101 H3r

Who’s the Dupe?

A Farce

102 H3v

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!

105 H5r 105

Characters.

Men.

Doiley. Mr. Parsons.

Gradus. Mr. King.

Granger. Mr. Palmer.

Sandford. Mr. Aikin.

Women.

Miss Doiley. Mrs. Brereton.

Charlotte. Mrs. Wrighten.

106 H5v 107 H6r

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! 108 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 109 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? 110 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.
111 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! 112 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 113 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 114 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— 115 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 116 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, 117 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— 118 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, 119 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 Memory120 I4v 120 mory 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 121 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, 122 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!)

123 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 124 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 125 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 126 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 127 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.

128 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.

129 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 130 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 131 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 132 K2v 132 cel 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 GradusLeave 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 133 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 134 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 135 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— 136 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.

137 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 138 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.

139 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—HebrewGreekLatin—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

140 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 141 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—

142 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!