sacred flame with which they inspired their sons, and
gave them that Fortitude, that Magnanimity, which
made them Conquerors and Kings!

Grang.

Advances, speaking in a shrill tone

Vy,
Monsieur—you make von good Docteur de Sorbonne
—but Husband!—you marry dis pretty Ladee! follows Gradus, who retreats round the stage de
Town vil laugh—de vorld vil— I3v 118

Grad.

Prithee good woman!—Mr. Doiley, I am
really—

Doil.

Hoity, toity! in a violent rage—in all my
life I never saw so much! Why you slovenly—insolent
—insignificant—paltry—french

Grang.

No paltry french me, Monsieur! ’tis insult
to my Countree—and mon Cousin de Friseur shall
give you de Challenge!

Doil.

Challenge! what the dickens are you coming
the Mad Marquis over us?—March! Madam—troop
I say! It doesn’t signify hanging back woman—out
you shall! pushes him out; and bawls after him If
ever I catch you at my Door again, you—and your
Chair—shall be jirk’d into the Kennel together!
This comes of your employing your Parlour voos.

Grang. err

Be not, Mr. Doiley, disconcerted—Wonder
and Rudeness are the birthright of the Ignorant. Enter Servant.

Serv.

Sir, here’s a Lord!—Lord Pharo.

Doil.

Aside.

Lord Pharo—h-r-r-m, then the four
Aces ran against him last night. Well, the Distresses
of some make my money encrease as much as
the Luxuries of others!

Serv.

Sir—he seems hurried—

Doil.

Oh I’m coming.—When a Lord wants Money
he’ll wait as patiently as any body! Well, Mr. Gradus
—I’m your humble sarvant. Elizabeth!—you understand
me. Exit.

Miss D.

Aside.

Now, to work as wonderful a
Metamorphosis as any in his Ovid!

Grad.

How unlucky the old gentleman should be
called away! Hem! preparing to speak to her
There is something in her eye so sarcastic that I’d
rather pronounce the Terræ filius than address her.
Madam—What can I say? puts his hands into his
pockets
—that’s fortunate pulling out some papers
Hem—I—I will venture to request your Ideas, I4r 119
Madam, on a little Autographon, which I design for
the World.

Miss D.

――Sir!

Grad.

In which with an air of Importance I have
found a new Chronometer, to prove that Confucius
and Zoroaster were the same person;—and that the
Pyramids are not so ancient, by forty years, as the
world believes.

Miss D.

To what Purpose Sir!

Grad.

Purpose!—Purpose—Why, really Miss,
Bookseller’s shelves are loaded with volumes in the
unattractive lines of hum-drum plain Sense; and,
unless an Author can elance from the common track,
he stands as little chance to be looked at—as a comet
in its Aphelion. Pray Ma’am indulge your Curiosity!

Miss D.

You may as well, Sir, offer me a sheet of
Hieroglyphics,—besides, I hate reading!

Grad.

Hate reading!

Miss D.

Aye, to be sure; what’s reading fit for—
but to give a stiff, embarrassed, air? It makes a man
move, as if made by a Carpenter who had forgot to
give him joints observing his action—he twirls his
hat—and bites his thumb—whilst his hearers, his
beholders I mean, are gaping for his Wit!

Grad.

Aside

The malicious creature! ’tis my
picture she has been drawing,—’tis more impossible
for me to speak than ever.

Miss D.

For my part, if I were a man, I’d study
only Dancing and Bon Mots. With no other Learning
than these, he may be light and frolicksome as
Lady Airy’s ponies—but, loaded with Greek, Philosophy,
and Mathematics, he’s as dull and as heavy
as a Cart Horse.

Grad.

Aside.

Fæmina cum voce Diaboli!

Miss D.

Why—why are you so silent, Sir? I never
saw such a Lover in my life! By this time you should
have said fifty brilliant things—found an hundred Similies
for my eyes, complexion, and wit. Can Memory I4v 120
furnish you with nothing pat?—No Poetry—
no Heroics? On what subject did Portia’s Lovers
entertain her, whilst she sat spinning—eh?

Grad.

The Lovers of that age, Madam, were ignorant
of frothy Compliment. Instead of being
gallant, they were brave; instead of flattery—they
studied Virtue and Wisdom. These, Madam, nerved
the Roman arm, empowered her to drag the Nations
of the world at her chariot wheels, and raised her to
such an exalted height, that—

Miss D.

That—down she tumbled in the dust—
and there I beg you’ll leave her. Was ever any thing
so monstrous? I ask for a Compliment to myself—
and you begin a Eulogium on a parcel of starch
warriors and formal Pedants! Sir, there is not
one of these brave, wise, godlike men, that would
not appear as ridiculous in a modern Assembly,—as
a Judge in his long Wig amongst maccaroni Jackets.

Grad.

Aside.

Now—I am dumb again. Oh!
that I had you at Brazen-nose, Madam! I could
manage then!

Miss D.

What! Now you are in the Pouts Sir?
What a cheerful life a Wife must have with such a
being! always either in profound silence, or else
talking Sentences—why dont you learn to converse!
No delightful nonsense, no sweet trifling—all must
be solemn, wise, and grave! I would as soon marry
the Bust of Seneca in bronze, for then I should have
all the sombre gravity of wisdom—without its tediousness.

Grad.

The Tediousness of Wisdom! Surely, Madam,
or I am deceived, you possess a mind capable—

Miss D.

Now I see, by the twist of your chin Sir,
that you are beginning another Oration—but, I protest,
I will never hear you speak again, till you have
foresworn those Tones, and that Manner. Go, Sir
—throw your books into the fire; turn your Study
into a Dressing-room, hire a Dancing-master—and,
grow, agreable!—Aside. That you may disgust my I5r 121
poor Father!—Now my Ally shall be brought up in
aid!

Exit.

Grad.

Plato! Aristotle! Zeno!—I abjure ye. A
Girl, bred in a Nursery! in whose soul the sacred
lamp of knowledge hath scarcely shed its faintest
rays, hath vanquished and struck dumb the most
faithful of your disciples!— Enter Charlotte
here’s another She-Imp, I’d as soon encounter a
She-Wolf. Going.

Char.

Stay Sir! pray an instant—am I such a scarecrow?
I was never run from by a young man before
in my life! Pulls him back.

Grad.

I resolve henceforth to run from your whole
sex.—Youth and Beauty, are only other names for
Coquetry and Affectation. Let me go Madam. Let
me fly from you, for you have Beauty, and doubtless
all the Blandishments that belong to it.

Char.

Well—I declare you have a mighty pretty
way of bestowing the compliment indirect on a Lady!
Miss Doiley might have discerned something in you
worth cherishing—in spite of that sad Husk of Scholarship.
—To pass one’s life with such a Being, seems
to me the very Apex of human Felicity. Aside.I
found Apex for him in a book of Geometry this
morning!)

Grad.

Do you intend that I should think you serious?

Char.

Positively. I was in ambush and listened
to your conversation, and I cant help being concerned
that you, by mismanagement, should bring
yourself within the reach of ridicule—though possessed
of Talents which should do you Honour.

Grad.

Aside

—This creature is of a Genus quite
different from the other—she has understanding and
Discernment!) I begin to suspect, Madam, that, I5v 122
though I have some knowledge, I have still much to
learn.

Char.

You have indeed! Knowledge, as you manage
it, is a downright Bore.

Grad.

Boar! Why what relation, Madam, can
there be between Knowledge and a Hog?

Char.

How ridiculous! You have spent your life
in learning the dead languages, until you are ignorant
of the living.—Why, Sir, such words as Bore
are all the Ton.

Grad.

Ton! Ton! What may that be? It cannot
be Orthology: I dont recollect its root in the Parent
languages.

Char.

Ha! ha! ha!—better and better! Why,
Sir, Ton means—Ton is—Pho! what signifies where
the Root is? Such words are the Short-hand of Conversation,
and convey whole sentences at once;—
all that delights the Town is Ton, and all that disgusts
is Bore.

Grad.

And is that divine Medium, which pourtrays
the mind, and makes us first in the animal Climax
—is Speech become so arbitrary that—

Char.

Divine Medium! Animal Climax! contemptously
You know very well that the use of Language
is—to express one’s Likes and Dislikes; and
a Pig will do this as effectually by its Squeak, or a
Hen with her Cackle, as you—with your Latin and
Greek!

Grad.

What can I say to you!

Char.

Nothing;—but, yield yourself to my Guidance,
and then try if you can conquer Miss Doiley. Aside. And lose her Father in the attempt!)

Grad.

Conquer her! She is so incased in ridicule
that she is invulnerable.

Char.

Pshaw, pshaw! How can Ridicule be exerted
—after you shall have banished your Absurdities?
One can no more exist without the other—than the
mundane System without Air. Aside.There’s a
touch of Science for him!)

I6r 123

Grad.

Madam I’ll take you for my Minerva—Protect
me with your shield—and lead me to Battle!

Char.

Enough!—In the first place leading him to
a Glass at the side
dont you think your armour for
the campaign is— à la mode d’Amour? Did you ever
see a Cupid in such a head dress! curled as stiffly as
Sir Cloudsley Shovel’s in the Abbey.—A dingy
square-cut black coat, with horn buttons, to be sure
speaks an excellent Taste! I would advise you to
present it to some Parish Clerk to be worn at a
Christening, and here’s Cambrick enough in your
ruffles to make the child a shirt.

Grad.

I perceive my Error! The votaries of Love
commence a new childhood; and Dignity would be
as unbecoming in them, as a hornpipe to a Socrates.
—But, Habit is so strong!—to gain an Empress I
could not assume that careless air, that promptness
of Expression, that—

Char.

Then you may give up the pursuit of Miss
Doiley
;—for such a wise piece of formality would
stand as good a chance of being made armour bearer
to Cupid, as her Husband.

Grad.

It is Mr. Doiley who will—

Char.

Mr. Doiley! Ridiculous.—Depend on it
he’ll let her marry just whom she will.—This
Mr. Gradus, says he,—why I dont care a Groat whether
you marry him or not—there are fifty Fellows at Oxford
who can talk Greek as well as he—

Grad.

Indeed!

Char.

I have heard a good account of the young
man, says he. But all I ask of you is, to receive
two Visits from him—no more than two visits! If
you dont like him—so; if you do, I’ll give you half
my fortune on the day of marriage, and the rest at
my death.

Grad.

How niggard of Opportunity! Limit me to
two visits!—one is already past, and she hates me—
What can I expect from the other?

Char.

It is a Moment that decides the Fate I6v 124
of a Lover. Now fancy me Miss Doiley!—look
at me, as if your Soul was in your eyes—swear
I’m a divinity—then take my hand, and press it—
thus.

Grad.

Oh! the touch has thrill’d me.

Char.

And, if I should pout, and resent the liberty
—make your apology on my cheek Gradus
hesitates, then salutes her
So, so! you have spirit I
perceive.

Grad.

Can you bestow any lessons again on me?

Char.

Yes; I have a friend—Mr. Sandford, whom
you saw here last night;—you shall dine with him.
He and his company will initiate you at once into
the fashionable Rage, and teach you to trifle agreeably.
You shall be equipped by him to appear this
evening—as a Man of the World!—Farewell to Pedantry!

Grad.

But what will the Father think of such a
Metamorphosis?

Char.

Study your Mistress—only; your visit will
be to her, and that visit—depend upon it—decides
your Fate! Resolve to take up your new Character
boldly—in all its very strongest lines—or, at once to
give up one of the largest fortunes in the kingdom.

Grad.

My obligations, Madam—

Char.

Dont stay now, to run the risk of meeting
Mr. Doiley with his Daughter before you are properly
prepared and reconciled to her, or Sandford
the Dinner and the Plot will be worth no more to us,
than your Gravity—away!

Exit Gradus. Enter Miss Doiley.

Miss D.

Excellent Charlotte! you’ve outgone my
Expectations. Did a Hare ever run so blindly into
a snare!

Char.

Oh, that’s the way of your mere great Scholars;
like other Labourers, they are fit for nothing—
but in their particular Line. Take them but an inch I7r 125
out of their beaten Track—they are bewilder’d instantly,
and obliged to accept the first Guide that
offers.

Miss D.

Ha, Ha! But, have you seen Sandford?
Is every thing in Train? Are they confident that
they shall hoodwink him?

Char.

Hoodwink! Why, dont you see he’s already
stark blind? Or, if he has eyes—I assure you they
are for me! if you should alter your mind, I shall
be a dangerous Rival now!

Miss D.

My heart palpitates with apprehension!
we shall never succeed!

Char.

Oh, if you’ll metamorphose Granger the
Soldier, I’ll translate the Scholar. Mr. Sandford has
engaged half a dozen of the Savoir vivre, all in high
Spirits, and determined to exhaust Wit and Invention,
to turn our Solon out of their hands precisely
the finished Coxcomb that will disgust your Father.

Miss D.

Fortune crown their labours! My Granger
is gone to study his Rival, and will make, I
hope, a tolerable Copy. Tell Sandford, my dear
Charlotte, to take care that Gradus has just Champaign
enough to make him vibrate from his former
character without going too far to be able to support
his new one.

Exeunt, different sides.
Act I7v ( 126 )

Act the Second.

Scene I. An apartment.

A Table and Bottles &c. Doiley, asleep. Enter a Servant

Serv.

Sir! Sir! jogging him Sir! What a doze!
Sure my master has drain’d the bottles, he sleeps so
sound.—Oh, no—pours out a Glass Here’s to you,
old Gentleman! Can’t think why they sent me to
wake thee—I’m sure when you’re a snoring, you
disturb the house less than at any other time!

Drinks, then awakens him.

Doil.

Hey!—how!—what! is Mr. Gradus come?

Serv.

No, Sir, there’s no formal Gentleman come;
but Mr. Sandford’s above stairs, and a mortal fine
Gentleman came with him.

Doil.

Aye—some Spendthrift, I suppose, that
wants to sell an Annuity. Why, Gradus should have
come just at this very time—past eight! Looking at
his Watch.

Serv.

His friends keep the Gentleman over a
bottle, mayhap, Sir—longer than he thought for.

Doil.

He over a Bottle! more liker over some
crabbed book—or looking at the Moon through a
Microscope, to see what she’s about. Come, move I8r 127
the things; and empty them two bottoms into one
Bottle, and cork up close—d’ye hear. I wish Gradus
was come—I must go and see. Well, if I succeed
in this one point I’ll put ill luck at Defiance.
Let the world go to Loggerheads, grass grow upon
Change, land-tax mount up, Master Doiley is snug!
Doiley, with a hundred Thousand in Annuities, and
a Son in Law as wise as a Chancellor, may bid defiance
to wind and weather.

Exit.

Scene II.

A drawing room.

Enter Gradus, led by Charlotte, and followed by
Sandford.

Char.

Well, I protest this is excellent! Why what
with sattins and tassels and spangles and foils, you
look as brilliant as a Chemist’s shop by Candle-
Light.

Grad.

Madam, do you approve—

Char.

I am all amazement— I’ll run and send Miss
Doiley
to admire you.

Exit.

Grad.

Looking in a Glass.

Oh, if our Proctor
could now behold me! he would never believe that
figure to be Jeremy Gradus. Between the Dazzle
and the Champaigne, I dont know whether it is myself
I see or not. What must I do with this?

Sand.

Your chapeau bras――wear it thus. These
hats are only for the Arm.

Grad.

A hat for the Arm! what a subversion of
ideas! Oh, Mr. Sandford—if the sumptuary laws of
Lycurgus

Sand.

Murder! will you never leave off your College
Cant? You must forget that such fellows ever
existed—and that there was ever a Classic in any language
but plain English.

I8v 128

Grad.

I will endeavour to form myself by your instructions.
But, tarry with me I intreat you—if you
should leave me—

Sand.

I’ll not leave you—never fear. Here is the
Queen of your Allegiance—Now Gradus stand to
your arms!

Grad.

I’ll do my best;—but, I could wish that
Miss Charlotte were the Purse Bearer!

Enter Miss Doiley.

Sand.

Hush!—Your obedient—allow me to introduce
a Gentleman in whose affairs I am particularly
interested—Mr. Gradus.

Miss D.

Mr. Gradus! Is it possible?

Grad.

Be not astonished, oh lovely Maiden, at my
sudden Change! Beauty is a talisman which transforms
mankind.

Miss D.

Your transformation, I fear, is too sudden
to be lasting.

Gradus.

Transformation—resplendent Virgo!
brightest Constellation of the starry Zone! I am but
now created! Your Charms, like the Promethean
fire, have warmed the clod to Life!

Miss D.

But, may I be sure that you’ll never subside
into your former dross again?

Grad.

Never. Sooner shall Gemini and Scorpio
meet, Copernicus to Ptolomy resign the spheres—
than I be what I was!

Miss D.

Walking aside.

I shall be in hysterics!

Sand.

Well, you’ve hit it off tolerably for a coup
d’essai
—But, prithee, Gradus—cant you talk in a
stile a little less fustian? You remember how those fine
fellows conversed at dinner—no Effort—no Sentences
—no cramp words; all was Ease and Impudence.

Grad.

Yes, I remember. Now the shell is burst,
I shall soon be fledged.

K1r 129 Doiley appears at the side, at a distance.

Doil.

Why, who the dickens have we here!

Sand.

Aside.

So—there’s the old Genius!

Miss D.

But, I’m convinced now, I am sure—
all this is merely put on—in your heart you are still
what you were.

Grad.

Yes Madam, still Gradus; but not that stiff
scholastic Fool you saw this morning. No, no, I
have learned that the acquisitions, of which your father
is so absurdly fond, are useless lumber—that a
man who knows more than his neighbours is in danger
of being shut out of Society;—or, at best, of
being invited to dinner once in a twelvemonth—to
be exhibited like an antique Bronze—or a Porridgepot
from Herculaneum.

Doil.

Whu! ’tis he! I’m all over in a fomentation.

Miss D.

What then, you dont think Learning the
greatest Blessing in the world?

Grad.

Not I, truly, Madam—Learning! a vile
bore!

Doil.

Am I on my head—or my Heels?

Still behind.

Grad.

I shall leave all those Fopperies to the Greybeards
at College.—Let them chop Logic, or make
english hashes out of stale Greek till they starve, for
me.

Sand.

This is your final resolution?

Grad.

Fix’d! I have no study now—but the Ton.

Doil.

Indeed!

Grad.

You shall confess that a Man of Letters,
may become a Man of the World—dress—grow an
adept in the science of Taste—ogle at the Opera—
at the Playhouse be vociferous—or suffer himself to
be pigeon’d, with an easy air, at White’s.

Miss D.

Why, one would suppose you had been
familiar in the Bon Ton all your life—you have, by
heart, all the requisites to make a Figure in it?

Vol. I. K K1v 130

Grad.

The force of Beauty, Madam, has transformed
me.

Doil.

Aside.

Aye, transformed indeed— a larned
Philosopher into a chattering Magpie!

Miss Doil.

How different from what you was this
morning!

Grad.

Oh, mention it not;—this morning! may
it be blotted from Time’s Ledger. I abhor my former
self: witness now the Recantation of my Errors
—Learning, with all its Tribe of solemn Fopperies,
I abjure—abjure for ever.

Doil.

Aside.

Humph!—you do!

Grad.

The study of what is vulgarly called Philosophy
may suit a Monk; but, ’tis as unbecoming a
Gentleman—as loaded Dice or a brass hilted sword.

Doil.

Larning unbecoming a Gentleman! Go on—

Grad.

Hebrew, I leave to the Jew Rabbies—
Greek, to the Bench of Bishops—Latin, to the Apothecaries
—and Astronomy to the Almanac-makers.

Doil.

Better, and better.

Grad.

The Mathematics—pure, mixed, speculative,
and practical, with the whole Circle of Sciences,
I consign, in a lump, to the old—who want Spirits,
and to the Young—who want bread;—and now,
you’ve heard my whole abjuration—

Doiley rushes forward.

Doil.

Yes —Yes—Yes!—I have heard too—I too
have heard! Oh, that I should ever have been such
a Dolt as to take thee for a man of Larning!

Grad.

Mr. Doiley!

Confounded.

Doil.

What! dont be dash’d man!—go on with
your Jurations do. Yes, you’ll make a shine in the
Tone!—Oh, that ever I should be such a Ninny!

Sand.

My dear Mr. Doiley—moderate your heat.
How can a man of your Discernment—now carefully
look at Mr. Gradus—I am sure he’s a much prettier K2r 131
fellow than he was—his Figure, and his Manner, are
quite different.


Doil.

Yes, yes, I can see that!—I can see that.
Why he has reversed Master Æsop; he’s the Lion
—in the skin of an Ass.

Pacing the stage.

Grad.

I must retrieve myself in his opinion!—
The skin, Mr. Doiley, may be put off again; and be
assured that the mind, which has once felt the sacred
Energies of Wisdom, though it may assume, for a
moment—

Miss D.

So! so! so!

Angrily.

Sand.

Runs up to him

Heyday! If you play retrograde,
I forsake you on the spot—and you are
ruin’d with your Mistress!

Aside.

Grad.

Dear Madam! believe me, that—What can
I say! He stands hesitating between Mr. Doiley and
his Daughter
how assimilate myself to two such opposite
Tastes? I am reeling between two Characters,
like a Substantive between two Adjectives.

Doil.

You!—you, for to turn Fop, and Maccaroni!
Why, ’twould be as naterel for a Jew Robbin
to turn Curate.—An Elephant in a Lace-Cap—a Bishop
with a Rattle and Bells—couldn’t be more posterous.

Sand.

Nay now my dear Mr. Doiley

Approaches him.

Doil.

Dear me—no dears! Why, if I wanted a
Maccaroni—I might have had my choice; every
Alley, from Hyde Park to Shadwell Dock, swarms
with them—genuine; and d’ye think I’ll have an
amphiberous animal—half and half, like a Sea-Calf!

Sand.

Oh, if that’s all—a hundred to ten—Gradus
will soon be as unmixed a character as if he had
never learnt his Alpha Beta, or known more of the
Classics than their names.

Doil.

Oh, I warrant him. What do you think,
now, of the Scratchi and the Horsi and the rest of
’em—eh?

Grad.

Goes to Miss Doiley

Mere Bores! A parcelK2 K2v 132
of brawney untaught fellows; if they’d stood
candidates for rank in a College of Taste, they’d have
been return’d ignorantur—would they not Madam?

Miss D.

Oh, certainly! Aside.I could almost
love the fellow now, he has aided my plot so exactly.)

Exit.

Doil.

You’ve been in wonderful haste to get rid of
the igranter part—but, as it happen’d, that was the
only part I cared for;—so now, you may carry your
Hogs to another market.

Grad.

Hogs!

With Contempt.

Doil.

Aye—your cramp words—your Boars—your
improvements—your—in short, you’re not the man
I took you for; so, you may trot back to College
again—go Mister, and teach ’em the Tone, do!—
How they will stare at— Jeremy Gradus, or the
Monkey returned from his travels!

Sand.

Upon my honour, you are too severe. Aside
to Gradus
Leave us man—leave us——I warrant
I’ll settle your affair!

Grad.

Apart. I fear—not easily; he sticks to one
point, like a rusty weather-cock—my dependance is
on the Lady.

Sand.

You’ll allow Gradus to speak to Miss Doiley.

Doil.

Oh, to be sure—the more he speaks, the
more Sport for her—she’s fond of a Laugh! Here—
show this Mr. Gradus to the next room Exit Gradus
give her a surfeit of nonsense by all means.
Why, sure, Mr. Sandford, you’d no hand in transmogrifying
him.

Sand.

I had though. I couldn’t endure seeing
your charming daughter condemned to a collection
of obsolete Greek Apothegms and Latin Quotations;
—so—so I endeavoured to English him.

Doil.

English him! I take that shocking ill of you
Mr. Sandford—that I must tell you! Here are all
my hopes gone like a Whiff of Tobacco!

Sand.

My dear Mr. Doiley, you will be grateful K3r 133
to us hereafter, if, instead of a mere Pedant for a
Husband, we can give your Daughter a man endowed
with Heaven’s two best gifts—a good heart
and common sense. This is our object, and this
attachment of your’s to mere Scholarship is a mere
Whim!

Doil.

Whim! well suppose it is—I’ll indulge it.
Worked hard forty years, and saved above twice as
many thousand pounds; and with so much money,
after so much labour, a man ought to be allowed his
Whim.

Sand.

True—provided it be for his good.

Doil.

Well, and what good can be better than
Scholardship?—that you may know how I set so
much by it, I must tell you a bit of a Secret—lack o’
Larning has been my great detriment! If I’d been a
Scholard nobody can tell what I could have got by it!
my plum might have been two—my—

Sand.

Classical Learning would have been a
singular qualification in driving Bargains for Russia-
Tallow and Whale-Blubber!

Doil.

To be sure!—More than that, I do verily
believe it hindered me from being Lord Mayor, only
think of that— Lord Mayor of London!

Sand.

Why how could that possibly be?

Doil.

Why, I tended the Common Council and all
the Parish Meetings, for fifteen years, without daring
for to make one Arangue. At last, when a Westry
was called about chusing the Churchvauden, now
thinks I, I’ll show ’em what I’m good for! Our
Alderman was ill of the Purples, so thinks I—if he
tips off why not I as well as another? so I’ll make
them a Speech about Patrotts—and ax for their
Votes!

Sand.

A very judicious road to Authority!

Doil.

If you’ll believe me, I got up three times.
Silence! says the Clerk each time, but――I dont know
how it was—there was I, soon, the only silent man
in the Westry! for you must know――somehow――my K3v 134
Tongue grew so dry and stiff with Fright that I could
not wag it, and so was forced to squat down and
give in—amidst Horselaughs! and through the whole
Ward――they nick-named me Dummy every afterwards!

Sand.

Well, I had no idea of the vast Importance
of Learning in Parochial affairs.—Yet, how men
differ! now the family of Sir Wilford Granger are
quite distressed by the obstinate attachment to the
Sciences of that fine young fellow I told you of this
morning.

Doil.

Aye! and is he Sir Wilford Granger’s son
too? Knew his Father very well—kept a fine Study
of horses, lent him money many a time, always punctual;
—Good-man!

Sand.

Aye, Sir, but he didn’t like to see a young
fellow, formed for Life in all its points and bewitching
varieties, bury himself amidst obsolete Books, Systems,
and Schisms—whilst pleasure woo’d, and joy
solicited him in vain.

Doil.

Dear me, dear me! I thought Sir Wilford
had been wiser than that too; why I would have
given the world for such a Son.

Sand.

Aside. He swallows it rarely!)—Oh he
piques himself on such trifles as reading in their own
Tongues the Greeks and Latins—but, above all
things, on mastering the Quibblings of our English
Philosophers. Aside. I must contrive to make him
content with English!)

Doil.

English Philosophers! I wouldn’t give That
for them! snapping his fingers.

Sand.

Why Sir, many admire much Boyle, Bacon

Doil.

Aye, and a vile English taste it is!

Sand.

Did you never hear, Sir, of a Locke—a
Newton

Doil.

Newton! oh aye—aye—I’ve heard of Sir
Isaac
—great man—Master of the Mint!

Sand.

Oh, Sir! this youth has found a dozen mistakes
in his Theories, and proved him wrong in one K4r 135
or two of his Calculations—in short, he is advised to
give the World a System of his own—in which, for
aught I know, he’ll prove the Earth to be Concave
instead of Spherical, and the Moon to be no bigger
than a punch bowl.

Doil.

Prove him wrong!—he’s the man—he’s my
man. Look’e Mr. Sandford—you’ve given a description
of this young fellow that’s set my blood in
a foment. Do you, now, my dear friend, do you
think now, that you could coax him into marrying
my Daughter?

Sand.

Why—neither Beauty, nor Gold, have
Charms for him. Knowledge—knowledge is his
Mistress.

Doil.

Aye! I’m sorry for that—and yet I’m glad
of it too! Now, see what you can do with him—see
what you can do.

Sand.

I’ll try. He promised to call on me here
this evening—to proceed on a scheme of ours. I
think I heard a grave knock—’tis likely enough to
be his—I dare say he’s below.

Doil.

Below now—do go, and if he is—speak to
him a bit—and bring him up, bring him up!

Sand.

Well—well—I’ll see what I can do!

Exit.

Doil.

Thank’e, thank’e. I’ll buy him twice as
many books as a College Library but what I’ll bribe
him—that I will. Why the dickens does Elizabeth
throw away time with that soft-head—that Gradus!
He a man of Larning! Hang me if I dont believe
his head’s as hollow as that of my cane. Sure, she
cant have taken a fancy to the smattering monkey!
—Oh, here comes the downright Scholard—here he
comes! Why, there’s Greek and Algebray in the lines
of his face— K4v 136 Enter Sandford; with Granger dressed very formally
in black.

Mr. Granger, Sir, your very humble Servant, Sir—
I’m very glad to see you, Sir.

Grang.

very solemnly

I thank you, Sir.

Doil.

I knew your father, Sir, as well as a beggar
knows his Dish. Mayhap, Mr. Sandford told you that
I wanted for to bring you and my daughter acquainted
—I’ll go and call her in.

Grang.

It is unnecessary.

Doil.

He seems a mightly silent man. apart

Sand.

Studying—studying! Ten to one he’s forming
a discourse in Arabic, or revolving one of Euclid’s
Problems!

Doil.

Couldn’t you set him talking a bit. I long
for to hear him talk!

Sand.

Come man—forget the old Sages a moment.
Cant the Idea of Miss Doiley give a fillip to your
Imagination?

Grang.

Miss Doiley, I am informed, is lovely as
a woman can be—but what is Woman?

Doil.

Aside. Now for it!—What is Woman?

Grang.

Only, one of nature’s agreeable Blunders.

Doil.

Aside. —Ah!—ah!—that smacks of something!)
Why, as to that, Mr. Granger, a woman
with no Portion but her Whims, might be but a kind
of a Jew’s bargain—but, when fifty thousand is popt
into the scale, she must be bad indeed, if her husband
does’nt find her a pen’orth.

Grang.

With men of the World, Mr. Doiley, fifty
thousand pounds may be considered as Weight; but,
in the balance of Philosophy,—gold is light—as phlogisticated
air!

Doil.

Aside. —That’s deep—I can make nothing of
it—that must be fine!) Mr. Granger—the great account
I have heard of your Larning, and what not,
has made me willing for to be of kin to you.

K5r 137

Grang.

Mr. Sandford, Sir, suggested to me your
design—and, as it is the Prize of Learning that
you have nobly proposed your daughter—I confess
myself attracted.

Doil.

Aside.

But I’ll see a bit further though,
first.) Now, pray, Mr. Granger—pray now—a—I
say—will—To Sandford Ax him some far fetch’d
question, that he may show himself a bit.

Sand.

Aside.

What Conundrum shall I invent!)
A far fetch’d question you would have it? Let me
see! oh, Granger, is it your opinion that the Antipodes
walk erect, or crawl on all four?

Grang.

Thinking men always doubt!—but the
best informations concur that they are Quadrupedes
during two revolutions of the sun, and Bipedes ever
after.

Doil.

Quadpedes! Bipedes!—Oh—that is charming,
—above my reach!

Sand.

A surprising Transformation!

Grang.

Not more surprising than the transformation
of an Eruca to a Chrysalis—a Chrysalis to a
Nymph—and a Nymph to a Butterfly!

Doil.

Aside.

—There again! I see now it will do
—I see it will do! Pauses, and appears contemplating
some Scheme
—T’other shall have one chance yet
—aye that he shall—hang me if he shant!

Exit chuckling and laughing.

Grang.

What’s he gone off for, so abruptly?

Sand.

Oh for his daughter—you may depend upon
it. You have already succeeded. Give ye Joy, my
dear fellow!—the Nymph—the Eruca—and the Chrysalis,
have won the day.

Grang.

How shall I curb my happiness! My dear
Sandford, that was the luckiest question about the
Antipodes.

Sand.

Yes pretty successful. Have you been at
your Studies?

Grang.

Oh, I’ve been in the Dictionary these two
hours—and have picked up unintelligible English K5v 138
enough to puzzle and delight the old Gentleman for
the remainder of his life.

Sand.

Here he is—hush!

Grang.

I hear my dear Elizabeth’s footsteps!

Doil.

Pulls in Gradus by the arm, Granger turns
away disappointed

Come along I say!—Come in here.
What, are you afraid of being laugh’d at again. Here,
I’ve brought him—one of your own kidney.—Ha, ha,
ha!—now I’ll lay a Gallon, you cant guess what I’ve
brought him for.—I’ve brought him—ha! ha! ha!
for to pit him again You to Granger—to see which
of you two is the most larned Greek!

Grang.

Destruction inevitable!

Sand.

Here’s a blow up—Greek!

Doil.

Why, Mr. Granger, for all he looks so like
a Ninny in his pie-pick’d jacket, he’s got his Noddle
full of Greek, and Algebray, and them things.—Why
Gradus! dont stand aloof man—this is a Brother-
Scholard I tell you.

Grad.

Aside.

I believe I had better desert back
to my original colours!)—A Scholar Sir!—all who
have earned that Distinction are my brethren—
Carissime Frater! gaudeo te videre.

Grang.

distressed.

Sir――you――I—if you please
Sir!――Aside.I wish thy largest Folio were about
thy neck, and thou at the bottom of the black sea!)

Sand.

Mr. Doiley! what can you mean!

Doil.

Mean— why I tell you I mean to pit ’em,
and to give Elizabeth to the winner. Touch him up to Granger—touch him up! shew him what a Fool
he is.

Sand.

Why you wont set them together by the
Ears!

Doil.

No—but I’m resolved to set them together
by the tongues though. To cut the business short:
Mr. Gradus! you are to be sure a great dab at
Larning, and what not, but I’ll bet for Granger, my
Daughter and fifty thousand to boot, that he beats
you—and he that wins shall have her.

K6r 139

Grang.

What a Stake! ’tis sufficient to inspire a
dolt with the tongues of Babel. Apart to Sandford. I must e’en venture with what I have been picking
up this morning; I have stocked myself with the
English of the Learned—unintelligible enough to
pass with him for any thing.)

Sand.

My dear Friend think of the Impropriety!

Doil.

Fiddle-de-dee! I tell you I will have my
Whim—and so here I take my Seat to see fair play— Places himself in a chair in the middle of the Stage.
Gradus, set off. By Jenkins you’ll find it a tough
matter to beat Granger; he’s one of your great Genis
men—going to write a Book about Sir Isaac, and the
Moon, and nobody knows what.

Miss Doiley and Charlotte enter at the back of the Stage.

Grad.

If so, the more glorious will be my Victory!
Come Sir, let us enter the Lists for this charming
Prize turning to Miss D.—Name your Subject; we
will pursue it syllogistically or socratically, as you
please.

Grang.

Aside.

Confusion to your Syllogisms and
Socraticisms!

Grad.

Chuse your weapons—HebrewGreek
Latin—or English?

Doil.

English!—I’ll not have no English. What
a plague—every Shoe-black jabbers English—so give
us a touch of Greek to set off with—Come Gradus
you begin!

Grad.

If it is merely a Recitation in Greek that
you want, you shall be gratified. An Epigram occurs
to me which, though you will not be able to perceive
how full it is of the Food for the Mind of that sublime
Language, will give you an idea of its lofty Sound!

Char.

Aside.

Oh!—the lofty Sound will be
Sentence of Death to our Hopes!

Grad.

Panta gelos, kai panta konis, kai panta to meden,
Panta gar exalagon esti ta ginomena.
Panta

K6v 140

Doil.

Pshaw! Panta try Pantry! snapping his
fingers, in great Disgust.
—Food for the Mind! why
’tis nothing but about Pantries! The Old Grecians
might love Tit-bits mayhap—but that’s low for us!
eh Sandford!

Sand.

Oh vulgarly low, Sir, I must confess; he
might as well have spouted about a Pig-Stye!

Doil.

Come Granger!—now for it—Elizabeth and
fifty thousand!

Char.

Aside.

Heigho! it is all over. He could as
easily remember his Dame’s first Lesson, as recollect
a sentence in Greek.)

Doil.

Come, you can talk Greek as well as Gradus!
—What at a stand?

Grang.

’Tis but from anxiety to please you Sir— Aside.Now Impudence, bestow on me thy brazen
Vizor!)—Zanthus I remember, in a sublime description
says—

Grad.

Zanthus!—Sir, you surely err. Except to
a River, Homer gives that name only to a Horse!

Grang.

Sir, he was an Orator— and such a one,
that Homer records the Gods themselves inspired
him.

Grad.

True Sir—but you wont deny—

Doil.

Come—come!— fair play—I shant have no
brow-beating; nobody offered for to contradict your
Speech upon Pantries! So begin—what said Orator
Zanthus.

Grang.

Apart to Sandford.

— My Dictionary gleanings
must e’en pass for my Greek!)—H-r-r-m! With
slow solemn deliberation.
—Lucid Orbs in Æther
pensile irradiate th’expanse; refulgent scintillations
in th’ambient void opake emit meteors humid; chrysalic
Spheroids th’ horizon vivify; æstifarious constellations,
nocturnal Sporades, refrangerated radii,
th’orb terrene illume!

Miss D.

I breathe again! Aside.

Doil.

There!—there! rubs his hands, stamps the
floor in great glee, and runs up to him.
Well done K7r 141
Granger!—Now marches up to Gradus Gradus
beat that!

Grad.

I am enwrapt in Astonishment! You are
imposed on, Sir—instead of Greek, you have heard
a rant in English.

Doil.

English!—that’s too much!—Come
Mister Gradus—d’ye take me for a Fool?—D’ye think I
dont know my own Mother-tongue! in a great rage
—’Twas no more like English, than I’m like Whittington’s
cat.

Grad.

It was every syllable English.

Doil.

There’s Impudence!—There was’nt no word
of it English—If you can possibly take that for English,
hang me if I believe there was a word of Greek
in all your try pantries.

Grad.

Oh—the torture of Ignorance!

Doil.

Ignorant!— Come, come, none of your tricks
upon travellers! I know you mean all that as a skit
upon my Edication—but I’d have you to know, Sir,
that I’ll read the hardest chapter of Nehemiah with
you for your ears.

Grad.

I repeat, that you are imposed upon.—
Mr. Sandford I appeal to you!

Grang.

—And I appeal.

Sand.

Nay, Gentlemen, Mr. Doiley is your Judge
in all disputes concerning—the vulgar tongue.

Doil.

Aye, to be sure I am! Who cares for your
peals? I peal too; and I tell you I wont be imposed
on!—Here Elizabeth!—I have got you a husband at
last—to my heart’s content.

Miss D.

Him! Sir—what then am I to give up
my chance of being a Judge’s Lady, or the Lady of
a Civility Doctor!

Doil.

What with that Beau book-worm—that
argufies me down that I dont know English! Dont
go for to provoke me—bid that Mr. Granger welcome
to my house—he’ll soon be Master on’t.

Miss D.

Sir, in obedience to the archly Commands
of my Father—

K7v 142

Doil.

Shant say Obedience—say something kind
of yourself; he’s a man after my own heart!

Miss D.

Then, Sir, without Reserve, I acknowledge
that your choice of Mr. Granger is not—disagreeable
to me.

Doil.

That’s my dear Bet! There—do you understand
that— Mr. try Pantry!—is that English?

Grang. err

Yes, so plain that it has exsuscitated my
Understanding—I perceive that I have been duped!

Doil.

Aye, well—I had rather you should be the
Dupe than I!

Grad.

I have no inclination to contest which—if
the lovely Charlotte will not disappoint the hopes
which she has created.

Char.

Perhaps not; provided that, in your character
of Husband, you’ll be as singular and oldfashion’d
as the Dress you wore this morning.

Doil.

What, have you taken a Fancy to the Scholard?
Well, you’re a cute Girl, and mayhap may
correct his folly; and, that you may’nt repent retaining
him in the family, I don’t care if I throw in a
couple of thousands, or so. And d’ye hear Gradus
—I dont love for to bear a particle of Malice, so I’ll
forget and forgive wholly, provided you’ll trot back
to College—and larn the difference between Greek
and English!

Grad.

I have had enough of Languages! You see
I have engaged a Tutor to teach me the World! and
if I play my part there as well as I did at Brazen-
Nose—your Indulgence will grant me Applause!